i 0

PUBLICATIONS •

OF THE

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION

OP

AMERICA

EDITED BY

CHAELES H. GKANDGENT

SECRETARY OF THE ASSOCIATION

VOL. XXIII NEW SERIES. VOL. XVI

PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE ASSOCIATION PRINTED BY J. H. FURST COMPANY

BALTIMORE

1908

CONTENTS.

PAGE. I. — The Reeve's Tale : A Comparative Study of Chaucer's

Narrative A.rt. By WALTER MORRIS HART, 1

II. — Eelics of Franco-Provencal in Southern Italy. By A. DE

SALVIO, 45

III. — Spenser's Lost Poems. By PHILO M. BUCK, JR.. - - 80 IV. — The relation of Shakspere's Pericles to George Wilkins's Novel, The Painfull Aduentures of Pericles, Prince of

Tyre. By HARRY T. BAKER, 100

V, — A Survey of the Literature on Wordsworth. By LANE

COOPER, 119

VI. — Additional Light on the Temple of Glas. By HENRY

NOBLE MACCRACKEN, 128

VII.— The Ballad of The Sitter Withy. By GORDON HALL

GEROULD, 141

VIII. — Elizabeth Barrett's Influence on Browning's Poetry. By

JOHN W. CUNLIFFE, 169

IX. — English Doublets. By EDWARD A. ALLEN, - - - 184 X. — Segismundo's Soliloquy on Liberty in Calderon's La Vida

es Sueno. By MILTON A. BUCHANAN, - - - 240 XI. — The Undergraduate Curriculum in English Literature. By

FRANK G. HUBBARD, - . - - ;V --r - - 254 XII. — On the Date and Composition of Guillaume de Lorris'

Roman de la Rose. By F. M. WARREN, - - - 269 XIII.— The Date of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde. By JOHN

LIVINGSTON LOWES, - - ' -v . - - - - 285 XIV.— A Neglected Passage on the Three Unities of the French

Classic Drama. By H. CARRINGTON LANCASTER, - 307 XV. — Coordination and the Comma. By RAYMOND D. MILLER, 316 XVI. — The Fabliau and Popular Literature. By WALTER MOR- RIS HART, 329 <

XVIL— A Study of Thomas of Erceldoune. By JOSEPHINE M.

BURNHAM, 375

XVIII. —Italy in English Poetry. By WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD, 421

XIX.— Ami et Amile. By M. A. POTTER, 471

XX. — A Source of Mundus et Enfans. By HENRY NOBLE

MACCRACKEN, 486

XXL— The Middle English Vox and Wolf. By G. H. MCKNIGHT, 497 XXII.— A Literary Mosaic. By CHARLES W. HODELL, - - 510 XXIII. — Christian Wernicke, a Predecessor of Lessing. By WIL- LIAM GUILD HOWARD, 520

XXIV. — A Classification of the Manuscripts of Ogier le Danois. By

BARRY CERF, 545

XXV.— The Cleomades and Related Folk-Tales. By H. S. V.

JONES, 557

XXVI. —The Authorship of the De Ortu Waluuanii and the sfs-

toria Meriadoci. By MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS, - 599 XXVII.— Spenser's Daphnaida and Chaucer's Book of the Duchess.

By THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL, 646

CONTENTS.

APPENDIX.

PAGE.

Proceedings of the Twenty-fifth Annual Meeting of the Modern Language Association of America, held at the Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, December 26, 27, 28, 1907.

Address of Welcome. By President W. O. THOMPSON, - - iii

Eeport of the Secretary, iii

Keport of the Treasurer, .--- iv

Appointment of Committees, ------- v

1. The Middle English Vox and Wolf. By G. H. MCKNIGHT, vi

2. La Nouvelle Atala : A Bit of French Literature in Louisiana.

By E. J. FORTIER, vi

3. Notes on Luther's Language. By W. W. FLORER, - - vii

4. The Use of Prose in Serious English Drama (1675-1800).

By BAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN, - vii

5. Coordination and the Comma. By KAYMOND D. MILLER, vii

6. Some Analogues of Maistre Pierre, Pathelin. By THOMAS

EDWARD OLIVER, viii

The Address of the President of the Association. By FRED

NEWTON SCOTT, viii

7. A Middle English Version of Peter Alfunsi's Disciplina

Clericalis. By WILLIAM H. HULME, - - - - ix

8. A Neglected Passage on the Three Unities of the French

Classic Drama. By H. CARRINGTON LANCASTER, ix

9. Early Conceptions of America in European Literatures. By

THOMAS STOCKHAM BAKER, ix

10. Ben Jonson's Influence on the Non-Dramatic Poetry of the

Seventeenth Century — Illustrated by one of his most prominent 'Sons.' By A. G. KEED, - x

11. An alleged Travesty of Ossian and other Notes on Heine.

By B. J. Vos, x

12. Bockspiel Martini Luthers, darinnen fast alle Staende menn-

schen begriffen. Vnd wie sich ein yeder beklaget der ytzleuffigen schwaeren Zeyt. Gantz kurtzweilig vnd lustig zuo lesen. — Gehalten zd Kaemmbach vff dem Schlosz. Am xxv Tag Junij. Des M. D. xxxj Jars. By E. K. J. H. Voss, x

CONTENTS. V

Appointment of Committee on Early English Texts, - xi

Duplication of Work in Doctoral Theses, xii

13. Some New Facts about a Manuscript of Godefroi de Bouillon.

By HUGH A. SMITH, - - xiii

14. Non-dramatic Blank Verse between Milton and Young. By

EDWARD PAYSON MORTON, xiii

15. The Schildbiirger. By JOHN MORRIS, xiii

16. The German Komantic Marchen. By EGBERT H. FIFE, JR., xiv

17. The Plea of Poetic Licence. By GEORGE PHILIP KRAPP, - xiv

18. The French Ncmvelk in England, 1660-1700. By JOHN M.

CLAPP, xiv

Meeting of the American Dialect Society, xiv

Eeport of Nominating Committees, xv

Eesolution of Thanks, xvii

19. Speech- Melody and Alliteration in West Germanic Poetry.

By BAYARD QUINCY MORGAN, xvii

20. Elizabeth Barrett's Influence on Browning's Poetry. By J.

W. CUNLIFFE, xvii

21. The Sensationalism of Bichard Wagner. By SAMUEL P.

CAPEN, -','*.' xviii

22. The Syntactical Development of the Spanish 2d Imperfect

Subjunctive (-ra form) and its Functional Differentia- tion from the 1st Imperfect Subjunctive (-se form).

By ARTHUR K. SEYMOUR, xviii

23. Political Allegory of the Faerie Queene. By P. M. BUCK, - xix

Papers read by Title, xix

List of Officers, ---------- xxv

The President's Address :—

The Genesis of Speech, xxvi

The Constitution of the Association, lv

List of Members, --. lix

List of Subscribing Libraries, ci

Honorary Members, civ

Boll of Members Deceased, cv

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

Modern Language Association of America.

1908. VOL. XXIII, 1. NEW SERIES, VOL. XVI, 1.

I.— THE KEEVE'S TALE.

A COMPARATIVE STUDY OF CHAUCER'S NARRATIVE ART.

" Comme tout le monde avait lu le rue* me conte dans Boccace, . . . les eloges des critiques anglais e"taient inSpui- sables en Phonneur de Chaucer, qui, dans son imitation, avait su ajouter, disait-on, d'heureuses circonstances au re"cit de Boccace. Nous savons aujourd'hui que tout ce me'rite d'inventeur qu'on lui attribuait consiste t\ avoir fort bien copie" notre fabliau." l

That Chaucer did not go to Boccaccio for the Reeves Tcde is perfectly true ; there is indeed no evidence that he ever saw the Decameron. That his source was, in all probability, the French fabliau, not of Gombert, but of the unnamed miller and the two clerks, is equally true.2 This

1 Victor Le Clerc, Histvire Litteraire de la France, xxm, 143.

2 Cf. Varnhagen, Die Erzdhlung von der Wiege, in Englische Studien, ix, 240 ff. Varnhagen shows that of the extant analogues the famiau of Le Meunier et les ii Clers ( Montaiglon-Kaynaud, Recueil General et Complet des

1

2 WALTER MORRIS HART.

fabliau combines the cheating-miller motive with the cradle motive, and since its discovery Chaucer has been deprived of the glory of having invented any significant part of his plot. But has he merely " fort bien copi6 notre fabliau ? " Or, just what is one to understand by "fort bien?"

I. LE MEUNIER ET LES II CLERS.

The persons of the fabliau, the two clerks, the miller, his wife and daughter, all unnamed, are of the middle class. The clerks were " ne" d'une vile et d'un pai's " (v. 2), and dwelt "en un boschage" (v. 4). They met "devant lo mostier" (v. 20), and, after borrowing mare and corn, proceeded thence to the mill. The mill, and the miller's dwelling, are not located geographically, and of their situa- tion and equipment we are told what the story demands, but nothing more :

Li molins si loin lor estoit,

Plus de .11. Hues i avoit.

C' estoit lo molin a choisel,

Si seoit juste un bocheel :

II n'ot ilueques environ

Borde, ne vile, ne maison,

Fors sol la maison au munier (vv. 53 ff.).

There was a fire-place of some sort in the sleeping-room (v. 302), where the fire furnished the only light. This

Fabliaux, v, 83 ff. ; Chaucer Society, Originals and Analogues, I, 93 ff.) most closely resembles Chaucer. This may or may not be Chaucer's source, but it is convenient to regard it as such. The later English version, A verie merie Historie of the M ilner of Abington (Varnhagen, op. tit.), is not involved in the present discussion. The fabliau of Gombert (Montaiglon-Raynaud, i, 238 ff. ; Originals and Analogues, i, 87 ff. ), reproduced by Boccaccio (De- cameron, ix, 6) and La Fontaine (Contes, 11, 3), contains only the cradle motive, not that of the cheating miller.

was perhaps the only room, since the miller's daughter spent her nights locked in a huche (v. 163). Cradle, andirons and ring are necessary properties. The time of the story is jadis, simply, and begins " .1. diemanche, apr£s mangier" (v. 19).

Et 1'autres clers si s'aparoille,

Qant il oi't le coc chanter (vv. 256 f.).

The events of the story require but a single night.

The action is not bound closely together by any single central motive. A dearth forces the two clerks to earn their living, and they set out to the mill with no further intent than to have their corn ground. When corn and horse disappear they do not suspect the miller, and in what follows they are actuated, not by any desire for revenge, but by the frank animalism of the typical clerk of the fabliaux, of the typical rogue hero. It is in this spirit that the first clerk deceives the daughter (vv. 204 if.) ; and it is this spirit which is aroused in the second by the glimpse of the wife, reminding him of his friend's pleasures, leading him to misplace the cradle during her absence, and to pull the child's ear as she returns (vv. 228 ff.).

The fabliau is 322 lines — about 1770 words — in length.1-,^ Structurally, it consists of a single episode or adventure, and. in this respect it is typical fabliau.2 This episode is divided into three events or scenes : the short preliminary scene of the two clerks, elaborated mainly by dialogue ; the successful intrigue of the miller, elaborated by dialogue

average length of the fabliaux is 300-400 lines. See Bedier, Les Fabliaux, p. 32, and, on the virtue of brevity in the fabliaux, p. 347.

2 " Le fabliau n' a point, comme le roman, 1' allure biographique^ II prend ses hdros au debut de 1' unique aventure qui les met en scene et les aban- donne au moment ou cette aventure_finit." Bedier, p. 32. " Un Fabliau est le re"cit d'une aventure toute particuliere et ordinaire ; c'est une situa- tion, et une seule & la fois. . ." Montaiglon-Kaynaud, I, viii.

4 WALTER MORRIS HART.

and action ; the successful intrigues of the clerks, elaborated by dialogue and action. The last scene falls into two inci- dents, necessarily synchronous : first, the clerk and miller's daughter, and, second, the clerk and miller's wife ; at the proper moment these two streams of action are neatly brought together to form the catastrophe. The third scene, culminating in the success of the clerks, acts as a foil to the second, culminating in the success of the miller. The scenes are well proportioned ; l increasing length corresponds with their climactic order, — .16, .28, and .56 of the whole, respectively. The movement is light and rapid, displaying the usual "don de decrire avec gaiete le train courant des choses." 2 The author introduces some detailed action for its own sake, or for its realistic effect, — when the first clerk came to the miller's house, "la dame a trov6e filant" (v. 72). And,

La nuit, qant ce vint au soper,

Li murders lor fait aporler

Pain et lait, et eues, et fromage,

C'est la viande del bochage (vv. 169 ff.).

There is, however, rather less than the usual fabliau tendency to elaborate scenes by the use of minute incidents of im- portant action. The battle of the miller and the two clerks, for example, is described in relatively general terms :

Qant li muniers entant la bole, Tantost prant lo clerc par la gole Et li clers lui, qui s'aparpoit Tantost lo met en si mal ploit A po li fait lo cuer crever (vv. 287 ff. ).

Li dui clerc ont lo vilain pris ;

Tant 1'ont tele* et debatu

Par po qu'il ne Pont tot niolu,

Puis vont modre a autre molin (vv. 316 ff. ).

1 "Nul delayage, mais une juste proportion entre les di verses scenes" is a common characteristic of fabliau narrative. See Be*dier, p. 357.

2 Be*dier, p. 358.

The author, similarly, shows no disposition to linger over the consummation of the clerks7 intrigues (vv. 221 ff., 251 if.). He proceeds, that is, with relative deliberation, achieved in the first case by means of dialogue, in the second by means of action, up to the objective point, then, with a restraint lamentably far from common in the fab- liaux, sums up the whole matter in two or three lines.

There is evidence that the author saw the end from the beginning, grasped his story as a whole. He isolatesjfche mill, thus making possible the miller's trick and necessitat- ing the benighting of the clerks. The grove nearby is provided as the miller's alleged place of sojourn. The stream waters r» meadow where the mare is pastured. The miller's reason for locking up his daughter is given (v. 162). There is an element of suspense in the account of the clerk's theft of the andiron ring (vv. ISOff.), — since one does not guess that he will use it to buy the daughter's favor, — in his watchfulness (v. 184), and in the emphasis of the fact that one clerk supped with the daughter, the other with the miller and his wife (vv. 174ff.). On the other hand, the story is well under way when we learn that the miller's family includes a daughter and a child (vv. 158 ff.), and there is no mention of the cradle until the clerk mis- places it (v. 241).

The three scenes are elaborated, as has been said, largely by means of dialogue. Nearly half of the poem, in fact, consists of conversation.1 This does not take the form of monologue, soliloquy, indirect discourse, or group conversa- tion. Except in the few chorus speeches, introduced by "font il" (vv. 101 ff., 132 ff., 143 ff., 147 ff, 156 ff), where both clerks address the miller, it is always in the form of

dtialogue. It is by this means that the clerks develop their

^--JL tr

1 About .45,— 144 out of the 322 lines.

6 WALTER MORRIS HART.

plan to earn a livelihood by becoming bolangier. By this means both clerks are sent to the wood, learn of the dis- appearance of mare and corn, come to their decision to spend the night with the miller, and persuade the miller to take them in. By this means we learn of the first clerk's intention with regard to the daughter. We are permitted to hear the dualogue of these two, as well as that of the second clerk and the miller's wife, by which the latter is persuaded not to interfere in the combat of clerk and miller. Dialogue is used^ then, to expound in a concrete and dramatic way motives and intentions, and wherever one person is led to act under the influence of another. It is not used for purposes of characterization, and only rarely to express emotions. Its use for this latter purpose, as well as its liveliness, rapidity, vigor, its power of carrying on the story, its realistic and dramatic effect, are exemplified in the following lines :

" Munier," font il, " Deus soit o vos !

For amor Deu, avanciez nos." "Seignor," fait il, "et je de quoi?" 11 De nostre b!6 qu'est ci, par foi."

Qant durent prandre lo fromant,

Ne trovent ne sac ne jumant.

L'uns d'aus a 1'autre regard 6 ; " Qu'est ice? somes nos robe"?" "Oil," fait ce 1'uns, " ce m'est vis !j

Pechiez nos a a essil mis."

Chascuns escrie : " Halas ! halas !

Secorez nos, saint Nicolas ! " (vv. 101 ff. ).

In character the author of our fabliau is not interested. The persons of his story move through the action as mere lay-figures, doers of deeds. They are typical figures of the fabliaux, who need no accounting for as individuals. As for the heroes : " Les jeunes premiers des fabliaux,1 a qui

1 The authors of the fabliaux were often themselves clercs. Hence not only their favorable attitude toward members of their own class, but also

THE REEVE'S TALE. 7

vont les sympathies des conteurs et les faveurs de leurs heroines, sont presque tous des clercs. . . . Les jongleurs les traitent en enfants gate's et terribles." ] Yet, in the present fabliau, their failure to suspect the miller makes them seem somewhat stupid. Upon their victims a contemporary audi- ence would waste no pity. They too are conventional ^figures. Like most of her sisters, "la fille estoit et bele et cointe" (v. 161), and required to be locked in her bin at night (vv. 162 ff.). Of her mother's appearance or character we have no knowledge, except perhaps the hint implied in the trouv£re's comment on her sending the clerks to look in the wood for the miller, who is hiding in the house : " Ele ot bien ce mestier amors " (v. 90). Similarly, the miller "trop2 savoit de son mestier" (v. 60). He is not, however, without some compensating qualities. When the clerks asked him to put them up for the night,

Et li muniers prant a panser,

Or seroit il pire que chiens,

S'il ne lor faisoit aucun bien

Del lor, car il lo puet bien faire (vv. 150 ff. ).

He is not in any sense a dangerous person. The clerks do not fear him in planning their intrigues (vv. 194 ff.), and, as the second clerk expects, he proves to be the weaker in his struggle with the first clerk (vv. 300 ff.).

Our trouv&re is not interested in the mental states of his persons : always in the fabliaux there is " nulle prStention .... a la finesse psychologique comme chez les conteurs du

their attitude toward women. "Cette haine des femmes, faite de mepris, de curiosit^, de crainte, de de>ir, ne s'exp%ue-t-il pas plus ais&nent par les moeurs de ces raoines manque's que par les idees ascdtiques des religieux bouddhistes?"— Bedier, p. 398.

'B&lier, pp. 334, 393.

2 One should note that for trop the Hamilton MS. has mout. Cf. EngL Stud., ix, 242.

8 WALTER MORRIS HART.

xvie siecle qui alourdissent ces amusettes en leurs nouvelles trop savants." l There is no hint of what goes on in the daughter's mind, or in the wife's when she finds the cradle (vv. 245 ff.). The return of the first clerk represents the nearest approach to psychological analysis :

Lo briez trove, si s'esbai'st ;

N'est pas mervoille s'il lo fist.

II ot peor, et neporqant

.1. petit est alez avant ;

Et qant .11. testes a trovees,

Erraumant les a refusees (vv. 261 2.).

For_comic effect^ it will now be manifest, our trouvere depends wholly upon the results of the intrigues. He emphasizes no incongruities of character, betrays no attitude toward the persons of his story, and attempts nothing in the way of witticisms.2 One is to be amused, then, at the loss of the mare and the corn, — though the clerks' disappoint- ment is very lightly touched ; at the betrayal, by means of the iron ring, of the daughter, who, though we learn nothing of her sensations, and though it is the miller who has locked her in the bin, is the real victim ; at the betrayal, by means of the misplaced cradle, of the miller's wife ; at the first clerk's confiding in the miller, and the result, which is, however, mainly the physical pain of the miller; and, finally, at the wife's accusing her husband of the theft of mare and corn.

p. 357.

2A dangerous negative, of course, since the Old French vocabulary has lost, for us, most of its color and connotation. Yet the facts that the fabliaux made, in general, no literary pretensions of any sort, that, like ballads, they were composed to be heard, not read, and had to depend upon immediacy of effect, that they were closely related to the popular or folk manner of telling a story, and that the examples of fabliau wit which we do recognize (like the story of La Male honte [90]), are as obvious as they are feeble, — these facts lead one to think that the negative generaliza- tion is justified.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 9

The miller is thus in the end the victim of poetic justice, — of justice modified " by considerations of art. ... A police- man catching a thief with his hand in a neighbour's pocket and bringing him to summary punishment affords an example of complete justice, yet its very success robs it of all poetic qualities ; the same thief defeating all the natural machinery of the law, yet overtaken after all by a questionable ruse, would be to the poetic sense far more interesting." The miller's punishment is, in a sense, the_ result, ,of _chajice, since the clerks do not suspect him of the theft of corn and mare. It gains, in effect, by the mockery of its unexpected source, in that it is the wife who makes the accusation. To the contemporary audience it would seem to be no more than equal to the crime. It has for immediate cause his own act and deed, since his theft results in the benighting of the clerks, and his accusation of his wife, in her revelation of the theft. It is, finally, repeated and multiplied, in that he suffers, not only in his own person, and in the persons of his wife and daughter, but also in the loss of the stolen goods. It is eminently satisfactory to an audience whom the miller has antagonized by his theft, and whose sympathy has been won for his victims by their poverty. The sense of poetic justice, finally, is not merely in solution in the story : the wife's response to the miller's reproaches contains a moral sentiment, which is, as Victor Le Clerc says, only too rare in the fabliaux : 2

"Sire," faitele, " autrement vait. Car se je sui pute proved, Par engin i fui atorne"e ; Mais vos estes larron prove",

1 Moulton, Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist, p. 382.

*Hist(rire Litteraire de la France, xxm, 143 f. Cf. Be"dier, p. 311. The fabliaux are merely "mos pour la gent faire rire;" moral pifrpose is never more than accessory.

10 WALTER MORRIS HART.

Qui en cez clers avez embl£

Lor sac de ble et lor jumant,

Dont vos seroiz levez au vant" (vv. 308 ff. ).

Proverbial comment, generalizations upon the life which they reflected, are, however, not uncommon in the fabliaux.1 A dearth came, it is said, a common occurrence, " e'est domage a la povre gent" (v. 8). Hunger, one of the clerks says, " c'est une chose qui tot vaint " (v. 28). Again, " fous est qui en vain se travaille" (v. 133), and "qui toz jors se tait rien ne valt" (v. 273). The trouv&re, clearly enough, was capable of seeing the world from the moral point of view.

II. THE REEVE'S TALE.

The fabliaux were " destines a la recitation publique," 2 and in the Reeve's Tale, thanks to its dramatic setting,3 we seem to have the actual public recitation of a fabliau by one who, though not, indeed, a professional trouv£re, is a master of the art of narration. It is effective not merely because it is well told, however, but also because it is opportune. It is inspired by the Reeve's desire for revenge upon the Miller, in whose tale, just told, the victim is, like the Reeve, a carpenter. He is stupid and superstitious, the old husband of a young wife, and the Reeve's senile melancholy in his own prologue, shows that the cap has fitted. The victim of the Reeve's Tale is inevitably, then, a miller, and in describ-

1See J. Loth, Die Sprichworter und Sentenzen der Altfranzosischen Fabliaux.

3 Be"dier, p. 37. Cf. Loth, p. 1.

3 The fabliau does not ''former de suite ni de seVie." Montaiglon- Raynaud, I, viii. But the fact that the story of the Miller of Trumpington is one of the Canterbury Tales, heightens its effect, without in any way changing its form. Though one of a series of tales, it is none the less a fabliau.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 11

ing him the Keeve draws a portrait which skilfully suggests, yet does not reproduce, the miller of the General Prologue.1 As in the fabliau, the persons of the tale are the two clerks, . the miller, his wife and daughter. But we know more about them; they seem to us real people, in a real world, with a place in actual society. The clerks are not simply " n6 d'une vile et d'un pai's " (v. 2) ; they are members of a great college, " men clepen the Soler-halle at Cantebregge " (v. 3990) ; they are named, Aleyn and John (v. 4013); and both were born at Strother, afer in the North" (v. 4015), and speak a Northern dialect (vv. 4022 ff.).2 The miller "was hoten deynous Simkin" (v. 3941). His wife, not named, was of gentle kin: "the person of the toun hir fader was " (v. 3943). The daughter,

JThe Miller "at wrastling .... wolde have alwey the ram" (v. 548) ; Simkin could "wel wrastle and shete" (v. 3928). The Miller bore "a swerd and bokeler .... by his syde" (v. 558) ; Simkin carried "a long panade," "and of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade;" he carried "a loly popper "and " a Sheffeld thwitel " ( v v. 3929 ff . ) . The Miller could "wel .... stelen corn, and tollen thryes" (v. 562) ; Simkin was "a theef .... for sothe of corn and mele" (v. 3939), and because of the maunci- ple's illness

" stal bothe mele and corn An hundred tyme more than biforn ; For ther-biforn he stal but curteisly, But now he was a theef outrageously " (vv. 3995 ff. ).

The Miller wore "a whyt cote and a blew hood" (v. 564) ; Simkin was "as enypecok .... proud and gay" (v. 3926). The Miller could "a baggepype .... blowe and sowne" (v. 565) ; Simkin could "pypen .... and fisshe" (v. 3927). When he insisted upon telling his tale, the Miller "for-dronken was al pale" (v. 3120). No doubt the Eeeve glanced at him significantly as he described Simkin : "Ful pale he was for-dronken, and nat reed" (v. 4150).

2Skeat points out Chaucer's mistakes. "Of course this is what w.e should expect ; the poet merely gives a Northern colouring to his diction to amuse us ; he is not trying to teach us Northern grammar. The general effect is excellent, and that is all he was concerned with." — Coriplete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, v, 121 f.

12 WALTER MORRIS HART.

Malin (v. 4236), whom the person of the toun planned to make his heir and marry well, and the child in cradle, a proper page of six months, complete the miller's household. To the dramatis personce of his source Chaucer adds charac- ters which, though they remain in the background, contribute something to the verisimilitude of the tale. In addition to the parson, there is the maunciple, whose sudden illness leads to the outrageous thefts of the miller. The warden's permission must be secured before the clerks may undertake the adventure. The mention of the nunnery, of Soler-halle at Cambridge, of the effect upon observers of Simkin and his dame, and even phrases like "he was a market-beter atte fulle" (v. 3936), all contribute to the impression of a com- plex social setting which stands in sharp contrast to the sense of isolation produced by Chaucer's original. Even the mare of the fabliau, who does not differ essentially from the sack of grain, is transformed, and becomes Bayard, a horse with volition, if not personality, who leads the clerks a merry chase :

Toward the fen, ther wilde mares renne,

Forth with wehee, thurgh thikke and thurgh thenne (vv. 4065 f. ).

Of the scene of the action Chaucer tells us rather more than does his source ; he names and locates it, carrying out, perhaps, the suggestion of the amolin h choisel" of the fabliau :

At Trumpington, nat fer fro Cantebrigge,

Ther goth l a brook and over that a brigge,

Up on the whiche brook ther stant a melle ;

And this is verray soth that I yow telle ( vv. 3921 ff. ).

1 The peculiar vividness of the present tense in descriptions is noteworthy. In the present instance it implies that skeptical readers may verify the tale by examination of brook and bridge and mill. In narration, on the other hand, the present tense is less vivid, perhaps because it is, necessarily, artificial. For the modern reader it is associated with second-hand summa- ries and abstracts. Cf. "A microscopic boy upon a cosmic horse came

13

Nearby is the fen : 1 behind the mill an arbor (v. 4061), and a barn (v. 4088). Within the mill are hopper and trough (vv. 4036 ff.). The miller's house is " streit," " twenty foot of space" (vv. 4122 ff.), but has evidently more than one room, for Simkin

in his owne chambre hem made a bed With shetes and with chalons faire y-spred, Noght from his owne bed ten foot or twelve. His doghter hadde a bed, al by hir-selve, Right in the same chambre, by and by ; It mighte be no bet, and cause why, Ther was no roumer herberwe in the place (vv. 4139 ff. ).

Through a hole in the wall of this room the moonlight fell upon Simkin' s bald head, and at a critical moment he tripped over a stone in the floor, — if there was a floor? The clerks, returning from the pursuit of their horse, found Simkin sitting by the fire. By this same fire, no doubt, Simkin's wife baked the cake made of the clerks' flour.

The time of the action seems to be the not very distant past : "a Miller was ther dwelling many a day" (v. 3925). " On a day it happed, in a stounde, sik lay the maunciple " (vv. 3992 f.). When the clerks returned with the horse it was night (v. 4117). "Aboute midnight wente they to reste" (v. 4148), an unusually late hour.2 "Hem nedede no dwale" (v. 4161), Chaucer says, implying the custom of the "night-cap."

This loly lyf han thise two clerkes lad Til that the thridde cok bigan to singe. Aleyn wax wery in the daweninge (vv. 4232 ff.).

slowly down the road leading to the town watering trough. . . . The watering trough is at the curb line of the street, in front of the post-office. ' ' — Atlantic Monthly, 88, 409.

^ee Skeat's identification of the scene, V, 116.

2 Dead sleep fell upon the carpenter, in the Miller's Tale, "aboute corfew-tyme, or litel more" (v. 3645), — 8 or 9 p. m., " People invariably went to bed very early."— Skeat, v, 108.

14 WALTER MORRIS HART.

Chaucer is, then, somewhat more careful than the trouvere to indicate the time of the action.

The action is more closely unified than is that of the fabliau. From beginning to end its mainspring is the con- test of clerks and miller. Simkin's thefts, opportunely increased by the sudden illness of the maunciple, react upon the clerks :

Testif they were, and lusty for to pleye,

And, only for hir mirthe and revelrye,

Up-on the wardeyn bisily they crye,

To yeve hem leve but a litel stouude

To goon to mille and seen hir corn y-grouude ;

And hardily, they dorste leye hir nekke,

The miller shold nat stele hem half a pekke

Of corn by sleighte, ne by force hem reve (vv. 4004 ff. ).

This exposition of character and mental states, of a situation very different from that at the beginning of the fabliau, prepares us at once, and paves the way, for all that is to come.1 Carrying out their purpose, the clerks set out to watch hopper and trough, — clearly two clerks are neces- sary, if the miller is to be circumvented, and they do not seem, as they do in the fabliau, to be present in the cheating- miller story simply for the sake of the cradle story which follows. Simkin gets rid of them easily enough by turning their horse loose, and the long and exasperating pursuit is followed by contrasting situations, which form exceedingly effective transition to the clerks' revenge. They return, "wery and weet, as beste is in the reyn" (v. 4107), to find the miller sitting comfortably by the fire. John's state of mind is significant :

' ' Now are we drive til hething and til scorn. Our corn is stole, men wil us foles calle, Bathe the wardeyn and our felawes alle, And namely the miller ; weylawey ! " ( vv. 4110 ff. ).

^arnhagen, pp. 256, 262, calls attention to the "ganz abweichende, vortreffliche motivirung bei Chaucer" at this point.

15

Although the " streitness " of his house necessitates all sleeping in the same room, Simkin agrees to put them up for the night, and indulges freely and until a late hour in the ale, which the clerks, he supposes, will pay for. (One must contrast the frugal "viande de bochage" of the fabliau.) The result is sleep, not merely, as Varnhagen points out,1 oblivious, but audible (v. 41 63),2 with what effect upon the nerves of the wakeful clerks no human being need be told. Yet the story demands that it be emphasized. Says Aleyn : "

' ' This lange night ther tydes me na reste ; But yet, na fors ; al sal be for the beste. For lohn," seyde he, "als ever moot I thryve, If that I may, yon wenche wil I svvyve. Som esement has lawe y-shapen us ; For lohn, ther is a lawe that says thus, That gif a man in a point be y-greved, That in another he sal be releved " (vv. 4175 ff.) .

One does not suppose, of course, that this morality seemed wholly satisfactory to Chaucer, or that Aleyn himself could have taken it very seriously. Nevertheless we have here something more than the mere animalism3 of the fabliau. Though they had sworn to get the better of the miller, the clerks had been cheated ; they were weary and wet from pursuing Bayard while Simkin sat comfortably by the fire ;

1 Op. tit. , p. 262.

2 The Miller1 s Tale (v. 3647) and the Pardoner's Tale (v. 554) furnish suggestive commentary.

3A Nation reviewer defines animalism as a " species of realism which deals with man considered as an animal, capable of hunger, thirst, lust, cruelty, vanity, fear, sloth, predacity, greed, and other passions and appe- tites that make him kin to the brutes, but which neglects, so far as possible, any higher qualities which distinguish him from his four-footed relatives, such as humor, thought, reason, aspiration, affection, morality and reli- gion."— The Nation, LXIII, 15. There is humor, thought, reasonf even a kind of morality in what Aleyn says.

16 WALTER MORELS HART.

and now their vexation, and, thanks to their own ale, the snoring chorus, promised them a sleepless night. The situa- tion cried aloud for revenge, and to Aleyn, whom one cannot pretend to regard as more than one remove from the typical clerk of the fabliaux, — to Aleyn, who had seen the highly sexed Malin, and who was, of course, perfectly familiar with Simkin's weakest point, one particular form of wild justice would inevitably suggest itself. No less inevitable are the movements of John's mind :

' 'And I lye as a draf-sek in my bed ; And when this lape is tald another day, I sal been halde a daf, a cokenay ! I wil aryse, and auntre it, by my fayth ! " (vv. 4206 ff. ).

Thus, if Aleyn is inspired by desire for revenge, John, remembering the notorious jealousy of Simkin, and the pleasures of his companion, is inspired not only by desire for revenge, but like Roland, by emulation. Both are inspired by the thought of how they will appear when the tale is told (vv. 41 11, 4207 f.).1 John now changes 2 the posi-

1 They are in good company here , Roland exclaims :

"Or guart chascuns que granz cols i empleit, Male can?un ja chantee n'en seit!" (vv. 1013 f.).

And one thinks of Helena, in AWs Well, and Gretchen, in Faust.

2 In the fabliau it occurs to the clerk to misplace the cradle only after seeing the miller's wife leave the room. Chaucer's change is not an improvement, thinks Varnhagen (pp. 263 f,), and regrets that the manu- scripts do not justify an assumption of error in transmission. But John is a shade better than the French clerk, something more than a creature of mere animal impulse. He is a skilful intriguer, who plans his revenge carefully, counts on what he foresees. Chaucer's change increases the effect of suspense, since the reader does not know why the cradle is moved. Of course John must risk the wife's missing the cradle before she leaves the room. But is there greater danger of this than of the failure of the trick upon her return? The fabliau of Gombert agrees with Chaucer's source here, and Boccaccio follows Gombert. It is interesting to note that La Fontaine (in Le JBerceau, Conies, ii, 5) makes the same change that Chaucer makes. Undoubtedly Chaucer had his reasons for the change, whatever they were.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 17

tion of the cradle ; as for his victim, " as any lay she light was and lolyf" (v. 4154); and results followed beyond his expectation, involving his companion more seriously than in the fabliau, since Simkin is a more dangerous adversary than the French miller. Simkin' s wife comes to Aleyn's assist- ance, however, as the moonlight falls on Simkin' s bald head, thoughtfully provided by Chaucer to resemble Aleyn's night- cap and draw her fire. One gets from the whole an impression of an action well-knit, carefully constructed, foreseen, ^nd, granting but a little of that play of chance which the comic muse may always demand, inevitable, x The central motive has become the contest of clerks and \ miller ; mere animalism is a secondary matter ; the form of the clerks' revenge is the inevitable result of the characters of all concerned.1

The Reeve's Tale is 404 lines — about 3,350 words — in length. It is thus about twice as long as its source or as the average fabliau, yet only half as long as the longest.2 It has not lost the virtue of brevity ; for a modern short story it is short ; 3 it can be read in less than half an hour. It does not tell a longer story than the fabliau, but tells the same story with greater elaboration. It consists of the same episode divided into the same three events or scenes, each

Varnhagen calls attention to Chaucer's omission of the pulling of the child's ear: "Eine mutter, welche dadurch zu einem fehltritte, frei- lich ohne es zu wissen, gebracht wird, dass sie zu ihrem schreienden kinde geht, so etwas mochte Chaucer doch bedenklich erscheinen." Pathos, in- troduced at this point, or at any point, in the story, would manifestly de- stroy the unity of impression. Yet the French clerk's act is not out of keeping with the cruelty of the fabliaux, which may, of course, go much further than this.

1 Cf . the discussion of Poetic Justice, pp. 28 f . , below.

2 MR, 34, about 7500 words.

3 The most usual length of the short story is 3000 to 5000 wor*s. Cf., C. E. Barrett, Short Stvry Writing, p. 17.

2

18 WALTER MORRIS HART.

with the same functions. The whole is preceded, however, by a description, in mass, of the victims of the clerks' intrigues (vv. 3921-3986). The summary of the opening situation, — the illness of the maunciple and the miller's thefts (vv. 3987-4001), requires somewhat more space than the French account of the dearth. But Chaucer has so far compressed the expository scene of the two clerks that it is, properly speaking, no scene at all.1 He does not mention,

vj as the fabliau does, the place and time of their conversation ;

'' and he reduces the relatively long dialogue to a few lines of indirect discourse. Exclusive of the mass of character- description this preliminary matter requires but thirty lines, — .07 of the whole. The second scene requires 120 lines, or .30; the third, 200 lines, or, .50.2 Chaucer, that is, preserves the excellent proportions of the fabliau, but compresses the first scene to gain space for preliminary character-description. The second and third scenes owe their length in part to the use of dialogue ; they owe it in greater degree to the introduction of details of action, partly for their own sake (here the fabliau keeps pace with Chaucer),3 and partly to carry on the narrative. Chaucer's story is thus more vividly and completely imagined than the fabliau. A few lines from the Reeve's Tale will illustrate the difference in method :

And by the throte-bolle he caughte Alayn. And he hente hym despitously agayn, And on the nose he smoot him with his fest. Doun ran the blody streem up-on his breast ; And in the floor, with nose and mouth to-broke, They walwe as doon two pigges in a poke.

> lCf., Whitcomb, The Study of a Novel, p. 36.

2 The remaining 54 lines, or .13, is character-description.

3 Cf., vv. 4136 ff., with the passage from the fabliau quoted p. 4, above.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 19

And up they goon, and doun agayn anon,

Til that the miller sporned at a stoon,

And doun he fil bakward up-on his wyf,

That wiste no-thing of this nyce stryf (vv. 4273 ff.).1

Presently she and John take part in the conflict, and it proceeds with no less vividness and detail. Dialogue, too, £^vur€>^ is effectively used where the fabliau nas_..npne. The con- summation of the intrigues shows this same love of detail ; Chaucer is a shade more outspoken than the fabliau. On the other hftttd_JTfi_ghnwa himself nfl.pabl&.aLj^Lpid-.smnmary in general terms ; * for by this means he compresses the first scene. One gets the impression that he is fully con- scious of the different effects produced by general and by concrete terms and. uses whichever are, at the moment, better suited to his purpose.

In grasp and foresight Chaucer shows a marked advance. Nothing in the fabliau corresponds to the preparation for Simkin's downfall :

As piled as an ape was his skulle ( v. 3935).

She wende the clerk hadde wered a volupeer.

And with the staf she d rough ay neer and neer,

And wende han hit this Aleyn at the fulle,

And smoot the miller on the pyled skulle (vv. 4303 ff. )

Chaucer's early mention of daughter and child, and his emphasis of the cradle are further evidence of his prevision : Simkin had

a child that was of half-yeer age ; In cradel it lay and was a propre page ( vv. 3971 f. ).

The cradel at hir beddes feet is set,

To rokken, and to yeve the child to souke ( vv. 4156 f.).

1 Cf ., the lines quoted p. 4, above. Chaucer has about 350 words where

the fabliau has about 160. The effective awakening of the wife by Siskin's ./ . fall is peculiar to Chaucer.

2 See vv. 39955., 4146 ff.

20 WALTER MORRIS HART.

John moves the cradle (vv. 421 Iff.), and the two results follow (vv. 4221 ff., 4251 ff.), each time with mention of the cradle. Looking not forward but backward, Chaucer's characteristic summaries of situation at a given moment, cross sections of the narrative, are still further evidence of his grasp : l

Thus is the proude miller y-bete, etc. (vv. 4313 ff. )

" Now are we drive til hething and til scorn. Our corn is stole," etc. (vv. 4110 ff.)

While, by means of detailed action and dialogue, Chaucer, as we have seen, retards the movement of his story, he attempts no suspense of the sort that conceals the outcome. The Reeve is telling the tale and the miller is sure to be worsted in the end.

While there is relatively less dialogue2 in Chaucer's tale, there is absolutely more. It is not all dualogue, but takes a variety of forms : SpKlocjuy (thoughts), of Simkin, vv. 4047 ff., 4201 ff.; ofliis wife, vv. 4218 ff. : of Aleyn. vv. 4249 ff. Monologue, John, vv. 4109 ff. ; Simkin, vv. 4095 ff., 4307 ff. ; his wife, vv. 4286 ff. Dualogue, Simkin and John, vv. 4120 ff. ; Aleyn and John, vv. 4169 ff. ; Aleyn and Malin, vv. 4236 ff. ; Aleyn and Simkin, 4262 ff, Group Conversation, two instances, speeches in the follow- ing order : (1) Aleyn, Simkin, John, Simkin, John, Aleyn, Simkin (vv. 4022 ff.) ; (2) John, Aleyn, Wife, John (vv. 407 2 ff.).3 There are no chorus speeches. Indirect Dis-

1His careful motivation, pp. 14 ff., above, his emphasis of the comic effects in character and in plot, pp. 22 ff., below, and his emphasis of poetic justice, pp, 28 ff., below, should be noted in this connection.

2 About .37, 151 out of 404 lines, or about 1250 words, as contrasted with about 790 words in the fabliau.

3"A sustained, realistic conversation of even three speakers is much more difficult to compose than dualogue, is a sign of true dramatic imagina- tion, and a distinguishing mark of great novelistic technic. The complexity of its structure is due chiefly to the great possible variety in sequence and

THE REEVE'S TALE. 21

course takes the place of the expository dialogue.1 Chaucer suppresses the dualogue of John and the miller's wife, and substitutes for the preliminary talk of clerk and daughter the farewell and confession ; otherwise he i Jollpws L.the^ikhliaJi in the use of the dialogic form. He adds, however, the monologues and soliloquies, notably those of Sim kin's wife and Aleyn, when they go astray in the dark, Simkin's reflections upon his own cleverness, and his wrathful out- burst in reply to Aleyn' s tale of his adventures. Chaucer's method is, then, strictly speaking, less dramatic than that of the fabliau ; he is less likely to use dialogue in those parts of his story where one character aifects the actions of another ; he is more likely to use it to express thought or emotion, and, in the group-conversations, " to give brilliant pictures of human life and picturesque scenes of nature." 2 It does not, however, lack vividness or liveliness and vigor.3 It has7~foo^n"high degree the dramatic quality of suggested exposition :

Aleyn spak first, "al hayl, Symond, y-fayth ; How fares thy faire doghter and thy vvyf ? " " Aleyn ! welcome/' quod Simkin, " by my lyf, And lohn also, how now, what do ye heer? " (vv. 4022 ff.).

From this passage and John's reply in the lines that follow we might infer enough to make the preliminary exposition unnecessary, yet the story moves steadily forward.

length of speeches, and of connectives and comment." Whitcomb, The Study of a Novel, pp. 18 f. Chaucer's group conversations are not sustained, but they have realism and variety. Cf. , however, T. E. Price, Troilus and Oriseyde, Pvb. Mod. Lang. Asso., XT, 315: "For trio-scenes, in which a third person stands by to check the freedom of dramatic expansion, Chaucer shows a special aversion." He uses group scenes " to mark the attainment of some definite stage of action, and to give the summary* of the situation." This is a fair description of the group conversations in the Reeves Tale,.

JCf., p. 5, above.

2 Price, loc. cit., and the passage quoted, p. 26, below.

3Cf., passage quoted, p. 26, below.

22 WALTEE MORRIS HART.

The Chaucer of the Reeve's Tale is manifestly the Chaucer of the General Prologue, with the same interest in character and the same skill in portraying it. Aleyn and John are perhaps a little cleverer than the French clerks, but they carry on the fabliau tradition, Chaucer, however, not taking the type for granted, but describing them as " testif " and " lusty for to pleye " (v. 4004). Similarly, he is not con- tent with the conventional description of the miller's daughter as " bele et cointe " ; Malin

thikke and wel y-growen was, With camuse nose and yen greye as glas : With buttokes brode and brestes rounde and hye, But right fair was hir heer, 1 wol nat lye (vv. 3973 ff.).

Chaucer, however, is chiefly interested in Simkin and his wife, and upon them he depends for comic effects quite distinct from those which have their source in the intrigue. The description of Simkin has exactly the independent comic value of the portraits in the General Prologue :

As eny pecok he was proud and gay.

Pypen he coude and fisshe, and nettes bete,

And turne coppes, and wel wrastle and shete ;

And by his belt he baar a long panade,

And of a swerd ful trenchant was the blade.

A loly popper baar he in his pouche ;

Ther was no man for peril dorste him touche.

A Sheffeld thwitel baar he in his hose ;

Round was his face, and camuse was his nose.1

As piled as an ape was his skulle.

He was a market-beter atte fulle.

Ther dorste no wight hand upon him legge,

That he ne swoor he sholde anon abegge.

A theef he was for sothe of corn and mele,

And that a sly, and usaunt for to stele.

His name was hoten deynous Simkin (vv. 3926 ff.).

!It is hardly necessary to point out the comic ' ' incongruity " in the repetition of this feature in the daughter's face.

23

Comic incongruities, imperfections, departures from the norm, appear thus in Simkin's dress,1 features, and manner, and approach caricature in the account of his equipment. From the comic point of view his dishonesty, vanity, and violence are ludicrous departures from the moral norm. He is a sly thief, yet guilty of stupidity in permitting his own slyness to bring about the dangerous benighting of the clerks, as well as in permitting his vanity and cupidity to lead him to regard with-such jealous satisfaction a daughter of the parson of the town, and to suppose that because she was " y-fostred in a nunnerye" she was necessarily "wel y-norissed and a mayde." 2 With her, comic effect springs wholly from this source :

And eek, for she was somdel smoterlich,

She was as digne as water in a dich ;

And ful of hoker and of bisemare.

Hir thoughte that a lady sholde hir spare,

What for hir kinrede and hir nortelrye

That she had lerned in the nonnerye (vv. 3963 ff.).

In the portrait of Simkin Chaucer, as has been said? follows the familiar methods of the General Prologue. There is the same effective absence of system, the order of items in the little catalogue determined, perhaps, wholly by the exi- gencies of rhyme. There is, too, the same skill in the selection of characteristic detail, the same harmony, the same final unity in the portrait. In this topsy-turvy order the well-known methods are combined : epithet and dress, accom-

1Cf., v, 3955.

2 " Die Nonnenkloster, die Statten des Friedens und der Ruhe, erscheinen als Sitze sinnlichster Lust. Vor allem wird das Gebot der Keuschheit wenig respectiert. . . . Selbst die Abtissin, die ohne Nachsicht die Unregelmassig- keiten der Nonnen bestraft, ist nicht frei von Vorwurf." Preime, Die Frau in den altfranzosischen Fabliaux, p. 80. Preime finds no lack of evidence in support of these statements. Cf . , Pf effer, Beitrdge zur Kenntniss. des altfranzosischen Volkslebens, meist auf Grund der Fablio.ux, I, 27.

24 WALTER MORRIS HART.

plishment,1 equipment, effect upon others, physiognomy^ habits, effect, habits, and epithets. Other methods, else- where in the tale, deepen the impression of the characters, and sometimes increase our knowledge of them. Thus Simkin's slyness is expressed by pantomime :

Out at the dore he gooth f ul prively, Whan that he saugh his tyme, softely ; He loketh up and doun til he hath founde The clerkes hors ... (vv, 4057 ff,).2

It is expressed by self-description : " Yet can a miller make a clerkes berd" (v. 4096). We should not know, however, that John was swift of foot but for his " I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa" (v. 4086). The Northern dialect of the clerks is the most notable piece of characterization by utter- ance ; 3 their exclamations upon the discovery of the loss of the horse, together with the pantomime, are revelation of the "testif" quality, of their excitability. The miller's boastfulness (vv. 4000 f.), his pride of family (v. 4272) are revealed in the same way. Snoring clearly had for Chaucer definite implications in regard to character.4 Even Bayard, finally, goes "forth with wehee" (v. 4066). It is not likely that Chaucer intended to heighten the effect of character by means of contrast in his portraits of John and Aleyn ; the

1 Usually introduced by the phrase " he coude," or "wel coude he," this method is very characteristic of Chaucer. For examples see the General Prologue, vv. 94 f., 106, 122 ff., 130, 189 ff., 210 ff., 236 f., 258, 278, 325, 382 ff., 490, 547 fif., 562, 565, 608, etc.; the Miller's Tale, vv. 3193, 3200, 3326, etc.; the Friar's Tale, vv. 1325f. ; the Nun's Priest's Tale, vv. 40403.

2Cf., vv. 3951 ff.

3 It adds just one detail to what we know of them, makes them more real and more amusing in effect, therefore ; dialect alone does not individualize.

4Cf., vv. 4163 ff., A 3647, C554.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 25

two clerks are much alike, yet John seems to be somewhat

the more forceful, the wiser or more discreet.1

+.,$**'

It is scarcely possible to define Chaucer's attitude toward \ the persons of the tale. In this, as in other respects, he preserves the fabliau tradition of impersonality. Negatively, of course, it is not difficult to say that he does not sit in judgment upon them ; he is manifestly not writing from the point of view of the moralist. His purpose is not to reform the millers x>f England ; as in the fabliau there is, except perhaps in the reference to Malm's legacy (vv. 3983 f.), no suggestion of satire directed against a class.2 Unlike the victims in the Friar's Tale and the Summoner' *s Tale, Simkin is not a type but an individual, and it is not the miller at whom we laugh, but at the man, real, complex, human.

The discussion of motives 3 has already disclosed Chaucer's greater interest in states of mind, though there is nothing, and in a tale of this sort there could be nothing,4 like the psychological study, the carefully drawn " lines of emotion " of the Franklin's Tale, where a situation which threatens to become somewhat similar concerns persons of rank, dignity, and breeding, and is regarded seriously. Of methods much need not be said. One reads Simkin's mind in his face : " this miller srnyled of hir nycetee, and thoghte " (vv.

1 John knew the way, spoke first to the miller, devised the plan of standing by the hopper, discovered the loss of the horse, and suggested laying down swords and running after him, called Aleyn a " fonne," counseled prudence but carried out a more daring intrigue and involved Aleyn in the catastrophe, while he himself escaped. Aleyn made the preparations, said he would stand by the trough (thus following John's lead), conceived the plan of getting even with Simkin, mistook Simkin for John. There is thus nothing like the clearly-intended contrasts between Nicholas and Absolon, in the Miller's Tale, or between Arveragus and Aurelius, in the Franklin* s Tale.

2 Satirical purpose is exceptional in the fabliaux. Cf., Be"dier, p]€ 326 ff.

3 Pp. 14 ff. above. 4Cf., pp. 7f. above.

26 WALTER MORRIS HART.

4046 f.). The effect of " known causes " has been pointed out.1 The miller betrays his wrath (vv. 4268 if.), the clerks (whose dialect is at this point especially amusing) and the miller's wife betray their excitement, by utterance and panto- mime, in the lively and picturesque incident of the pursuit of the horse :

And whan the mele is sakked and y-bounde, This lohn goth out and fynt his hors away, And gan to crye " harrow " and " weylaway ! Our hors is lorn ! Alayn, for goddes banes, Step on thy feet, com out, man, al at anes ! Alias, our wardeyn has his palfrey lorn." This Aleyn al forgat, bothe mele and corn, Al was out of his mynde his housbondrye. " What ? whilk way is he geen ? " he gan to crye.

The wyf cam leping inward with a ren, She seyde, " alias ! your hors goth to the fen With wilde mares, as faste as he may go. Unthank come on his hand that bond him so, And he that bettre sholde han knit the reyne."

" Alias," quod John, " Aleyn, for Cristes peyne, Lay doun thy swerd, and I wil myn alswa ; I is ful wight, god waat, as is a raa ; By goddes herte he sal nat scape us bathe. Why nadstow pit the capul in the lathe ? Il-hayl, by god, Aleyn, thou is a fonne ! "

This sely clerkes han ful faste y-ronne To-ward the fen, bothe Aleyn and eek lohn (vv. 4070 ff. ).

Character, as has been said, is a matter of interest in the Reeve's Tale and an important source of comic effect. There is similar contrast with the fabliau in style : Chaucer puts into the mouth of the Reeve epigram, irony, play upon words, clever turns of expression not to be paralleled in the fabliau.2 It is superfluous to point them out, yet examples

1 P. 15, above. 2Cf., p. 8, above.

27

are worth while as showing how much more Chaucer, by this means, gets out of the comic situations : the miller's wife went to the wrong bed :

" Alias ! " quod she, " I hadde almost misgoon ; I hadde almost gon to the clerkes bed. Ey, benedicitef thanne hadde I foule y-sped" (vv. 4218 ff.).

Aleyn, under the same circumstances, —

" By god," thoghte he, al wrang I have misgon ; Myn heed is toty of my swink to-night, That maketh me that I go nat aright ( w. 4252 ft. ).

The satirical irony :

For holy chirches good moot ben dispended

On holy chirches blood, that is descended (vv. 3983 f.).

The courteous thefts of the miller. Aleyn on the snoring family : " whilk a compline is y-mel hem alle !" (v. 4171). The whole passage descriptive of the miller's wife (vv. 3957 ff.), notably:

For lalous folk ben perilous evermo,

Algate they wolde hir wyves wenden so (vv. 3961 f. ).

The dialect of the clerks, forming comic contrast with the normal, London, speech, is another source of amusement.

Emphasis of comic effects in character and style does not prevent Chaucer from working out the comic possibilities of plot ; he follows, indeed, the fabliau traditions, and makes this the matter of first importance. By minor changes he makes the same intrigues more effective and preserves a better proportion between them. The cheating of the clerks becomes a less serious affair, but much more is made of their expectation, as well as of their vexation and physical pain, when it is not fulfilled, so that the comic incongruity between expectation and fulfilment is far more pronounced. *In the Aleyn and Malm intrigue Malin, unlike her French proto-

28 WALTER MORRIS HART.

type, is not deceived, but joins with Aleyn in disappointing the family hopes of a great marriage, and further aids in victimizing the miller by telling of his theft of corn. Aleyn, unlike the French clerk, meets more than his match in the miller, and thus becomes temporarily the victim in this by-product of John's intrigue. Chaucer adds a new " incon- gruity/7 adding mockery to physical pain, in the beating of Simkin by his own wife, but wisely refrains from all reference to her feelings when she discovers how she had been duped by means of the misplaced cradle. ,On the whole, then, Chaucer multiplies and sharpens the comic contrasts, largely because he gives us a story in which we have always, or nearly always, aggressor versus aggressor, each with an expectation doomed to a comic disappointment. Chaucer's tale is better than the fabliau in much the same way that tennis is a better game than golf; in the first there is a real clash of skill and cunning ; in the second each plays his own game, neither necessarily conscious of the other.

Chaucer not only makes more of the comic possibilities of his story, but he leaves the reader, largely by the same means, with his desire for poetic justice1 more completely satisfied. The same criminal is overtaken by much the same " questionable ruse." The punishment of the miller seems poetically just, <not because of its perfect equality with his crime, — though it is to be remembered that his Catastrophe is the result of many years of thieving, — not because of its suddenness, but because it comes in part from an unlooked- for source, — his own wife and daughter ; because it is com- bined with mockery, in that it is his own act that has compelled the benighting of the clerks ; because it is delayed by his temporary success ; because it is emphasized by repe- tition and multiplication, taking effect in the persons of his

1CL, p. 9, above.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 29

wife and daughter as well as in his own, and in his loss of the cake and the cost of the supper. The reader, moreover, sympathizes with the clerks in their attempt to prevent a theft, and is antagonistic to the miller, who, unlike his French prototype, has no redeeming quality, and to his wife. The neutral daughter, who promptly conspires with the clerk against the miller, is a happy substitute for the girl betrayed by the iron ring. Her mother's origin and education similarly modify the effect of the catastrophe.

Chaucer takes special pains to emphasize poetic justice : the miller is a swaggerer who goes heavily armed, that he may get the worst of an encounter ; he and his wife are foolishly proud of her lineage and breeding, that their pride may have a fall ; the parson has plans for a great marriage for Malin, only that they may be disappointed. That mother and daughter are " difficult " heightens the effect of the clerks7 conquest. The unusual thefts of the miller, — his taking advantage of the illness of the mauniciple, — demand unusual punishment. His delight in the success of his own cunning directly paves the way for his downfall. Chaucer, as we have seen, even formulates the principle upon which the clerks act.1

Chaucer carries on the fabliau tendency to indulge in proverbial comment upon life. John has a good memory for sayings of this sort, and they are peculiarly effective in his dialect :

u Symond," quod lohn, u by god, nede has na peer ;

Him boes serve him-selve that has na swayn " (vv. 4026 f. ). " I have herd seyd, man sal taa of twa thinges

Slyk as he fyndes, or taa slyk as he bringes " (vv. 4129f. ). " With empty hand men may na haukes tulle ;

Lo here our silver, redy for to spende " (vv. 4134 f.).

See p. 15, above.

50 WALTER MORRIS HART.

The success of Simkin's trick recalls to him a bit of the proverbial philosophy of Reynard the Fox :

" ' The gretteste clerkes been noght the wysest men,'

As whylom to the wolf thus spak the mare " (vv. 4054 f. ).

And the Reeve thus moralizes the tale :

Lo, swich it is a miller to be fals ! And therfore this proverbe is seyd ful sooth, ' ' Him thar nat wene wel that y vel dooth ; A gylour shal him-self bigyled be" (vv. 4318 ff. ).

Ill

THE REEVE'S TALE AND THE FABLIAUX.

Comparing the results of the foregoing analyses, one finds that Chaucer may have learned, not only his story, but also some important elements of his technique, from the fabliau. The interest in the everyday life of bourgeois or peasant society, seen in its commonplace surroundings, in its local color, is already there : so that Chaucer, in one of the most English tales of his English period, may have imitated (as genius imitates) a French interest, a French point of view. The strict unity of time, and the virtue of brevity, rare in medieval literature, are already there. Neatness of structure, too, clear relation of part to part, excellent proportion and emphasis, skilful handling of synchronous events, Chaucer may have learned from the fabliau. The fabliau is not without evidence that the author grasped the story as a whole, saw the end and prepared for it from the beginning. And it may have taught Chaucer something in the way of rapid, realistic, and vigorous dialogue. It may have taught him dramatic impersonality, objectivity, absence of attitude toward his characters. It may have taught him the comic possibilities of intrigue. And he may have learned from it the tendency toward proverbial comment upon life. In both

THE REEVE'S TALE. 31

Chaucer's tale and the fabliau, finally, we have the same perfect fitness of style to subject-matter ; in coarseness of expression there is nothing to choose between them.

So much Chaucer may have learned from his source ; but if he knew one fabliau he must have known others, and it is rather to be expected that he was influenced by the technique of the whole body of this literature; that if he elaborated his source, he elaborated it along the lines of fabliau tradition. An examination of the Montaiglon-Raynaud collection shows that many of the Chaucerian characteristics, which a com- parison with his source alone would lead one to regard as peculiar to him, are to be found there. While, manifestly, many fabliaux have been lost, and while this collection no doubt contains some that Chaucer never saw or heard, yet we may safely assume that the fabliaux which have come down to us are typical of the whole body.1

Chaucer does not isolate his characters, differs from his source in placing them in a setting, social and geographical. In this respect his changes are in keeping with the spirit of rhe fabliaux. The miller's wife becomes a priest's2 daughter : the " priestess/' mistress, possibly in some cases actual wife, of the priest, is not an uncommon figure in the fabliaux, and she is drawn, like all the persons of the fabliaux, from life.3 Not much is said, naturally, of the offspring of these wild marriages, yet they are occasionally mentioned, as when a

servant ironically asks her mistress :

t

" Li vostre enfant sont mout loial, Que vous avez du prestre eiis ? " (84,4 374 f. ) .

ICf., B&lier, pp. 37 ff.

2 A very different person of a toun from the character described in the General Prologue.

3 See Preime, pp. 66 ff., Bedier, pp. 336 f., Legrand d'Aussy, Fabliaux, I, 300, n, 1., and Pfeffer, I, 23 ff. 0

4 The numbers are those affixed to the fabliaux in the Montaiglon- Raynaud collection.

32 WALTER MORRIS HART.

Siinkin's wife was, furthermore, " y-fostred in a nonnerye/ and we have already seen what commentary the fabliaux have to make upon the nature of such an education.1 Many fabliaux, by mention of various institutions, give the same impression of complex social setting ; there is, for instance, frequent reference to fairs, and one can find a rough parallel even for the description of Simkin as a " market-beter " :2 the hero of De Pleine Bourse de Sens (67)

estoit marcheanz, Et de foires mout bien cheanz (vv. 5f. ).

Part of the action of this fabliau takes place at the fair of Troyes and we learn what was bought and sold there. Absence of place-names is, again, though the rule, yet not universal in the fabliaux. Be*dier3 bases the localization of about twenty of them upon "des indications g^ographiques precises."

Chaucer names his characters : this is not unusual in the fabliaux. Gombert (22) takes its title from the " vilain's " name ; his wife is Dame Guilain. Pfeffer 4 has a long list of the names of persons which occur in the fabliaux ; among them, it is interesting to note, are to be found Alein, Jehan, and Simon. Alein, as it happens, is one of the heroes of De Deux Angloys (46), who, through his inability to distinguish in pronunciation, between anel and agneL procures for George, his sick friend, a joint of young ass instead of lamb. George, apparently, spoke the French of Stratford atte Bowe, or something like it, and for the Prioress's reason :

Son bon li velt dire en fra^ois, Mais la langue torne a englois Que ce ne fu mie merveille. Alein son compaignon esveille ;

1 P. 23, above. 2 Cf., p. 12, above.

3 Pp. 436 S. *0p. cit., m, 40 ff.

33

Or oiez com il Tapela : " Alein," fait il, " foustes vus la? Trop dormes ore longuement, Mi cuit un poi alegement, Mi have tote nuit soue, Mi ave, ge cuit, plus so£ ; Si cuit vueil mangier .1. petit" (vv. 11 ff.).1

Some such fabliau as this may well have suggested to Chaucer the comic possibilities of dialect, a vein of comic effect not much worked in medieval literature.2

Background characters are common in the fabliaux ; apparent isolation of the persons of the story is by no means the rule. Thus, again in De Deux Angloys (46), there is a background of shopkeepers, from whom, one after the other, Alein demands and. Examples might be multiplied indefi- nitely.

While Bayard has no prototype in the fabliaux, there is evidence of close observation of horse-flesh. The descriptions of Les Deux Chevaux in the fabliau of that name (13), show power of individualization and a realization of comic possi- bilities. The peasant's horse, worn out from over-work, " bien sanble roncins mors de fain" (v. 19) ; the hackney at the Priory of Saint-Acheul

estoit maigres et taillanz, Dos brisie, mauves por monter ; Les costes li pot-on center ; Hauz ert derri£re, et has devant, Si aloit d'un pied sousclochant, Dont il n' estoit preu afaitiez ; N' estoit reveleus ne haitiez, N'il n'avoit talent de hennir (vv. 57 ff. ).

1 The Englishmen, in addition to their inability to pronounce the French words, " ne manquent pas . . . de confondre les conjugaisons francaises . , et ne connaissent gu£re le genre des substantifs qu'ils emploient." MR. n, 332. ,

2 See, however, Professor Matzke's interesting discussion of Some Example of French as Spoken by Englishmen in Old French Literature, Modern Philology, m, 47 ff. Cf. B&iier, pp. 442 f.

3

34 WALTER MORRIS HART.

To this sorry beast the idealized Vair Palefroi offers sharp

contrast :

Vairs ert et de riche color ;

Sachiez qu'en nule re"aute" N'en avoit nus a icel tans Si bon, ne si souef portans (3, 144 ff. ).

Chaucer, as has been said, tells us rather more than does his source of the scene of the action, but here again his elaboration is well within the limits of the fabliau literature. Pfeffer, in his section (in, iii) dealing with the house and its furnishings, constructs, by means of evidence from the fabliaux, a remarkably complete picture of the dwelling and of the customs connected with it. It was usual, we learn, to bake at home. " Da man nach dem Abendessen bald zur Ruhe ging . . . gait es nach kurzer Unterhaltung, dem Gast das Lager zu bereiten. Im Hause des Armen machte man nicht viel Umstande. Entweder schlaft der Gast mit der Familie seines Gastgebers im selben Kaum . . . oder in einer Kammer mit einem Familienglied zusammen." Full details as to bed and bed-clothing are mentioned. One gave a soporific drink to the specially honored guest :

Ains aportent le vermeil vin,

Si but entre les dras de lin (34, 405 f. ).

We learn that early hours were the rule; and, in general, since any complication of intrigue requires care in the indi- cation of time, the trouv£re is watchful in this matter also. The action of most of the fabliaux occurs within twenty-four hours.1

A majority of the fabliaux probably contain but a single intrigue. When two intrigues are combined, as in the Reeve's Tale and its source, the two are closely related,

1 For further accounts of customs see Pfeffer, m, i, von den Fahrenden, and in, iv, von Essen und Trinken.

35

usually as cause and effect. Unity of action is thus as inevitable as unity of time. Ordinarily, too, just as in Chaucer, the action is set in motion by adequate motivation ; poverty compels a clerk to give up his studies, to leave Paris, and on his way home, tired, thirsty, and hungry, to beg a lodging for the night at the house of a peasant (132) ; marriage parts two friends, leads to groundless jealousy and suspicion whereby the innocent become guilty, in Le lay Vespervier (115). Action springs from character, too, and of this there is no better illustration than the story of a jongleur, an inveterate gambler, who, left in charge of the lost souls during the absence of the Devil, shook dice for them and lost them all to St. Peter (117). This fabliau opens with a fairly careful description of the hero's character and way of life, and it is of course the saint's knowledge of his weakness that leads him to take this method of winning back lost souls.

m While in many of the fabliaux we find but a single intriguer, whose victim is as passive, as stupid and supersti- tious, as the carpenter in the Miller's Tale, there are still some where there is a contest of intriguers like that in the Reeve's Tale. In the charming Lai d'Aristote (137) the philosopher is pitted against a woman and comes off second best. In Aloul (24) neither husband nor priest is ^passive victim ; both carry on the struggle with great vigorj llmphasis of a causal relation between intrigues, regarding the second as revenge for the first, results, as in the Reeve's Tale, in a kind of justification, of rough morality.* The jealous or miserly husband, who torments his wife until her inconstancy seems inevitable, is a typical figure of the fabliaux. La Male Dame (149), is an example of the taming of a shrew by heroic measures. In the De Pleine Bourse de

1 Cf. p. 15, above.

36 WALTER MORRIS HART.

finally, there is an approach to something like moral purpose : faithful wife and faithless mistress are revealed by contrasting incidents, each receiving the hero of the tale, who pretends that he has been ruined, according to her true character.

The use of concrete detail, the complete realization of the action, while it distinguishes the Reeve's Tale from its source, is yet common enough in the fabliaux. With the battles of clerks and miller * one may compare the long account of the battle of Aloul and the priest (24, 550 ff.). In quantity this is an extreme case, yet concrete narrative of this sort is exceedingly common. Narrative in general terms, on the other hand, is no less frequent. It is often used for rapid introductory summaries, as in the opening lines of the Aristote (137, 85 if.) or of the Espervier :

Dui chevalier jadis estoient Qui molt durement s'entramoient : ^ Onques entre ens n'ot point d' en vie,

Molt par menoient bele vie : Chevalerie maintenoient, Et ensemble toz jors erroient (115, 11 ff. ).

Not only the relations of the two friends, but also those of the wife and her husband's friends, are thus lightly sketched, where, had the matter been of primary importance, the fabliau would have delighted in detail. Thus the ability to distinguish between the effects produced by general and concrete narrative is clearly not peculiar to Chaucer ; and one finds in the fabliau a similar use of indi- rect discourse :

Li rois ayoec s'amie maint ; S'en parolent maintes et maint, De ce qu'il en tel point s'afole Et qu'il maine vie si fole, Que il d'avoec li ne se muet Com cil qui amender nel puet (137, 115 ff. ).

1 Quoted, pp. 4 and 18 f. above.

THE REEVE'S TALE. 37

The fabliau plots are commonly of such a nature as to require foresight and hindsight, grasp of the story as a whole, and in this respect, also, Chaucer's advance beyond his source can be paralleled from the fabliaux. The Vair Palefroi (3), carrying a bride to a distasteful union, turns into a familiar by-path and brings her to her young lover's arms. Huon le Roi, the author, is at great pains to make this seem inevitable. The scene of the action is important :

Adonc estoient li boschage Dedenz Champaingne plus sauvage, Et li pais, que or ne soit ( vv. 48 ff . ).

In a castle deep within these woods dwelt the heroine, whither Messire Guillaume

Avoit en la forest parfonde,

Qui granz estoit a la roonde,

Un sentier fet, qui n' estoit mie

Hantez d'ome qui fust en vie

Se de lui non tant seulement.

Par la aloit celeement

Entre lui et son palefroi,

Sanz demener noise n'effroi,

A la pucele maintes foiz ( vv. 88 ff. ) ,

Dessus le palefroi requerre

Aloit so vent la damoisele

Par la forest soutaine et bele,

Ou le sentier batu avoit

Que nus el monde ne savoit

Fors que lui et son palefroi (w. 157 ff.).

When the damoisele by her father's decree was to marry Mes- sire Guillaume' s uncle, messengers were sent out to borrow horses for the women to ride to the chapel where the marriage was to be solemnized. The vair palefroi fell to the lot of the unwilling bride. Thanks to protracted revels the night before, the watchman mistook the moonlight for the dawn and woke the household so early that they set out for the chapel soon after midnight. Inevitably the whole company,

38 WALTER MORRIS HART.

riding through the midnight woods, drowsed in their saddles. The road was so narrow that they were compelled to ride single file.

Ainsi vont chevauchant ensamble.

Li vairs palefrois, ce me samble,

Ou la damoisele se"oit,

Qui la grant route porsiyoit,

Ne sot pas le chemin avant

Ou la grant route aloit devant,

Ainz a choisi par devers destre

Une sentele, qui vers 1'estre

Mon seignor Guillaume aloit droit.

Li palefrois la sente voit,

Qui molt so vent 1'avoit hantee ;

Le chemin lest sanz demerge

Et la grant route des chevaus (vv. 1035 ff.).

In its fondness for dialogue, Chaucer's source is, as we have seen, typical fabliau. Chaucer's advance here was chiefly in the way of additional forms, and here again his methods can be paralleled from the other fabliaux. The use of indirect discourse has been noted : 1 of soliloquy the Aristote (137) furnishes excellent examples, soliloquy expres- sive of emotion and purpose ; 2 upon group conversation the fabliaux do not venture. Dualogue, vigorous, dramatic, characteristic, not surpassed by Chaucer, carries on the important portions of the story in Saint Pierre et le Jongleur (117).

M Chaucer's chief addition to fabliau technique seems to have been in the way of character-drawing, and it is probably true that the fabliaux can furnish no example of a person so vivid, so complex, so highly individualized, as Simkin. Yet even here one finds that the trouvere had achieved an approx- imation to Chaucer's methods and to Chaucer's success.

1 P. 36, above.

2 Alexander's regrets for his mistress, vv. 200 ff. ; Aristote' s love for her, vv. 326 ff.

39

D'Andeli, certainly, gives us an interesting picture of Aris- tote (137) and is fully aware of the comic incongruities of the philosopher, "chanu et pale" (v. 244), "qui tout savoit" (v. 155). Early one summer morning, as the fair Indian, like Emilia, walked in a garden, Aristote

Levez est, si siet a ses livres, Voit la dame aler et venir, El cuer li met .1. souvenir Tel que son livre li fet clore. " He, JDieus ! " fet il, " quar venist ore Cil mireoirs plus pres de ci, Si me metro ie en sa merci."

Avoi ! qu'est mes cuers devenuz?

Je suis toz vieus et toz chenuz,

Lais et pales et noirs et maigres,

En filosofie plus aigres

Que nus c'on sache ne ne cuide.

Molt ai mal emploie m'estuide,

Qui onques ne finai d'aprendre.

Or me desaprent por mieus prendre

Amors, qui maint preudomme a pris (vv. 322 ff.).

One has thus the incongruity of philosophy and love, and in the contrast of Aristote and the Indian girl, the incongruity of age and youth. Both are seen from the comic point of view. Simkin's incongruities are of a different sort ; the two persons are not comparable. Yet the technique of d' An deli is comparable with Chaucer's ; and while this Old French philosopher has not quite the vividness or the individuality of the English miller, yet he approaches him in complexity and he is drawn by a variety of methods, made to reveal himself dramatically in word l and action.

1 Though he permits himself to be saddled and bridled, and ridden by the fair Indian, his power of dialectic does not desert him. When Alex- ander ridicules him, he replies : " You see that I am justified in fearing the effect of love upon you, who are in all the ardor of youth, when it Das the power thus to accoutre me, who am full of years. I have joined example to precept. See that you profit by them."

40 WALTER MORRIS HART.

The description of Malin is for the most part conventional, and can be readily paralleled from the fabliaux.1 She is individualized, however, and distinguised from all French sisters or prototypes by the " camuse nose " inherited from Simkin. It is indeed to be noted that in La Male Dame (149) the trouvSre emphasizes family resemblance of mother and daughter, — both have the habit of acting upon " nega- tive suggestion;" but nothing is said of a physical resem- blance.

While, moreover, the trouveres do not reach Chaucer's skill in characterization by dress, yet they attempt something of the sort. Richeut, in the oldest of the fabliaux, suggests Simkin's wife, or the Wife of Bath ; she " tient a aller a la messe . . . ; le visage clair et vermeil, en grande toilette, portant un manteau vair et un chainse neuf, dans sa dignit6 de bourgeoise, elle passe par les rues, fi£re ; < sa longue queue va trainant dans la poussiere/ et les bourgeois, accourus sur le pas de leur porte, admirent." 2 In Boivin de Proving (116) a jongleur, having occasion to appear as a peasant, dresses the part with great care :

Vestuz se f u d' un burel gris,

Cote, et sorcot, et chape ensamble,

Qui tout fu d'un, si com moi samble ;

Et Si ot coifTe de borras ;

Ses sellers ne sont mie a las,

Ainz sont de vache dur et fort ;

Et cil, qui mout de barat sot,

.1. mois et plus estoit remese

Sa barbe qu'ele ne fu rese ;

.1. aguillon prist en sa main,

Por ce que mieus samblast vilain (vv. 6 ff.).

Dress, in these lines, if it does not individualize, is at least thoroughly typical of a class, and gives evidence of close

1Cf. Preime, Die Frau: Aussere Eigenschaften, pp. 17 ff. 2B£dier, p, 306.

41

observation. Evidence of this sort is collected in large quantity by Pfeffer ; l and his conclusions in regard to highly prized accomplishments show that this method of character- ization also was common in the fabliaux.2 Their use of dialect has been noted • 3 other methods have been already sufficiently exemplified ; no one of them is peculiar to Chaucer. Massed descriptions of character, like the opening lines of the Reeve's Tale, occur in the fabliaux ; they are however, briefer, more conventional.4

In mental states Chaucer showed, so far as the Reeve's Tale is concerned, no great interest, so that it is not difficult to find him equaled, or even surpassed, by the fabliaux in this respect. Huon le Roi traces with some care the emotions of the despairing lovers in the Fair Palefroi (3),5 and makes use of the ordinary methods of description. Passages already quoted from the Aristote show that d'Andeli, in his study and suggestion of mental states, can be not less dramatic than

Chaucer.

\

IV.

CONCLUSION. — THE REEVE'S TALE AS A SHORT STORY.

" Nous savons aujourd'hui que tout ce me"rite d'inventeur qu'on lui attribuait consiste a avoir fort bien copie" notre fabliau." One may, perhaps, venture to doubt if the writer of this sentence had actually examined, side by side, our tale and

»m, 38ft 8n, 80 f.

3 P. 33, above.

4Cf. the descriptions of Messire Guillaume, in the Vair Palefroi (3), and of the jongleur, in Saint Pierre et le Jongleur (117) .

5 In the completeness of its "lines of emotion " this fabliau is comparable with the Franklin's Tale. See vv. 118 ff., 169 ff., 202 ff., 313 ff., 320 ff., 419 ff., 469 ff., 559 ff., 710 ff., 743 f., 785 ff., 862 ff., 893 ff., 935 f , 1042 ff., 1135, 1177 ff., 1284 f.

42 WALTER MORRIS HART.

his fabliau, so great are the differences in technique between the two. And yet if he had written nos fabliaux, and if we might translate fort bien copie, "inimitably imitated/' we should be obliged to agree with him. For though Chaucer doubles the length of his source, and elaborates it in every direction, for all these elaborations parallels are to be found in the longer fabliaux ; it is Chaucer's combination of them that is inimi- table. Chaucer, we may say then, perfected a type that had already run its course in France, reaching there a state of high development. It is therefore not surprising that he was technically at his best in tales like the Miller's and the Reeve's.1 He was at his best, not because he found stories of this type more interesting than others, nor merely because he had reached the zenith of his development as an artist, but because he was here writing under the influence of the best narrative art known to the Middle Ages.

Professor Kittridge defines 2 the fabliaux as " short stories in verse," and it is perhaps from this point of view that we may best sum up whatever differencing characteristics of the type have come under our observation. The Reeve's Tale possesses unity of time : all the action of the story proper occurs within twenty-four hours.® It has unity of place : the scene of the whole is laid in or about the mill. 'The action consists of a single episode, made up of events or scenes organically related. ':/The whole is firmly knit by the single central motive. The end is seen from the beginning. The persons are few in number, yet they seem to be placed in a social setting. The clerks' motives and fortunes are so nearly identical that they produce the effect of a single hero. Unity of impression or effect is preserved ; technique and

1 Cf. ten Brink, English literature, n, 154 f ., and Lounsbury, Studies in Chaucer, in, 363 f. 1 In the Universal Cyclopaedia.

THE KEEVE'S TALE. 43

(style are in perfect accord with the narrator and with the events which he sets forth. One has only to change the time to a distant or romantic past/the scene to Brittany, or Athens, or to the foot of Vesulus the cold ; to introduce descriptions of all the emotions involved ; or to imagine in the mouth of Simkin's wife the " complaints " and excmpla of Dorigen ; or to imagine the clerks, like the Wife of Bath's hero, condemned to die and saved by supernatural means ; or to endow them with personalities like that of the Prioress's little clergeon, or like that of the threadbare student who told the story of Grisildis ; or to confront them with a figure like the Pardoner's mysterious old man ; or to give them a glimpse of Malin walking, like Emilia, in a garden ; or to substitute for Simkin a Summoner or a Friar ; or even to put a John the carpenter in the miller's place ; one has, in short, only to imagine any^onejpfjthese changes in the story, to see how clearly Chaucer distinguisecl fabliau from lay, from fairy tale, from saint's legend, from exemplum^ firJiQm romance ; intrigue fabliau from satirical fabliau, Reeve's Tale from Miller's Tale.

Not only in its unity, — of time, of place, of action, of plot, of characters, of impression, — but also in its concrete- ness, does the Reeve's Tale anticipate the modern short story. It is dramatic in its use of dialogue to carry on the action, to suggest character or past events ; in its wealth of vivid and concrete incident and detail ; in its tendency to avoid analysis or epithet, to depend rather upon words, actions, dress, effect upon others, to indicate character or emotion.

It differs from the modern short story chiefly in its lack of unity of point of view. It should be the clerks' story, yet the action is not always seen through their eyes, but often through the eyes of Simkin, or of his wife. Yet one can imagine Chaucer working deliberately in this respect also,

44 WALTER MORRIS HART.

following fabliau tradition, yet at the same time consciously l preferring the dramatic point of view, the point of view of an audience watching the action on the stage, by whatever persons it might be carried on. Again, it should be the clerks' story, but it is their victims, not they, that Chaucer delights to describe. This may be due to the fact that two clerks had just been described in the Miller's Tale; to differentiate two others from these would have led to descrip- tions of character inappropriately subtle. Or it may be due to the fact that the Keeve, replying to the Miller, would naturally shift the emphasis to the clerks' victim. Contrast- ing characters, moreover, are not required, as they are in the Miller's Tale, to motive contrasting actions. And, after all, unity of point of view is an academic requirement, sometimes effectively neglected by the modern short story. The remarkable thing is that Chaucer elaborated and developed in the Reeve's Tale the already excellent technique of the Old French fabliaux, and, in so doing, anticipated the typical unity and concreteness, the (to make use of Professor Bald- win's admirable phrase) "dramatic concentration" of the modern short story.

WALTER MORRIS HART.

1 Consciously, since the point of view is admirably preserved in other of the Canterbury Tales, notably in the Pardoner's, The little clergeon's point of view is realized with marvelous sympathy but is not maintained throughout the Prioress Tale.

II.— RELICS OF FRANCO-PRO VENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY.

I.

On the slopes of the Appenines overlooking the fertile plains of Apulia, and about fifteen miles west of the ancient town of Luceria (the modern Lucera), are found the two small towns of Celle and Faeto. They are only a mile apart and their combined population is about four thousand. Besides Apulian, which is the dialect of that region, the inhabitants of Celle and Faeto still speak a kind of French dialect.

It is evident from the account of the return of a Gascon Pilgrim from the Holy Land in 1490 1 that this was not the only French colony in Apulia. But the other colonies seem soon to have adopted the tongue of the country. Only Celle and Faeto have preserved even in corrupted form the original French dialect. This phenomenon may be due to the fact that no public road connects the two towns with cities of importance, and that, even at the present time, the nearest railroad station is fourteen miles distant.

From the remains of the Angevine Registers in the Grand Archives of Naples, it is known that from 1269 to 1277 Charles of Anjou conferred lands and estates in Apulia on Provenyal nobles and other vassals.2 For this reason the

1 Cf. Voyage a Jerusalem de Philippe de Voisins, seigneur de Montaut, Paris, 1883.

2Cf. GennidiStoria Cronologica di Faeto, by Pietro Gallucci, Napoli, 1882, pp. 7-12.

45

46 A. DE SALVIO.

colony of Celle-Faeto has always been referred to as of Proven9al origin. Waldensian historians have claimed that the colony was founded by their own people.1 It is easy to understand why these people have been called Proven9al, for they either joined the nucleus of Proven9al soldiers that came with Charles of Anjou for the conquest of the Kingdom of Naples, or came on a later call when more men were needed to continue the war in Sicily and to expel the Saracens remaining in Apulia.

An analysis of the Celle-Faeto dialect proves that the original colonists were neither Provengal nor Waldensians, whose language is chiefly Proven9al. The dialect of Celle- Faeto comes under the group commonly called Franco- Proven9al.2 This dialect has already received attention from Morosi ; 3 and only his death prevented him from carrying his work further and finding a connecting link with some specific branch of the Franco-Proven9al group. The present investigation takes up the task at the point where the Milanese professor left it. Thanks to the researches of E. Philipon and of A. Devaux it has been possible to make a comparative study of the present dialect of Celle-Faeto and the old Lyonnese and the Northern Dauphin^ dialect of the Middle Ages. The results of this comparison prove that the dialect of Celle-Faeto is closely connected with Lyonnese and the dialect of Northern Dauphine. These linguistic facts demonstrate that the soldiers who founded the colony of Celle-Faeto must have come from the region around Lyons, including not only the northern section of the department of the Rh6ne but also the northwest portion of Isdre and

xCf. Comba, Histoire des Vaudois d' Italic, I, 129.

2Cf. Grober's Orundnss, I, 567 ; and Grammatica St&rico-Comparata delta Lingua Italiana, W. Meyer-Liibke, Torino, 1901. 3 Cf. Archivio Olottologico Italiano, xn, 33 ff.

FRANCO-PROVENCAL, IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 47

perhaps the southwest corner of Ain. It is improbable that two or three hundred soldiers could have come from one town.

In considering the details of the comparison here attempted, it should be borne in mind that nearly seven hundred years have passed since the colony of Celle-Faeto was founded, and that during this period the dialect has been influenced largely by Apulian and Italian.

The article by Morosi has been largely consulted. The Novel from the Decameron, Lafannd dd Ib Jalantom^ fo Faito, and the translation of Roumanille's Mounte vole mouri were sent to the writer by Antonio Melfi of Celle and by Silvio Pavia of Faeto, the former having been one of his school- mates in his native town, which is only six miles from Celle, and the latter a family friend. Several friends from Faeto now living in Newark, New Jersey, were consulted, and from them was obtained all the necessary information concerning pronunciation .

The key to pronunciation is as follows :

ch : ch in church.

& : close e.

§ : open e.

Q : indistinct e.

j : y in yes.

Ih : Spanish II.

6 : close o.

6 : open o.

s : English sh.

th : th in this.

ii : French u in tu.

w : w in wet.

w : French u in lui.

All other vowels and consonants are pronounced as in Italian.

48 A. DE SALVIO.

"i

II.

TONIC VOWELS.

N. B.— For the texts, A, B, C, D, and the list of words, E, see pp. 69-79.

a

1. Whether in position or not, a persists when not in the vicinity of a palatal : tan : tantum A6, alld : Fr. alter A6, d9nd : donar A12, dzvan : de-ab-ante A16, purtd : portare A23, spalb : spatulam B16, cha : calidum B30, sandisanum C6, malady : maVabitum C7, std : statum A 18, kandn : canalem B7, man: manum B16, fannzifamem Bl, kridicreatum C12, na : natum C13. Turning to Franco-Pro ven9al dialects? it appears that a persists under similar conditions. In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xiii, 542 ff.) : l mar : mare, pare : patrem, dona : donatum, crea : creati, chanz : cantus, man : manum, san : sanum. In the dialect of Bresse (cf. Rev. de Ph., I, 13 f.) :2 qual : qualem, semar : seminar e, /rare :fra- trem, pan : panem, man : manum, pra : pratum, conta : compu- tatum. In the dialect of Northern Dauphine (cf. Devaux, 104 f.):3 alar : Fr. aller, pras-.pratus, talitalem, man: manum, lana : lanam, pan : panem, pare, /rare.

2. ^a -|- y : ej (sometimes reduced to e~).

Fej9 ifactam A18, mej : magis A27, meimagis B7, ej : habeo C5, lej : lactem E, eJ9 : acquam E, vej : vado E, sej : sapio E ; butfd ifacere A22.

In Northern Dauphine", although a -f y : ai, there are cases where ey, e are found (cf. Devaux, 126 f.) : me : magis

1 E. Philipon, Phonetiqut Lyonnaise au XlVe Stick, Romania, xiu, 542- 590.

2 E. Philipon, Le Diakcte Bressan aux Xllle et XlVe Stides, Revue de Philologie.

3 A. Devaux, Essai sur la Langue Vulgaire du Dauphine Septentrional, 1892.

FKANCO-PROVENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 49

at Sain t-Maurice-PExil, fere -. facere, feit audfet :factum,feti and j 'eta if adorn, e : Jiabeo. In the dialect of Bresse (cf. Rev. de Ph., i, 15) a -j- y : ay, but also ei and e : bateilli, seint : sanctum, melli : *metalleam. At Saint-Genis-les-Ollieres (cf. Rev. de Ph., I, 269) 1 we find : le : lactem, fe ifactum, He : iliac, pie : plagam, me : magis, egui : acquam, fere : facere, feti : factam, tr£re : tragere. In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 544) a -\- y : ei, e in sein : saginem, egro : acrem.

3. -arium : ij, -ariam : ier9.

Primmij '.primarium Al, vuluntij : voluntarium A22, derrij : *deretr arium B16, pumm9lij C3, giardinij C4, kannzlij E, fr9rlj ifebruarium E, ckadierd : caldariam E, charrier9 B31.

In modern Franco-Proven9al dialects primarium gives pr&mi in some regions of the departments of Jura, Isere, Haute Savoie, and of the Rhone. In the north of Is£re *deretrarium gives d&ri. In the department of the Rhone are found jdrdni, jdrdeni; and jardinie in Isere.2 In the patois of Saint-Genis-les-Ollieres (cf. Rev. de Ph., i, 279) -arium : i, the only form found in the Lyonnese texts after the sixteenth century : pomi ipomarium, parmi : primarium, pani : panarium. In a Noel en Patois I/yonnais (cf. Rev. de Ph., v, 135) premy, arri, derri are found.

4. Pal. -f we '• ty (Here is to be seen a development char- acteristically Franco-Pro ven9al) : 3

Sbrugnij : Ital. svergognare A 12, mingij : manducare Bll, frisij : Ital. rinfrescare B32, talhij : taleare E, bagnij : bal- neare E, chargij : carricare E, friij ifricare E. In Northern Dauphin^ (cf. Devaux, 113-114) y -f- are : ier, but in some localities it gives i. At Saint-Genis-les-Ollieres (cf. Rev. de Ph., i, 273 f.) y -f- are : i (y) as far back as 1566 : arrachy :

1 E. Philipon, Le Patois de Saint-Genis-les-Ollieres^ Revue de Philologie*

2 Gillieron et Edmont, Atlas Linguistique de la France. *Archivio Glottologico Italiano, in, 70 ff.

4

0

50 A. DE SALVIO.

abradicare, eydy : adjutare, mangy : manducare, cliangi : cam- biare, taM : taleare, bagni : balneare, vingi : vindicare, jugi : judicare, etc.

5. Pal. + a '• ie>

Chieb : *scalam E, chier chiew : carum -am E, chj&vm : capram E. The development into ie is common both in old Lyonnese and in Northern Dauphin^ of the Middle Ages : Holier : tegularium, noyer : nucarium, preyeri : prccarium (cf. Romania, xm, 544); and chies : cams, chier : carum, reyel : regalem (cf. Devaux, 111-112).

6. Pal. -}- a -f- nasal : i.

Chin chigm : canem E, mingd : manduco E. In Northern Dauphin^ this development is seen in Cresins : Christianus, meyna : medianam. In Saint-Genis chin : canem.

e, t

1. e, V, : dj.

R6j : regem Al, prdj iprensum A2, vdj : verum All, avdjr : Jiabere A13, by analogy prdj ipreco A18, tdj : te A23, pitijnz : plenam C9, trdj : tres E, krdj : credo D35, katdin9 : catenam D15, markdj : Ital. marchese D31, pardj : *pariclum A4, bzndj : benedictum A21, udJ9 : vicem B3; frdj : *frigidum B30, ddj : digitum E.

In old Dauphine e, \ : e, ei, but in modern patois ei has given place to ai (cf. Devaux, 171, 175) : chaina : catenam, avaina : avenam, consai : consilium, frai : *frigidum, in more than forty communes of the Terres-Froides. In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., n, 27) rnetam has given may a, foetam ifdya. In some regions of Ain is found da dae : digitum, da in the north of Isere and the Rh6ne (cf. Gillieron et Edmont, Atlas Linguistique') . In a translation of the Benai'ta of Brillat-Savarin into the patois of Corma- ranche (Ain) may be found bena'ita : benedictam, trai : tres, mai: me, rai : regem (cf. Rev. de Ph., I, 128). In a Fable en

FRANCO-PROVEN£AL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 51

Patois Bygeysien (Ain) ai is found in daipoua : Fr. depuis, prdisa iprensam, painna ipcenam (cf. Rev. de Ph., m, 128). In a Noel en Patois Lyonnais of 1725 (?) vides gives vay, stellam : etaila, fidem '.fay, mensem : may, regem : ray (cf. Rev. de Ph., v, 135). Moreover, in Chansons Satiriques en Patois Lyonnais of the beginning of the eighteenth century (cf. Rev. de Ph., vi, 34 ff.) baire : bibere, quay : quid, ray : regem, vair : videre, vaisin : vi-dnum.

2. e, $ : e, but more often i.

Fennz ifeminam A3, ev : habebat A7, selb : ecce ittam A18, verd : viridem C8, trent9 : triginta E ; ?7fo : ittam A5, ij : ille A7, prigniv : prehendebat A8, vinnitfo : vindictam A9, via : viam A10, ti : te A17, fasiv : *facebat A24, vaij : videtis B18, avij : habetis C12, lij : legem E.

In the Franco-Provenyal dialects e, ^ often give e, ei. E preceded by a guttural or followed by a palatal gives i. In Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., n, 27, 36) : plesi : placere, c&ri : ceram, cindre : cineram, din : de-intus. In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux 161, ff.) : fema ifeminam ; but ciri : ceram, pusins : pullicenos, vi : viam. In old Lyonnese e is found in pie iplenam, buti in oiri : ceram, eglisi : ecclesiam (cf. Romania, 3 in, 144, 145).

e

1. £ not in position : ie, ie, i.

Miech : medium B31, pierd ipetram B32, lievzrd : leporem E, fievw ifebrem E, nievdb : nebulam E, tier : ccelum E, dis and diesidecem E, pij : pedes (sing. picT) E, giiego. Before a nasal, 2 generally gives i : sin by analogy of min A 14, min : meum A16 (while meam gives mid), tin : tenes A 19, rinirem A24, bin : bene D20, tin : teneo E.

2. £ in position : e, before palatals ie, before nasals gener- ally i.

Ten : tempus Al, ter3 : terram A2, teh : testam A 15,

52 A. DE SALVIO.

mweriam A15, e : est Bl, 63 : fotoi BIO, d£n : dentem B24, s£# iseptem C5, ew£r : apertum C6, %' : avicellos C9. Pie# : pectum E, sfe : se# E, t?i££/b : vec/a E, and lij : lectum E show the diphthong ie and a resultant i. E:i in sm£ : sentio A20, kuntintz : contentam D17, ^m igentem E, prm iprendo E.

In the Lyonnese of the fourteenth century (cf. Romania, xin, 545) 8 not in position persists, but it also gives ie as in Celle-Faeto : sieglo : sceculum, espieees : species, Here : legere ; and i before nasals : bin : bene, enginz : ingenios. Pedem gives pia in Lyonnese as in Celle-Faeto. The possessives mm, tin, sin are also common in Lyonnese for both genders ; in Celle- Faeto the feminine forms are mid, tid, sid. As for the masculine forms, Philipon (cf. Rev. de Ph., II, 29) rightly derives mm from meum : mium : miin, the tendency of u : i in Lyonnese being attested.1 This tendency is seen also in Celle-Faeto : fit ifuit A4, bri : brutum A5, ti : tu A19. As for the feminine mm, Philipon (cf. Rev. de Ph., u, 29) thinks that the accent in meam shifted to the a, which under the stress became e, hence meam : midn : mien : min. This assumed shift of accent has actually taken place in Celle- Faeto, where the feminine forms are mid, tid, sid, which developed no further (perhaps because of the influence of Italian mia, tua, sua). In position £ generally remains intact : besti : bestiam, terra : terram, ehalendes : calendas ; but as in Celle-Faeto examples of ie are found : liet : lectum, supiet : suspectum.

In the patois of Saint-Gems (cf. Rev. de Ph., u, 28 if.) £ not in position, beginning with the sixteenth century, has passed from the ie of the old Lyonnese to i, y :2 py ipedes, ptra ipetram ; but ccelum gives cier, mel : mier, fel ifier. The

1 Cf. Revue de Philologie, n, 30, note 1 : in: unum, inces : uncias, comin : communem.

2 Examples of ie : i in old Lyonnese are : S. Cafurin : Symphoriam. Ezeba- tin : Sebastianum, in Revue de Philologie, n, 29, note.

FRANCO-PROVENCAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 53

possesives are mm, tin, sin for both genders. In position 8 gives e as in dbn : dentem, t&n, terra.

In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 145 ff.) £ not in position gives e in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but from the fourteenth century on, it gives ie : pies : pedes, Andrieu : Andreum, piera : petram, lievres : lepores. Examples of £ : i are tino : *teno, tint : *tenit, contint : *contenit, vint : venit. E in position remains : ten, chatel, cer : cervum ; but after the fourteenth century diphthongation appears here and there : pietz :pectus, viel : veclum, sies : sex.

The dialect of Bresse also follows the same development, giving both ie and i : pied : petiam, nies : nepos, miedi : medium diem • but ~piei, nis, and tint : tenet are to be found.

In common with French, Proven9al, and in general with all Romance languages, i persists in Celle-Faeto as well as in Franco-Proven9al : dih : dico Al, gintib : gentilem A3, dinidicere All, rij iridet C8, nit : nidum C9, Jilliz ifiliam D4.

o, u

1 . 5 : du.

Ddldu9 : dolorem A6, Szgndud : seniorem A16, perszkutduz : persecutorem A27, undua : honor em A28, mdlhduz : meliorem B19.

2. o : u.

Nun : nomen D28, nun : non A8, tuttitottum All, kunsulaziun : consolationem A14, kumm9 : quo modo A24, chanziun : ean- tionem B2, kurund : coronam A 2 8, nusinos B9, sulisolum B9, vus : vos C12, fiur :florem C9, duzz iduodecim E.

3. u not in position : du, u, o.

Ldu : lupum B7, giduz -.jugum E, ku : cum A10, sun : sumus B13, tumzh :tumulum Dll, giuvznv ijuvenem D30, add6:ad- de-ubi Cl.

54 A. DE SALVIO.

4. u in position : du, uo (by analogy of 8 : uo ?), u.

Gmdu9 : *genuculum E, pdus : pulvis E, rzkuom : recurrere A6, /wora ifurnum B19, giuor : diurnum C3, rusirussum B12, dunk:de unquam Al, rumpdn: rumpere B24, sunf : sw?i£ C9, 6itc/i : buccam E.

In the Lyonnese of the fourteenth century (cf. Romania, xin, 546-7-8) o : o, OM, u. The three different spellings represent the same sound, namely the French ou and con- sequently the Celle-Faeto u, hence we have tot : tottum, oura : horam, seignurs : seniores, lur : illorum, nun : nomen. U per- sists as u, ou, o : cuvro and couvro : cuprum, gior and giour : diurnum, mundo, numbro and nombro : numerum.

At the present time, in the patois of Saint-Gems (cf. Rev. de Ph., u, 38 ff.) 6 generally gives u : mdnju : manducatorem, joyu : gaudiosum, milhu : meliorem, lu : illorum, ura : horam, nu : nodum ; but ou in lou : lupum, gnoule : nebulam.

In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 193 ff.) o, ^»give also o, ou, u when not in position. A development like the Celle-Faeto du is seen in some popular words which preserve the old diphthong : lupum : law, law by the side of lou, lu ; prode:praw,praw and prou, pro, pru ;jugum : thaw, thaw and thou, thu ; nodum : nyaw, nyaw and nou, nu. 0, u in position also give the interchangeable o, ou, u according to localities : rou and ru : russum, krouta and kruta : crustam, pouse and puse ipulsat, avutra : adultra ; and again showing au : bataw, batou, batu : *battatorium ; thenaw. thenaw, thenou, thenu : *genuculum.

The interchangeable ou, o, u are also to be found in the Bresse dialect : lour and lur : illorum, flour : florem, tot : totum (cf. Rev. de Ph., I, 17 f.).

u

1. u : u.

Vun : unum (the v being due to Apulian influence) E, unz '.undecim E, kakun : quisque unum A7, pur -.pure A21.

FRANCO-PROVENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 55

2. More commonly u : i.

Fit ifuit A2, bri : brutum A5, ti : tu A19, fiss ifuisset A25, dij : durum A26, sijij : securum E, linz : lunam E.

In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 204 ff.) u generally becomes u : mulimulum, mur :murum, jujo ijudicem. But u : i in pli, pri : plus, ina : unam, vandzi, perdzi, vegni, gnia, for the French vendu, perdu, venu, nue.

In old Lyonnese u persists as u : mesura : men-suram, luns : lunae dies (cf. Romania, xin, 547).

In the patois of Saint-Genis u generally remains in the u stage : nu : nudum, luna : lunam, mur : murum ; but an i is found in parfin : Fr. parfum, in ina : unum -am, comin : com- munem (cf. Rev. de Ph., n, 45 ff.).

1. o :uo.

Kuor : cor em A 7, muord&rd : mordere A 15, suonn : somnum A25, fuorz :foris B18, vuolhz : *voleo Cl, attuorn : ad-tornus 08, kuorp : corpus E, puolh : *poteo (the Ih due to analogy of vuolh) D18, vudt :voH D20, suorfo : sortem D33.

2. 6 -\- y : ua.

Udjdb : olium E, kudjdra : coquere E, Jcudjsd : coxeam E, dtfmudjd^ : It. demonio E ; but also fud :focum D15.

3. o : u£, ue, u.

Muen : homo A5, bun : bonum A8, nu9 : novem E.

4. 6 in position : d.

Dappdi : de post A2, kbz : collum A23, roz : grossum B7, nbfoinostram B14, prdprie : proprium B20, vdteivostram Cll, 09 : ossum E.

5. Other developments from o are : ij : oculi B21, neJ9 : noctem C6, linsij : linteoli D12, vi^ : octo E.

In old Lyonnese as in Celle-Faeto o : uo, ue (cf. Romania xiii, 547) : cuor :cor, puot :potest, pueblo ipopulum, cuer : corium. Focum gave also fua, and like fua, lua : locum,

56 A. DE SALVIO.

Bornua : Eurgum novum. It gives u in bun : bonum. 6 per- sists in position : rollo : rotulum, pore : porcum, gros : grossum. Oculos gives iiouz, in which o becomes ii as in Celle-Faeto.

In Northern DauphinS of the Middle Ages o with very few exceptions does not develop into a diphthong (cf. Devaux, 186). It is in the region of the Terres-Froides that <5 gives ua, as in the fua : focum of Celle-Faeto, hence : nuavo : novum, nivuala : *nebolam, plua : plovit. In position V gener- ally gives d : nostro : nostrum, mort : mortem. In our days in the arrondissements of Vienne and Tour-du-Pin fua and fua are to be heard.

In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., u, 41), as in old Lyonnese, 6 often becomes ue : suer : soror, cuer : corium. Ue becomes ii in publo : populum, mublo : mobilem. When followed by a guttural o gives ue, which is a reduction of the old Lyonnese ua, the ue having really an intermediate sound between ua and ue : fue : focum, jue :jocum. O in position generally gives d and also 6 : rbchi : roccam, pardchi : parroehiam, pore : poreum, s6r : sortem. Noctem has given ne, almost like the tieje of Celle-Faeto, octo and oculum have given ui and iu corresponding to the Celle-Faeto vit and ij.

an

au : 6, u.

D6 : de apud A8, pfo ipaucum A14, povrz :pauperem B13. On the other hand causam has given chu6z9 All, through Apulian influence, ad horam : auram : ior9 C8.

In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 210 ff.) au : o, which was probably pronounced like French ou, judging by the modern chouza. Paucam gives pou, while auram : yore, like the Celle-Faeto lord.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 548) au : o, ou, which represent the same sound : or : aurum, po ipaucum, cJiousa : causam, ou and hu : aut.

FRANCO-PROVENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 57

The same may be said of the dialect of Bresse and of the patois of Saint-Genis. In the latter (cf. Rev. de Ph., n, 48) as in Celle-Faeto, besides ou, an 6 is also found : pdso : pausam, I6na : lagunam.

III.

PHOTONIC VOWELS. a

A remains intact except in the vicinity of a palatal, in which case it becomes either e or i : mingij : manducare Bll, ehemmindn : It. camminando B19, nesi : *naeui C3, chimiz^ : eamisia D13, fesan ifacendo D2, lejsij : laxiare E ; but it does not always undergo the change after ch : chanziun B2, charrierz B31, chatagnij D28.

The same changes take place in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 549) : chenaver : canabarium, cheval, gisir ijacere, gita- vont ijactabant, mingiable, chimin ; it persists in chalour, ehavalier.

In old Dauphine (cf. Devaux, 240 f.) a not in the vicin- ity of a palatal remains unchanged as in Celle-Faeto. A -f- y : ai : ei, hence : roveysons : rogationes. When preceded by a palatal it becomes i : primeyriment, seyriment, marchiant, chival; but it persists in chatel, chastagnier, chanin.

e :i, e, ^.

Gintih A3, pillirind A3, isi : ecce hie A4, pinsat A6, bdnd& Cll, ikki :ecce hie D8, milhdm D26, pdrdi : *perdutum E, sperd E, tremd E.

In old Lyonnese e : &, i : d&vir : debere, d&sirrar : desiderare, timitiero, cidoles : schedulas, iqui : eceu' hie, vittura : vecturam (cf. Romania, xin, 549). The same changes are seen in the Northern Dauphine" of the Middle Ages (cf. Devaux, 243).

58 A. DE SALVIO.

In the dialect of Bresse e : i in iglesi : ecclesiam, niguna : *nec unam (cf. Rev. de Ph., I, 21.) In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., u, 208 f.) e : 9, i in the vicinity of a pala- tal : lidon : lectionem, tinalhe : tenaculas.

I either persists or becomes e: primmij Al, n&s&rjz A15, linsij : lintiolu D12, pjejd and pjijd iplicare E, secchij : siccare E, but pairij : *pirarium D27, rumani : It. rimasto D16.

In the patois of Saint-Genis as in Celle-Faeto (cf. Rev. de Ph., n, 209 ff.) i persists when long: miroclho : miraculum, imogi : imaginem. It gives e in sechi : siceare, mend : *minare. Cases of aj as in the Celle-Faeto pajrij are playi iplioare, pa ipicem. I : u in vusin : vidnum, fumi ifimarium.

In old Lyonnese i : i, e, u ifenis ifinitus, temour : timorem, mirex : *mirellos, dimi: dimidium, sublo : sibilare (cf. Romania, xni, 550).

In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 243, 256) i persists : teniment, cita, illat,fila.

o

o : u.

Sulam£n A8, kunsulaziun A14, dunar : donare A22, undud : honor em A 2 8, luntdn : lontanum C8. It becomes e, weakened to 9, in d9ldu9 : dolorem A6, S9rdu9 : sororem E ; ue in kuesun : coquimus E, and a in piardn : plorando A15.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xni, 550 f.) 0:0, ou, u, all three pronounced like French ou and consequently like the u of Celle-Faeto, hence : solement and soulament, overt and uvert, dunar, ouvras. 0 : e in serour : sororem, selouz : *soliculus.

The same phenomenon is seen in old Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 256 ff.), where o, ou, u correspond to the French ou : sovent, ouvras, cusin, moller and mutter. Ue is found in

FRANCO-PROVENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 59

dueysmo : *dodedmus ; also e in serou : sororem, reouz : rotun- dus.

In the dialect of Bresse o : o, ou, u, and e as in the above dialects: mulin, codumes, curtil, serour (cf. Rev. de Ph., I, 16).

In sororem and rotundus we have to do with a late Latin e.

u

u : i.

'Ngiridilt. ingiuriare A5, gistizz ijustitiam A9, asiij: exsucare E ; u in kurrunt : currunt E, giurnd : diurnata E.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 551) w persists in most cases : mullier, plusors, sujfrit, mundanes ; it gives i in cumynal : communalem. Cumynal (in which the * goes back to Latin times) is also found in old Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 246), otherwise u remains : umana, juret, zuzi ijudicare.

au

It persists in aur&lhd : auriculam E, taurej : tauruculum E ; u is found in urkin : auriculam D12.

In the Middle Ages, Northern Dauphine" generally has au for both primary and secondary au, but also u: Aulane, auriol, aurent, maufous, urajo, Muri : Mauritius (cf. Devaux, 260 f.). In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 552) au : ou} u, au : outar : aliarem, huy : auditum, fauseta ifalsitatem, chauchia.

IV. FINAL VOWELS.

As for final vowels, a gives an indistinct e ; the others fell, an indistinct e taking their place whenever it is necessary to facilitate the pronunciation.

60 A. DE SALVIO.

V.

CONSONANTS.

1. Initial c + a: oh.

Chanziun : cantionem B2, chemmindn B19, cha : calidum B30, charrierd : *earruariam B31, chu6z9 : causam D9, chi- mizz : camisia D13, charun : ealdariam D15, chatagnij : *castanearium D28, chin : canem E, chier : carum E, (kandn B7, kapezzdd C6, kaz9 Dll, kauzette D14, JcatdinQ D15 are Apulian).

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 561) c -j- a : cA, chalendes, chargi, changio, chievra. The same development is seen in Northern DauphinS (cf. Devaux, 274) : chalet, chalendes, cher, chevra.

2. Cons, -j- c -]- a : ch.

Such : buccam E, sechij : siccare E, tuchij : toccare E, man- cAa:mamcamE. Old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 561) has eschalers, sechi, marchiandises. Also vac^ arches, pechare in Northern Dauphin^ (cf. Devaux, 276).

3. (7o7i«. -\-c-\-a (after the fall of a Latin vowel) : pal. g. Mingij : manducare Bl 1, chargij : carricare E, diminga :

dominicam E. In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 276, f.) a palatal # is found in gardamingerius, domengi, faverge, chargi. Also in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 561) : mengier, pregier, dyemengi, chargi, pegi.

4. Fo?#e? -j- c + a :j (y).

Pjijd \plicare E, frijd ifricare E, jpn/d iprecari E, a&'i/ : ad -f sucare E. In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 512) c under similar conditions gives y : paier : pacare, preyeri : precariam, oyes : aucas, paia : pacatum. In Northern Dau- phin6 (cf. Devaux, 277) y is found in payans, paiont, preyez. Even in modern Lyonnese, the patois of Saint-Gems (cf.

FRANCO-PROVENCAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 61

Rev. de Ph., m, 163) shows a y in priyi iprecare, pl&yi: plicare, p&yi : pacare.

5. (a) c -f- o, u (initial) : k.

Kunsalaziun A14, kuor A7, feworp E, &oa A23, kunfoy A28.

(b) o + o, w (medial) : J.

$£/£; : securum E, H/6>£ : recordor D16 ; but the c falls in fua :focum D15, pud ; paucum D30.

(c) Cons -\- c-\- u:k.

Mank : mancum D19, bjank : blancwn E.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 562 ff.) initial c -f o, u : k, col, cumunal comisa, contios, cusus. Medial it becomes y : aduyont : adducunt, veray : veracum, Eynai : Athenaeum. The c falls in frans :franeus, po : paucum, fud ifoeum, lua : locum. Cons -\-c-\-u: guttural g : adong : (?) ad *dumquc, porg : porcum.

In Northern Bauphine in the Middle Ages, initial c -+- o, u : k (cf. Devaux, 278). The c falls in pou : paucum, diont : dicunt, fue ifocum. As in Celle-Faeto cons -f- c -\- u : k, bane, pore.

6. Initial and intervocalic c -f e, i : palatal c (represented in our texts by s, s or z).

Sier : ccelum E, sink : kinque E, set : ecce iste A 15, selle : ecce illam A9 ; sej : avicellum C9, fasiv : *facebat A24, isi : ecce hie A4, d^s^(m^} : dicite D23 ; dizd, unzz, duzd, trezz, kat- torzz, kinz9, sez9 E. When final, c sometimes gives s, as in decem : dis when not used adjectively, lucem : Us E ; but it is generally vocalized as in vaj : voeem E, kruaj : crucem E, nuaj : nucem E. It falls in dau : dulcem E.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xiu, 162) and Northern Dauphine (cf. Devaux, 283 f.) c -f e, i both initial and medial gives also a palatal c (c, s, 2). In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., m, 168) final c is vocalized: voua : voeem, crue : crucem, noue : nucem ; it falls in vei : vicem, dou : dulcem.

62 A. DE SALVIO.

7. cs : s,

Lusd : lixivia E, lejsd : laxare E, kuajsy : coxa E, disit : dixit A16.

In old Lyonnese cs : yss, ys : layssier, coy si (cf. Romania, xin, 563). In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 286) cs: yss, ch : com, laysso, field, tachi.

8. qu : k.

fa, kaki'tn, kakd, karant^, sinkantz, sink; acquam gives eJ9 E. In old Lyonnese and Northern Dauphine" qu gener- ally gives k (cf. Romania, xin, 563 ; and Devaux, 287).

1. g (initial and supported) -\- a : pal. g.

Gial : galbinum B12, gelinz ; gallinam E, gioJ9 : gaudium E, largd : largam E. Intervocalic g falls : fatid \fatigare E, ru^ : rugam E ; but it remains as y in pjaJ9 : plagam E.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 563 f.) the same changes are seen in : joy : gaudium, vergi : virgam, leal : lega- lem, plaes : plagas ; play : plagam. In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 290 f.) a palatal g is found in gelina : galiinam, longi : longam ; the g falls in lia : ligatum, and it is vocalized in payans : paganos, reyel : regalem. In the patois of Saint- Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., ill, 179 i\)g-\-a :pal. g in jdyu : gaudiosum, jdno : galbinum, Ibngi, vargi ; the g falls in roua : rugam, lid : ligare, lidn : ligamen ; it is vocalized in briri : *brugarium.

2. Secondarily final # -f- o, i£ fell in lun : longum E, chati : castigum E, giau9 ijugum E. In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., ill, 180), as well as in old Lyonnese, final g -f- o, u falls : ju ijugum, Ion : longum, bor : borgum.

3. Initial g -f e, i : palatal g, gdndu^ : *genuculum E, gin- tib : gentilem A3, gin : gentem E, giriij : It. girare E. Medial, it becomes j (y) : daj : digitum E, raj : regem Al, mej ; magis A27, fraj : *frigidum B30.

FRANCO-PRO VENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 63

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 564) initial g -f e, i : palatal g : general, gens. It becomes y as in mays : magis, rey : regem. The same development is seen in the modern patois of Saint-Genis-les-Ollieres (cf. Rev. de Ph., in, 180 ff.) : gerla igerulam, gem, : genus, pai \pagensem, faina \fagi- nam.

4. Gr :j in naj naj&rd : nigrum -am E ; the r alone remains in pillirind A3. In Northern Dauphine (cf. Devaux, 292) gr : yr in neyra : nigram, eleyre : eligere. In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., in, 181) gr-.yr in lire : legere, neri : nigram, Leri : Ligerius.

5. Gn : n, pren9 : *praegnam E, pin ipugnum E. An n is found in old Dauphine" in endam -.indaginem, prevan \pro- paginem (cf. Devaux, 292). The patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev de Ph., in, 181) has poin ipugnum, sind \signare.

J

1. j: palatal g.

Giuvznd ijuvenem D30, 'ngirid : injuriatam A5? gistizz : justitiam A9, gia ijugum E. It is vocalized in mej : Maja E. In Northern Dauphin^ (cf. Devaux, 293) j gives a palatal g in ja, jugo, geta ; as in Celle-Faeto it is vocalized in may : maja. The same is seen in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xin, 556) : jota-.juxta, gesir ijaeere ; but it is vocalized in maiour : majorem, peiour : pejorem.

2. !j:lh,j.

Vuolh:*voleo Cl, filhd \ filiam D4, volhd : voleam D12, salh : *saleat D19. milhdud : meliorem D26, sumijvjz -.similiare E, taj : talio E.

In Northern Dauphine (cf. Devaux, 342 f.) Ij : Hi, molher, Julh, sarralhes, balha, pollalhe. In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 556) Ij : Ih, foylles, pailly, fili, talli.

3. nj :gn, bagnij : balneare E, Sagnduz : seniorem A16, chatagnij : *castanearium D2 8 . In old Lyonnese ( cf. Romania,

64 A. DE SALVIO.

xni, 556 f.) njign, chataignes, vigni, segniori. Also in old DauphinS (cf. Devaux, 348) ; seigner, chastagnier, vigni.

4. dj : palatal g, di, j.

Griour : diurnum Dl, miech : medium B31, mejd : madiam E. The same development is seen in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xiu, 557): jor, gageri ; siecho : sedium ; dimi ; dimidium. In old DauphinS (cf. Devaux, 305 f.) dj : pal. g, ch, y -.journals, verger ; duchi; puey -.podium.

In general, as in old Lyonnese and Northern Dauphine", initial or intervocalic I, whether single or double, remains. However, the following peculiarities may be noted :

1 . I : r, Sdrudj : *solidum E, sier : ccelum E, fier :fel E, uormiulmum D27, parm9 ipalmam E. The same change takes place in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xiu, 557) : par- mes, ormo, Arbers : Albertus. In Northern Dauphin^ (cf. Devaux, 337) : Guillermos, armona.

2. Final I falls in: linsij : lintiolum D12, anej : anellum D14, kutej : cultellum E, koz : cottum A23, sej : avicellum C9, gdndu9 : genuculum E, avrij : Aprilem E.

In Northern Dauphin^ (cf. Devaux, 341 f.) the fall of final I dates from the sixteenth century, hence : cie, mie, sd, ma, chiva, mo, pe : pellem. The same happened in old Lyon- nese (cf. Rev. de Ph., in, 44) : ma : mal, fy ifilum, chana ; canalem.

3. Initial d and medial cons. + d : kj

Kijzz : eGclesiam D7, hjud \ davum E, kjd ; davem E. In some modern patois of the Dauphine" initial or supported d gives also kj (cf. Devaux, 281 f.).

4. Vowel -f d : Ih when not followed by i, but when final or followed by i it develops a j : aurdhd : auriculam E, vielhz : vedam E, S9rudi9 ; *solidum E, Ufa : acudam E, vidj : vedum D34, pardj : *pariculi A4, ilh or ij : oeulum E.

FRANCO-PRO VEN£AL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 65

In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 282) intervocalic el : Ih (il, yll) : veylles, eunil, maylles. Lh is found also in the modern patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., in, 46) : vilhi, avolho : *ab-oculum, avilhi : apioulum.

5. pi : pj, pidinz iplenam C9, plants : plantain D28, piardn : plorando A15, piasij iplacere A18. This development is undoubtedly due to Italian influence. Kiu B28 is Apulian.

Initial and medial r generally persists in Celle-Faeto as well as in Lyonnese and Dauphine". Final r preceded by a vowel or by t, st, disappears : ndfo : nostrum B14, words in -arum and verbs in -are (cf. under a), atd : alterum B18, paj : pair em D37, vbto : vostram D4, vaj : verum D5, milhdud : meliorem D26, dMuz : dolorem A6, dij : durum A26, svrdud : sororem E.

In old Lyonnese, final r begins to disappear as far back as the fourteenth century (cf. Romania, xni, 558 f.) : revela : revelare, desirra, entra}fla : frag rum, passa. The same takes place in Northern Dauphin^ : culli, establi (cf. Devaux, 333). In the modern patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., in, 49) final r generally falls : bargi : *berbiearium, savei : sapere, fine ifinire, pou :pavorem.

1. Initial and medial v persists in Celle-Faeto as it does in Lyonnese and Dauphine" : vuolh Cl, venunt C3, vulunt C9, vbtz Oil, vaj : verum D5, giuvdnz D30, avvenit A3.

2. Final v persists in a few cases as v or/, but it generally disappears : nuf nuz : novem E, d^giuv dagiuz \jovis dies E, kjd : clavem E, kjuz : davum E, naj : nivem E, buz : bovem E.

In old Lyonnese final v falls (cf. Romania, xni, 559) : cla : clavem, bo : bovem, ney ; nivem E. The same may be said of Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 325) : cer : cervam, das : davis, nej : nivem, bo : bovem.

5

66 A. DE SALVIO.

1. Intervocalic s : voiced s (z, s in our text) : chuozz All,

A15, kijzd lecclesiam D7, chimiza D13, sirvzij D27. In Northern Dauphine" (cf. Devaux, 309) intervocalic s : voiced s : chosa, pesavant ; at the present day a z is found in some regions, especially in the Terres-Froides. In old Lyon- nese intervocalic s : voiced s (z) : rosa, gloriosa, martiriza, pozar, chozes (cf. Romania, xin, 559).

2. s -j- c, t, or final falls: kakun : quisque unum D16, chatagmj : *castanearium D28, tetd : testam A15, set : ecce iste A 15, ndh : nostrum B14, vdtz : vostrvm D4, ehieb iscalam E, apprej : ad pressu D22, markdj : *markensem D31, tri : trans A26, me/ \magis A27, rbz \grossum B7, 09 : ossum E.

In old Lyonnese of the fourteenth century s followed by a t falls in : beti, teta, futa, Jut : Justum, ita : statum (cf. Romania, xin, 559). But in modern Lyonnese as seen in the patois of Saint-Genis (Rev. de Ph., in, 54) s falls when before c, t, or final : etela : stellam, beti, feta, decendre : descen- dere, echila : scalam, mochi : muscam ; no : nos, ou : ossum, no : nasum. In the Northern Dauphin^ of the Middle Ages may be found itare, ita ; stare, iteyssi : *staticiam, which now have become td, tai; Nacone : Nasconem, chattellan : castellanum ; defor, al, del, eommunau (cf. Devaux, 309 if.).

n

1. Intervocalic and initial n persists as in Lyonnese and Dauphine", except that in Celle-Faeto no nasalization takes place.

2. When final or before a guttural or a dental the n per- sists and no nasalization takes place: bun : bonum Dl, tan D13, kakun D16, bin : bene D20, santz A2, lun : longum E, man Oil, gen E, chanziun B2 ; but the n falls when preceded by an r : giuor Dl,fuorz :furnum B19.

FRANCO-PROVENCAL, IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 67

In old Lyonnese n persists when final and when followed by a dental : lana, land, pan, sanda, chacon ; cantionem. It falls mforifurnum (cf. Romania, xm, 560). In Northern Dauphine" final n fell after an r as far back as the middle of the thirteenth century : for ifurnum, jor ; diurnum (cf. Devaux, 347).

m

Final m : n, min :meum A14 (and by analogy of min, tin and sin), rin : rem A24, fannz \famem Bl ; other cases of m :n are : ten : tempus Al, muen : homo A5, nun : nominem D28 ; m is assimilated to n in/ennd ifeminam A3.

In old Lyonnese m : n in ren, tdns : tempus (cf. Romania, xin? 561). In the patois of Saint-Gen is are found: Jan : famem, nontron : nostrum, min • meum, tin, sin ; also fena : feminam, colona : columnam (Rev. de Ph., in, 57).

1. Medial t when preceded by a consonant persists : sank A2, gintib A3, afo : alterum A9, tetz A15, luntdn C8, kun- tintd D17, settd : ecce istam A26, tantd D2S.

Under the same conditions t persists in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 564) : comenciment, bonament, taut. In Northern Dauphin^ (cf. Devaux, 295 f.) supported t per- sists : ceta ; eeee istam, deytar ; dietare, fruyta : *fructam.

2. When original t becomes supported after the fall of a vowel it appears as d : malady \ male hab'tum C7, kudd : cub'tum E. The same happens in Northern Dauphin^ : malado, sando : sabatum, sodo ; subitum. Also in old Lyon- nese : sanda : san' totem, cudyet : cogitavit, peda ; perdita.

3. When final after a vowel, r, n, or c, the t falls (except in verbs) ; tan D12, bri : brutum A5,fej9 ifaetam A18, enfan C5, neJ9 : noctem C6, na : natum C13, ddn : dentem B24, kier : vurtum E ; when followed by r the t also falls : paj ipatrem D37, pi£r9 ipetram B32.

68 A. DE SALVIO.

In Northern Dauphine (cf. Devaux, 299 f.) the t falls when final and when followed by r as in Celle-Faeto : pare : patrem, frare; volunta, cossela, feni, nevou. Also in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xm, 565) t falls when final after a : universita, pra ipratum, jorna : diurnatam, paia \pacatum, and in all the suffixes in -atum, -atam, -atem ; it falls also in tr : fraro, pare, mare. The same changes take place in the modern patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., m, 183) : pr6 : pratum, sei : sitim, lai : lactem, pore : patrem, mdre : ma-

trem.

d

1. Intervocalic or final d falls : fesan ifacendo D2, kummd : quomodo D5, sezv : sedecim D12, tar : tardum D40, cha : cali- dum B30, fraj : *ftigidum B30, kud : caudam E, nau : nodum E. Dr : r in karant9 ; quadraginta E, charun : caldariam D15, rird : rider e E, rejra : radere E.

Medial d falls in old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xiu, 565) : reis : radices, Jue : Judaei, Roon : Rhodanum, beneyt : benedie- tum. In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev. de Ph., ill, 184) d falls when intervocalic, final, or followed by r : noua : nudam, sou6 : sudare, nu : nodum, ne : nidum, creire : credere, cdro : quadrum. The same takes place in Northern Dau- phine1 (cf. Devaux, 303 f.) : posseo, veer, cua : caudam, carel, cheyri, Pleitru : Piectrudem.

P

1 . Intervocalic or followed by r, p : v : savinn D4, povw C5, aver : apertum C6, avrij : aprilem E, chjevzrd : capram E. When final it falls : Idu : lupvm B7, t&n : tempus Al. Pt:tt: sett : septem C5. Rp : r in kuorp : corpus E.

In old Lyonnese (cf. Romania, xiu, 566) intervocalic p : v : soveran, savour, cuvro, ovres. It fell in col : colaphum, cors : corpus, cham : campum. In the patois of Saint-Genis (cf. Rev de Ph., in, 186) medial p : v : savei : sapere, nevu :

FRANCO-PROVENCAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 69

nepotem ; chivra : capram, ouvrd : aperire ; final p falls in tein : tempus, cou : colaphum. In old Dauphin6 (cf. Devaux, 315 if.) intervocalic p : v : nevou, Cavanna, treval ; pr : vr : ovront, ovra, chevra.

b

Intervocalic b : v : tdnw : tenehat C6, stavo ; stabam C7, davant : de ab ante B16, &v : habebat A7, avajw : habere A13. In both old Lyonnese (Romania, xm, 566) and old Dau- phine' (cf. Devaux, 321) intervocalic b : v.

VI. A.

DECAMERON, THE NINTH NOVEL OF THE FIRST DAY.1

Translated into the Dialect of Celle, BY FRANCESCO SA VERIO PERRINI.

Gi disa, dunk, ka a lu ten da lu primmij Raj da Chipra, dapp6i ka i fit praj la T£ra Santa da Guttafr6 da Bulhon, avvanit ka ?na gintila f 6nna da Gaskogna i alldt pillirina a lu Subbulka ; d'isi-turnan, arrava ka i fit a Chipra da paraj

5 mu6n i fit 'na muorra tri-bri ?ngiria ; pe' ssu ilha na prignitt tan e tan dalaua, ka i pinsat d?alla a raktiorra a lu Raj ; m6 kaktin la disit k'a j &v t6n perdi, pakk6 ij a j ev da ktior tri pitit e tri-pa-bbun, tan ka nun sulamSn i prigniv pa d6 gistiza la vinnitta da lo 'ngiria de lo-s-^-ta, m6 sell6 tri-'na-

10 muorra k'i fasivant a Ij sa la prigniv ku tan via-vituparij ; tan-lu-vaj ka tutt selloa ka i tinivant da dira kaka chuoza da ij, i sfugavdnt pa lu dana daspiasij e pa lu sbrugnij. Sintan sta chuoza sala fenna persuadi k?i putiv pa avajra la vinnitte,

1 Cf. / parlari Italiani in Certeddo, Livorno 1875, p. 173 ; and Archivio Glott. Italiano, xii, p, 75.

70 A. DE SALVIO.

p'avajra un pua da kunsalaziun a lu daspiasij sin, sa mattit 15 ?n teta da muordara un pua la mmaserja da set Raj, e piardn sa n'all&t davan a ij, e li disit : " Sagn&ua min, gi ga vien pa davan a ti pa la vinnitta ke gi m'attant da la 'ngirja ke m'6 st& feja, me p'avaj un pua da piasij da sella, ga ta praj da ma 'mpard kumina ti tin tan da pazienza da suffrij sella 'ngirja 20 ka gi ga sint k'i fas tint a ti ; pakke" gi avaj 'mparan da ti, ga putiss pur do pazienza suppurta la mia ; ka i sa diabbanaj, sa ga j o putiss fa, bun-'na-inu6rra vuluntij ga ta la dunar, pakke" ta sa tan bun purta u koa la 'ngirja ka ta fant a taj." Lu Raj, ka 'nsi addunk i sa muiv pa e pa rin i fasiv, kumina 25 sa i fiss ruvelhd da lu suonn, abbjat primmamen da la 'ngirja feja a setta i^nna, ka i vinnika do ragga, poi sa fasitt tri-dij persakutaua da tutt selloa ka i fasivant mej-aprej (da indi innanzi) kaka chu6za kuntra Punaua da la kuruna sia.

ITALIAN ORIGINAL.

Dico adunque clie ne' tempi del primo re di Cipri, dopo il conquisto fatto della Terra Santa da Gottifr& de Buglione, avvenne che una gentil donna di Guascogna in pellegrinaggio and6 al sepolcro, donde tornando, in Cipri arrivata, da alcuni scellerati uomini villanemente fu oltraggiata. Di che ella senza alcuna consolazion dolendosi, penso d'andarsene a riehiamare al re ; ma detto le fu per alcuno che la fatica si perderebbe, percio che egli era di si rimessa vita e da si poco bene, che, non che egli Faltrui onte con giustizia vendicasse, anzi infinite con vituperevole viltlt a lui fattene sosteneva, in tanto che chiunque aveva cruccio alcuno, quello col fargli alcuna onta o vergogna sfogava. La qual cosa udendo la donna, disperata della vendetta, ad alcuna consolazion della sua noia propose di volere mordere la miseria del detto re ; e andatasene piagnendo davanti a lui, disse : " Signor mio, io non vengo nella tua presenza per vendetta che io attenda della ingiuria che m'S stata fatta, ma, in sodisfacimento di

FRANCO-PRO VEN£AL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 71

quella, ti priego che tu m'insegni come tu soffri quelle le quali io intendo che ti son fatte, accio che, da te apparando, io possa pazientemente la mia comportare ; la quale sallo Iddio, se io far Io potessi, volentieri ti donerei, poi cosi buon portatore ne sei." II re, infino allora stato tardo e pigro, quasi dal sonno si risvegliasse, cominciando dalla ingiuria fatta a questa donDa, la quale agramente vendico, rigidissimo persecutore divenne di ciascuno, che, contro alPonore della sua corona, alcuna cosa commettesse da indi innanzi.

B.

LA FANNa Da Lo JALANTOMS Da FAITO LH'E TRI Kosa.

By Arcangelo Petitti.

89 sta chanziun S9 kunghj pa" Nus no rostun tuttuaia barrd, Dingui^n ?na britta massari, 5 89 stoa i fisunt tuttuaia akkussi !

K'i allassiant, i allassiant arragidn ;

Du Mu i tintint m6 rog lu kanan !

Tutt i achaffunt, e mai s'abbinghiiint,

E a nus sul i arresttint 16 kunt ; 10 Sett9 a-j-fe pur un b^ piaslj

Kg ?nkiok a nus tutt i ant a mingij !

89 fan pa gial, S9 fan pa rus ;

Kum9 n9 sun 'nkappd, ahi ! povrg a nus !

I ant volhg st9 spallg notg 15 Dg sto-s-ummuen k'i stunt pa sot9 !

Ki mgnunt b man p9 davant et derrij E 'nkiok a nus tutt i ant a mingij !

Vaij a se-s-atg do la pettgk d9 fuor9,

Kg i allarg milha'ug chemmindn pa 16 fuora ;

72 A. DE SALVIO.

Lh'e scappa propria da Sant Uito, 20 Lh'e paisan nota, Ih'e propria da Faito !

I at savin appuzzuta lo-s-ij, E 'nkiok a nus pura i at a mingy ! Oh ! ka i allassiant, sa i allassiant a fa 'npen ! Ka sa i allassiant a fa rumpara la den ! 25 I n'ant propria, propria stanka,

A tutt nus n'ant propria stuffa !

Ma sta chanzitin pura i at a kunghlj E 'nkiok a nus i ant kiti a mingij ! Mannanlda a spass pa tuttu&ie, 30 Dakir o fa cha e dakir o fa fraj ;

Gettanlda propria u miech lo charri£ra, A frisij da ?nkiok a la pi£ra ....

LITERAL FRENCH TRANSLATION. LA FAIM DES GENTILHOMMES DE FAITO EST TRES GRANDE.

Si cette chanson ne remplit pas son but, Nous en resterons toujours enferme's Dans un vilain mas, Si ceux-1^, sifflent toujours ainsi !

Qu'ils s?en aillent, quails s'en aillent enrager ; Plus que le loup ils ont la gorge large ! Tout ils accaparent sans se rassasier, Et nous seuls en avons le cout et le denier ; C'est bien un beau plaisir Qu' & nos dSpens tous ils doivent se nourrir !

Ils ne se font ni jaunes ni rouges ; Comme on nous a berne"s, he"las, pauvres de nous ! Quel poids est reserve" a nos pauvres Spaules Par ces hommes qui toujours remuent ! Qui dandinent leurs mains et devant et derri^re, Et a nos d6pens ils doivent tous se nourrir !

Voyez cet autre montrant sa peau a Fendroit du derrier, II serait mieux qu'il aille roder autour des fuors ; II s'est bien echapp6 de Saint Quito, C'est notre compatriote, il est bien de Faito ! II a su d6gourdir ses yeux, Et ^ nos d6pens il doit se nourrir !

FRANCO-PROVENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 73

Qu'ils aillent, quails aillent se faire pendre ! Qu'ils aillent se faire casser les dents ! A la fin, & la fin nous en sommes lasses, Nous en sommes tous fatigues ! Mais cette chanson devra remplir son but, Et a nos dSpens plus ils ne se nourriront !

Envoyons-les paitre a tout jamais, Qu'il fasse chaud, qu'il fasse froid ; Getons-les tous ^ la voirie Prendre le frais sur les pierres ....

C.

ADDO Ga VTJOLH MURIJ.

Dinguie"n 'na massari ka Ih'est naskunni 5 mi£ch a nu pummalij, 7n giuor a lu t£n k'i vanunt lo musilla, gi ga nesf ; paj6na a-i-^v giardinij da Sant-Rami.

5 Da s^tt p6vra enfan gi m?ej lu primmij. 1116 mammoa a lu kapezzae da la naka mia i taniv la neja sana lo-s-ij av£r 'nkiok a mi ka ma stavo malada.

lora attuorn a la massari tutt i rij, tutt a-i-£t verd lunt&u da lu nit, piaina da fitir, i vulunt e i suspirunt lo sej ka sa na 10 sunt alM.

Ga va praj, Banaj min, ka la man v6ta banaie dekir gi ga avi tutt lo daspiasij ka vus m'avij kria barrd lo-s-ij min illd add6 m?6 na.

PBOVENgAL ORIGINAL.1

MOUNTE VOLE MOUKI.

Dins un mas que s'escound au mitan di poumie",

Un b^u matin, au terns dis iero, Sie"u na d'un jardini^ ?m§ d'uno jardiniero,

Dins li jardin de Sant-Roumie'.

1 Lis Oubreto en vers, de J. Koumanille, Avignon, 1903, p. 2.

74 A. DE SALVIO.

De set pauris enfant vengu£re lou proumiS ....

Aqui ma maire, a la testiero De ma bresso, souv&ut vihavo de niue 'ntiero

Soun pichot malaut que dourmiS. Aro, autour de moun mas, tout ris, tout reyerdejo Liuen de soun nis de flour, souspiro e voulastrejo ;

L'auceloun que s'es enana ! . . .

Vous n'en pregue, o moun Dieu ! que vosto man benido, Quand anrai proun begu Famarum de la vido, Sarre mis iue mounte sie"u na.

FRENCH TRANSLATION OF THE ABOVE. Ou JE VEUX MOURIR.

Dans un mas qui se cache au milieu des ponimiers, un beau matin, au temps de la moisson, je suis ne" d'un jardinier et d'une jardiniere dans les jardins de Sant-Remy.

De sept pauvres enfants je naquis le premier ; la, ma mere au chevet de mon berceau souvent veillait le nuit enti&re son petit malade endormi.

A present autour de mon mas tout rit, tout reverdit ; loin de son nid de fleurs soupire et bat des ailes Poisillon qui en est parti !

Je vous en prie, mon Dieu, que votre main benie, quand j'aurai bu assez Pamertume de la vie, ferme mes yeux ou je suis n6.

D. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO FAETO PEASANTS/

A. Oh, bun gitior a vus, kumpa ; gi g'&v pa ka fa e ma 'gn est isi a sulakkij ; e vus toka va vanna fesan ?

B. Gi ga va chemmindn ; o ma pja da spassij.

A. Gi g'£ savinn ka va sta maridn a vota filha : a j £ lu vaj ?

lCf. Archivio Glott. Itdiano, xu, p. 72.

FRANCO-PROVENCAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 75

5 B. Lho, ma kumma k'a j et lu vaj ! E ga fej ?n matre- muajana tri-bun.

A. Dakir i vat a la kijza ?

B. D'ikki V ata deka de giiior.

A. Gi ga kraj, ka la dana ?na muorra da chuoza, pakke ilhe 10 £ sula.

B. Gi g'£ kiu tok dan£ : i at avinn katt tumala da t'rin, ?na kaza, k'i aviss volha d'abitd ilha e su mari ! e seza linsij, vint chimiza e tan d'ata chu6za ka tutt i u sant : unella, sundnn, mukkartila, anej, urkinD, spiDgula, kauz6tta,

15 tian^lla, chartin, kilhij, la kataina pa lu fua, lo kartillen, e kaktin ata chuoza ka jor mi rijort pa : ilha Ih'et rumani kuutinta, e sa vuot kakun ata chuoza, ga la denn.

A. E sa la danann, pa vus, gi la puolh gi dana ? gi ka gi tin mank 'na vita ? Ma va danann, ma kuntinta i salh da

20 chau, me va vuot bin e mankun a toka dira da vus.

B. Akkusi a i e propria, pa jor i di pa mank 'na vita; apprej kumm i vuot ilha : akkusl gi f4 gi.

A. E braf lu kumpa min ! akkusi gi va vuolh. Ma disima ?na chuoza : a ka kartij da lu tanimin k'avi dana lu

25 t'rin ?

B. A Riviti^lla : lu rnilhaua t?rin ka gi taniv, tutt arbu- rdnn : a 'gn ant pairij, sirazij, nuaij, fekij, uorm, kjuppa, chatagnij, e tanta d'ata pianta, ka gi s6 pa mank lu nun.

A. Gi ma kunsola, kumpd, dakir gi parl do vus ; ilha at 30 avinn Jn bun pua da roba e n'at pua i j u at lu giuvana,

i putunt fa vita da markaj.

B. Tutt sin ka gi g'e fej ?nzin a jor, gi j u e fe pa ilha, pa la fa avajara ?na buna suorta, kumma i Pat avinn ; dakir po ma f6 viaj e gi puolh kjti fatijan, ma rakkumanna a ilha e gi ga kraj ka i ma vira pa la skina.

A. S'to o sunt li disign k'i fat kakun, ma u darrij poi si gni panttint : pakk6 lo fiaua i vriiint pa mank lo-z-ij a lu paj e a la mara dekir i sunt fa vjaj.

76 A. DE SALVIO.

B. Gi ga sper da 'nkumpd pa sattd suorta, ka gi tin a ilha 40 sub : stdvasa bun, kump£, k'a i et f<§ tar. A. Addij, kumpa\

LITERAL TRANSLATION.

A. Good morning, friend ; I had nothing to do and I am here passing the time in the sun ; and you, what are you doing ?

B. I am taking a walk, I like to go out.

A. I have learned that you are giving your daughter in marriage, is it true ?

B. Yes, indeed it is true ! and I have arranged a fine mar- riage.

A. When will she go to the church ?

B. In about ten days.

A. I believe you will give her many things, because she is the only daughter.

B. I have given her all I could : she has received four acres of land, a house, where she and her husband can live comfortably, sixteen sheets, twenty chemises, and so many other things that all know about : gowns, aprons, handkerchiefs, rings, ear-rings, pins, stockings, pans, kettles, spoons, the chain for the hearth, plates, and some other things which now I do not recall. She has remained satisfied, and if she wishes for something else I will give it to her.

A. And if you do not give it to her, is it perhaps for me to give it? I who possess nothing at all? But by giving her all she desires she will leave your house more satisfied, she will love you more, and no one will say any- thing against you.

B. So it is. Now I say nothing; later let it be as she wishes : that is the way I am.

FRANCO-PROVENCAL, IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 77

A. Good, my friend ! thus I wish to see you. But tell me one thing : in what part of your estate have you given her the land ?

B. At Bivitiello, the best land I had, all wooded : there are pear trees, cherry, walnut, fig, elm, poplar, chestnut trees, and so many other plants that I do not even know their names.

A. I am glad, friend, since I am speaking to you : she has received a good deal of property, and the young man will have something : they will be able to live like marquises.

B. All that I have done until now I have done for her, so that she might make a good match, as she has ; when I become old and can work no more, I will go to her and I believe she will not turn her back on me.

A. These are the plans every one makes, but at the end they will be sorry for it ; because young people not even look at their parents when they are old.

B. I hope not to meet with a similar fate : I who have only her. Good-by, friend, for it is late.

A. Good-by, friend.

E.

Numbers : vun, do, traj, katt, sink, sij, sHt, vit, nuf nu&, dis, unz, duzz, trezz, kattorzz, kienzz, sez^, dichassett, dichvit, dichannu9, vint, trento, karanta, sinkanfo, vittanfo, nmmnfo, sin.

asiij : to dry. chargij : to load.

aur&lhz ; ear. chati : punishment.

avrij : April. chi&b : ladder.

baghy : to bathe. chier chiew : dear.

bjank : white. chin chign9 : dog.

buck : mouth. chjevdrz : goat.

buz : ox. ddj : finger.

: kettle. dau : sweet.

78

A. DE SALVIO.

ddgiuv ddgiue : Thursday.

ddmudjdnd : demon.

dimingz : Sunday.

&J9 : water.

fatid : to work.

fier : gall.

fi&vrd : fever.

fryrfj : February.

friij frijd : to rub.

gel'ms : hen.

gznduz : knee.

gidue gia : yoke.

gin gen : people.

gioj9 : joy.

giriij : to turn.

giurnd : the whole day.

ilhd ij : eye.

ilhv ; needle.

kanmlij : candelabrum.

kiw : short.

kjd : key.

kju9 : nail.

krudj : cross.

/^ud ; tail.

Jcudjzrz : to cook.

kudjs9 : thigh.

kud9 : elbow.

kuesun : we cook.

kuorp : body.

kurrunt : they run.

kutej : knife.

largz ; large.

fe; : milk.

lejfid : to leave.

lejsij : to leave.

li&vdrz : hare.

&/ : law.

lij : bed.

Zina : moon.

Us : light.

lun : long.

lusd : lye.

manehz : sleeve.

mej : May.

mejz : kneading-trough.

ming9 : I eat.

naj naJ9T2 : black.

naj : snow.

nau : knot.

ni&wfo : cloud.

nudj : nut.

09 : bone.

pajrij : piracy.

parmv : palm.

pans : dust.

perdi : lost.

pid : foot.

piett : breast.

pij : feet.

pjdjd : wound.

pjejd pjijd : to fold.

pin : fist.

prend : pregnant.

prijd : to pray.

prin : I take.

rejrz : to shave.

nra : to laugh.

rud : street.

FRANCO-PBOVENgAL IN SOUTHERN ITALY. 79

secchij : to dry. talhij : to cut.

sej : I know. taur&j : bull.

sej : birds. tin : I hold.

szrdw : sister. tremd : to tremble.

syrudj : sun. tuchij : to touch.

sier : sky. wd/afe : oil.

sijij : safe. vaj : voice.

«pe7'« : to hope. vielfo : old f.

sumijija : similar. vej : I go.

taj : I cut.

A. DE SALVIO.

HI.— SPENSER'S LOST POEMS.

The following is a list of the poetical and other works ascribed to Spenser, which are generally supposed to have been lost :

I. Mentioned in the Shepherds Calender.

1. English Poet.

2. Court of Cupid.

3. Sonnets.

4. Pageants.

5. Legends.

6. Dreams.

7. Translation of Moschus Idyl of Winged Love (Love a Fugi-

tive).

II. Mentioned in Spenser's correspondence with Harvey (1579-

1580).

8. My Slomber and other Pamphlets.

9. Stemmata Dudleiana.

10. Nine English Comedies.

11. Epithalamion Thamesis.

12. Dying Pelican.

13. Dreams.

III. Mentioned in the publisher's preface to the Complaints. 1591.

14. Sennights Slomber.

15. Hell of Lovers — His Purgatorie.

16. Translation of Ecclesiastes and Canticum Canticorum.

17. Translation of Seven Psalmes.

18. Sacrifice of a Sinner.

19. Hours of the Lord.

IV. Ascribed to Spenser by tradition.

20. Six more cantos of the Faerie Queene.

21. Translation of the Greek dialogue by Axiochus.

The attempt to unravel the mystery that shrouds these lost poems of Spenser has attracted scholars from the time of Birch and Upton in the middle of the eighteenth cen- tury, to the present day, and much that has been said by 80

SPENSER'S LOST POEMS. 81

them will have to be accepted as final. For myself I will say that I have spent a good deal of time turning over the pages of contemporary poems and pamphlets, and have finally been driven to the conclusion that the only solution of this mystery lies in the works of Spenser himself.

It is an interesting fact that most of the poems men- tioned above disappeared about 1580, and that if they did reappear, as I shall try to prove that they did, it was not until 1591. Between these two dates Spenser was con- tinually in Ireland, as I have shown by an article in Modern Language Notes, Dec., 1904. The commonly ac- cepted reason for their disappearance is that he was sud- denly called away to Ireland, and that his duties there kept him so engaged that he had no time to attend to their pub- lication. To my mind, however, there are some serious difficulties in such a view. In 1580 Spenser was anxious for the poems to come out. In a letter to Harvey, April 10, 1580, he writes that his Dreams and his Dying Pelican are ready for the press, the former with a Gloss by E. K., and with illustrations. He did not leave for Ireland until the fall; and the interval was enough to see the poems through the press. Why should he so suddenly abandon their publication ? Even if he were kept busy through the summer of 1580, his friends in London were amply able to take care of the details of arrangement and proof read- ing.

We know that Spenser was nearly all his life seeking political preferment. Perhaps because of the political satire in the Shepherds Calender, where he abused Bur- leigh's ereature, Bishop Aylmer (also spelt Elmer), under the anagram Morel, and praised Archbishop Grindal as Algrind (see Eclogues v and vn), he had the book pub- lished under the nom de plume Immerito, and took refuge 6

82

under the wings of Sidney and Leicester. But the name of the author of such a poem, although at first known only to few, would out, and come to the ears of the omniscient chief minister. If Spenser wished any office he must cease to offend the noble peer. He suppressed the poems that would offend (and if my theory be correct they would all offend), sailed to Ireland, and remained there ten years engaged in hunting down Irish rebels and in writing the Faerie Queene.

But in 1589 he returned to London in the company of Raleigh, a new favorite of Queen Elizabeth, full of high hopes, and in his hand a peace offering, three books of that epic. For a year he dangled about court, receiving only the crusts from her majesty's table. Then, disgusted, he turned loose the batteries of his wrath. All the poems that had been carefully laid away, lest they hurt his chances at court, were now drawn forth and their edges sharpened. Over and over again in the little volume of the Com- plaints he lashes his enemy, Burleigh; in the Ruins of Time, in the Tears of the Muses, in the Visions of the Worlds Vanitie, in the Mother Hublerds Tale; and in the middle of the book he prints the Virgils Gnat, which I regard as the key to the whole mystery of Spenser's literary life from 1579 to 1591, and of the reasons for the loss of so many of his poems — a loss for only ten years.

This little poem was addressed to Leicester, and was probably written for his eyes alone just before Spenser left for Ireland in 1580. Its subject is simply, « I did you a favor, and in return you killed me." It may be remarked in passing that there is no death for a poet so cruel as the death of his verses.

The motive for Spenser's first dislike of Burleigh is not far to seek. Burleigh's rivalry with Leicester for the Queen's favor is notorious. As early as the 22nd of

SPENSER'S LOST POEMS. 83

August, 1578, Spenser had evidently some influence with Leicester, for there is a letter of that date from Wm. Foulke (successor to Dr. Younge as head of Pembroke Col- lege, Cambridge, Spenser's alma mater) to the fellows, stating that Leicester had requested that Harvey's fellow- ship be continued. Sidney, Spenser's idol, too, was re- pressed by Burleigh, according to his practice of keeping down young intelligent aspirants for positions. (See Essex's letter to Bacon). In 1580 Sidney tilted before the Queen against Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and the victory was adjudged to Oxford. (See the Bragga- doccio story in the Faerie Queene, Book v, Canto in). This involved Sidney in a quarrel with Oxford, Bur- leigh's son-in-law, as we are informed by Foulke Greville, and by Collins, the editor of the Sidney Papers. On the 9th of May of that year Harvey in his letter to Spenser sent a Satiricall Libell, which Nash and others construed as aimed at Oxford. The Queen "intreated peace" between the gentlemen, and Sidney retired to Wilton, and com- posed the Arcadia. From here he wrote a strong letter dissuading the Queen from the Alengon match, Bur- leigh's favorite project to offset Leicester's power, and was further snubbed. He was back again in court in 1581, but in 1582 Burleigh prevented his becoming joint master of ordnance with his uncle Leicester.

Spenser would naturally feel called upon to take up cudgels in defense of his patrons. He wrote the Stemmata Dudleiana in Latin (a poem which has been lost, but of which more later), to prove that they did not need to boast " arms and ancestrie " like their enemy (see Tears of the Misses, Clio). The latter part of the Mother Hub- Iterds Tale is an allegory of this rivalry between the two great noblemen. It was written, in its first draft at least, as early as 1578. Spenser himself in the dedication of it

84 PHILO M. BUCK, JR.

says that it was " long sithens composed in the raw coii- ceipt of youth/7 and I see no reason why we should ques- tion the word of the poet. In its introductory lines he speaks of the plague in August, says that he himself had been stricken, and that the story was told by an old woman that waited on him. Plague raged in London in 1563, and again in 1577 and 1578, but not in 1580. The Lion king of beasts is Leicester, the king to be of England, by mar- riage with the Queen. Leicester married Lady Essex in 1578.1 The Ape who spoiled the Lion is Burleigh.

A reference is made to Grindal, see line 1159; to Bur- leigh's penuriousness, lines 1170 et seq. The spirit of the satire is that of the Shepherds Calender. The Tears of the Muses, the Visions of the Worlds Vanitie, and the Ruins of Time, all have in them the same satire of Burleigh.2

On the 5th of September, 1592, Harvey wrote to Mr. Christopher Bird : " For I must needes say, Mother Hub- ~berd in the heat of choller, forgetting the pure sanguine of her sweete Fairie Queene wilfully overshot her miseon- tented self, as elsewhere I have specified at large, with th<; good leave of unspotted friendship." Nash answered Har- vey by saying : " Who publickly accused of late brought Mother Hubberd into question, that thou shouldst by re- hersal rekindle against him [Spenser] the sparks of dis-

1 Lines 621 to 630 have been taken as a reference to the Queen's anger because of Leicester's marriage with Lettice Knollys, Countess of Essex. This would contradict the character given the Lion in the latter part of the poem. I prefer to explain the "Golden circlet" as the sign, not of marriage, but of the honored subject. The Queen wished to see the Lion, not a subject, but a free sovereign like herself.

2 The Ruins of Time for obvious reasons was evidently rewritten just previous to its publication. For this reason no references in it to Burleigh can be with certainty assigned to an earlier period. See Tears of the Muses, Clio, lines 61-96; Calliope, lines 445-456; and Visions, Sonnets 7, 8, 9, 10.

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pleasure that were quenched." If it had such an effect in 1591, it can readily be imagined that Burleigh relished it no more in 1579 and 1580. And we know that Burleigh at this time (1591) had renounced Spenser and all his works. See the 41st stanza of the 12th canto of the 6th book of the Fairie Queene and the Introduction to the 4th book. Upton lays this permanent dislike of Spenser to the satire in the Shepherds Calender. But an offence committed once might have been forgiven; repeated on such a scale as in the Mother Hubberd, it became a deadly sin.

If we can -prove that the Tears of the Muses, the Visions of the World's Vanitie, and the Ruins of Time were the poems lost in 1580, we would have even stronger grounds for Burleigh' s dislike ; and this I shall attempt to do.

But before I examine them in detail, it might be inter- esting to ask what would be the probable effect of this in- tense partizanship of Spenser upon Leicester and upon the Queen. It would be an embarrassment to him. It would provoke the Queen. Both would wish to silence the eager young poet who had learned such a dangerous game, and this is precisely what I believe was done. Leicester killed Spenser — that is, his poems — and to keep him otherwise occupied sent him off to Ireland, where he could fight savages and give his gift of satire a rest. Therefore the Virgils Gnat. In the fall of 1579 Spenser had an audi- ence with the Queen. Writing of it to Harvey on the 5th of October, he says : " Your desire to hear of my late being with her Magestie must die in itself." The reception of the young poet was not altogether a flattering one to him. He will say nothing about it. Moreover that same letter tells of his proposed political trip to the Continent. He never went. Was this the means that was taken to dis- cipline the poet ? And the allegory of the Faerie Queene

86 PHILO M. BUCK, JR.

is full of instances of mistaken zeal: Guyon and Brito- mart, Book in, Canto i ; Timias and Belphoebe, Book iv, Canto vn ; Scudamour and Britomart, Books in and iv; Colin and the Graces, Book vi, Canto x.

To return : — We should naturally expect Ponsonbie, the publisher of the Complaints, to be familiar with the works of Spenser mentioned in the Shepherds Calender and in the Harvey Correspondence, for both of these were in print and accessible. As he was making a list of Spenser's un- published poems, we should naturally expect him to make one similar to that at the head of this paper. The in- teresting query then arises, why did he not include such attractive titles as the Court of Cupid, Pageants, Dreams, "Nine Comedies, etc., etc., unless he knew that he was pub- lishing them under new titles in the Complaints, or knew that the poet was re-working them into his Faerie Queene ? With the exception of the Sennights Slomber,1 there is not one title mentioned by him that can possibly be identified with the title of a work mentioned in the Shepherds Calen- der or in the Correspondence.

Some commentators have thought that Spenser himself wrote this preface. If su'ch be the case, what other pos- sible reason could there be for the omission of these works that he had already claimed or had had ascribed to him, than that they were then being published or had appeared in the Faerie Queene?

I shall take up each of the lost works in detail.

1 1 am inclined to identify the Sennights Slomber with the Dreams. Spenser writing to Harvey on the 5th of October, 1579, calls it My Slomber. Ponsonbie saw this, and by a desire to improve similar to that which changed the Hymn in Honor to Love into the Hell of Lovers, changed it into A Sennights Slomber. Titles in those days were not copyrighted. We shall find other examples of changed titles later.

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1. ENGLISH POET. " Poetrie being a divine gift, as the author hereof elswhere at large discourseth in his booke called The English Poete, which booke ... I mynde . . . upon further advisment, to publish." Argument, Oct. Eel. 8hep. Cal.

The subject matter of this book was doubtless much the same as that of the Tears of the Muses. From this we know that there was a strong critical sympathy between Spenser and Sidney. I am inclined to agree with the opinion of Professor Cooke in his edition of Sidney's De- fense, that Sidney used this book by Spenser as the founda- tion of his.

2, 5. COTJKT OF CUPID, LEGENDS. " Hoping that this [the publication of the Shepherds Calender] will the rather occasion him to put forth divers other excellent works of his which slepe in silence; as his Dreams, his Legends, his Court of Cupid/' Dedic. Epis. to Harvey, 8hep. Cal, Apr. 10, 1579.

The Court of Cupid is probably the Masque of Cupid, F. Q., Book in, Cantos xi and xn, as has been pointed out, or the Temple of Venus, F. Q., Book iv, Canto x. Ac- cording to M. H. Towry, Bibliographer, Vol. i (1882), p. 129, the Court of Cupid is found in Book vi, Canto vn, Stanza 32. The first difficulty with this view is that in this passage the Court of Cupid is not shown, only the carrying out of its sentence on the scornful Mirabella, Rosalind. Further we know that this canto was not written until 1594 (see Sonnet LXXX, Amoretti), and if, therefore, in 1590 the Court of Cupid existed as a separate poem there would be no good reason why its name should be absent from Ponsonby's list.

Legends. In the Harvey correspondence the Faerie Queene is twice mentioned, first in a letter, April 10, 1580, by Spenser, in which he asks for its return as he is anxious

88 PHILO M. BUCK, JR.

to get to work on it; and again by Harvey on the 7th of April of that year in a letter in which he rather severely criticises it. I am inclined to identify these Legends and this early part of the Faerie Queene. The Faerie Queene is a composite of many of the legends of the middle ages. We know that Spenser was well acquainted with the his- tory of Geoffrey of Monmouth, see Book n, Canto ix. It seems to me that, as its name indicates, the poem at this early stage had much more to do with Arthur and the Faerie Queene, than it had later, when the Earl of Leices- ter was dead, and all chance of the marriage of his patron and the queen, the central point of the allegory of the Faerie Queene, was gone. In such a case a canto like Book n, Canto ix, would probably be the starting point of the poem. For this reason I feel that this canto was one of the passages that were submitted for Harvey's approval. If so, one can find little ground for differing from Harvey's general criticism of the poem.

3. SONNETS. " As well sayeth the Poet elsewhere in one of his Sonnets : —

The silver swan doth sing before her dying day, As she that feels the deepe delight that is in death."

Gloss to the Oct. Eel.

Dr. Grosart thinks that this establishes the identity of this sonnet and one of the sonnets of the Ruins of Time, line 589 et seq. It seems certain that the sonnets in the Ruins of Time have been reworked into their present shape, and that formerly they were a part of the Dreams. (See below). This change from their early shape would account for the difference in reading between the lines quoted and the lines of the sonnet as it now stands.1

i Mr. Towry in the article referred to above finds among Spenser's lost poems a sonnet prefixed to Harvey's Satires. Is not this the

SPENSER'S LOST POEMS. 89

4. PAGEANTS. " And by that authoritie, thys same Poete, in his Pageaunts saith,

An hundred Graces on her eyelidde sate."

Gloss to the June Eclogue.

Spenser in his Ruins of Time calls the sonnets that fol- low the complaint of Verulam " tragicke Pageants." This would also tend to establish the identity of the Dreams and the Pageants. ~No such line is found in any of those sonnets. There is, however, a picture of a beautiful lady, Sonnet iv, second series, and the line may have been found there before it was revised. Previous commentators have called attention to a line in the Faerie Queene, Book IT, Canto m, st. 25, very similar to the line quoted. Spenser himself calls the Faerie Queene a pageant in a dedicatory sonnet to Lord Howard of Effingham,

" In this same pageaunt have a worthy place."

Mr. Towry is inclined to regard Faerie Queene, Book in, Canto xn, stanzas 7-26, as one of the Pageants. I feel that here again, as in the Legends, we have a reference to the early draft of the Faerie Queene. If the Dreams and the Pageants are identical, as Mr. Grosart would like us

sonnet published now in the Globe Edition of Spenser's Works on page 607? Mr. Todd was the first to include this among Spenser's works.

In an article in Modern Language Notes, February, 1907, en- titled Add. MS. 34064 and Spenser's Ruins of Time and Mother Hubberd's Tale. I have quoted two sonnets which contain references to the dying swan and dying pelican which are at least good enough to have been from Spenser's pen. So far as I know their author has not been discovered. If they are Spenser's we would have the lost Dying Pelican.

90 PHILO M. BUCK, JB.

to believe, we have a confusion on the part of E. K., for he mentions both, and apparently as separate poems.

6, 8, 14. DREAMS, MY SLOMBER, SENNIGHTS SLOMBER.

Dreams. See Dedicatory Epistle to the Shepherds Calender quoted above. " Now, my Dreames and Dying Pellicane being fullie finished (as I partleye signified in my last Letters) and presently [immediately] to be im- printed, I will in hand forthwith with my Faery Queene." Letter to Harvey, 10 Apr., 1580. To which Harvey answered, 23 Apr., 1580 : " But master Collin Cloute is not every body . . . yet he peradventure may happely live by Dying Pellicanes, and purchase great lands, and lordshippes, with the mony, which his Calendar and Dreams have, and will aiforde him."

Slomber is only mentioned once — in the letter to Harvey, 5 Oct., 1579 : " First I was minded for a while to have intermitted the uttering of my writings; leaste by over- much cloying their noble ears, I should gather a contempt of myself. . . . Then also, meseemeth, the work too base for his excellent Lordship, being made in honor of a private Personage unknowne. . . . Such f ollie it is, not to regard aforehand the inclination and qualitie of him to whom we dedicate our Bookes. Such might I happily in- curre entituling my Slomber and the other Pamphlets unto his honor."

Sennights Slumber. " To which effect (the world's vanity) I understand that he besides wrote sundrie others, namelie Ecclesiastes and Canticum Canticorum translated, A Sennights Slomber, The Hell of Lovers, His Purgatorie, being all dedicated to ladies ; so as it may seeme he ment them all to one volume." Ponsonbie's Preface to the Com- plaints.

It seems not improbable that these three (the Dreams, My Slomber, and Sennights Slomber) refer to one and

SPENSER'S LOST POEMS. 91

the same poem, especially as these titles are never found together. We have almost the same ground for regarding the Faerie Queene and the Elvish, Queene as separate poems, for both are mentioned in Harvey's Letters.

Todd thinks that in the Visions of Petrarch we have Spenser's Dreams. Grosart thinks that they are to be found in the Ruins of Time. Collier finds them in the Visions of the World's Vanitie. But any one of these would make the poem too small. Spenser wrote to Har- vey, April 10, 1580 : " I take it best that my Dreames shoulde come forth alone, beinge growen by means of the Glosse full as great as my Calendar/' Besides the Ruins of Time, though it may have as a foundation an old poem (see below), was put into its present shape after the death of the Earl of Warwick in 1589, and is hence to be re- garded as a new poem. Mr. Towry thinks that they are the Visions of Bellay and of Petrarch, which appeared first in the Theatre for Worldlings in 1569, and which were amended before they were published in the Complaints. He is, however, at times almost contradictory in his argu- ment. He quotes E. K.'s note in the Shepherds Calender (infra, p. 92) and adds: " This would lead us to suppose that the Dreams were published anterior to the Shepherds Calender" and then tries to identify them with the poetical parts of the Theatre. But there is no commentary by E. K. in the Theatre. Further, Spenser in his letter to Har- vey, quoted from above, shows that the annotated edition had not been published in April, 1580, a year after the Shepherds Calender.

My opinion is that the Dreams are to be found today in the Visions of the Worlds Vanitie, the Visions of Petrarch and Bellay, and the Visions at the end of the Ruins of Time. These latter have been rewritten to suit

92 PHILO M. BUCK, JR.

the subject and the metrical scheme of the Ruins of Time.1 In spirit they are identical with the Visions.

A. We have seen that the Dreams were originally ad- dressed to a lady. The first sonnet of the Visions of the Worlds Vanitie has this line,

Such as they are (faire Ladie) take in worth.

The last sonnet in the Visions of Petrarch (an original sonnet, not a translation) has this line,

And ye, faire Ladie in whose bounteous brest.

Was this lady Eosalind ? All of the other poems in the Complaints are formally dedicated to ladies, why was the formal dedication omitted here? Craik thinks that the lady in the lines quoted is Lady Carey, to whom the previ- ous poem, the Muiopotmos, was dedicated. This is impos- sible, for Spenser dedicated the Muiopotmos alone, " this small poem," to her.

B. In the next place we learn from Spenser's letter to Harvey, April 10, 1580, that they were originally illus- trated. Parts of the Visions of the Worlds Vanitie were illustrated in the 1591 edition.

C. In the gloss to the Nov. Eclogue of the Shepherds Calender, E. K. writes in a note on nectar and ambrosia: " But I have already discoursed that at large in my com- mentarie upon the Dreames of the same author." Dr. Grosart quotes two lines in the Ruins of Time to establish the identity of the Dreams and the Ruins.

'They are in a very rare sonnet structure, ababbcc cdcddee. The stanzas of the first part of the Ruins of Time are ababbcc. Spenser's favorite sonnet form is ahabbcdccdcdee. They are, then, a compro- mise between the favorite sonnet form and the doubled stanza of the Ruins, one rhyme being carried over from the first half into the second half of the sonnet.

SPENSER'S LOST POEMS. 93

But with the Gods, for former virtues meede On nectar and ambrosia do feede.

But the poet is here writing about his former patrons Leicester, Warwick and Sidney, whose deaths all took place long after 1580. Where then can we find a passage to which such a note would be appropriate ? It might suit the third sonnet in the first series of Visions in the Ruins of Time,

There did I see a pleasant Paradize Full of sweete flowres.

The flowers of Paradise might suggest ambrosia on ac- count of their fragrance.

But it is much more fitting for one of the four Visions of Bellay which Spenser had translated for the Theatre for Worldlings in 1569, but which were omitted from the 1591 edition of Bellay' 's Visions.

A lively streame more cleare than christall is, Ranne through the mid, sprong from triumphall seat. There grows lifes fruite unto churches good.

The water of life and the tree of life it seems would certainly call up a note on the food and drink of the gods of antiquity.

D. Again, Harvey in a letter dated May 23, 1580, says : " I daresay you will hold yourself reasonably well satisfied if your Dreames be as well esteemed of in Eng- land as Petrarch's Visions be in Italy. They must there- fore have l^een similar; and, if I am correct, they are, and include six of Petrarch's Visions.

E. In the same letter Harvey writes further : " Extra jocum I like your Dreams passing well, the rather because they savor of that singular extraordinarie vein . . . in Lucian, Petrarch, Aretine, Pasquill. ... In what respect

94 PHILO M. BUCK, JR.

... I heard once a Divine preferre St. John's Kevela- tions before al the veriest Metaphysicall Visions, and jolly- est conceited Dreams or Extasies that were divised by one or other, howe admirable, or super excellent soever they seemed otherwise to the world." The four Visions of Bellay omitted by Spenser, alluded to above, are visions from the Kevelations.

As a curiosity I might add as my final word on the Dreams the following entry from the Stationers Register:

" 9 Oct., 1582, Thomas Purfoote. Licensed unto him, etc. A View of Vanity/' No author's name is given. Could this be Spenser's Dreams ?

7. TRANSLATION OF MOSCHUS IDYL OF WINGED LOVE, " which worke .1 have seene amogst other of thys Poets doings, very wel translated also into Englishe Kymes." Gloss to the March Eel., Shep. Oal.

The story of Love a Fugitive is told in the Faerie Queene, Book in, Canto vi. It is rather an expansion of Moschus than a translation. Spenser was fond of trans- lating the idyls of the pastoral poets. The idyl of Europa and the Bull by Moschus is translated almost literally in the Muiopotmos, also the xix Idyl of Theocritus, Cupid and the Bee, in the Epigrams, though this latter was pro- bably a translation of a translation by Ronsard. There is a translation of the First Eidillion of Moschus describing Love in Arber's English Garner, Vol. v, page 438, ascribed to Barnabie Barns.

9. STEMMATA DUDLEIANA. " And then again I ima- gine that your Magnificanza (Faerie Queene) will hold us in suspense as long as your Nine English Comedies and your Latin Stemmata Dudleiana, which two shall go for my money when all is done." Harvey's Letter, April 7, 1580.

"Of my Stemmata Dudleiana, and especially of the

95

sundry Apostrophes therein, addressed you know to whom, must more advisement be had, than so lightly to send them abroad." Spenser's Letter, April 10, 1580.

The dedication of the Ruins of Time to the Countess of Pembroke, Sidney's sister and Leicester's niece, has these words : " I have conceived this small poem, entitled by a general name of the Worlds Ruins [notice the careless- ness in the title] ; yet specially intended to the renowming of that noble race from which both of you sprong, and to the eternizing of some of the chief of them late deceased."

This may show that the Ruins is a later form of the old Latin poem, revised and translated to fit the later fortunes of the Dudley family. A couplet in the Tears of the Muses may give a description of the transformation.

Now change your praises into piteous cries, And eulogies turn into elegies.

In 1584 Sidney defended his uncle Leicester from the malicious Leicester's Commonwealth, by tracing the an- cestry of their family. Could Spenser's poem have been used in this answer ?

10. NINE ENGLISH COMEDIES. Mentioned with the Stemmata Dudleiana in the letter quoted above. A great deal has been written pro and con as to Spenser's dramatic ability, but this is not the question here. Spenser could undoubtedly have written comedies which would have been as good as were those of many of the dramatic writers of that age. The question, however, is were these Nine Comedies merely dramatic monologues or acting dramas. They are nowhere mentioned, but in two of Harvey's let- ters. If they were long separate dramas would they not have received some notice, at least from Ponsonbie to whom the Spenser Harvey correspondence must have been familiar ?

96 PHLLO M. BUCK, JK.

In the first place Harvey speaks of them as of a single poem. " Your Nine English Comedies and your Latin Stemmata Dudleiana, which two shall go for my money when all is done." He compares them with the Faerie Queene, of which only a small part could have been done, and which comparison would have been impossible had they been dramas.

Harvey says of them : " Besides that you know, it hath been the usual practice of the most exquisite and odde writers in all nations, and speciallie in Italic, rather to shewe, and advaunce themselves that way, than any other ; as namely, those three discourseing heads, Bibiena, Machi- avel, and Aretine (to let Bembo and Ariosto pass) . . . being, indeed, reputed matchable in all points, both for conceit of Witt, and eloquent decyphering of matters either with Aristophanes and Menander in Greek, or with Plau- tus and Terrence in Latin." Earlier he says: "To.be plain, I am voyd of al judgment if your Nine Comedies whereunto, in imitation -of Herodotus, you give the names of the Nine Muses, come not nearer Ariosto's Comedies, either for fineness of plausible elocution or with rareness of Poetical Invention, than the Elvish Queen doth to the Orlando Furioso" (The italics are mine).

All the descriptive words he uses, discoursing (" A beast that wants discourse of reason." Hamlet), elocution, in- vention, wit, seem to point to their being a poem. It is the language and the thought that Harvey praises. Be- sides, Bembo wrote no comedies. His works comprise poems, epistles, a history of Venice, and the Gli Asolani, or dialogues on the nature of love. Ariosto wrote satires as well as comedies and his epic. Aretine wrote satirical sonnets as well as comedies.

The Tears of the Muses are named after the Nine Muses.

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They are similar in nature to the satirical works of the authors Harvey mentioned.

They are of a nature to excite the admiration of Harvey, being a poem " whose chief est endeavor and drift is to leave nothing vulgar, but in some respect or other., in some lively hyperbolicall amplification, rare, queint, and odde in every point, and as a man would say, a degree or two, at the least, above the reach and compass of a common schol- ar's capacitie." Harvey's Letter, April 23, 1580.

Craik and Professor Child both think that their tone would show that they belong to the 1590 period rather than to the 1580. I respectfully beg to differ from such emi- nent authorities. In the October Eclogue of the Shep- herds Calender he mourns that poetry has fallen upon evil days, and he had at that time written a book upon the Eng- lish Poet. In the Colin Clout Come Home Again, written in 1591, he celebrates a long list of worthy English poets. In this poem he can find only one worthy of mention, Willy, whom I take to be the court dramatist Lylv. It is quite probable that the poem was revised before it went to press, but it is hardly possible that any extensive altera- tions were made, for there is not a single definite reference to the death of Sidney, a most appropriate subject for the Tears of the Muses.1

11, EPITHALAMION THAMESIS. A poem in the arti- tificial English Verse which Harvey, Sidney, and Dyer about 1580 were trying to make popular. " And I hav- ing before of myself had special liking of English versi- fying, am even now about to give you some token . . . I mind shortly at convenient leisure to set forth a book in this kind, which I entitle Epithalamion Thamesis."

1 Towry regards the Tears of the Muses as prologues to, or parts of, the Nine English Comedies. He gives no reasons.

7

98 PHILO M. BUCK, JR.

Spenser's letter to Harvey, April 10, 1580. It is now found in a new dress in the Faerie Queene, Book iv, Canto xi.

12. DYING PELICAN. Mentioned in the letter with the Dreams. For this reason I am rather inclined to re- gard it as one of the sonnets in the Dreams which has been lost.

15. HELL OF LOVERS— His PURGATOKIE. Mentioned in the preface to the Complaints, quoted above. It can hardly be other than the Hymn in Honor of Love, which was printed in 1596. Two lines in the Hymn are in- teresting—

265 Make a lover's life a wretches hell 278 So those thy folk through pains of Purgatorie Dost beare unto thy blisse and heavnes glorie.1

Book iv of the Faerie- Queene begins,

The rugged forehead that with grave foresight. (Burleigh.)

My looser rhymes, I wote, doth sharply wite, For praising love as I have done of late, And magnifying lovers dear debate, By which frail youth is oft to folly led, etc.

This criticism was perhaps leveled at the Hymns in Honor of Love and Beauty (see Dedicatory Epistle), and in consequence Spenser was asked, probably by the Count- ess of Warwick, to revise them. As he could not recall all the copies that were in circulation, he wrote as supple- ments to them the Hymns in Honor of Heavenlie Love and Heavenlie Beautie. Thus Burleigh may have been the cause not only of some satirical verse, but of these two exquisite Platonic Hymns.

1 In F. Q., Book iv, Canto vi, is this line :

For lovers heaven must pass by sorrows hell.

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The rest of the poems mentioned in the preface to the Complaints are not known to exist. So much has been said about the six lost cantos of the Faerie Queene that I feel that a mere personal opinion would be superfluous. The translation of Axiochus has been assigned to Spenser on insufficient grounds. Until more proof than mere tra- dition, and the slenderest at that, is adduced, it had better be left as it is, unnoticed.

On the whole I feel that very little of Spenser's work has been lost that is of any real value — a few translations and religious poems, and one work that may or may not have been a genuine poetic effort. Spenser has been well treated by Time.

Most of the poems which we regard as lost were probably suppressed in 1580, because of their satirical character. For ten years they remained unprinted. In 1591 most of them were published, but now with new titles, for obvious reasons. Spenser achieved his first fame as a satirist.

PHILO M. BUCK, JK.

IV.— THE RELATION OF SHAKSPERE'S PERICLES TO GEORGE WILKINS' S NOVEL, THE PAIN- FULL ADVENTURES OF PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE.

The play commonly known as Shakspere's Pericles first appeared in 1609, in a version so corrupt that it was clearly a piracy. Whether this was identical with the drama of the same title which was entered on the Stationers' Regis- ter in company with Antony and Cleopatra, on May 20, 1608, cannot be determined. This, however, is certain : the entry was made by Edward Blount, but the play was pub- lished by Henry Gosson, to whom no record of transfer is to be found. As to the composition of Pericles, it is now generally admitted that, with the possible exception of a few phrases, the first two acts are not by Shakspere but in all probability by George Wilkins.1

The revival of interest in the subject of this drama during the two or three years preceding its publication seems to have been due to the reprinting, in 1607, of Laurence Twine's Patterne of Painfull Adventures, a translation of the romance of Apollonius of Tyre. It had been first published in 1576, and about 1595 a second edition had been issued. In 1608 George Wilkins put forth his novel, The Painfull Aduentures of Pericles, Prince of Tyre. " Being the true history of the play of Pericles as it was lately presented by the worthy and ancient poet, lohn Gower." 2 Wilkins had already published a tragi-comedy, The Miseries of Enforced Marriage, which showed some vivacity of phrase but poor structure and char- Robert Boyle, On Wttkins's SJiare in the play called Shakspere' 's Pericles, Trans. N. Sh. Soc., 1882, pp. 321 ff.

2 Gower was represented as speaking the prologues to the acts.

100

101

acterization, and had collaborated with John Day and William Rowley in The Travels of the Three English Brothers. For some years prior to 1607 he had been a member of the King's company of players. In this year he left the organ- ization, for unknown reasons, and joined the Queen's, which was admittedly inferior. Mr. F. G. Fleay's conjecture of a quarrel between Shakspere and Wilkins is unnecessary. The fact that The Miseries of Enforced Marriage and The York- shire Tragedy were founded on the same incident — an ex- cerpt from real English life of contemporary date — the dif- ference of plot consisting chiefly in the tragic ending of the latter play, though interesting, is inconclusive. Certainly it will not bear Fleay's interpretation,1 that The Yorkshire Tragedy is to be laid at Shakspere' s door, and that he was vexed at Wilkins7 s comedy treatment of the same material. So far as external evidence is concerned, then, we are con- fronted by an impassable barrier.

Happily, the internal evidence proves, on the contrary, very promising. Several valuable points have been dis- covered concerning the relation of Pericles to the novel of Wilkins ; and to these points the present discussion attempts to make some additions. One is struck at the outset by the large number of passages, short and long, which Wilkins, in his romance, has transferred verbatim from Twine's transla- tion. Many of these passages, however, are descriptive and narrative rather than dramatic. The following picture of a storm at sea (not the one corresponding to Shakspere's open- ing lines in the third act) is an example of the more extended excerpts which the later novelist generously allowed himself :

"O calamity! there might you have heard the windes whistling, the raine dashing, the sea roaring, the cables cracking, the tacklings breaking, the ship tearing, the men miserably crying out to save their lives : there

1A Biographical Chronicle of the Eng. Drama, London, 1891, vol. 2, pp. 206-208.

102 HARRY T. BAKER.

might you have seene the sea searching the ship, the boordes fleeting, the goodes swimming, the treasure sincking, and the poore soules shifting to save themselves, but all in vain, for partly thorow that dismall darkenesse, which unfortunately was come upon them, they were all drowned, gentle Pericles only excepted, till ( as it were Fortune being tyred with this mis- hap) by the helpe of a plancke, which in this distresse hee got holde on, hee was, with much labour, and more feare, driven on the shore of Penta-

polis."

(Wilkins's novel, ed. Mommsen, p. 26.)

" There might you have heard the winds whistling, the raine dashing, the sea roaring, the cables cracking, ye tacklings breaking, the shippe tear- ing, the men miserable shouting out for their lives. There might you have seene the sea searching the shippe, the bordes fleeting, the goods swimming, the treasure sincking, the men shifting to save themselves, where, partly through violence of the tempest, and partly through darcknes of the night which then was come upon them, they were all drowned, onely Appollonius excepted, who by the grace of God, and the helpe of a simple boord, was driven upon the shoare of the Pentapolitanes."

(Twine's translation, New Kochelle, N. Y., 1903, p. 18.)

The somewhat smaller number of parallels which occur in the dramatic portion of Wilkins's narrative seem to reveal his lack of dramatic technic ; for in most instances wherein he departs from the play in order to follow Twine he loses delicacy of effect, skilful motivation, and dramatic selection. These divergences, it is only fair to state, are occasionally perceptible even in that part of the novel which is equivalent to Acts I— II of Pericles ; but this may be explained by the fact that Wilkins shows in none of his works any definite or conscious technic ; that he was apparently ignorant of his own dramatic effects. Moreover, these divergences from the text of the first two acts of Pericles are by no means so important as those from the last three. One brief phrase illustrates his unwise imitation of the older novelist : Twine states that his hero, as he played the harp before King Altistrates (Simonides, in Wilkins and Shakspere), acquitted himself so skilfully that he seemed " rather to be Apollo than Apollonius." Wilkins, unable to preserve the neat turn of

SHAKSPERE'S PERICLES. 103

phrase by reason of the altered name (Pericles),1 clumsily retains as much as possible by declaring that the instrument was handled " as if Apollo himself had been fingering it."

This example comes from the early part of the novel. In the later portion one cannot fail to note that many of the finer traits of Pericles and of Marina, his daughter, disappear and that these characters retrograde toward Twine's colorless types, Apollonius and Tharsia. In the details of several incidents, too, Wilkins follows Twine closely, disregarding Shakspere's treatment almost wholly. The best example of the difference in characterization is perhaps the attitude of Pericles (HI, 1) toward the sailor who, on superstitious grounds, requests him to cast overboard the body of his apparently dead wife, Thaisa. In Shakspere's version, despite his sorrow, he submits with courtesy, saying merely : "As you think meet. Most wretched queen ! " In Twine, on the contrary, he shows anger and contempt : " What saiest thou, varlet ? " This is closely paralleled by Wilkins' s " How, varlet ! " Of such important deviations as this I have found a number sufficient to warrant the statement that it is quite possible that Wilkins was following his own dramatic version of Acts III-V rather than Shakspere's ; in other words, that he had originally written a complete play himself, of which we have now only a part.

This radical conclusion may seem at first sight improbable ; for in phraseology there exist, as several critics have observed, a good many fairly close resemblances between the novel and the drama, I find that I have marked about thirty such in my copy of Pericles. It is significant, however, that the most striking of these verbal likenesses occur in the first two acts, and that two of the phrases are used by Wilkins in his other plays. Moreover, of the parallelisms in the last three

!The name Pericles appeared first in Wilkins' s novel, but had probably been used in the acted play.

104 HARRY T. BAKER.

acts, nearly half are from a single scene (IV, 6) laid in the brothel at Mytilene — a scene for which, with the exception of a few palpable revisions, all critics are agreed that Shaks- pere is not responsible, some assigning it to William Rowley, others — including the present writer — to Wilkins. There is, however, one famous phrase, in the novel only, " poor inch of nature " ( Pericles7 s apostrophe to his new-born child : in, 1), which seems to be universally regarded as lost out of the text of the play. Mr. Sidney Lee, whose essay on Per- icles, printed as an introduction to his facsimile edition of the drama, is the latest issued (1905), says that this is " undoubt- edly a Shakespearean touch." And substantially the same language is used by Fleay, Brandes, and others. From the opinions of so many competent scholars the present writer is reluctant to express dissent. One cannot be sure, however, that it was not a familiar Elizabethan phrase which thous- ands of parents had used. Many commonplaces of that period may seem striking to us. Furthermore, granting that it is Shakspere's, one may yet affirm that by far too much has been made of it as an indication that Wilkins closely followed the last three acts of Shakspere's play. The old proverb seems to have been forgotten : one swallow does not make a summer.

The wisdom of this proverb is at once borne in upon one if he adopts the excessively obvious device — which seems, nevertheless, not to have been adopted hitherto — of testing Wilkins's treatment of the greatest passages in the last three acts of the play. The following are examples : —

"O Helicanus, strike me, honour' d sir ; Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me O'erbear the shores of my mortality, And drown me with their sweetness."

(v, 1, 192-196.)

SHAKSPERE'S PERICLES. 105

"Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges, Which wash both heaven and hell ; and thou, that hast Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, Having called them from the deep ! O, still Thy deafening dreadful thunders ; gently quench Thy nimble, sulphurous flashes ! O, how, Lychorida, How does my queen ? "

(m, 1, 1-6.)

"My dearest wife wag like this maid, and such a one My daughter might have been : my queen's square brows ; Her stature to an inch ; as wand-like straight, As silver-voiced ; her eyes as jewel-like And cased as richly ; in pace another Juno ; Who starves the ears she feeds, and makes them hungry, The more she gives them speech."

(v, 1, 109-114. )

Other illustrations are to be found in m, 1, 57-70 ; in, 2, 39-42; iv, 1, 14-21; iv, 1, 73-91; IV, 3, 46-50; and v, 3, 40-44. Now it is a remarkable fact that not one of these does Wilkins reproduce, even in outline, though he reproduces ten or fifteen others the phraseology of which is rather com- monplace. I quote two : —

11 Leonine. I will do't ; but yet she is a goodly creature. Dionyza. The fitter then the gods should have her."

(iv, 1,9-10.)

"That she was too good for men, and therefore he would send her to the gods."

(Novel, p. 57.)

"O. come hither, Thou that beget' st him that did thee beget."

(v, 1, 196-197.)

" Thanketh Lysimachus that so fortunately had brought her to begette life in the father who begot her."

(Novel, p. 77.)

Of the complete list of these unimportant similarities some, like the one just quoted, show a sense of phrase, but none are equal to the great passages which Wilkins did not quote.

106 HARRY T. BAKER.

To what other conclusion can this evidence point than that Wilkins, save for one or two possible borrowings from his master, was following the phraseology of his own complete dramatic version of Pericles f Moreover, these possible bor- rowings may well be his own phrases, which Shakspere, with Olympian condescension, thought good enough to retain when he so freely rewrote the last three acts of the play. It seems almost incredible that Wilkins should have omitted those glorious Shaksperean passages save by design. As to his reasons, I shall endeavor to supply some conjectural evidence for them presently.

Let us see whether this theory holds with reference to the three scenes in the brothel at Mytilene (iv, 2, 5, 6). If, as has been well established, Fleay and Rolfe to the contrary notwithstanding, Shakspere probably revised these scenes considerably in order to soften the brutal realism and to glorify Marina's character, then we shall expect to find that Wilkins again refuses to reproduce either the greatest passa- ges or the changes in characterization and incident. And this is precisely what we do find. These evidently Shaks- perean touches have no counterpart in the novel : —

"If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep, Untied I still my virgin knot will keep."

(iv, 2, 159-160.)

''She would make a puritan of the devil, if he should cheapen a kiss of her."

(iv, 6, 9-10.) "For to me The very doors and windows savour vilely."

(iv, 6, 116-117.)

In the details of the incidents, also, Wilkins differs, in several instances harking back to Twine. In both, for example, Marina is dragged through the principal streets of Mytilene in order to display her to the crowds ; and Lysi-

SHAKSPERE'S PERICLES. 107

machus, after being overcome by her appeals in the brothel, hides in the adjoining chamber that he may hear how she deals with his successors. Shakspere retained no such ignoble detail. If he was forced, by the nature of the plot, to rep- resent Lysimachus as a frequenter of brothels, he determined not to add to that the character of a spy. It is evident, then, that, for whatever reason, Wilkins was not following closely Shakspere's revised version of the brothel scenes ; and that his (Wilkins's) changes were all for the worse. The only reason that seems plausible is that he preferred to follow his own drama ; for in some particulars he does not follow Twine. One extremely repulsive feature of the latter' s ver- sion— a description of the god Priapus — he has the grace to omit. And at other minor points he seems to reveal some individuality, some choice of his own.

Particularly is this true of several passages not in the brothel scenes but corresponding to other scenes in the last three acts of the play — passages where the fullness of treat- ment is easily noticeable as compared with Shakspere's briefer handling. In one or two cases, at least, this fullness cannot be explained by the natural difference between the two literary forms, drama and novel. It therefore indicates the independence of Wilkins's complete play, provided the additions are of dramatic consequence. One is certainly of this sort — Dionyza's soliloquy which explains her motives in compassing the murder of Marina (Novel, p. 55). A part of it is in substance taken from Twine ; but Wilkins's ver- sion is more than twice as long, and dramatically far superior. We perceive the strength of Dionyza's affection for her own daughter, whose qualities have suffered unfavorable comment through comparison with "this out-shining girl," Marina. Her envy, as a mother, is therefore natural, and we are properly prepared for the otherwise unmotivated crime — rather, attempted crime, for, the play being a romance with a

108 HARRY T. BAKER.

happy ending, the fair maiden of course escapes. In Shakspere the mother's reasons are mentioned briefly in her subsequent quarrel with her husband, but there is no preliminary solilo- quy. Of this Shaksperean quarrel scene there is no hint in Twine's narrative. The wife is referred to, in a single sen- tence, as excusing herself to Cleon, her husband; and in Wilkins the scene is a mere apology for Shakspere's. This, however, does not alter the fact that credit is due the lesser dramatist for his excellent soliloquy. Moreover, the long death-bed speech of Lychorida, the nurse, to Marina concern- ing the latter7 s real parentage — of which she has previously been ignorant — is another passage which is absent from the play. It is not of primary importance, perhaps, yet it is not undramatic in character, nor is it disconnected from the structure. Possibly Shakspere did wisely to omit both this and the soliloquy ; for what the whole story obviously needed was unsparing omission and condensation — indeed, radical alterations of design. To this he was probably unwilling to devote the necessary labor, and may therefore have contented himself with minor changes.

One of the most interesting and suggestive features of the Wilkins novel, however, is a curious fact quite different from those which have thus far been considered : at various points a tendency appears to lapse into blank verse, printed as prose. One or two of these passages occur, as Fleay indicates,1 in purely narrative or descriptive portions rather than in dia- logue. These might suggest, therefore, that their author was merely obeying that unconscious tendency to introduce such lines into prose which Dr. Samuel Johnson noted and which Dickens in several of his novels illustrated. It is not so easy, however, to account for the blank verse which appears in the midst of Wilkins's prose dialogue and which

1A Shakespeare Manual, London, 1876, p. 219.

109

is not to be found in the play as we now have it. One of the most striking is the reply of King Simonides to his daughter, in a mock quarrel scene (Novel, p. 40) corresponding roughly to the last part of the second act.

"Equalles to equalls, good to good is joyned. This not being so, the bavine of your minde, In rashnesse kindled, must again be quenched, Or purchase our displeasure."

The careful balance of the first line, and the excellent meta- phor in the next two show a distinctly poetic style — so poetic that one searches far in Wilkius's dramatic works for its like. Though so brief a bit offers no very safe test of authorship, it seems above his powers. On the other hand, that Shakspere wrote it is rendered at least somewhat improb- able by the fact that, as we have already seen, Wilkins appar- ently did not copy any of the great passages of Shakspere. Is there, then, any other way out of the difficulty ? Possibly yes, although the following theory is proposed only with some hesitation. A recent examination of the Stationers' Register by the present writer revealed an entry, under date of October 9, 1587, of a book (whether novel or drama is uncertain) entitled The historye of Apolonius and Camilla. Apollonius is of course Pericles, and Camilla is his wife, as is proved by the fact that this name is used in two Latin< versions of the legend. One of the significant features of this title is that it at once suggests the separation of the story of Pericles, and his wife, from that of Marina, their daughter. This separation is made certain by the titles of two Dutch plays of 1634, probably first printed in 1617: "Twee Tragi-comodien in prosa, d'Eene van Apollonius, Prince van Tyro, Ende d'ander van den selven, ende van Tharsia syn Dochter." (Marina is also known as Tharsia in Twine). This double title points us straight to a strong probability that these Dutch plays were founded on two English dramas of

110 HARRY T. BAKER.

the late sixteenth century. It is only reasonable to suppose that so popular a dramatization as that of the Apollouius saga was performed by English players in Germany and Holland before 1600. We know, at any rate, that they did perform some plays in the Netherlands as early as 1597, and frequently thereafter.1 We also know, from recent researches by Mr. H. deW. Fuller2 and Prof. G. P. Baker,3 that a Dutch and a German play on the subject of Titus Andronieus were founded on two pre-Shaksperean English versions. A similar relation is therefore made somewhat probable in the case of Pericles. The point can be pretty definitely settled, of course, by a careful examination of these Dutch versions and comparison with Twine, Wilkins, and the Shaksperean play — a task which the present writer has as yet been unable to accomplish for the reason that the Dutch manuscript has not been obtained. The conjectural evidence, however, may be still further strengthened by the fact that the full title of the Shaksperean Pericles of 1609 also suggests the existence of two separate stories : " The late, And much admired play, Called Pericles, Prince of Tyre. With the true Relation of the whole Historic, aduentures, and fortunes of the said Prince : As also, The no lesse strange and worthy accidents, in the Birth and Life, of his Daughter Mariana. As it hath been diuers and sundry times acted by his Maiesties Seru- ants, at the Globe on the Banckside. By William Shakes- peare."

If, then, there were two English plays of the late sixteenth century, the one dealing with Pericles and his wife, the other with Mariana, it is at least possible that the blank verse passage which was quoted above comes from one of these

1 H. E. Moltzer, Shakspere's Invloed op Jiet Nederlandsch Tooneel, pp. 34-41.

2 The Sources of Titus Andronieus, Pub. Mod. Lang. Asso., vol. XVI, No. 1. °Tittus and Vespacia, and Titus and Ondronicus, in Henslowe's Diary,

ibid.

Ill

plays. Nor is this the only passage which seems above Wilkins's level. Near the beginning of the eleventh chapter in the novel (p. 71), a part which corresponds to the later portion of the play, occurs this vividly imaginative line :

" But sorrowes pipes will burst, have they not vent."

Fleay quotes only this (incorrectly printing " rest " for " vent "), but with two very slight changes of the prose text — one a contraction of the verb " is " to an apostrophe with " s," the other the insertion of an adjective — we may add one following and two preceding lines :

Dionyza. "O, my good Lord, would any tongue but ours Might be the herald of your [hard] mishap ; But sorrowes pipes will burst, have they not vent, And you of force must knowe, Marina's dead."

The metaphor has a Shaksperean flavor ; but since Wilkins retained no such great Shaksperean passage elsewhere in the last three acts it again seems possible, indeed almost probable, that we have here a fragment from an old play. The author could have been no mean dramatist if he wrote such lines as these and the others which Fleay cites. Excluding those which do not occur in dialogue, there are at least nine. Most of them are of about three or four lines ; but one is seven, and another, fourteen. The last is Lysimachus's reply to the appeal of Marina, in one of the brothel scenes (" Lady, for such," etc., Novel, p. 66). So large a total amount of blank verse as is comprised in these fragments demands explana- tion ; and satisfactory explanation there is none, if we regard them as the work of either Wilkins or Shakspere. For if the latter left the first two acts uncut — which seems natural, since the theme offered no attractions to him until the advent of Marina at the beginning of Act III — then the blank verse passages in the corresponding part of the novel probably do not represent Wilkins's own work. It may well be, on the

112 HARRY T. BAKER.

other hand, that, his mind being filled with the two old plays, he unconsciously inserted in the novel several scraps from them which he had forgotten to insert, or had chosen to omit, in the case of his own complete Pericles.

This particular argument may seem wiredrawn ; but taken in company with the others presented it points not only to a theory which is workable but also to the only theory which seems to be workable. For if we agree that Wilkins, about 1607, wrote a complete drama on Pericles, making use of one or more early English plays, everything otherwise partly or wholly obscure becomes as clear as we could wish. Just how much of plot and dialogue he may have retained is insoluble, though many points will perhaps be clarified by study of the two Dutch plays.

As for the theory which Fleay x originally proposed " as certain " — that Shakspere wrote the story of Marina minus the brothel scenes as a complete drama which was subsequently joined with Acts I-II of the present play — that is some- thing very closely resembling nonsense. Fortunately, it is unnecessary to waste breath on detailed refutation, for Fleay recanted his own theory 2 only a few years after he had pro- posed it with such unwarranted confidence. His new theory is substantially identical with that which has been advanced in these pages : that, disregarding the brothel scenes, Wilkins wrote a complete play before Shakspere's. For this conclu- sion, however, he submits, as is common with Mr. Fleay, only conjectural evidence of a very general sort. His belief in William Kowley's authorship of the brothel scenes remains unshaken ; but it rests upon no better ground than fancied resemblances to the general tone of Rowley's style.

If, then, as we may well believe, Wilkins wrote his Peri-

1A Shakespeare Manual, p. 211.

*Lifc of Shakespeare, London, 1886, p. 245.

SHAKSPERE' s PERICLES. 113

cles in 1607, why should he also have written the novel in 1608? Apparently because something undesirable had happened to his play. A natural explanation would seem to be that of Brandes : * that Wilkins disposed of his drama to Shakspere' s company, " which in turn submitted it to the poet, who worked upon such parts as appealed to his imagi- nation. As the play now belonged to the theatre and Wil- kins was not at liberty to publish it, he forestalled the booksellers by bringing it out as a story, taking all the credit of invention and execution upon himself." Whether Wil- kins's phrase, in the preface to his novel, " a poor infant of my brain," will admit of so strict an interpretation as Brandes implies in his last words, is doubtful ; but the main facts seem to be as he has stated. For Wilkins, despite the improvements which Shakspere introduced, would naturally be piqued at the almost total eclipse of his own last three acts, and might take steps to preserve their substance in the form of a novel. The probable success of such a venture would be suggested by the popularity of Greene's stories and of Twine's translation. That Shakspere retaliated by the publication of the 1609 quarto of Pericles is the height of the improbable ; for in none of his plays is the text in so garbled a state. As already indicated, it was clearly a piracy, probably obtained by shorthand from the stage performances. It may be added that the genuine text of Pericles never appeared. Possibly the manuscript was destroyed in the fire which burned the Globe Theatre in 1613. Since Wilkins did not introduce into the dedicatory preface to his novel any satirical allusion to Shakspere, it is by no means certain that any quarrel sprang up between them. We have merely the strong probability that the great dramatist altered the little one's play, and the certainty that the latter quitted the King's

1 William Shakespeare, New York, 1898, vol. 2, p. 282. 8

114 HARRY T. BAKER.

company about that time. As for the rest, like so many other important things connected with this un recording Elizabethan period, the rest is silence.

HARRY T. BAKER.

APPENDIX.

[Passages showing resemblances between Wilkins's novel and the Wilkins- Shakspere play, Pericles.]

1. " Like a bold champion I assume the lists,

Nor ask advice of any other thought But faithfulness and courage."

(Pericles, I, 1, 61-63.)

"But Pericles armed with these noble armours, Faithfulnesse and Cour- age, replyed."

(Novel, ed. Mommsen, Oldenburg, 1857, p. 16, 11. 6-7.)

2. The riddle ( " I am no viper," etc. ) is in both novel and play ; no vari- ations of importance are discernible.

(LI, 64-71 ; Novel, p. 16.)

3. "This mercy shows we'll joy in such a son."

(I, 1, 118. ) " It should be evident how gladly he would reioyce in such a son."

(Novel, p. 17, 11. 32-33.)

4. " Third Fish. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

First Fish. Why, as men do a-land ; the great ones eat up the little ones."

(II, 1, 30-32.)

"That the fishes live in the sea, as the powerfull on shoare, the great ones eate up the little ones."

(Novel, p. 27, 11. 7-8.)

5. "A man whom both the waters and the wind,

In that vast tennis-court, have made the ball For them to play upon, entreats you pity him."

(II, 1, 63-65.)

" At last, fortune having brought him heere, where she might make him the fittest Tennis-ball for her sport."

(Novel, p. 25, 11. 29-31.)

6. " The good Simonides, do you call him?"

/ TT -J -I f\{* \

"The Good King call you him ? "

(Novel, p. 28, 1. 3.)

115

7. "Help, master, help ! here's a fish hangs in the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 'twill hardly come out."

(II, 1, 122-125. )

"Crying that there was a fish hung in their net, like a poore mans case in the La we, it would hardly come out."

(Novel, p. 28, 11. 30-32.)

8. " And spite of all the rapture of the sea

This jewel holds his building on my arm."

(II, 1, 161-162.)

"A lewel, whom all the raptures of the sea could not bereave from his arme."

(Novel, p. 29, 11. 16-17.)

9. "The fifth, an hand environed with clouds,

Holding out gold that's by the touchstone tried."

(II, 2, 36-37.)

"The Device he bare was a mans arme environed with a cloude, holding out golde thats by the touchstone tride."

(Novel, p. 30, 11. 14-15.)

10. "The sixth and last, the which the knight himself

With such a graceful courtesy delivered."

(II, 2, 40-41.)

" Himselfe with a most gracefull curtesie presented it unto her."

(Novel, p. 30, 11. 26-27.)

11. "A withered branch, that's only green at top."

(11,2,43.)

"A withered Braunch being onely greene at the top."

(Novel, p. 30, 1. 23.)

The Latin mottoes of the knights are in both play and novel. The Spanish motto seems to be more correctly quoted in the novel : * ' Pue per dolcera qui per sforsa."

12. "A gentleman of Tyre ; my name, Pericles;

My education been in arts and arms ; Who, looking for adventures in the world, Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, And after shipwreck driven upon this shore."

(11,3, 81-85.)

"Hee was a Gentleman of Tyre, his name Pericles, his education beene in Artes and Armes, who looking for adventures in the world, was by the rough and unconstant Seas, most unfortunately bereft both of shippes and men, and after shipwrecke, throwen upon that shoare."

(Novel, p. 32,11. 3-8.)

116 HARRY T. BAKER.

13. "I came unto your court for honour's cause,

And not to be a rebel to her state."

(II, 5, 61-62.)

" Affirming, that he came into his Court in search of honour, and not to

be a rebell to his State."

(Novel, p. 39, 11. 4-6.)

14. ' ' Why, sir, say if you had,

Who takes offence at that would make me glad ? ' '

(II, 5, 71-72.)

"Suppose he had, who durst take offence thereat, since that it was her pleasure to give him to knowe that he had power to desire no more than she had willingnesse to performe."

(Novel, p. 39, 11. 29-32. )

15. ' ' Thou art the rudeliest welcome to this world

That ever was prince's child. Happy what follows !

Thou hast as chiding a nativity

As fire, air, water, earth and heaven can make."

(Ill, 1, 30-33. )

" Poore inch of Nature, thou arte as rudely welcome to the worlde, as ever Princesse Babe was, and hast as chiding a nativitie, as fire, ayre, earth, and water can affoord thee."

(Novel, p. 44, 11. 27-30.)

16. "Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels

Which Pericles hath lost, begin to part Their fringes of bright gold."

(Ill, 2, 99-101.)

"Hee perceived .... the golden fringes of her eyes alitle to part."

(Novel, p. 48, 11. 31-32.)

17. " Here I give to understand,

If e'er this coffin drive a-land,

I, King Pericles, have lost

This queen, worth all our mundane cost.

Who finds her, give her burying ;

She was the daughter of a king :

Besides this treasure for a fee,

The gods requite his charity ! "

(III, 2, 68-75.)

" If ere it hap this Chest be driven On any shoare, on coast or haven, I Pericles the Prince of Tyre, (That loosing her, lost all desire,) Intreate you give her burying,

SHAKSPERE'S PERICLES. 117

Since she was daughter to a king : This golde I give you as a fee, The Gods requite your charitie."

(Novel, p. 46, 11. 3-10.)

18. "O dear Diana,

Where am I ? Where's my lord? What world is this? "

(III, 2, 105-106.) " O Lord where am 1 ? .... And wheres my lord I pray you?"

(Novel, p. 49, 11. 14-16.)

19. "My gentle babe Marina, whom, For she was born at sea, I have named so."

(Ill, 3, 12-13.) " Who for it was given to me at Sea, I have named Marina."

(Novel, p. 503 11. 24-25.)

20. "Unscissared shall this hair of mine remain."

(111,3,29.) " Vowing .... his head should grow unscisserd."

(Novel, p. 51, 11. 17-18.)

21. Leon. " She is a goodly creature. Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her."

(IV, 1, 9-10.)

"That she was too good for men, and therefore he would send her to the gods."

(Novel, p. 57,11. 1-2.)

22. " Unless you play the pious innocent." (Q1? impious).

(IV, 3, 17.) " If such a pious innocent as your selfe do not reveale it."

(Novel, p. 59, 1. 16.)

23. "If you were born to honour, show it now ;

If put upon you, make the judgment good That thought you worthy of it."

(IV, 6, 99-101.)

" If the eminence of your place came unto you by discent, and the royalty of your blood, let not your life proove your birth a bastard : If it were throwne upon you by opinion, make good, that opinion was the cause to make you great."

(Novel, p. 65, 11. 23-27.)

24. ' ' Thou art a piece of virtue, and

A curse upon him, die he like a thief,

That robs thee of thy goodness ! "

(IV, 6, 118-122.)

118 HARRY T. BAKER.

" It shall become you still to be even as you are, a peece of goodnesse,"

(Novel, p. 67, 11. 6-7.)

( Wilkins has several lines of blank verse, written as prose, at this point. )

25. " Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper !

Your house, but for this virgin that doth prop it, Would sink, and overwhelm you. Away ! "

(IV, 6, 126-128.)

"Villaine, thou hast a house heere, the weight of whose sinne would sincke the foundation, even unto hell, did not the vertue of one that is lodged therein, keepe it standing."

(Novel, p. 67, 11. 30-33.)

26. Mar. " What canst thou wish thine enemy to be?

JBoidt. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or rather, my mistress."

(IV, 6, 168-170.)

"She demaunded of him what thing he could wish himselfe to be, which was more vile than he was, or more hatefull than he would make himselfe to be? Why my master or my mistris (quoth the villaine)."

(Novel, p. 68, 11. 30-33.) -

27. ' ' I doubt not but this populous city will

Yield many scholars."

(IV, 6, 197-198.)

" I doubt not but this honorable citty will affoord schollers sufficient."

(Novel, p. 69, 11. 21-22.)

28. "O, come hither,

Thou that beget' st him that did thee beget."

(V, 1,196-197.) " Had brought her to begette life in the father who begot her."

(Novel, p. 77, 11. 14-15.)

It is worthy of note that, of the fourteen parallelisms in the last three acts, five are from one of the brothel scenes (IV, 6). These scenes were probably written by Wilkins and only partly recast by Shakspere.

V.— A SURVEY OF THE LITERATURE ON WORDSWORTH.

At the present time, when the world is too much with us, many reasons might be urged for a wider and deeper attention to the study of Wordsworth. We must content ourselves here with a single, obvious reason, easily grasped. The two accredited leaders of English criticism in the nine- teenth century, Coleridge and Matthew Arnold, ranked Wordsworth among the five greatest English poets, his com- peers being, in their opinion, Chaucer, Spenser, Shake- speare, and Milton.1 A third critic, no mean one, namely Wordsworth himself, held substantially the same belief, viewing the grounds of his belief as objectively as he could. It is well for everybody, now and then, to regard some matters in a broad perspective.

The attention already paid to Wordsworth has, indeed, been greater than the uninitiated might suppose ; but it has not been generally guided by fundamental considerations, or by such a survey of the field as, in spite of some natural reluctance, I now venture to report. My purpose is, first, to indicate on broad lines what has been accomplished thus far in the study of Wordsworth, in order, second, to de- termine what ought to be done in the future. The necessity of being brief, and the effort not to be obscure, will doubt- less render me more dogmatic than one would ordinarily like to appear.

The most complete collection of Words worthi ana in this country is that in the library of Mrs. Henry A. St. John at

1 See the general consensus of opinion among the more important authors cited by Karl Bomig in his dissertation (Leipzig, 1906). William Wordsworth im Urteile seiner Zeit.

11

120 LANE COOPER.

Ithaca, N. Y. ; it consists of approximately eleven hundred volumes, and somewhat less than two hundred articles in periodicals. On the basis of this, one may estimate that the existent literature by and about Wordsworth would make a bibliography of not less than fifteen hundred titles. For comparison we may note that the very thorough Bibli- ography of Coleridge by Dr. J. L. Haney contains about nine hundred entries, exclusive of marginalia, and inclusive of numerous school editions of the Ancient Mariner oc- casioned by the accident of our college entrance require- ments. Roughly considered, the amount of material on Wordsworth which could not be discarded is perhaps double that on Coleridge. We can notice, of course, only a few even of the works that are indispensable.

Out of the mass of Wordsworthian literature, a brief sur- vey will naturally light first upon the most important texts of Wordsworth's works, especially of his poetical works ; next upon standard biographies of Wordsworth, if there be any; finally upon interpretations and criticisms of Wordsworth, so far as these are separable from biography.

On the text of Wordsworth's poems practically nothing remains to be done. The definitive text, though the fact is not commonly known, is that edited in 1895 by Mr. Thomas Hutchinson, and since issued without corrigenda in a volume of the well-known. Oxford Edition of the Eng- lish poets. This improves, of course, upon the prior Aldine text of Professor Dowden, though the Aldine Edition is otherwise the best on account of Dowden's commentary. Professor Knight's Eversley Edition, 1896, derives some importance from its attempt to offer Wordsworth's poems in chronological arrangement. Unfortunately, with the imperfect data thus far available, such an effort is neces- sarily tentative ; and, still more unfortunately, Knight in this, his second attempt, neglected many strictures passed

LITERATURE ON WORDSWORTH. 121

upon his earlier Edinburgh Edition, so that only his oc- casional citation from documents to which other people are denied access makes his later edition of value to scholars. The prospective edition by Mr. RTowell Smith, which is said to be under way, will have to be reckoned with when- ever it shall appear, but rather on account of accessory in- formation about Wordsworth's literary sources than be- cause of any probable superiority over Mr. Hutchinson's edition in point of a faithful text.

Of Wordsworth's prose works there have been two sup- posedly complete editions, that by Grosart in 1876, and that by Knight in the Eversley Series of 1896. Grosart's three volumes served their day. Knight's two, strangely enough, were passed over by the reviewers, though in plan and annotation they are hardly less vulnerable than the rest of the good professor's achievements as an editor. There is, however, no crying need of a new issue of Wordsworth's prose, save in the case of his letters.

The latter need, it is true, Professor Knight is even now aiming to satisfy, and we shall have — before long, let us hope — a substantial collection of Wordsworth's correspond- ence from the press of Messrs. Ginn and Company, a monu- ment to the unselfishness of an American publisher. This collection will be indispensable to scholars — I would not for a moment underrate the editor's service — but it will suffer from arbitrary and baffling excisions, and, like the Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, it must sometime be re- vised by a different hand.1

With the mention of letters we verge upon the matter of biography. The correspondence of the Wordsworths al-

JThe collection has since appeared (Letters of the Wordsworth Family, in three volumes, Boston, Ginn) ; it bears out the description given above.

122 LANE COOPER.

ready published or soon to be, the Journals of the poet's sis- ter, the Prelude, the Memoirs by the poet's nephew, the Life by Knight, the incomparable study of Wordsworth's early years by Legouis, and the researches of Hutchinson, afford an adequate account of Wordsworth's career, at least in an external sense. Indeed, the table of external facts given by Hutchinson in the Oxford Edition of Wordsworth offers as much as is needed in the way of pure chronology. Of biography in a higher sense we may say that Legouis's monograph, humanly speaking, is perfect so far as it goes. In the ordinary sense of biography, Knight's voluminous work, though inaccurate, is still necessary. On the whole, the most trustworthy record of Wordsworth's career in its entirety is the first, by Bishop Wordsworth, the ex- cellent memoirs by Dowden and Myers not excepted. In the highest sense, no one is yet in a position to deal with the poet's life in its broadest relations, for want of num- berless preliminary investigations. But with literary biol- ogy, if we may coin the term, we begin to invade another field. With the poet not merely in his own development, and not merely in relation to his own age, but in relation to other ages and literatures as well, we reach the province of interpretation and criticism, or, in a word, simply criticism.

The salient trait in the mass of critical literature on Wordsworth is its tone of normal health. The eminent sanity of his genius, though it could not secure him against the pens of the hasty and ill-taught, has saved the poet from the more sickly sort of sentimentalists. The morbid gain strength in writing about him. This is not all. The amount of Wordsworthian criticism that is positively well done is so large that of his abler exponents not a tithe may here be even named. Omitting Coleridge and Lamb, Arnold and Euskin, Henry Reed, William Minto, R. H.

LITERATURE ON WORDSWORTH. 123

Hutton, and coming down to the present, we find at the head of Wordsworthian students three in particular that must not go unmentioned, Legouis, Hutchinson, and Dowden. Of these, it may be said, Hutchinson knows most about the poet in and for himself ; Dowden, from his rich experi- ence in other fields, has a better perspective of Wordsworth with reference to literature as a whole ; and Legouis, thanks to his scholarly French training, has written the truest single book about Wordsworth yet produced. He has known how to limit his treatment in such a way as to be both specific and general. This work by Legouis, the in- terpretation of the Prelude already referred to, is, like Dowden's Introduction in his volume of selections pub- lished by Ginn, oftener consulted than are the invaluable criticisms of Hutchinson, which are contained in his re- prints of Lyrical Ballads and the Poems of 1807, or scat- tered through the files of the Academy and the Athenceum, very often in unsigned reviews.

In the main, such extant interpretation and criticism of Wordsworth as bids fair to endure the test of time has con- fined itself to the elucidation of his topography in the Lake District, and the circumstances under which he wrote par- ticular poems; to his function as a nature-poet, after a conception of nature narrower than the Aristotelian, to- gether with his relation to immediate precursors in Eng- land; and, finally, to his connection with the events and motive forces of the French Revolution. It is in the last named field that the most stimulating work has been done, by Legouis, Dowden, and, more recently, Cestre.

But Wordsworth is a right English poet. Repaying as the study has been that has linked him with Rousseau and Beaupuy, we must not forget that as a literary artist he nourished his soul chiefly upon Chaucer, Spenser, Shake- speare, Milton, and the classics. In his literary history the

124 LANE COOPER.

first significant fact is this, recorded by his nephew : ' his father set him very early to learn portions of the best Eng- lish poets by heart, so that at an early age he could repeat large portions of Shakespeare, Milton, and Spenser.' Later on, when, as Wordsworth says, he took up ' the pro- fession of a poet for life/ these three and Chaucer became, among English models, the almost exclusive objects of his analysis and conscious emulation. ' These I must study, and equal if I could] and I need not think of the rest.' One other principle of emphasis he gives us, for our guid- ance in approaching him, when he tells his nephew : l Re- member, first read the ancient classical authors ; then come to us; and you will be able to judge for yourself which of us is worth reading.'

For these and other reasons I proceed to indicate a clus- ter of problems which must be worked out systematically, and to a conclusion, before Wordsworth can be thoroughly appreciated, and which have hitherto been handled by his various devotees either casually or not at all.

I. Corresponding to the general need of intensive studies on the relation of our greatest poets one to another, for example, of Spenser to Chaucer, and of Milton to both, there is a need of special and complete investigations into the debt which Wordsworth owes to Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton, severally. In that ideal fabric which English scholarship is rearing for the edification of posterity, our age might at least begin to lay more of the great cross-beams.

II. Similarly, Wordsworth's debt to the classics ought to be subjected to a thoroughgoing examination by several persons working in harmony. Such persons will take their cue from the able investigations carried on under the direction of Professor Cook for Spenser, Shakespeare, and, notably, Milton. In Wordsworth's case this field will

LITERATURE ON WORDSWORTH. 125

prove more fertile than the traditional platitudes about Laodamia and Intimations of Immortality would lead one to suspect, and even richer, I think, than one will be likely to gather from the forthcoming annotations of Mr. ISTowell Smith. Wordsworth's quotations from the Latin are, after all, of much less account than his Grecian clearness of atmosphere and outline.

III. The traditional mist about Wordsworth's attitude toward organized and special science ought also to be dis- solved, first, by some one who, having grounded himself in the history of criticism, shall trace the genesis and growth of the Wordsworthian theory or science of literature, and its progressive application to the poet's own life and work, and shall adequately demonstrate in how far this theory was original. Mr. Lowell Smith has done real service by making Wordsworth's critical writings accessible in one volume, yet it is more or less typical of all efforts in this line that Mr. Smith should have neglected the obvious sources of some of Wordsworth's critical ideas. For ex- ample, no heed has been given to the fact that whereas in 1800 Wordsworth was acquainted with Aristotle's Poetics only at second hand, that is through conversation with Coleridge, he probably read the Greek text afterward for himself.1

IV. Nor should his debt to other and ancillary sciences be slighted. In a coming issue of Modern Language Notes I hope to make evident the wise dependence of this nature- poe,t upon the rapidly developing geography of his day, as a mark of his attention to the whole round of scientific observation.2 But I shall be able to draw only a feeble

1 Compare Wordsworth's Literary Criticism, ed. Nowell Smith, pp. 25, 153, 254.

3 The article has since appeared (Mod. Lang. Notes, March, April, 1907).

126 LANE COOPER.

furrow in an extensive plain. In no great poet — I repeat the assertion earnestly — in no great poet have we more abundant and suitable material by which to lay bare that indissoluble bond between poetry and science which so easily escapes the layman; for no other poet, as it seems to me, has manifested so variedly and so explicitly the brotherhood of theory and practice. What other poet has left us a genetic psychology of the literary temperament comparable in faithfulness and delicacy to the Prelude? V. It is strange that, if the systematic study of Words- worth has not been impelled to go back as far as Milton, it should not at least bound forward from the French Revo- lution and consider Wordsworth comprehensively in the light of his subsequent influence. By his fruits we shall know him. Out of the treasure of Wordsworthian scholar- ship, therefore, let some regenerated scribe bring forth things new as well as old. Let him show, if only by an ac- cumulation of references, what were the obligations to this great spirit, of Byron, De Quincey, Tennyson, Ruskin, Mill, Matthew Arnold, Gladstone. Or, turning to America, let him tell us what Wordsworth has given to Emerson in May Day, to Bryant in Thanatopsis, and to Thoreau in Walden. Doubtless all American nature- poetry is tinctured with the influence of Rousseau ; and the spirit of Jean Jacques, or the better spirit that has operated through him, might not always be easily distinguished from the leaven of Wordsworth. Here is an alluring theme for the literary historian who can make up his mind whether an ant-hill is more ' natural ' than a populous town, and whether romantic solitude is nobler than social life in the Civitas Dei. Yet in his pursuit of the nature cult, the student had better consult Lucretius and Virgil and Words- worth first, and he will be able to judge for himself ' which of us is worth reading.'

LITERATURE ON WORDSWORTH. 127

VI. But for all Wordsworthian studies, complex or simple, there is one piece of apparatus sadly lacking. Wordsworth's poems, though they are to be had in well- nigh impeccable texts, offer unusual difficulties when it comes to systematic reference, and would do so even were they arranged in a sequence more convenient than any now feasible. Several of the questions I have mooted demand for their solution not merely a scholar of the widest erudi- tion, the maturest taste, the firmest and most philosophic training. They demand every sort of mechanical help to- ward accurate and definitive treatment. Upon the ideal scholar of the future, plain industry and honest thorough- ness to-day can confer an inestimable service by the prepara- tion of a complete concordance to Wordsworth's poetry. The want of a concordance is so imperative that, I believe, true admiration and love for the poet, and an unselfish hope for his more effectual popularization in the future, will for the time being cause us to defer all plans of a less humble kind, however enticing, and to strain every nerve in the attainment of this fundamental work of reference. Ac- cordingly, I have pleasure in announcing that my friend Professor Clark S. Northup and myself have agreed to edit such a concordance, and have taken initiatory steps to- ward its production, and that so soon as our expectation that it will be published becomes assured, we shall proceed in the undertaking with the utmost diligence.

COOPER.

VI.— ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF

GLAS.

Some loose vellum leaves of a manuscript written between 1431 and 1450 (according to Dr. Kenyon of the British Museum) are bound in with a paper MS. of Hoccleve's Regement of Princes, in MS. British Museum Sloane 1212. These leaves, written in what may be a different hand from that of the Hoccleve scribe, contain some interesting material, most of which has up to now remained un- identified.

The leaves at the end of the volume do not now concern us. They contain the last stanza of a poem now lost, in- troducing a young squire, the " tresgentyl Eger de Feme- nye," " born in Pallatye," to the service of some lord ; and the Balade in Commendation of Our Lady, by Lydgate, printed by Prof. Skeat in the supplementary volume of the " Oxford Chaucer."

The leaves at the beginning of the volume are more im- portant to students. Folio la contains 16 lines of verse, made up of phrases borrowed from Lydgate's Temple of Glas. These occupy half the page; the rest contains an extract from the Temple of Glas, 11. 736-754, 762-763. The " hir " of the original has been changed to " youre," to make this seem a direct petition of a lover to his lady, instead of the lover's remarks to Venus, as in the Temple of Glas.1

Folio Ib contains two tries at a love-ballade, made of Lydgatian phrases; together with a considerable number of marginal notes by the scribe. These run as follows:

lrThe identification is mine. B. Fehr, Archiv, 107, 50-52, prints this and the next page as "zwei lyrische Gedichte," and anonymous. 128

ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF GLAS. 129

Left margin ; " Une sanz plus, fortune alias," then the fol- lowing, one below the other : " Scales,1 Ver elle tout bien ; Morley,2 Ele est mon cure; Felbrigge,3 Sanz mwer; Nor- manvile,4 youres for euer."

Top, " Pur ma soueraigne, lucas," 5 (the scribe's name, repeated elsewhere in the MS. always in the same hand as

1 Thomas Lord Scales, a resident of Norfolk, was one of the most prominent nobles of his day. See his life in the Dictionary of National Biography.

8 Thomas Lord Morley, a resident of Suffolk, died in the fourteenth year of Henry VI. (MS. Harley 4031, genealogy, fol. 109 f.).

3 Sir Simon de Felbrigg, who I believe was head of his family in his day, was a famous knight of Norfolk. The monumental brass covering his tomb is one of the finest in England. See W. Eye, History of Norfolk, 1885, p. 196. Sir Simon at one time made Judge Wm. Paston his trustee (Paston Letters, i, xxxvii).

4 Henry Normanvyle was a lance with Lord Koos at Agincourt. He was probably from Yorkshire. See K. Belle val, Agincourt, 1865, p. 343.

5 This "lucas" I believe may be identical with John Lucas, a scribe or owner of MSS., in the 15th century. Bitson, Bibl. Poetica, p. 65, calls Lucas a collector or composer of a book of ballades and quotes Sir John Hawkins, History of Music, n, 91, ed. 1766, who states that Joseph Ames owned a folio MS. of these ballades. I can find no trace of this MS. in the sale catalogue of Ames's books, May, 1760, or in a later sale in 1852. Judg- ing by the contents of Harley 1706, and Douce 229, Nos. 826, 829, 830 of the sale in 1760, may contain ballades copied by Lucas. Both MS. Harley 1706, and MS. Douce 229 contain two ballades of four stanzas each in rhyme royal, probably by Lydgate, "take owt of the boke of John Lucas," and inserted as premonitory to the treatise of How to Learn to Die (the 5th chapter of Orologium Sapiencie, being a dialogue between a Disciple of Wisdom, and Death ). These ballades are extracts from the Fall of Princes, i, 1. The first stanza alone is original. Another copy, without the above rubric, is in MS. Univ. Lib. Cam. Ff. 5. 45, fol. 13 b.

Davy's genealogy of the Lucas family in MS. B. M. Adds. 19140, folio 222, gives a John Fitz Lucas of Saxham, Suffolk, as son of a Lucas who flourished in Henry V's time. The Lucas of this MS. is probably of this district. It is very odd that he should name three lords of East Anglia and their mottoes if he were not himself a native of that district. In 1532 a John Lucas received acquittance from the Abbot of Bury St. Edmunds for an annuity due him in right of his church (MS. Bodl. Tanner cvi, art. 7). The phrase "ma souveraigne joie" scribbled by Lucas reminds us of the

9 »

130 HENRY NOBLE MAcCBACKEN.

the text) . Eight side : " Mercy ma soueraigne Joie," "Youres alone," " Yow best/' " Noon bettir," " Soue- raigne/' " Youres for euer," " Jenose dire," " Humble- ment Magre," " Sanz Mwer," " Lucas, Fortune humble- ment attendaunt," " pur ma soueraigne," " Une sanz plus pur le Roy." I shall return to these in a moment.

Folio 2, both sides, contains lines 98-162 of the Temple of Glas. Half the line 163 is given as a catch- word at 2b, bottom. Folio 3, both sides, contains eight stanzas and two lines of the poem by Lydgate to a royal prince, which I call " A Defence of Holy Church," 21 stanzas of which are found at the back of MS. Harley 1245, fol. 182. The latter MS. contains otherwise only the Fall of Princes.

Folio 4, both sides, contain 11. 439-505 of the Lover's Complaint, attached to the Temple of Glas in two MSS. A careful collation of all these leaves with the readings of other MSS. — as given by Prof. Schick in his edition of the Temple of Glas, shows that we have here a version closely akin throughout to what Schick calls the A group, namely, Shirley's MS. Adds. 16165, a poor version of 1450 ( ?), and MS. Univ. Library, Cambridge, Gg. 4.27, about 1430 (Schick, p. xxii).

I give the variants below.1

similar scribble by John Shirley the scribe (c. 1450), who in MS. Ashmole 59 writes "ma joye" about an initial letter, a "crowned A."

The reason for connecting these names with Norfolk and Suffolk will appear.

1M88. T. = Tanner 346, Bodl.

F. = Fairfax 16, Bodl. B. = Bodley 638, Bodl.

P. =Pepys 2006, Magd. Coll., Camb.

G. =Gg. 4. 27, Univ. Lib. Camb. S. = B. M. Adds. 16165.

L. =Longleat 258 (Marquis of Bath). Sl.=Sloanel212.

ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF GLAS. 131

In the last extract we have thirteen agreements of G. with SI., two agreements of S. with SI., and six cases in which SI. disagrees with both S. and G.

In the other passages we have a remarkable agreement with the readings of G., the only disagreements being peculiar to SI., except in 1. 112 and 1. 752, where SI. is in accidental agreement with T. and with T. S.

It is, of course, obvious that we may now add a MS. SI., represented by the fragments discussed, to the A group, as derived from a common original with G. S. It seems likely, too, that S. is at a further remove from this original than either G. or SI.

The French mottoes copied above may now be con- sidered in the light they throw on the Temple of Glas as a poem. It seems clear that we have in the series " Scales,

1. 741, word T.] vowed G. S. SI. etc. ; 749, sane T, P.] but G. S. SI. F. B. ; 750, deraenyng T. SI. etc.] demyng S. ; 751, benygne T. SI. etc.] kunnyng S. ; 752, And T. F. S. 81. etc.] An B. G. ; 108, j>at one T. etc.] the ton G. 81. J>at othir T. etc.] the tothir G. 81. ; 110, Chaucer T. G. S. etc.] causer 81. ; 112, hov T. 81. etc.] of G. S., anoro T.] an arow G. S. SI. ; 115, *Daphueetc.] Dane, G., 81. Done S., Diane T. P. F. B. L. ; 118, loue of J>e T. S. etc.] the love of G. 81. ; 119, into a bole T. G. etc.] Tria- ble S. yn table, 81. ; 120, of T. G. S. etc.] on 81. ; 123, hir G. S. 81.] his T. F. B. L. ; 130, Philologye G. 81.] Phillogie F. B. P. L. Philloge T. Philosophic S. ; 139, ledne G. S. T.] ledevs 81. ; 141, oft G. S. T. etc.] oftyn 81. ; 147, for T. etc.] thourgh G. by S. of P. thorow 81. (the only reading that makes the line metrical) ; 149, iput T. G. S. etc.] put 81. ; 154, T. F. P. B. omit the line, G. S. 81. give it ; 161, Ne T. P. F. B.] in G. S. 81. ; G. S. and SI. alone have the Lover's Complaint ; 443, That G. SI.] Yit S. ; 446, now G. 81.] om S. ; 447, of G. SI.] al of S. ; 448, sigh- ing S. 81.] seyinge G. ; 450, herte G. 81.] lyve S. to-brestG. 81.] brek and brest S. ; 451, the G. S.] om 81. ; 453, Do G. 81.] dobe S. ; 457, this pitous G. S.] dispitous 81. (a better reading.) ; 458, joure G. SI.] hir S. ; 460, hauyth G. SI.] om S. ; 463, oth G. SI.] of>er S. ; 466, parte G.] to parte 81. darte S. ; 474, omitted by 81. ; 476, lyeth G. 81.] is S. ; 479, or S. 81.] othyr G. disese G. 81.] destresse S. ; 481, Vn to G. S.] to 81. ; 484, more G. S.] may 81. ; 500, ek G. S.] om 81. ; 504, niyn S.] and myn G. SI.

132 HENRY NOBLE MAcCBACKEN.

youres for euer," a set of family mottoes. Those on the other side of the page may well be mottoes of other families. Among them occurs " humblement magre," and this motto is repeated on margins of other leaves. Now this is the motto inscribed on the dress of the " Lady " in the Temple of Gfas, who presents her bill to Venus. I am referring here only to the version as represented by G. S. SI. 11. 308-310.

" Therfore fair woord wi>oute variaunce Was up and down as men mj^te se In frens enbrondyt humblement magre."

If we remember the popularity of heraldic emblazoning in the fifteenth century, and the fondness for showing these in a lady's dress (compare the Companion to Eng- lish History, p. 125), we may assume with some confi- dence that Shirley was right when he said this poem was written " a la request dun amoureux " (rubric of Adds. 16165) and that both lady and lover were real persons.

But we must go further than this. The A group is not the original group of texts of the Temple of Glas; it is the B group, represented best by MS. Tanner 346, which gives the original version of the story. Here the lady's garment is embroidered with sundry " rolles,"

"For to expoune the trouth of hir entent."

upon which her

1 ' woord wtyoute variaunce Enbronded was as men mj3te se De mieulx en mieulx, with stones and perre."

(11. 308-310.) Later (1. 530) the lady says to Venus:

"To do youre will de mieulx en mieulx magre." The corresponding place in F. B. G. S. has " humble-

ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF GLAS. 133

ment magre " as before. Other points in his description of the lady are also differently treated.1

Such changes in the MSS. point strongly to a real pur- pose for the motto, and Prof. Schick (note to this line 312) does not attempt to deny this : he only adds (p. cxiii) " I have not been able to find anywhere the motto of the lady."

Professor Schick need not have looked far for the motto " de mieux en mieux." It is the motto of one of the most distinguished of English families, the Pastons,

xlt is impossible to agree with Professor Schick' s theory that the lady's earlier dress (in the A group of texts) of green and white was changed to black, red, and white because the color green was that of inconstancy. It was surely changed for the same purpose that the motto was, that the haw- thorne branches (white flowers and green leaves) (1. 505) were changed to roses, and 1. 510, which had contained no name at all, was altered to bring in the name Margaret. That purpose was to suit another lady. I am reminded of Hoccleve's scratching out one patron's name in a ballade of appeal and inserting John Carpenter's yi an autograph MS.

But the color and the flower cannot help us in finding the lady, I am afraid. The Paston coat of a chief indented gold, the field silver flouret in azure goes back no earlier than 1466, at the death of John Paston, the son of William, and the proof then submitted as to the antiquity and gen- tility of the family is not extant and rests under grave suspicion, as Gaird- ner shows. See his introduction.

The earliest Paston coat extant is of the Berry arms, in gold and silver, made in 1448 by a servant of John Paston, son of William (" Paston Letters,'' ed. 1904, n, 91). The fact that the servant had been sent to a place at some distance, to copy the arms of Paston' s mother, indicates how uncertain the knowledge of arms was among the Pastons. The change from green and white to blue and white may have occurred in John Paston' s time, for it seems from the above letter that he was gathering materials to use in claiming armorial rights. The change from green to blue meant only the misreading of a b (= azure, see Companion to English History, plate 57, No. 9) for v, a common mistake. For example in the excellent Land MS. 683, (circa 1450) the word "avowe" is written "above," fol. 41 b, in the last stanza of Lydgate's St. Giles. It is noteworthy that the Barry arms contained "flower is of sylver," white flowers. See in the above reference, the cut to the "Paston Letters."

134 HENRY NOBLE MxcCRACKEN.

famous for their letters. Sir Wm. Paston, who died in 1608, had as his motto, " De mieux en mieux pour tout." Wm. Paston, Earl of Yarmouth, eighty years later had the motto, " De mieux je pense en mieux;" and other Pastons, as the " Visitations of Norfolk " show, had merely " de mieux en mieux." I may refer also to Blomefield's Nor- folk, vi, 491 ; and to W. Rye, Monumental Inscriptions in the Hundred of Tunstead, Norwich, 1891, p. 92. A few supporting facts may make this connection more plausible. The Pastons owned not only Lydgate's Secrees (Lansdowne MS. 285), but his Temple of Glas, his Guy of Warwick, Horse, Goose and Sheep, and Tale of Two Merchants, and very likely others.1

In 1471 Sir John Paston wrote his brother (Gairdner's ed. Letters, in, 37) : " Brother, — I pray you to loke uppe my ' Temple of Glasse ' and send it me by the berer hereof."

John Paston's father, Judge William Paston, the founder of the family fortunes, was a brother of the Abbey of Bury St. Edmunds, Lydgate's home. The Pas- ton estates were on the borderland of Norfolk and Suffolk, and the notice of election gives Paston credit for " de- votionem quam erga Deum et nostrum habetis monaster- ium " (Yates, History of St. Edmundsbury, p. 156). The form which Wm. Paston' s " devotion " had taken can be guessed from earlier documents of the Pastons, such as that in Harley Charter 54, E., 37, B. M., " 28 August 1341," in which Robert de Paston assigns to two chaplains lands in the fields of St. Edmund's Bury. As a monk in the monastery of St. Edmund, Lydgate must have known Wm. Paston, and rejoiced in his generosity to his church. This conferring of brotherhood was at the feast of St.

1See the catalogue in Gairdner, Paston Letters, repr. 1896, m, 300-1.

ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF GLAS. 135

Ambrose, 1429. But for years before that Win. Paston had been a Serjeant of the law, and as early as 1414 had acted as arbitrator in a dispute, for the city of Norwich (Gairdner, 1. c., i, xxiii). His marriage took place in 1420. 1 And John Paston, his eldest son, was born in 1421. Wm. Paston married well, his bride Agnes Berry, bringing a coat of arms and much land to her husband. It is not unlikely, I believe, that the Temple, of Glas was originally written to celebrate this union.

That Lydgate, about this time, was the proper person to whom to apply for an epithalamium, is shown by his poem on the loves of Duke Humphrey of Gloucester and Jacque- line of Holland, in 1422, written, as Shirley quaintly puts it, " in the desirous time of their true loving." This may be read in Miss Hammond's print in Anglia, xxvn, 381 ff. The Temple of Glas was undoubtedly one of these occa- sional poems that raised Lydgate to the position of un- crowned poet laureate, and secured him the commission from this royal pair.

There are striking parallels to the Temple of Glas in Lydgate' s description of Jacqueline, in regard to womanly qualities, stanzas 10-15, which I pass over without quot- ing. Stanza 16 is, however, even more interesting for our purposes.

" And hir colours beon black whyte and rede pe reed in trouthe tookenej>e stabulnesse And )>e black whoo so takej>e heede Signyfyeth parfyt soburnesse pe whyte also is tooken of clennesse And eek hir word is in verray sooj>e 1 Ge Men raysoun' al >at euer she dooj>e."

Similarly Humphrey has his motto, 1 The marriage settlement is of this date. See Paston Letters, i, p. 11»

136 HENRY NOBLE MAcCBACKEN.

( 23) " For whome he wryte^e in good aventure

Sanz plus vous belle1 perpetually tendure."

Jacqueline is referred to by name, but Humphrey is not.

The poem, like the Temple of Glas, has an envoye in which Lydgate dedicates it to the lady of his praise.

Among the Paston letters, the one in Gairdner num- bered 876 (in, 302-3) contains a poem from a lady to her absent lord, which if not actually written by Lydgate for a lady of the Pastons, shows the closest imitation of the monk's style. I incline to favor Gairdner' s alternative conjecture that the monk of Bury wrote the poem. The rhymes are all in the Lydgate rhyme index, and the slip- pery method of parallel passages could be used to the fullest extent in support of this contention.2

That Lydgate was known to the gentry of the neighbor- hood, and could feel for a noble wife in her lonely state, while her husband was gone, is clear from the evidence of his poem entitled the Departyng of Chaucer, written in 1417. I quote from the print in Modern Philology, i, 331 f.

1 Cf. the motto, "une sanz plus pour le roy," in Lucas's list of mottoes.

2 The ye rhyme is kept in this poem. Companye : ie, st. 7 ; folye : guye : remedye, st. 4.

The word trust (st. 5) =sad, sober, stedfast, is found in Lydgate' s Fif- teen Joys of Mary. Compare also :

Paston poem, st. 4 : " O owght on absence ther foolys have no grace." Tale of Two Merchants, st. 18 :

"O oute on absence of hem that loven trewe, O oute on partyng bi disseueraunce. "

The cold and hot, perplexity between two extremes, etc., found in the poem, are Lydgatian.

" Now hot now cold as fallyth by aventure."

Tale of Two Merchants, st. 32 : "My dool now hot now cold." Lydgate always represents love as a fever. But parallels need not be multiplied. For another view, cf. Mod. Lang. Qu., in, 111 (1900).

ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF GLAS. 137

(St. 8. ) " Lat be youre weping / tendre creature

By my sainte Eleyne / fer away in Ynde How shoule ye / )>e gret woo endure Of his absence / )>at beon so truwe and kynde Ha)>e him amonge / enprynted in your mynde And seythe for him / shortly in a clause Goddes soule to hem />at beon in cause."

The feeling of absolute boredom when the lord and his gentlemen are away, as it is expressed in the Paston poem, finds an exact counterpart in this lament for Chaucer's absence.

It is further worth observing that it was Judge Wm. Paston who purchased the Manor of Gresham from Thomas Chaucer, and that Molynes, mentioned in Lydgate' s poem, was co-heir to the estate with Chaucer, and relative of the Molynes whose feud with the Pastons occupies so much of the famous letters.

It is therefore practically certain that Wm. Paston, while not a knight, was in 1417 one of the gentlemen " dwelling enviroun," whom Lydgate addresses as regret- ting with him the absence of Thos. Chaucer on his embassy to France.

Professor Schick, by always calling the lover of the Temple of Glas a knight, might mislead someone into ob- jecting to Wm. Paston in respect to his lack of knight- hood. But Lydgate in the Temple of Glas nowhere refers to the lover as a knight, but always as a man.1 The lover then could be any person of respectability. The reputa- tion of Wm. Paston (he was known as " The Good Judge") accords well with Lydgate's praise of the lover.

1 550, " I saugh a man." 1041, " pe compleint of >is man."

849, "Toward J>is man." 1113, " Accepte bis man."

936, " pis wof ul man. ' ' 1280, ' ' Hir humble servaunt. ' '

964, "pis dredful man." 1285, " pis man," and so

11. 1347, 1354, 1360.

138 HENRY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

After praising his handsome form in conventional terms the poet calls him,

559. "like to ben a man

And >erwithal as I reherse can Of face and chere >e most gracious To be biloved happi & ewrous."

It is quite unlikely that The Temple of Glas, if written for a wedding in the Paston family, could have been written before 1420, for Wm. Paston's father was a man of small means, in fact only a small farmer, while his wife, so his enemies claimed, was only a bondwoman. (See his life in Diet. Nat. Biography). It is probable that along with the increasing fortune and state of Wm. Paston went a desire for social recognition, and that his assumption of arms and a motto was his own action. The motto, " de mieux en mieux," may well represent his own rapidly improving lot in life. At his marriage he may have commissioned Lydgate to write an allegory of his lovemaking, and fur- nished him with his motto. On this the poet, who was doing commissions for everybody, built up his Temple of Glas, and clothed the lady in her lover's motto, a not im- possible thing, since in his story she had come to Venus to confess her love for the " knight."

Otherwise it might be objected that the lady should wear only her own motto. But it would not have been a bad slip for a poet to put a bride in the arms and em- broidered motto of her husband-elect, for this was cer- tainly done after marriage. In H. Spelmann's Aspilogia, L., 1654, notes, p. 94, ed. Sir Edw. Bysshe, there is a cut of a woman's figure of this period on a monument, her inner dress having her own arms, her outer those of her husband. I am told that Japanese women observe the same custom to-day.

ADDITIONAL LIGHT ON THE TEMPLE OF GLAS. 139

Of course, it cannot be proved that Agnes Berry did not bring this motto with her into the family.

This view of the poem would put it in 1420. It would put it seventeen years later than Prof. Schick's guess. I call it guess, because it is based on an astronomical remark of Lydgate's in the poem, dating it "amyddecembre." This Professor Schick would confine to December 14th or 15th, and then working out the moon's phases, on the suggestion in the poem, would seize on 1403 as the proper date. But in Chapter 52 of the Life of Our Lady, Lydgate remarks (stanza 15) :

"Amyddecembre

The nyght I mene of his natyvyte."

Here the 25th is " amyd decembre."

The putting the date of the Temple of Glas as late as 1420 would explain why this poem is so largely in heroic couplets. Lydgate was then employed on Troy Book, and found it hard to write in anything else. His heroic couplet period extended from 1412 to 1426, and includes Troy Book, Thebes, Prologue to Pilgrimage, Pedigree, Mum- ming at Hertford, and a Holy Meditation. These are all (save the last) dated with certainty in this period, and no others of Lydgate's one hundred and fifty poems are in this metre, except the Temple of Glas. It is more reason- able, then, to assign the Temple of Glas to this period than to any other. The fact that the Departyng of Chaucer (1417) is in rhyme royal shows that Lydgate was hovering between the two metres, and could write in either.

My argument is, of course, circumstantially incomplete. But I have given evidence tending to show the following facts :

(1) Families were associated with mottoes in Norfolk and Suffolk in Lydgate's time.

140 HENRY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

(2) The motto of the Paston family, at the earliest date at which it can be traced, agrees with that of the lady's motto in the original version of the Temple of Glas.

(3) Wm. Paston, first to rise to prominence in his family, was acquainted with Thos. Chaucer and Molynes, Lydgate's friends, and was a benefactor of Bury St. Edmunds, Lydgate's home.

(4) He married in 1420 a lady of position.

(5) His character concides with the conventional de- scription of the lover in the Temple of Glas.

(6) A Paston was fond of the Temple of Glas, in 1471, and owned MSS. of several other of Lydgate's poems.

(7) One poem, possibly by Lydgate, written for a Paston lady, exists in the Paston letters of to-day.

(8) The proposed date of the Temple of Glas, 1420, coincides in the use of the heroic couplet with Lydgate's usage during the period 1412-26, and with that of no other period in his life.

(9) Lydgate's poem on the Duke of Gloucester's Be- trothal, in its address to a lady, and particularly in its description of the lady, her dress, and motto, furnishes a close parallel to the Temple of Glas, and is only two years removed from the date of the Paston marriage.

While the fact cannot be considered as proved, then, there seems some reason for associating the Temple of Glas with the betrothal, or " ensurance," as it was then called,1 of Judge Wm. Paston with Agnes Berry, in 1420.

HENBY NOBLE MACCRACKEN.

1 Compare Venus' s words to the Lady and Man :—

T. O. 1229. Eternally be bonde of assuraunce

The cnott 30 knet, which raai not be vnbovnd.

This surely refers to a real betrothal.

VII.— THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY.

It is so unusual a circumstance at this late day for an entirely new English ballad to come to light that we are justified in hailing its appearance as an event of general interest to the world of English scholarship. From the completion of Professor Child's magnificent work up to the present no ballad has been discovered,1 which would merit insertion under a new title in that corpus. Variants of ballads already known continue to be unearthed with gratifying frequency, but so well did the great collector glean the field that it can seldom fall to the lot of any follower to bring to light a new specimen. The honor due for such a discovery belongs, however, to Mr. Frank Sidgwick, who printed in 1905 a ballad called The Withies, or The Bitter Withy in Notes and Queries.2

Yet the very rarity of the treasure makes the question of its genuineness an important one, and every such find should be submitted to all possible tests before it is ac- cepted as belonging to the family of traditional ballads. The tests by which it must be judged, I take it, are three. The first is purely personal, the critical sense of the scholar who has learned by long-continued and careful study to dis- tinguish the false from the true, to separate the chaff from the wheat. The second is the external evidence with ref er-

1H. Hecht in his survey of recent ballad literature, Engl. Stud., xxxvi, 371, says: "Was seitdem noch erganzend gefunden wurde, ist geringfiigig und betrifft in keinem falle etwa ein bei Child nicht vertretenes stuck." Add to the literature mentioned, Belden, Mod. Phil., n, 301-305; F. Sidgwick, Popular Ballads of the Olden Time.

2 Series 10, iv, 84 f, July, 1905. This version was reprinted by Gummere, The Popular Ballad, 1907, pp. 228, 229.

141,

142 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

ence to the circumstances of discovery, whether the collec- tor or collectors can be trusted. The third is the source of the material, whether the narrative is the product of tradi- tion or of some clever inventor. That ballads of very vari- ous degrees of worth may be regarded as valuable to the study of the type is evidenced by comparing the contents of the last two volumes of Child with the earlier ones. Yet the better a ballad comes out when submitted to the tests above mentioned, the more precious must it appear. According to all three of these standards of judgment The Bitter Withy is genuine, as we shall see.

Mr. Sidgwick's version, which I shall call I, runs as follows :

I. As it fell out on a Holy day,

The drops of rain did fall, did fall, Our Saviour asked leave of His mother Mary If He might go play at ball.

II. "To play at ball, my own dear Son, It's time You was going or gone, But be sure let me hear no complaint of You At night when You do come home."

III. It was upling scorn and downling scorn,

Oh, there He met three jolly jerdins: Oh, there He asked the three jolly jerdins If they would go play at ball.

IV. " Oh, we are lords' and ladies' sons,

Born in bower or in hall, And You are but some poor maid's child Born'd in an ox's stall."

V. "If you are lords' and ladies' sons,

Born'd in bower or in hall, Then at the very last I'll make it appear That I am above you all."

VI. Our Saviour built a bridge with the beams of the sun, And over He gone, He gone He,

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 143

And after followed the three jolly jerdins, And drownded they were all three.

VII. It was upling scorn and downling scorn,

The mothers of them did whoop and call, Crying out, " Mary mild, call home your Child, For ours are drownded all."

VIII. Mary mild, Mary mild, called home her Child,

And laid our Saviour across her knee, And with a whole handful of bitter withy She gave Him slashes three.

IX. Then He says to His Mother, "Oh! the withy, oh!

the withy,

The bitter withy that causes me to smart, to smart, Oh! the withy it shall be the very first tree That perishes at the heart."

A contributor to Notes and Queries in 1868 1 gave some fragments of a second version, which I shall call II. The correspondent wrote :

" I have lately heard sung a Christmas carol com- mencing—

'It happened on a certain day

The snow from heaven did fall: Sweet Jesus asked his mother dear To let him go to the ball."

" It goes on to relate his meeting with virgins three who scornfully refused to let him play at ball with them, and whom he drowned in the sea by leading them over a bridge made of sunbeams. For this act he receives from his mother slashes three from a withy tree, and exclaims —

' Cursed shall be the withy, withy tree,

For causing me to smart; And it shall be the very first tree

That shall perish at the heart.' " Series 4, I, 53.

144 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

Two further versions of the ballad have up to the present been discovered.1 The first has been printed entire in the Journal of the Folk-Song Society2 by the editor, Miss Lucy E. Broadwood.

III.

OUB SAVIOUB TABBIED OUT.

Our Saviour tarried out on a high holiday, Some drops of rain did fall, did fall, Our Saviour asked leave of his mother Mary, Might He go play at the ball.

"To play at the ball, my own dearest son, It is time you're going or gone, or gone, And its never let me hear of your ill-doing At night when you don't come home."

It was up the hall, it was down the hall,

Our Saviour he did run, did run,

As our Saviour he was a-running for to play at the ball,

He met three jolly jolly dons.

"Well met, well met, you three jolly dons, Well met, well met," said he, And its which of you three jolly, jolly dons, Will play at the ball with me? "

Our Saviour built a bridge by the beams of the sun, And 'twas over the bridge went he, went he, And the dons they went a-following after he, And they got drowned all three.

" Oh mother, dear mother, don't scold on your son, For 'twas over the bridge went he, went he, And the dons they went a-following after he, And they got drowned all three."

*Mr. Sidgwick has had communicated to him a fifth text from Bidford, near Stratford-on-Avon. I have not seen this but am informed that it reads " lance " instead of " bridge " and " jordans " instead of " jerdins."

No. 8, 1906, n, 205, 206.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 145

She gathered an armful of small withys And laid him across her knee, her knee, And with that armful of small withys She gave him lashes three.

"O the withy, the withy, the bitter withy, That has caused me to smart, to smart, And the withy it shall be and the very first tree, Shall perish all at the heart."

The last version has not yet been printed in extenso, though the three closing stanzas appeared in the ninth number of the Journal of the Folk-Song Society.1 There are a few discrepancies between the stanzas as there quoted and as they appear in the complete version, communicated by the lady who noted it, Mrs. Leather of Weobley, to Mr. Sidgwick. Through the kindness of the latter I am able to give the entire poem.

IV.

THE SALLY TWIGS, OB THE BITTER WITHY.

As it fell out on a high holiday,

When drop of rain did fall, Jesus asked His Mother Mary,

If He should go and play at the ball.

' To play at the ball, my own dear Son,

It's time you're goin' or gone; But let me hear of no complaints, At night when you come home/

(The next verse is unfortunately forgotten. Our Lord meets three children who revile and despise Him. They say: — )

* And we are lords and ladies sons,

And born in bowers all; And thou art but a poor maid's Son, Born in an oxen's stall.'

1n, 302. Noted by Miss Broadwood.

10

146 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

' If you are lords and ladies sons,

And born in bowers all, I'll let you know at the latter end That I am above you all.'

And Jesus made a bridge of the beams of the sun,

And over the sea went He; And there followed after the three jolly Jorrans,

And He drowned the three, all three.

And Mary Mild called home her Child,

And laid Him across her knee, And with three twigs of the bitter withy

She gave Him thrashes three.

'The bitter withy, the bitter withy, Which made my back to smart, It shall be the very first tree

To wither and decay at the heart.'

To the elucidation of certain dark words and phrases in the ballad I am unable to give much help. Most difficult is the phrase " jolly jerdins," as it appears in I. In II this is transformed into " virgins," in III into " jolly dons," and in IV into " jolly Jorrans." The occurrence of " virgins ' in II led Mr. Sidgwick to conjecture that " jerdins " might be a corruption of that word. But this evasion of the difficulty seems to me impossible for two reasons: first, because a study of the legendary material will show that all forms of the phrase indicate the children, who were the playmates of Christ, and because in the ballad there is marked emphasis upon the repeated " lords' and ladies' sons; and, secondly, because it is always un- likely that a common word has been changed for a rare one. The latter reason makes it improbable that " chil- dren " gave rise to " jerdins " and " jorrans," while

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 147

" dons " seems to be a case of folk etymology. The words " upling " and " downling " in the line " It was upling scorn and downling scorn,'7 though unregistered words, are clear enough in meaning from the context, and preferable to " It was up the hall, it was down the hall " of III.

With the four versions of The Bitter Withy before us we may now apply to the ballad the tests of authenticity re- ferred to above. As to the first, I shall simply say that the greatest living critic of English popular poetry, Pro- fessor Gummere, regards the ballad as genuine of its sort.1 In such matters, where nicely balanced acumen is so neces- sary to detect spurious phrases and false notes, an appeal to authority is not only wise but inevitable ; yet all students of the ballad will agree, I think, that if an imitation this is marvellously well done.

The excellent pedigree of our specimens, however, makes conscious imitation quite impossible and thus establishes the ballad according to the second test. The fragments printed in 1868 were taken down from memory after hear- ing the poem sung. With reference to version I, Mr. Sidgwick says : 2 " The following version was communi- cated on 31 December, 1888, by Mr. Henry Ellershaw, Jun., of Rotherham, in a letter to Mr. A. H. Bullen (shortly after the publication of the latter's i Songs and Carols '), who has given me permission to contribute a copy. It was taken down verbatim as sung by an old Herefordshire man of about seventy (in 1888), who learnt it from his grandmother."

Version III was sung at Wimbledon in September, 1905, by a Mr. Hunt, a native of Sussex, who learned it at home. The words were taken down by Miss Lucy E.

1 See The Popular Ballad, 1907, p. 227.

2 Notes and Queries, place cited.

148 GOEDON HALL GEROULD.

Broadwood and the music transcribed by Mr. R. Vaughan Williams. Version IV was noted by Mrs. E. M. Leather, Castle House, Weobley, as sung in Herefordshire in 1904.1 We thus have two versions from Herefordshire and one from Sussex, aside from the fragment of uncertain deriva- tion. Version I, moreover, carries the evidence for the knowledge of the ballad back to about the end of the eighteenth century, which is sufficiently remote to make a longer course of tradition almost inevitable.

To this matter of tradition, the third test of authenticity, we must now turn. Of itself the fact that the material, out of which a ballad has been fashioned, has been known to the learned or even to the unlearned for some centuries does not give clear proof that the ballad is genuine. It would be quite possible for a modern imitator to turn a tradition of most venerable antiquity into a poem that would not deceive the veriest tyro in balladry. Without other tests, the study of sources is about as useless to in- vestigation of this kind as anything that could possibly be imagined. From this point of view it makes no difference whether the events happened the day before the ballad was made, or a thousand years before, or never at all. As long as they actually belong to the stock of popular knowledge, their provenance is of no consequence. At the same time, when a ballad treats a subject which has as basis a legend or a folk-tale, it is of considerable value to show the previ- ous existence of the story and to trace its development. Contributory evidence of authenticity may thus be found. From another point of view, moreover, every systematic study of a motive has its warrant.

To find the first suggestion of the events narrated in The Bitter Withy it is necessary to go back to the early ver-

1 Journal of the Folk-Song Society, n, 302.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 149

sions of the apocryphal gospels, though not until after the eleventh century A. D. do they begin to take form.

In the Evangelium Thomae,1 the Pseudo-Matthew,2 the Evangelium Infantiae Arabicum^ and the Syriac texts of the gospels 4 there is a tale, which must first be discussed. The Gospel of Thomas is the earliest of these books, a Gnostic work dating from the middle of the second cen- tury, according to Reinsch.5 It is only slightly later than the Protevangelium Jacobi, and gives a more expanded ac- count of the fabulous history of Christ's childhood. Con- siderably later were written the Arabian gospel and the Pseudo-Matthew, the latter probably soon after the middle of the fifth century, as the ascetic and monastic tone adopted by the author bears witness.6 The date of the Syriac texts has not been accurately ascertained, but " there is no doubt/7 to quote their learned editor, " that the principal materials for the construction of the narrative were collected before the end of the fourth century." 7

The version of the Pseudo-Matthew, because of its in- fluence on later forms of the legend, may be taken as the basis of comparison : 8

1 Graece A, cap. ix, Tischendorf, Evangelia Apocrypha, 1853, p. 142 ; Graece B, cap. viii, Tischendorf, p. 153; Latinum, cap. vii, Tischen- dorf, pp. 164 f.

2 Cap. xxxii, Tischendorf, pp. 96 f.

3 Cap. xliv, Tischendorf, p. 197.

4 Budge, The History of the Blessed Virgin Mary — The Syriac Texts edited with English Translations, 1899, pp. 81 f. of Transla- tions.

*Die Pseudo-Evangelien von Jesu und Maria's Kindheit in der romanischen und germanischen Literatur, 1879, p. 4.

'See Reinsch, p. 6.

T Budge, p. x.

8 Tischendorf , pp. 96 f. Found without essential changes in Evan- gelium Thomae, Graece A, Tischendorf, p. 142 ; Graece B, Tischendorf, p. 153; Latinum, Tischendorf, pp. 164-165; Evangelium Infantiae Arabicum, Tischendorf, p. 197.

150 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

" Post haec abierunt inde Joseph et Maria cum Jesu in civitatem Nazareth; et erat ibi cum parentibus suis. Et cum esset ibi una sabbati, dum lesus luderet cum in- fantibus in solario cuiusdam domus, contigit ut quidam de infantibus alium depelleret de solario in terram, et mortuus est. Et cum non vidissent parentes mortui, clamabant contra Joseph et Mariam dicentes Eilius vester nlium nos- trum misit in terrain, et mortuus est. lesus vero tacebat et nihil eis respondebat. Venerunt autem festinantes Joseph et Maria ad lesum, et rogabat mater sua dicens Domine mi, die mihi si tu misisti eum in terram. Et statim descendit lesus de solario in terram et vocavit puerum per nomen suum Zeno. Et respondit ei Domine. Dixitque illi lesus Num. ego praecipitavi te in terram de solario? At ille dixit Non, domine. Et mirati sunt parentes pueri qui fuerat mortuus, et honorabant lesum super facto signo. Et abierunt inde Joseph et Maria cum lesu in Jericho."

In the chapter next following this narrative in the Pseudo-Matthew l occurs another tale, which is likewise found without substantial changes in the other gospels mentioned above.2

" Erat autem lesus annorum sex, et misit ilium mater sua cum hydria ad fontem haurire aquam cum infantibus. Et contigit postquam hausit aquam, ut quidam ex in- fantibus impegerit eum et conquasseraverit hydriam et fregerit earn. At Jesus expandit pallium quo uteba- tur, et suscepit in pallio suo tantum aquae quantum erat in hydria, et portavit earn matri suae. At ilia videns

1 Cap. xxxiii, Tischendorf, p. 97.

*Evangelium Thomae, Graece A, cap. xi, Tischendorf, p. 143; Graece B, cap. x, Tischendorf, p. 154; Latinum, cap. ix, Tischendorf, p. 165; Evangelium Infantiae Arabicum, cap. xlv, Tischendorf, p. 197; Budge, p. 75.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 151

mirabatur, et cogitabat intra se, et condebat omnia haec in corde suo."

In addition to these two stories of Zeno's fatal fall and the broken jug there is found in the Laurentian Codex 1 of the Pseudo-Matthew, which was written after the eleventh century Vatican text printed by Tischendorf, another fable of more direct importance for our study. It runs : " Et cum lesus cum aliis inf antulis super radios solis 2 ubique plures ascenderet et sederet, multique simili modo facere coeperunt, praecipitabantur et eorum crura frangebantur et brachia. Sed dominus lesus sanabat omnes." . This appears to be the earliest suggestion in the legend of the miracle which forms the essential feature of our ballad.

These three stories are, as one would expect, repeated in later accounts of the childhood without material altera- tion. Without being altogether constant in their appear- ance, they occur with considerable frequency both in Latin and in vernacular versions. By the thirteenth century, however, the tendency to expand and embellish narrative of whatever sort had resulted in the addition of three more tales pretty closely allied to these in character and obvi- ously their offspring.

The book known as De Infantia Salvatoris, which is found in several manuscripts of the thirteenth and four- teenth centuries 3 has the story of Zeno's fall (here called Synoe) and of the unsuccessful attempt of the children to

1 Inserted in cap. xxxvii. Printed by Tischendorf in a note on p. 100.

3 The editor prints "solus (sic, nisi fallor)," but the emendation is, of course, necessary, as Reinsch notes, p. 128.

3 See Reinsch, p. 7. He dates but one, MS. Bib. Nat. lat. 11867, which he ascribes to the thirteenth century. MSS. Harl. 3185 and Harl. 3199, in the British Museum, are of the fourteenth.

152 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

imitate Jesus' example in sitting on the sunbeam; and it adds two more stories. I shall mention all of them in the order of the text. (1) A certain boy, whose father had tried unsuccessfully to keep him out of the company of Jesus, made one of a troop that went " usque in campum Sichar." The father followed, " iratusque arripuit fustem, ut Jhesum percuteret, et insecutus est Jhesum usque ad montem, cui subjacet planicies fabe collateralis, et declin- avit. Jhesus Christus a furore saltum fecit a montibus supercilio usque ad locum, qui distat a monte, quantum archus jacit sagittam. Quod volentes alii pueri simili saltu sequi ruentes praecipites fregerunt crura, brachia et colla. Facta autem super hoc gravi querimonia coram Maria et Joseph, sanavit eos omnes Jhesus Christus et reddidit validiores." 1 (2) The story of how Jesus sat on the sunbeam is given with more detail than in the Laurentian manuscript. For reasons that will later appear, I quote the setting. " Una autem die tempore hiemali, cum sol in sua virtute clarus radiaret, extendit se radius Solaris attingens a fenestra in parietem in domo Joseph. Ubi cum luderent cum Jhesu contribules pueri vicinorum per domum discurrentes, ascendit Jhesus Christus radium solis, et positis super eum vestimentis suis sedebat quasi super trabem nrmissimum.2 (3) The story of Zeno is then given.3 (4) Jesus went with his comrades to a fountain to get water. While returning, he struck his jar against a rock by the wayside. Pleased with the sound produced, the others " similiter fecerunt de suis et fregit unusquisque amphoram suam effusa aqua, postquam ierant. Orto autem super hoc tumultu et queri- monia, collegit Jhesus Christus fragmenta et vasa omnia reintegrat; et cuncto libero vas suum cum aqua restituit." 4

1 See Reinsch, p. 9. 2 See Reinsch, p. 10.

•Quoted by Reinsch, pp. 11 f. 4 Reinsch, p. 12.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 153

The first of these tales, that of leaping from the hill, seems to be a variation of the story of Zeno in that it con- cerns the healing of children injured while at play. Whether it had any being outside this legendary cycle, and whether it was used in this connection earlier than by the writer of De Infantia Salvatoris, I am unable to say.1 The fourth tale, that of repairing the water jar, is certainly a mere variant of the earlier story about carrying water in a mantle. However, both stories reappear in other works from this time forward.

The Narraiiones de Vita et Conversatione Beatae Mariae Virginia,2 which appears to be only a little later 3 than the work just mentioned, gives the story of Zeno 4 and a new version of the broken water pot. The latter version runs : " Legitur eciam ibi quod dum lesus quandque matri aquam de fonte ferret, super solis radium suspendit uasculum et postse radium sicutfunem cum uasculo traxit." 5 For both of these De Infantia Salvatoris is named as authority. Though the latter does not contain the second tale, as far as study of the manuscripts up to the present time has shown, it is possible that some form of the work was really the source from which the writer of these Narrationes worked. In any case, wherever the tale started, it is obviously nothing more than an interesting combination of

*Not improbably the story finds its ultimate suggestion in the Song of Songs 2. 8; " ecce iste venit saliens in montibus, transiliens colles." This passage was interpreted as applying to Christ at least as early as the time of Ambrose. See Cook, Philologische Studien, Festgabe fiir Eduard Sievers, 1896, pp. 27-29, and The Christ of Cynewulf, 1900, p. 143, for examples of this mystical use.

2 Ed. 0. Schade, 'Narrationes — ex codici Gissensi, 1870.

3 Schade, p. 3, dates the manuscript from the end of the thirteenth or the beginning of the fourteenth century.

4 Cap. xlii, Schade, p. 20. « Cap. xliii, Schade, p. 21.

154 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

ideas taken from the miracles of sitting on the sunbeam and of repairing or using a substitute for a broken jug.

The Vita Beate Virginia Marie et Salvatoris Rhyth- mica,1 which has been ascribed by its editor, though doubt- fully, to the first half of the thirteenth century,2 contains three of the six tales that have now come before us. It tells (vv. 2684-2717) how Jesus collected the water from the broken pitcher in his mantle, and proceeds (vv. 2718- 2763) with the story of Zeno. The fact that the scene of the boy's fall is placed at a cliff like that described in the story of Christ's leap indicates that the writer either knew the De Infantia Salvatoris or some similar work. The two stories are certainly confused by him. A little further on (vv. 2780-2783) he gives the brief account of suspending the water pot on the sunbeam in words almost precisely the same as those of the Narrationes mentioned above, only turning them into verse. It is impossible to say whether he drew on that work directly, but it seems likely that such was the case. /

There remains to be considered one Latin version of the Childhood, which is of some interest as the first account printed in England, though it is later than the mediaeval versions in the vernacular. This is the prose Infantia Salvatoris, which was published at Turin 3 in 1476 or 1477 and in England by Caxton. The latter text, known only through a single example at Gottingen,4 contains three of our six tales: Zeno,5 the jar suspended on the sun- beam,6 and the leap.7 The last differs from the version of

JEd. A. Vogtlin, Vita Beata Virginia Marie et Salvatoris Rhyth- mica (Bibl. des litt. Vereins in Stuttgart, 180), 1888. 2 P. 3. s See Reinsch, p. 13.

*Ed. F. Holthausen, Infantia Salvatoris, 1891. It is without date. 6 Cap. xx. « Cap. xxii.

'Cap. xxix.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 155

De Infantia in making Jesus encourage the other boys to follow Him after He had leaped from hill to hill. Cax- ton's text is throughout amplified.

In Germany tradition seems to have dealt gingerly with these grotesques. The Vita Rhythmica was translated by Walther von Rheinau 1 with intelligence, and a Kindheit Jesu by Konrad von Fussesbrunnen 2 has the incident of carrying water in the mantle (vv. 2616-2634) and of Zeno's fall (vv. 2667-2698), both in conventional form. Whether any Italian or Spanish works contain the miracles I cannot at present state. In France they seem to have found much greater favor than in Germany, though the dearth of published texts of the various Enfances makes it difficult to trace their course. The well-known Proven§al poem edited by Bartsch 3 relates only two of the stories, — how Christ sat on the sunbeam 4 and how He healed Zeno.5 The former follows the account in De In- fantia Salvatoris rather than that of the Laurentian Pseudo-Matthew, in which it agrees with the English ver- sions soon to be mentioned. A second Provencal text, from the fourteenth century, known to us only through Suchier's analysis 6 based on Raynouard's quotations in his Lexique roman, tells the story of Zeno. In the French of the North appears a thirteenth century work, La vie nostre dame et la passion de nostre seigneur,7 which con-

*Ed. A. von Keller, 1849-1855.

2 Ed. J. Feifalik, 1859, and K. Kochendorffer, Quellen und Forsch- ungen, 43 (1881). Konrad wrote early in the thirteenth century, says Kochendorffer, p. 1.

8 Denkmdler der provenzalischen Litteratur, 1856 (Bibl. des litt. Vereins in Stuttgart, 39). The MSS. are of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, according to Suchier, Zts. f. rom. Phil., vni, 523.

* Bartsch, pp. 279-281. 5 Bartsch, pp. 287-291.

6 Zts. f. rom. Phil., vni, 534.

7 See Reinsch, p. 42, for date and MSS.

156 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

tains the story of the broken jug, which Jesus repaired.1 The Enfance most important for our study, however, has not yet been either printed or adequately analyzed. It is found in two redactions, from the former of which, in the opinion of M. Paul Meyer,2 the first of the English poems to be mentioned was probably a translation.

This work, which is found in MS. Laud 108,3 contains all six of the stories which we have been considering., and in the following order: (1) the leap from hill to hill (vv. 557-612), (2) the repairing of the broken jug (vv. 613- 638), (3) the suspension of the jug on the sun ray (vv. 639-678), (4) Zeno (vv. 871-946), (5) the gathering up of the spilled water (vv. 947-984), and (6) how Jesus sat on the sunbeam (vv. 1051-1129). M. Meyer's discovery of the source for this poem naturally throws out of court the previous statement of its editor that it was taken from a Latin original.4 It explains, however, the fact noted by him 5 that the percentage of French derivatives is extra- ordinarily large. Until the French texts are printed,6 we must take for granted that the English work fairly repre- sents one or another redaction of the poem indicated and attribute to the original author rather than to the South- English translator of about 1300 the arrangement and form of the miracles mentioned above.7

1Reinsch, pp. 71-73.

2 See P. Meyer, Romania, xvm, 128 ff. The MSS. of. (1) are Grenoble 1137 and Didot; of (2) Oxford Selden supra 38 and Cambridge Gg I. 1.

3 Ed. Horstmann, Altenglische Legenden, 1875, pp. 3-61.

*Horstmann, p. xli. 5P. xlii.

6 The analysis of MS. Grenoble given by Bonnard, Les traductions de la lible en vers francais, 1884, pp. 181-193, leaves out (3) and (5), but apparently the latter is merely illegible in the MS. (See p. 187), while the latter may have been passed over in the summary.

'Meyer's belief that the redaction of MSS. Grenoble and Didot rather than of MSS. Selden and Cambridge is the original of the Middle

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 157

It will be noted that here for the first time all of the tales are given in a single work. Their order is significant, it seems to me, with reference to the sources which the author used. First come the two miracles which are first found in De Infantia Salvatoris, secondly the one added in the Giessen Narrationes,1 and finally after nearly two hundred lines the original three in the order of the Lau- rentian Pseudo-Matthew. It seems clear that the French writer had before him some Childhood like the De In- fantia as well as a Pseudo-Matthew. However they were brought together, the stories were now united in a single poem and that poem carried into England.

Other evidence of their dissemination in England dur- ing the Middle Ages by means of the vernacular is found in an entirely distinct Childhood, which has been published from three different manuscripts: MS. Additional 3 1042, 2 MS. Harl. 2399,3 and MS. Harl. 3954. 4 All three are redactions of a single work, though they differ considerably in content. Their relationship has been worked out by Dr. Landshoff, whose conclusion that the versions of the

English is open to some doubt for two reasons. The English MS. is at least as early as the French and perhaps older; in several places (w. 77-80, 159-162, 233-236, etc.) it shows traces of rhymes " quatre & quatre," which Meyer tells us is the form of the second French redaction. The translation is rather clumsily, though vigor- ously, made. In a great number of instances (see Horstmann, pp. xlii ff.) the rhymes are faulty.

lThe appearance of this here in conjunction with the other two makes me more inclined to give credence to the ascription of it to De Infantia by the compiler of the Narrationes. See p. 153 above.

2 Ed. Horstmann, Archiv f. d. Stud. d. n. Sprachen, LXXIV, 327-339. Northern dialect, fifteenth century.

8 Ed. Horstmann, Sammlung altenglischer Legenden, 1878, pp. 111- 123. Midland dialect, fifteenth century.

4 Ed. Horstmann, Work cited, pp. 101-110. Midland dialect, four- teenth century.

158 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

Harleian manuscripts form a group deriving from a pre- cursor of MS. Additional is certainly justified.1 In spite of the fact that one of the Midland texts is considerably earlier than the Northern, I believe that the latter is in the dialect of the original English form of the poem 2 and that its content may accordingly be taken with security as representing the original. Like the poem in the Laud manuscript it has all six of the miracles, but it changes the order slightly, placing the story of how Jesus sat on the sunbeam fourth instead of last.3 Into the form of the stories I need not go further than to state that they show what is witnessed by the work at large, an origin inde- pendent of Laud 108.

That these miracles had a considerable vogue in mediaeval England is shown clearly enough, I think, by the examples adduced. We have seen how the three tales of Pseudo-Matthew were expanded to six by the common pro- cess of fictional embroidery, and how the six were spread

1 H. Landshoff, Kindheit Jesu, ein englisches Gedicht aus dem 14. Jahrhundert. I. Verhaltnis der Handschriften, 1889, p. 15.

2 Certain rhymes like Late: mate: sate: satte (yv. 66-72 of MS. Add.), which are perfect in the Northern dialect, are bungled hope- lessly in the Harleian copies. Furthermore, the completer form of the Northern version inclines one to the belief that it better repre- sents the original. Landshoff's summary (pp. 17-33) of places where the Northern version is textually in the right makes the matter clearer.

3 The stories occur in the texts as follows: (1) The leap, Add. W. 280-327; Harl. 2399, vv. 277-324; Harl, 3954, w. 381-486. (2) The jug repaired, Add. w. 328-341; Harl. 2399, vv. 325-339; Harl. 3954, vv, 345-357. (3) The jug suspended, Add. vv. 342-363; Harl. 2399, vv. 340-360; Harl. 3954, w. 358-380. (4) Sits on sunbeam, Add. vv. 472-520; Harl. 2399, vv. 453-496. (5) Zeno, Add. vv. 521- 572. (6) Collects spilled water, Add. vv. 834-845; Harl. 2399. vv. 755-766.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 159

by vernacular versions in England as well as on the Conti- nent. We may now revert to The Bitter Withy.

I have said above 1 that with the entrance of the story of how Jesus sat on the sunbeam the kernel of the legend in its relation to the material of the ballad is to be found. The leap, which was fatally imitated by His playmates, is of scarcely less importance in explaining why He should build a bridge with the beams of the sun ; and the further expansion into the tale of the water pot suspended on the sunbeam is not without value. Furthermore, the sug- gestion of the original De Infantia 2 that the ray of the sun extended across the room like a beam, when it was used as a seat, though I have not found it in the vernacular, shows how easily the notion of a bridge could come in. That the playmates of the ballad were drowned instead of killed by fracture is a natural sequence. It will be understood, of course, that I am not seeking to establish anything more than the popular knowledge of the series at an early day on English soil, where they could be used as ballad material. That, it seems to me, has been indicated by the existence of the miracles in a rather crude literary form, frequently copied as we know from the manuscript relations of the Northern Childhood, which was clearly made for popular use. It is another case, I believe, of an ecclesiastical legend sifting down to the common people.3

Another bit of evidence for the diffusion of the miracles in England was long ago pointed out by Reinhold Kohler.4 It is found in the chapbook History of Tom Thumb, of

*P. 151. 2Seep. 152.

8 See the author's articles, Publications of the Mod. Lang. Ass., xix, 335-448 and xx, 529-545. *Eng. Stud., n, 115.

160 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

which the earliest edition now known to exist was printed in 1630. 1 I quote a stanza from the reprint by Hazlitt.2

Of whom to be reueng'd, he tooke

( in mirth and pleasant game ) Black pots and glasses, which he hung

vpon a bright sunne-beame. The other boyes to doe the like,

in pieces broke them quite; For which they were most soundly whipt,

Whereat he laught outright.

This curious adaptation of the story of the suspended water pot is valuable for the indirect evidence afforded as to the popularity of these tales.

We have seen that the legend of Christ's relations with His playmates, which we have been studying, was of gradual growth. It is, then, not out of place to inquire whence came the sunbeam in the legend. Dr. Kressner in treating the Provencal versions suggests a parallel, which I am inclined to believe a source. He says : " Man ist versucht, dieses Wunder mit einer im Mittelalter sehr verbreiteten Geschichte zusammen zu bringen, namlich von einem Diebe,welcher auf einemMondstrahle vondemDache eines Hauses in dasselbe hinunter gleiten will und dabei den Hals bricht." 3 This story is found in Kalila and Dimna and thus goes back to Sanskrit. I give a sum- mary of the text of John of Capua to show the European form of the tale and print in an appendix a list of versions.

1 A complete set of the three parts is owned by the Harvard Col- lege Library.

2 Early Popular Poetry of England, 1866, II, 180. Keprinted also by Ritson, Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, 1791, and by Halliwell, The Metrical History of Tom Thumb the Little, 1860. The story is retold in prose by Halliwell, Popular Rhymes and Nursery Talcs, 1849, pp. 95-100.

3 Archiv f. d. Stud. d. n. Sprachen, LVIII, 296, note.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 161

A thief with certain of his fellows ascended the roof of a rich man's house one night, hoping in that way to gain entrance. The man heard them and told his wife to ask him in a loud voice how he had obtained his wealth. When she had asked him more than once, he responded that he had gained all by skilful theft. On the night of the full moon he would go up on the roof of a house, say " sulem " seven times, embrace a moon ray and be carried safely into the house. After securing his booty he would get away quietly in the same manner. The leader of the robbers waited a few minutes, then tried the ingenious plan to his great discomforture.1 This story is, of course, absolutely unlike our legend save for the expedient of using the ray of the moon as a means of conveyance ; yet when it is con- sidered that the Oriental story was known in Europe be- fore the end of the eleventh century 2 and that the Lauren- tian MS. of Pseudo-Matthew somewhat after that date gives the legend very briefly, it seems probable that the first man to invent the incident of Jesus and the sunbeam knew the earlier tale in some form or other.

The legend, which we have been studying, appears to me to be the central theme of The Bitter Withy. I am not disturbed by the leap in the dark required in passing from mediaeval versions to the ballad, nor do I think that the features unexplained by the legend are of prime import- ance. There is first the game of ball and the taunts of the children by which the poem is introduced. References to ball-playing are so frequent in the ballads that this need not be regarded as anything more than a half conventional opening. Read, for example, the first stanza of Sir Hugh

*Ed. Derenbourg, pp. 24 f.

2 The translation by Simeon Seth was made towards 1080. Se« Hervieux, Les fabulistes latins, v, 75.

11

162 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

of Lincoln and see how closely it is approached by this. Yet that popular tradition in England actually connected the Child Jesus with ball-playing is shown by a reference in the second of the two Middle English poems discussed above. In the story of His wonderful dealings with the dyer it is said, according to MS. Additional, that He

"... went to playe hym at the balle

With his felawes, walde he noghte lette." l

or as Harl. 2399 puts it,

"Ande seben to play hym at J?e balle Wyth ht/s felouse he wulde not lete." 2

The further picture given in a well-known carol, called The Holy Well, of His relations with the children and their taunts furnishes at least an interesting parallel to this part of the ballad story. The carol 3 runs as follows :

As it fell out one May morning,

And upon one bright holiday, Sweet Jesus asked of his dear Mother,

If he might go to play.

1 Vv. 672, 673. » VY. 599, 600.

3 Printed from W. Sandys, Christmas Carols, Ancient and Modern, 1833, pp. 149-152. Sandys says that he took it from a "popular broadside carol." Other versions in William Howitt, Rural Life in England, 1838, n, 214, 215 (from "a volume of Christmas Carols as sung in the neighborhood of Manchester," collected by "the late Mrs. Fletcher [Miss Jewsbury] ; "Joshua Sylvester," A Garland of Christmas Carols, 1861, pp. 32-35 (from a broadside printed at Gravesend in the eighteenth century, reprinted in Journal of the Folk-Song Society, n, 303, and with changes in Ancient Carols [Shakespeare Head Press Booklets, No. I], 1905, pp. 17-19) ; and W. H. Husk, Songs of the Nativity, pp. 91-94 (from a Gravesend broad- side). These versions differ from that of Sandys and from one another in a good many lines.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 163

'To play, to play sweet Jesus shall go,

And to play, pray get you gone, And let me hear of no complaint At night when you come home/

Sweet Jesus went down to yonder town,

As far as the Holy Well, And there did see as fine children

As any tongue can tell.

He said, ' God bless you every one,

And your bodies Christ save and see: Little children, shall I play with you,

And you shall play with me.'

But they made answer to him, 'No:'

They were lords' and ladies' sons; And he, the meanest of them all,

Was but a maiden's child, born in an ox's stall.

Sweet Jesus turned him around,

And he neither laugh'd nor smil'd, But the tears came trickling from his eyes

Like water from the skies.

Sweet Jesus turned him about,

To his Mother's dear home went He, And said, 'I have been in yonder town,

As after you may see.

'I have been down in yonder town,

As far as the Holy Well, There did I meet as fine children As any tongue can tell.

' I bid God bless them every one, And their bodies Christ save and see: Little children, shall I play with you, And you shall play with me.

'But they made answer to me, No,

They were lords' and ladies' sons, And I, the meanest of them all,

Was but a maiden's child, born in an ox's stall/

164 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

'Though you are but a maiden's child,

Born in an ox's stall, Thou art the Christ, the King of Heaven, And the Saviour of them all.

' Sweet Jesus, go down to yonder town,

As far as the Holy Well, And take away those sinful souls, And dip them deep in hell.'

' Nay, nay/ sweet Jesus said,

'Nay, nay, that may not be, For there are too many sinful souls, Crying out for the help of me/

O then spoke the Angel Gabriel,

Upon one good Saint Stephen, Altho' you're but a maiden's child,

You are the King of Heaven.

The whole point and force of the ballad is lost in this curiously emasculated text, which appears notwithstanding to be genuinely popular. Presumably the carol derives from the same wave of tradition as the ballad and may be regarded as a variant of it. The introduction of the holy well recalls the story of the broken pitcher, which I have shown to be of some importance in the growth of the legend. It is possible that the tradition gave rise to two ballads, of one of which The Holy Well is a debased copy ; but, as this explanation would demand as a corollary some confusion of phrase between the two, it seems more likely that we have to do with a single ballad, which in the broad- sides fell on evil days.

After the legend proper come the chastisement and the curse, both of which seem to me features of less import- ance than the main story. As to the whipping, I know of no reference to it in England. Indeed, in all the versions

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 165

of the Childhood from both the Continent and England that I have read, the Mother's attitude toward her Son is one of respectful adoration. Mr. Sidgwick, however, has called attention 1 to a note in Notes and Queries for 1863,2 which quotes the following passage from the pen of an English clergyman 3 descriptive of a fresco on the exterior of the west end of a church at Lucca. " Leaving the square at Lucca, which contains the cathedral, I entered a long and narrow street ; and when I had traversed it for about half a mile, I suddenly came upon the ancient and massive church of San Martino. — The Virgin is represented in- flicting corporal punishment upon the youthful Jesus. She holds a rod in her hand ; with the other she holds the garments of the Child. She is in the act of inflicting punishment. The child is in alarm, and its eyes are eagerly directed to St. Anna, the mother of the Virgin, in the background; entreating her intercession to escape the cruel ordeal." 4

Furthermore, in the Old French Miracles de Nostre Dame par personnages (i, vv. 1383-1385) we find Premier Dyable blasphemously remarking of Christ:

" Pour sa mere n'en ose el f aire : Si lui faisoit riens de contraire, II seroit batuz an retour." 5

So in a later play of the same series, Deuxiesme Dyable says ( xxxvi, vv. 587-589) :

1 Place cited. * Third Series, in, 324 f .

3 Rev. A. Vicary, Notes of a Residence at Rome in 1846, by a Protestant Clergyman.

* As the cathedral of Lucca is dedicated to St. Martin, it seems certain that the traveler was mistaken in the name of the church.

6 Ed. Paris and Robert, 1876, i, 49, 50 (Soci6t6 des anciens textes.)

166 GORDON HALL GEROULD.

" Et s'il le faisoit, abatuz Seroit de sa m6re et batuz Dessus ses fesses." 1

These allusions seem to imply a knowledge on the part of the authors of some such story.

With this evidence, slight as it is, one must regard the chastisement as belonging to the legend, no matter how it came to be there. What more natural than that it should be seized upon by the ballad-maker or balladmakers as a fitting end to the story? The ballad requires a catastro- phe,— and here you have it. It is not humorous. It is rather most grave and sober and unsmiling. The thing could not be done at all except by the sublime unconscious- ness of a childlike mind, and the perfect propriety of the execution is all of a piece with the genuineness of the ballad.

The cursing of the withy in the last stanza of all may be of some importance, but it seems to me more probably an afterthought and a tag. To my ear it does not ring quite true, though I am willing to be convinced that it is not an addition. The opportunity for explanation was too good a one to be lost, wherefore some singer of the ballad proceeded to explain the nature of the withy by the natural impatience of the Child.

VERSIONS OF THE THIEF AND THE MOONBEAM. 2

Arabian. Kabila and Dimna, trans. Knatchbull, p. 69.

Bidpai, trans. Wolff, p. xxxix. Syriac. Ed. G. Bickell, Kalilag und Damnag, 1876.

lWork cited, vi, 249. Both references I owe to the kindness of Dr. Donald C. Stuart, of Princeton.

2 1 give this list as being of possible use, though it is neither complete nor in every respect accurate. Many of the references, culled largely from Benfey and Oesterley, I have been unable to verify.

THE BALLAD OF THE BITTER WITHY. 167

From Arabian. Greek (by Simeon Seth). Ed. Stark, Specimen Sapientiae Indorum Veterum,

1697.

Persian (lyar-i-Danish). See Malcolm, Sketches of Persia, i, 144. Hebrew. Ed. J. Derenbourg, Deux versions hebraiques du livre defKalildh et

Dimndh (Bibl. de 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes, 49), 1881. Spanish (by Alphonse le Sage). Calila e Dymna, chap. 2, ed. Pascual de

Gayangos, in Escritores en prosa anteriores al siglo XV (Bibl. de

auiores espanoles) , 1860, pp. 15 f.

From Greek.

Possinus, Specimen Sapientiae Indorum Veterum ( appended to Observationes Pachymerianas), 1666, p. 558.

From Hebrew.

John of Capua, Directorium Humane Vitae, cap. i, ed. J., Derenbourg, Johannis de Capua Directorium Humanae Vitae (Bibl. de 1'Ecole des Hautes Etudes, 72), 1887, pp. 24, 25; L. Hervieux, Les fabulistes latins, 1899, v, 98-100.

From Spanish. El libro de los enxemplos, no. vii, ed. Pascual de Gayangos, Escritores, etc. ,

p. 449. Kaymond de Be*ziers. See under John of Capua.

From John of Capua. Baldo, Ed. Hervieux, v, 344, no. vi. Eaymond de Be*ziers. Ed. Hervieux, v, 425, cap. iii ; du Me"ril, Poesies

inedites, p. 222.

Doni, La Moral Filosofia de Doni, 1552, p. 17. Petrus Alphonsus, Disciplina Clericalis, cap. xxv. Ed V. Schmidt, I, 149.

From Petrus Alphonsus.

Oesta Romanorum, cap. 136. Ed. Oesterley, 1872, p. 490. Vincent of Beauvais (ascribed), Speculum Morale, 3, 6, 2. Chastoiement. Ed. Le Grand d'Aussy, Fabliaux, 1799, n, 409 ; Barbazan, Fabliaux, n, 148 ; Me"on, Fabliaux et contes, 1808, n, 148.

Wright, Selections of Latin Stories, p. 24.

Bromyard, Summa Praedicantium, S, 3, 14.

Hans Sachs, ed. 1579, v, 376.

Pauli, Schimpf und Ernst. Ed. Oesterley, 1866 ( Bibl. des litt. Ver. in

Stuttgart, 85), no. 628, p. 345. Geiler, Narrenschiff, 20.

GORDON HALL GEROULD.

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

Modern Language Association of America.

19O8.

VOL. XXIII, 2. NEW SERIES, VOL. XVI, 2.

VIII.— ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING'S POETRY.

There are many well-established cases of the influence of an earlier on a later poet — of Marlowe on Shakspere, of Spenser on Keats, of Keats on Tennyson, for instance ; but it is not often that we have so clear an example of inter- action between contemporaries as that of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning. In these days of minute scholar- ship, it seems strange that so remarkable an instance should (so far as I am aware) have escaped detailed examination, in spite of the unwearying activity of graduate schools and Browning Societies. Both for its human and for its literary interest, the case seems worth presenting, at any rate in broad outline.

Browning's influence upon his wife is written Iprge on the surface of all her later work, the best thing she eve*- 4id, the Sonnets from the Portuguese, being directly due to his inspiration. Her influence upon him is subtler, deeper — the influence of the weaker and finer upon the stronger nature. Richly as her ardent spirit developed under the emotional 1 169

170 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

and intellectual stimulus she received from him, I am inclined to believe that her most enduring contributions to literature were not direct but indirect — through the influence she exerted on her poet-husband. Her best work is to be found not in her own writings, but in his.

Such a view would have been scouted during Mrs. Browning's lifetime; and in order to orient ourselves, it may be well to recall the circumstances of their first acquaint- ance. Older by six years, Elizabeth Barrett was also more precocious, and had a wide circle of admirers on both sides of the Atlantic when he was known only to a little ring of select spirits in London. She had published her first volume of poems in 1826, when he was a boy of 14, and had risen to the dignity of a collected edition while he was still trying to force his poems on an unwilling public in sixpenny and shilling pamphlets. It was, indeed, a compliment she paid in her three volume edition to Browning's cheap series of " Bells and Pomegranates " that first brought the two poets together. Browning's approach in response was character- istically direct : " I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett," he wrote on January 10, 1845, and later in the same letter he added, " and I love you too." So began the memorable courtship — the most remarkable, I think, in the history of literature — which I must not stay now to rehearse. In spite of the emotional tone of Browning's first letter to a lady he had never seen, there was at this time no suspicion on either side of what was so soon to come. It would be rash to say of any man over thirty, as Browning was, that he had never been in love; but he was heart- whole, and he had made his scheme of life, as he afterwards wrote to Miss Barrett, supposing the " finding such a one as you utterly impossible." She also had definitely renounced any thought of marriage, and she took his letter in the friendly spirit of appreciation in which it was meant. " I

ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING. 171

had a letter from Browning the poet last night which threw me into ecstasies/7 — she writes to a friend, " Browning, the author of Paracelsus, and king of the mystics.." In spite of many literary interests in common, they were strikingly different in character and tastes. He was already a man of the world and a bit of a dandy, with marked social abili- ties and inclinations, as Mr. Kenyon's recent book, Robert Browning and Alfred Domett, has shown. He had already developed that attitude of mind which made Lockhart say later that he liked Browning, because he was "not at all like a damned literary man." She, on the other hand, was a student and a recluse, an invalid who enjoyed the reputa- tion of a blue-stocking in those early Victorian days. Miss Mitford describes her as " reading almost every book worth reading in almost every language," and having a Greek text of Plato bound like a novel so as to deceive the family physician. Yet there was nothing of the blue-stocking in her disposition. Miss Mitford's description may be further quoted : " Of a slight, delicate figure, with a shower of dark curls falling on either side of a most expressive face, large tender eyes richly fringed by dark eyelashes, a smile like a sun-beam, and such a look of youthfulness," — this was in 1836, before the days of her suffering and bereavement. But twenty years later Nathaniel Hawthorne found her still " youthful and comely " as well as " very gentle and lady- like." His first impression is of " a small, delicate woman, with ringlets of dark hair, a pleasant, intelligent, and sensi- tive face, and a low, agreeable voice." Two years later, on closer acquaintance, he describes her with greater fulness and enthusiasm — aa pale, small person, scarcely embodied at all ; at any rate only substantial enough to put forth her slender fingers to be grasped, and to speak with a shrill yet sweet tenuity of voice. Really, I do not see how Mr. Browning can suppose that he has an earthly wife any more

172 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

than an earthly child; both are of the elfin race, and will flit away from him some day when he least thinks of it. She is a good and kind fairy, however, and sweetly disposed towards the human race, although only remotely akin to it. It is wonderful to see how small she is, how pale her cheek, how bright and dark her eyes. There is not such another figure in the world ; and her black ringlets cluster down into her neck, and make her face look the whiter by their sable profusion. I could not form any judgment about her age ; it may range anywhere within the limits of human life or elfin life. ... It is marvellous to me how so extraordi- nary, so acute, so sensitive a creature can impress us, as she does, with the certainty of her benevolence."

Mr. Chesterton in his study of Browning (English Men of Letters) has said that Browning's behaviour during the secret courtship which ended in so respectable an elopement is "more thoroughly to his credit than anything in his career." This is surely an exaggeration, for to tell a lie when occasion calls for it, and remain a gentleman is not, after all, a task of such super-human difficulty as Mr. Chesterton seems to think; and though Mr. Moulton Bar- rett's system of paternal theocracy amounted almost to religious monomania, it is a little absurd to regard him as an ogre, and Miss Barrett's invalid chamber as an enchanted castle. She was a woman of forty with an independent income, and all she had to do to escape from her dungeon was to summon the moral and physical courage to walk out of it. The obstacles she had to overcome are very well represented by her father's remark after the marriage. " I have no objection to the young man, but my daughter should have been thinking of another world." It was precisely from this other world — the world of depressing religiosity and domestic tyranny — that Browning rescued Elizabeth Barrett, and it required qualities which are not exactly

ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING. 173

heroic, but which are DO less rare—single-minded devotion and infinite tact and patience. There was also some risk of social odium to be faced, for Browning had no means, and the secret marriage of the two poets, unsuspected even by their friends, of course made a sensation when it was publicly announced a few days later. It startled Wordsworth into his one recorded jest : " So Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett have gone off together ! Well, I hope they may understand each other — nobody else could. "

Fortunately they did understand each other : their mar- riage proved just what Milton says the poet's life should be — in itself " a true poem." To Elizabeth Barrett it meant fifteen years of the sublime happiness which the Sonnets from the Portuguese help us to measure. Browning's side of the picture is given in By the Fireside, which is simply a romantic presentation of their courtship and married life in Italy. The scenery described is that of the Baths of Lucca, where they spent some delightful summers, and there are many glances at their common life in Pisa and Florence.

11 1 will speak now No longer watch you as you sit Reading by fire-light, that great brow And the spirit-small hand propping it, Mutely, my heart knows how —

" When, if I think but deep enough, You are wont to answer, prompt as rhyme ; And you, too, find without rebuff Eesponse your soul seeks many a time Piercing its fine flesh-stuff."

This is but a poetical description of the Brownings in their Italian home. Mrs. Browning writes of her husband in a letter to his sister : " Nobody exactly understands him except me, who am in the inside of him and hear him breathe. For the peculiarity of our relation is that he thinks aloud with me and can't stop himself."

174 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

A few stanzas later Browning looks back to the courtship and gives us in poetry what we have in the love letters

in prose.

" Come back with me to the first of all, Let us lean and love it over again, Let us now forget and now recall, Break the rosary in a pearly rain, And gather what we let fall ! "

To him their union remains the supreme moment of

his life :

"I am named and known by that moment's feat ; There took my station and degree ; So grew my own small life complete, As nature obtained her best of me — One born to love you, sweet ! ' '

But this is the language of lyric poetry, not of sober criticism. The author of the Dramatic Romances and Lyrics, of Pippa Passes and Sordello would have been a great poet if he had never met Elizabeth Barrett; but he would not have been the same poet, or the same man. Professor Herford, who will not be suspected of exaggeration, says that Mrs. Browning " brought a new and potent influence to bear upon his poetry, the only one which after early manhood he ever experienced ; and their union was by far the most signal event in Browning's intellectual history, as it was in his life." Let us now address ourselves to examine this influence as particularly and dispassionately as we can.

"Being too happy doesn't agree, with literary activity," writes Mrs. Browning three years after the marriage ; the first and most obvious effect of Browning's wedded bliss was to greatly decrease the amount of his poetical produc- tion. Every year of the ten before his marriage saw some important work of his published; after his marriage there was a long silence till the publication of Christmas Eve and Easter Day in 1850; five more years elapsed before Men

ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING. 175

and Women appeared in 1855 ; and he published nothing else until after his wife's death. But in poetry it is quality, not quantity, that counts ; if I were to select from Browning's works one volume for which, if necessity so demanded, all the rest should be sacrificed, it would be precisely this series of Men and Women, which, as Mr. Arthur Symons says, "represents Browning's genius at its ripe maturity, its highest uniform level. In this central work of his career every element of his genius is equally developed, and the whole brought into a perfection of harmony never before or since attained .... In Men and Women Browning's special instrument, the monologue, is brought to perfection." Of Christmas Eve and Easter Day I hold a lower opinion than many admirers of the poet. It illustrates, to my mind, the weaker side of his wife's influence. There is some draw- back even in happy marriages, between poets as among ordinary men and women, for poets are, after all, human, only more intensely so than the rest of us — a truism which critics are sometimes inclined to forget. Now the genius of these two poets, as we have noted, was essentially different. Browning in his essay on Shelley divided poets ^ / into two great classes — the objective or dramatic poets, and the subjective or lyric. He belonged very distinctly to the first order ; she with equal distinctness to the second. It was a pardonable weakness in her to encourage her husband to be more subjective; she disliked the drama and the dramatic form. Before they were married she wrote to him : " Several times you have hinted to me that I made you careless for the drama, and it has puzzled me to fancy how it could be, when I understand myself so clearly both the difficulty and the glory of dramatic art. Yet I am conscious of wishing you to take the other crown besides — and after having made your own creatures speak in clear human voices, to speak yourself out of that personality

176 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

which God made, and with the voice which He tuned into such power and sweetness of speech. I do not think that, with all that music in you, only your own personality should be dumb, nor that having thought so much and deeply on life and its ends, you should not teach what you have learnt, in the directest and most impressive way, the mask thrown off however moist with the breath. And it is not, I believe, by the dramatic medium, that poets teach most impres- sively— I have seemed to observe that ! .... it is too difficult for the common reader to analyse, and to discern between the vivid and the earnest. Also he is apt to under- stand better always, when he sees the lips move. Now, here is yourself, with your wonderful faculty ! — it is wondered at and recognized on all sides where there are eyes to see — it is called wonderful and admirable ! Yet, with an inferior power, you might have taken yourself closer to the hearts and lives of men, and made yourself dearer, though being less great. Therefore I do want you to do this with your surpassing power — it will be so easy to you to speak, and so noble, when spoken.77

Browning had himself ambitions in this direction. He had written early in their acquaintance : " What I have printed gives no knowledge of me — it evidences abilities of various kinds, if you will — and a dramatic sympathy with certain modifications of passion .... that I think — But I never have begun, even, what I hope I was born to begin and end — ' R. B. a poem.7 7' And again : " I always shiver involuntarily when I look — no, glance — at this First Poem of mine to be. 'Now,' I call it, what, upon my soul, — for a solemn matter it is, — what is to be done now, believed now, so far as it has been revealed to me — solemn words, truly.77

I imagine that Christmas Eve and Easter Day is the fulfil- ment of these early aspirations under his wife7s encourage- ment. He tries to be subjective and does not wholly succeed,

177

so that it is often difficult to say whether he is speaking dramatically or in his own person. This accounts for the very diverse interpretations put upon the poem by competent critics, not merely with respect to particular passages, but as to the general purpose and attitude of the poet. Professor Dowden takes it as not dramatic at all, but a declaration of the poet's own faith; he describes Browning as "a preacher," uttering his message in Christmas Eve and Easter Day (i after the manner of earlier prophets," and suggests that " his doc- trine may sometimes protrude gauntly through his poetry " (pp. 134-7). To this critic the representation of Roman Catholicism in Christmas Eve seems a crude misconception, and the picture of the Gottingen professor an amiable cari- cature (pp. 128-9). Miss Ethel M. Naish, on the other hand, in her recent study, Browning and Dogma, says : "The closer and more unprejudiced the study accorded it, the stronger becomes the conviction of the essentially dra- matic character of the composition of both Christmas Eve and Easter Day" (p. 149). Professor Herford takes an inter- mediate position between these two extremes : " While he did not succeed .... in evading his dramatic bias, he succeeded in making the dramatic form more eloquently expressive of his personal faith" (p. 116). "The strong personal conviction which seems to have been striving for direct utterance, checked, without perfectly mastering, his dramatic instincts and habitudes, resulting in a beautiful but indecisive poetry which lacks both the frankness of a personal deliverance and the plasticity of a work of art. The speakers can neither be identified with the poet nor detached from him ; they are neither his mouthpieces nor his creations " (p. 120).

My own view of Browning's intentions in Christmas Eve and Easter Day and his incomplete success in carrying them out, agrees substantially with that of Professor Herford ;

178 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

and it is to be noted that after his wife's death the poet returned frankly to the plan of dramatic presentation as the " one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least." 1

Christmas Eve and Easter Day illustrates another phase of Mrs. Browning's influence which may be diversely inter- preted. Whatever may be our view as to the relative proportions of the subjective and objective elements in the poem, there can be no question that in it Browning takes a more definite stand on religious matters than he took in any earlier or later work. While he was never an irreligious man, he was not, till he came under his wife's influence, decidedly religious. In a letter written just before their marriage (August 15, 1846) she sets forth her religious views fully and clearly ; and like a wise lover he concurs without saying anything definite on his own side, beyond the safe : " What you express now is for us both." But undoubtedly he obtained a clearer conception and deeper conviction of the "revelation of God in Christ" which she regarded as the central doctrine of the Christian faith. The poems of this middle period, such as Christmas Eve and Easter Day, and Karshish, Cleon, and Saul in Men and Women, which have a distinctly Christian bias, have, as Professor Herford has pointed out, " no prototype or parallel among the poems of Browning's previous periods." Later, as in La Saisiaz, he returned to what some would call a broader, and others a more agnostic point of view. Pro- fessor Dowden defines this later phase of Browning's reli- gious belief as the " non-historical form of a Humanitarian Theism, courageously accepted, not as a complete account of the Unknowable, but as the best provisional conception which we are competent to form" (p. 364). His attitude to truth approaches, in Professor Dowden's opinion, " what

1 See The Ring and the Book, xn, 835-867.

ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING. 179

has now begun to style itself ' Pragmatism.' ' Assuredly it is something very different from the simple faith of Pippa Passes, The Boy and the Angel, and the first part of Saul; and it is still further removed from the more definite evan- gelical convictions of his middle life.

But whatever differences of opinion there may be on the two points just raised, there can be none on the main issue — that Browning's keen intellectual nature was enormously enriched on its spiritual and emotional side by his marriage, with corresponding gains in the power and beauty of his poetry. It was this which gave such wonderful fire and tenderness to the romantic passion which we find in Men and Women for the first time in all its fulness and richness ; hitherto Ke had written no real love poems, and about half of the poems of Men and Women fall under that description. It developed his human sympathies, too, in a broader sense, and held in check a tendency to the abstruse, the abnormal, and the grotesque which is strongly marked in his earlier work. It is not without significance that Browning's first poems centred round such uncanny heroes as the poet of Pauline, Paracelsus, Porphyria's mad lover, Johannes Agricola, and Sordello. There are many beautiful and inspiring poems in the Bells and Pomegranates series ; but there are also such grotesque psychological studies as the Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister, The Confessional, and Time's Revenges, in addition to some already named. In Men and Women Browning indulged his love of dialectic in only one poem, Bishop JBlougram's Apology, and his inclination towards the grotesque in one other, The Heretic's Tragedy, justifying himself in each case by the result. Both these tendencies returned in full force upon the poet in his later years, to the great detriment of his work and reputation. In the first volume published after his wife's death, Dramatis Personce, the overdevelopment of this phase of his intellectual activity is already marked. One poem, Mr. Sludge "the

180 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

Medium" is a realistic study of the metaphysical-grotesque which would certainly not have been published during his wife's lifetime ; and whatever might have been the loss to psychology, it would have been no great loss to poetry.

It is part of the price that must be paid for a union so beautiful in its completeness as that of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett that the inevitable severance of the tie leaves the survivor with a shattered life. The death of Mrs. Browning marks the beginning of the third and down- ward stage in Browning's poetical career just as clearly as his marriage marks the approach of his grand climacteric. When he left Florence, never to return, after his wife's death, he was a broken man. He compares himself to " a worm-eaten piece of old furniture, looking solid enough, but when I was moved I began to go to pieces." He set himself resolutely to reconstruct a new life, as little like the last fifteen years as possible, and after a period of retirement, he deliberately forced himself to go back into society ; but he was never a whole man again. Mr. Henry James has given us a picture of this later Browning in William Wet- more Story and his Friends which is so illuminating that I do not hesitate to reproduce it here : " It is impossible not to believe that he had arrived somehow, for his own deep purposes, at the enjoyment of a double identity. It was not easy to meet him and know him without some resort to the supposition that he had literally mastered the secret of divid- ing the personal consciousness into a pair of independent compartments. The man of the world — the man who was good enough for the world, such as it was — walked abroad, showed himself, talked, right resonantly, abounded, multi- plied his contacts and did his duty ; the man of " Dramatic Lyrics," of "Men and Women," of the "King and the Book," of "A Blot in the 'Scutcheon/' of " Pippa Passes," of "Colombe's Birthday," of everything, more or less, of the order of these, — this inscrutable personage sat at home

ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING. 181

and knew as well as he might in what quarters of that sphere to look for suitable company. The poet and the " member of society " were, in a word, dissociated in him as they can rarely elsewhere have been ; so that, for the observer im- pressed with this oddity, the image I began by using quite frequently of necessity completed itself: the wall that built out the idyll (as we call it for convenience) of which memory and imagination were virtually composed for him stood there behind him solidly enough, but subject to his privilege of living almost equally on both sides of it. It contained an invisible door through which, working the lock at will, he could softly pass and of which he kept the golden key — carrying the same about with him even in the pocket of his dinner-waistcoat, yet even in his most splendid expansions showing it, happy man, to none. Such at least was the appearance he could repeatedly conjure up to a deep and mystified admirer."

This division of the man within himself had inevitably its effect upon his poetry. In the same manly spirit as he devoted himself to the education of his son and to his social duties, he set himself to write. " I mean to keep writing whether I like it or not/7 he said ; and he felt in his wife's memory a part of the inspiration he derived from her presence. " I shall grow still I hope " — he wrote, " but my root is taken and remains." Three years later he added : " I feel such comfort and delight in doing the best I can with my own object of life, poetry, which, I think, I never could have seen the good of before that it shows me I have taken the root I did take well. I hope to do much more yet and that the flower of it will be put into Her hand some- how."

In Prospiee (Dramatis Personal) and in The Ring and the Book he gave passionate expression to his confidence in his wife's continuing interest and influence ; and so the strong man survived the blow, but the scar remained. Already in

*

182 JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

Dramatis Personce, published three years after Mrs. Brown- ing's death, Professor Herford remarks a tone of dissonance. " The sense of tragic loss broods over all its music." He never entirely lost the glow of the Beatific Vision ; and at times, even in the love lyrics of his old age, he seems to sing with his youthful note of vibrant and ecstatic passion : —

"Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture."

But if these later love poems are looked into carefully they will be found less like " rapt utterances of passion than eloquent analyses of it by one who has known it and who still vibrates with the memory" (Herford, 233). The Vision faded. Browning came not merely to accommodate himself to his new life, but to enjoy it. In the Prologue to Fifine, in which his wife is again referred to, he admits that he has no wish to leave the earth ; he " both lives and likes life's way ; " and I have sometimes thought that Fifine itself was intended as a justification of the poet to himself for his inability to live in spirit up to that standard of devotion to his wife's memory which he had at first set himself. Immediately after her death he had written on the fly-leaf of her Greek Testament these lines from Dante's Convito : " Thus I believe, thus I affirm, thus I am certain it is, that from this life I shall pass to another better, there, where that lady is of whom my soul was enamoured." In La Saisiaz he raises this question of immortality again, considers it not in the flush of emotion but in the cold light of intellect, and leaves the issue doubtful. The meta- physical impulse which was always strong in him returned with redoubled force as Mrs. Browning's influence waned. In The Ring and the Book her personality is still to be dis- cerned in the character of Pompilia, and his next poem, Balaustion's Adventure, is partly due to Mrs. Browning's interest in Euripides. But after that we have in succession

ELIZABETH BARRETT'S INFLUENCE ON BROWNING. 183

Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau,1 Fifine at the Fair, Red Cotton Night-Cap Country, Aristophanes' Apology, The Inn Album.

Of these later poems Professor Henry Jones has well said : " Kant's Metaphysic of Ethics is not more meta- ! physical in intention than the poet's later utterances on the problems of morality. . . . Browning definitely states and endeavours to demonstrate a theory of knowledge, a theory of the relation of knowledge to morality, and a theory of the nature of evil ; and he discusses the arguments for the immortality of the soul. In these poems his artistic instinct avails him, not as in his earlier ones, for the discovery of truth by way of intuition, but for the adornment of doctrines already derived from a metaphysical repository. His art is no longer free, no longer its own end, but coerced into an alien service. It has become illustrative and argumentative, and in being made to subserve speculative purposes, it has ceased to be creative. Browning has appealed to philosophy, and philosophy must try his cause." 2

If Mrs. Browning had lived, we should very likely have been spared these psychological and casuistical treatises, which have rather detracted from than added to Browning's fame as a poet. But it is idle to speculate on what might have been. Let us rather acknowledge a debt of gratitude to Elizabeth Barrett for contributing to Browning's poetry the human sympathy, passionate fire, and lyrical beauty, which have made some of his poems priceless and ever- lasting possessions of the English-speaking world.

JOHN W. CUNLIFFE.

1 Browning began a poem on Napoleon and the Italian question in 1859, but destroyed it after Villafranca. (Letters of E. B. B., u, 368-9.) He appears to have returned to the subject a little later (Ibid., 388, and Her- ford, 167). Mrs. Browning in May, 1860, describes it merely as "along poem which I have not seen a line of."

2 Browning as a Philosophical and Religious Teacher, p. 275.

IX.— ENGLISH DOUBLETS.

The list of doublets in the appendix of Skeat's Etymo- logical Dictionary is the most complete collection so far published, the list in Maetzner's Englische Grammatik being hardly worthy of mention. Professor Skeat's definition of doublets, however, is so broad as to include cognates from the Aryan mother tongue — pairs referable to the same Aryan base, such as beef and cow. brother and friar, cell and hall, chief and head, cool and gelid, cone and hone, core and heart, corn (1) and grain, corn (2) and horn, fell and pell, foremost and prime, genus and kin, guest and host (2), name and noun, two and deuce, verb and word, the list of which might be extended. Professor Skeat would probably now exclude chief and head, for it is doubtful (see Brug- mann), tho the consonants agree, whether Lat. caput and A.-S. heafod are cognates. His definition of doublets is as follows : " Doublets are words which, tho apparently differ- ing in form, are nevertheless, from an etymological point of view, one and the same, or only differ in some unim- portant suffix/'

For the purposes of this article I would so modify his definition as to read : English doublets are pairs of words in the English language, derived by different courses from the same base, Romanic, Teutonic, Arabic, etc. Accordingly, flame and phlegm, in Professor Skeat's list, are excluded, because the base of flame is Lat. flamma, the base of phlegm is Lat. phlegma (Gk. <£Xe'7/za), and, tho perhaps related and ultimately from the same root, they cannot be traced to the same base in the Latin. On the other hand, tho English bishop and French eveque are as pure doublets as priest and presbyter, the one coming thru A.-S. biscop, the other thru 184

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 185

Old French evesque, from the same Latin base, episcopus (or rather episcopum), a latinized form of Greek eVtcr/eoTro?, overseer, yet as eveque has never found its way into English, the pair cannot be included in the list of English doublets. This is an interesting example, however, for the beginner in comparative philology, since the two words are readily seen to be the same, altho they have not a single sound or letter alike. After this, the relationship of Lat. anser and Engl. goose, for instance, becomes less a matter of faith. But crypt and grot are rightly included, because they are both English words and are both traceable to the same base in Latin, crypta (Gr. /cpvTmj, a vault) ; and zero and cipher, for the reason that both words come, by devious ways, from the same Arabic base, sifr.

In a list of English doublets will be found, of course, many words purely foreign ; such as, camera, chorus, insignia, radius, nucleus, papyrus, ratio, iota, ague, elite, piazza, cargo, sombrero, alcoran, antiphon, herbarium, aria, area, basilica, boulevard, breve, cadet, calix, cicada, cicala, copula, cupola, corps, ditto, data, integer, grosgrain, manoeuvre, maximum, memoir, major, mosquito, iris, pendulum, poignant, polypus, pomatum, puissant, quietus, radix, replica, residuum, rouge, saga, savant, catafalque, circus, chamois, senior, soprano, superficies, tableau, thesaurus, trousseau, umbrella, valet, and others more or less technical ; but all the words in the list below, whether of early or of late adoption, are found in English dictionaries and counted as English words. No word is included in the list that is not found in Webster's International. Some words in the list marked as obsolete in this dictionary are familiar to readers of Chaucer, Spenser, and, for the most part, of Shakspere.

The main sources of doublets in English are: (1) Latin and French ; as, abbreviate and abridge, strict and strait, fact and feat; (2) different dialects of French; as, cark 2

186 EDWAKD A. ALLEN.

and charge, catch and chase, cavalier and chevalier; (3) earlier and later (learned) French ; as, frail and fragile, chance and cadence, fealty smd fidelity ; (4) different dialects of Middle English, northern and southern ; as, hale and whole (earlier hole), fat (wine-fat) and vat, dike and ditch ; (5) Italian and French; as, piazza and place, piano and plain, influenza and influence.

It is well to keep in mind that it is the Anglo-French — the Norman dialect which developed in England — rather than the Continental ("Central") French, that forms a great substratum of our speech, next in importance to Anglo- Saxon. Text-books on the English language, even some of the better sort, continue to repeat such statements as this, for instance : "Tense is from French temps (Lat. tempus), and means time" If we compare Anglo-French tens, noun, honour, oistre, realme, people, to name only a few examples, with the modern French temps, nom, honneur, huitre, royaume, peuple, it will be readily seen that English tense, noun, honour, oyster, realm, people, etc., are not indebted to Parisian French, however numerous the modern English words borrowed from that source. So many forms of Anglo-French, however, are identical with the Old French of the continent (Central French) that it becomes more and more difficult in the later Middle English period to determine with certainty the source of the borrowings.

While doublets go in pairs usually, there are often more than two offshoots from the same base, as, for example ; leal, loyal, legal; gentle, genteel, gentile, jaunty; rote (1), rut, rout, route ; plait, pleat, plat (2), ply, plight ; quiet, quite, quit, coy, quietus; pick, pitch (2), pique, peak, pike, peck (I) • parle, parley, parole, palaver, parable, parabola.

The etymology is indicated in the briefest manner and merely for the purpose of establishing the identity of the forms enumerated. For fuller treatment the reader should

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 187

consult the New English Dictionary, as far as it goes, or Skeat's Etymological Dictionary. I have found it convenient to rely, for etymology, on Skeat's Concise Etymological Dic- tionary (1901), an entirely new work, tho in doubtful cases other authorities are cited. The numbering of homonyms, as pitch (2), also follows Skeat.

In the following list the nominative of the Latin noun or adjective is frequently given instead of the accusative, from which the Romance forms are, as a rule, derived.

The abbreviations are such as are in common use : A.-F. (Anglo-French), O. F. (Old French), M. F. (Middle French), A.-S. (Anglo-Saxon), M. E. (Middle English), LL. (late Latin), K E. D. (New English Dictionary), etc.

I may remark that, altho the greatest pains have been taken to let no example of real doublets escape, yet so many have been discovered and added from time to time since my original list was made out, I am far from confident that the present list will be found final and complete. Certain pairs, closely akin, such as sweep and sivoop (in Skeat's list), bake and batch, wake and watch, etc., have been excluded. The line had to be drawn somewhere, tho doubtless it may seem to be drawn now and then with some inconsistency.

A few pairs, presumably from Skeat's list, coming from different stems (present and supine) of the Latin verb, as assail and assault, construe and construct, are found in this list, but such forms are, for the most part, excluded. If this paper should be expanded and appear finally in book form, a separate list would be made of all such pairs as con- vince and convict, deduce and deduct, and many others. I shall be grateful to any one who will call my attention to omissions and mistakes. I can, doubtless, discover many of these myself after they once get into print.

188 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

Abbreviate : abridge.

O. F. abregier, abreger : L. abbreviare, from ad + brevis, short, absolve : assoil.

O. F. assoiler : L. absolvere, from db -)- solver e, to loosen, acute : cute : ague.

O. F. ague : L. acuta (febris) ; cute, aphetic form of acute : L. acutus,

sharp, from acuere, to sharpen, adamant: diamond.

O. F. diamont: L. adamantem (nom. adamas): Gk. d5d/uas (d, not,

-j- 5a/itda>, tame), adjudicate : adjudge.

O. F. ajugier, ajuger : L. adjudicare, from ad -f- judicare, to judge, adjust : ad jute.

O. F. ajuster : F. ajouter : LL. adjustare, to fit, from L. ad -{- juxta, near, adjutant : aid.

O. F. aider : L. adjutare ; L. adjutantem, pres. part of adjutare, from

ad -f- juvare, to help, admiral : amiral.

O. F. amiral, from Arab, amir, prince, -f- aZ, the amir-al-bahr, prince

of the sea. adultery : advowtry, avowtry, avoutry.

O. F. avoutrie : L. adulterium, from L. adultus, grown up. advance : avaunt.

A. F. avaunt : F. avant : avancer, from L. ab -f- ante, before, advocate : avouch : advoke : avoke : avow.

F. avouer : O. F. avochier, advoquer, avoquer : L. advocare, from ad -\-

vocare, to call, advocation : advowson.

O. F. avo'eson: LL. advocationem (LL. advocdtus, a patron), from

adwcare, ad -f- vocare, to call, aggravate : aggrieve.

O. F. agrever : L. aggravare, from ad -f- gravis, heavy, aim : esteem : estimate.

A. F. esmer : O. F. estimer : L. aestimare, to value, aisle : ala (biol. )

F. atte : L. ala, wing : confounded with isle. ait : eyot.

A.-S. iggath, Igeoth, dim. of Ig, an island. "Among green aits and

meadows " — Dickens, alarum : alarm.

F. alarme : Ital. aW arme : LL. ad i#as armas, for L. ad ilia arma. alburn (zool. ) : alburnum : auburn.

O. F. alborne, auborne : LL. atournus : L. alburnumt the inner bark of

trees, from albus, white.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 189

alkoran : koran.

Arab, al, the -\- qoran, recitation, alembic : limbeck.

F. alambique : Arab, at, the -j- anbig, a still, from Gk. fy*/3«, a cup. alleviate : allege, alegge (Spenser).

O. F. alegier, aleger, later alteger : LL. alleviare, from ad -\- levis, light.

Mod. English allege is a different word, allineate : align.

F. aligner : L. allineare, from ad -f- linea, a line, allocate: allow (1).

F. aUouer : LL. allocare, from ad 4- locus, place, alloy : ally : alligate.

O. F. aleier, alier : F. aloi : L. alligare, from ad -j- ligare, to bind, ambulate : amble.

O. F. ambler : L. ambulare, to walk, amicable : amiable.

O. F. amiable : L. amicabilis, friendly, an : one.

A. S. an, one. anchoret, anchorite : anchor (2).

F. anachorete : LL. anachoreta : Gk. dvax^p'nr^, one who retires from

the world. Cf . ' 'An anchor* s cheer in prison be my scope. ' ' — Hamlet, ancient (2): ensign: insignia.

O. F. enseigne, ensigne : LL. insignia, pi. of insigne, a standard, anele: anoil.

O. F. enoUer : M. E. anelien, from A. S. aw, on -f- tie, from L. oleum, oil. annoy: ennui.

O. F. anoi : F. ennui : L. in odio, abl. of odium, hatred, annunciate : announce.

F. announcer : L. annuntiare, from ad + nuntius, a messenger, ant : emmet.

M. E. amete, amte: A.-S. semette. antic: antique.

Ital. antico : F. antique : L. antlquus, old. antiphon : anthem.

M. E. antem : A.-S. antefn (borrowed) : LL. anhphona : Gk. &vrl4>uvaf

from avrt -f- <fxavfj, voice, applicate : apply.

O. F. aplier : L. applicare, from ad -f- plicare, to fold, appreciate : appraise : apprize.

O. F. apreiser : L. appretiare, from ad -{- pretium, price, apprehend : apprise.

O. F. apprise : L. apprehendere, to grasp.

190 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

aptitude : attitude.

F. aptitude : Ital. attitudine (hence F. attitude) : LL. aptitudinem, ace.

of aptitudo, from aptus, fit. arbor: herbarium.

A. F. erber : L. herbarium, herb-garden, from herba, herb. Confused

with arbor, tree, arbute : arbutus.

F. arbute: L. arbutus. arc : arch (1).

F. arc, arche : LL. area, from arcus, a bow. area : aerie, aery, eyry.

F. aire : LL. area. Origin uncertain, aria : air.

Ital. aria : F, air : L. aer : Gk. a^p, air. army : armada.

O. F. armee : Sp. armada : L. armdta, p. p. of armare, to arm. arrant : errant.

O. F. errer : LL. iterare, from iter, a journey, as : also.

A.-S. ealswd(eal, all-f-stwz, so), of which 05 is a contraction, earlier

ahe, als. asphodel: daffodil.

F. fleur d'a/odille : LL. a/odillus : L, asphodelus : Gk. &<r<t>6$e\os. assail : assault.

O. F. asailir : LL. assalire, from L. ad -f satire (p. p. fiofttw), to leap, assay : essay.

0. F. asai, essai : L. exagium, a trial.

O. F. assesser : LL. assessdre. astounded : astonied : astonished.

O. F. estoner : LL. extonare, from ex -f- tonare, to thunder, atonement : at onement (Bish. Hall).

at -f one -f ment. attach : attack.

F. attacher, attaquer : O. F. atachier, a (ad) -f O. F. tache, a nail,

fastening. Of Germanic origin. Cf. tack and tache. azure : lazur, lasur.

O. F. azur for lazur, as if Pazur: LL. Zozwr, also %ns ZazuZt : Arab.

lazward : Per. lajuward, so called from the mines of Lajward, where

the lapis lazuli was found (Skeat).

Balm : balsam.

M. E. baame : O. F. basme : L. balsamum.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 191

band : bond.

Icel. band : Swed. band : M. E. band, variant, bond : A.-S. bindan, to

bind, bank (2) : bench.

A.-S. benc: F. banque, from M. H. G. bank, a bench. Cf. mountebank,

one who mounts a bench, bark : barge.

F. barque, barge : LL. barca, a row-boat.

F. base: L. basis. bate : abate.

O. F. abatre : LL. abbatere, from ad -J- batere, to beat. Aphetic, batten (2): baton: baston.

ftaftew, another form of baton : F. bdton : O. F. baston : LL.

bastonem, a stick, beldam : belladonna.

F. belle dame : Ital. &g/£a donna : L. 6e//a domina, a fine lady, belly : bellows.

M. E. 6eZt, bely, below, a bag. Bellows is the pi. of fiefow : Icel.

belgr : A.-S. bcelg, belg, a bag, skin (for holding things), hence (later),

belly. A.-S. bl^st-belg, bellows. Cf. G. blase-balg. benison : benediction.

O. F. beneison : L. benedictionem, from bene, well -f- dicere, to speak, berg : barrow (1).

M. E. bergh, berw : O. Mercian, berg : A. -S. beorg, beorh, a mountain,

mound, birk : birch.

A.-S. birce: M. E. birche : North, birk. blame : blaspheme.

F. bldmer : O. F. blasmer : L. blasphemare, to speak ill. blanc : blanch.

O. F. blanc : blanch. bleak : bleach.

M. E. bleke: bleche: A.-S. blaec, variant of bloc, shiny, white. CL

"a bleach barren place"— Fuller (1655): "bleak hills and leafless

woods ' ' —Johnson ( 1750 ). blenk : blench.

M. E. blenken : blenchen: A.-S. blencan, to deceive, book : buck (wheat).

A.-S. boc, a beech-tree, book. "The original 'books' were pieces of

writing scratched on a beechen board" (Skeat). Buckwheat, from

the resemblance of its seeds to the mast of the beech-tree. The form

buck is from A. S. boc, as in buckmast (A.-S. bocmcest), beech-mast.

192 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

bosk : bush.

M. E. busch, busk : LL. boscus, a bush. Cf. bosky and bushy. bosquet, bosket : bouquet.

F. bouquet : O. F. bosquet, dim. of boscus. boss : botch (2).

F. bosse : O. F. boce, boche. Origin unknown, boulevard : bulwark.

F. boulevard, from G. bollwerk : Dan. bolvb'rk, bulvdrk, a rampart. Cf.

bole, a tree-trunk, bourn (1): bound (2).

F. borne: A.-F. bounde: O. F. bonne: LL. bodina, bonna, a bound,

limit : prob. of Celtic origin. Cf. sound, M. E. soun, L. sonus. bourse : purse.

O. F. borse : LL. bursa, a purse: A.-S. purs (borrowed), brave: bravo: braw (Scot).

F. brave, fine, gay : Ital. bravo. Origin uncertain — prob. from L.

barbarus. breeks: breeches.

A.-S. brec, pi. — North, breeks — both double plurals, brief : breve.

F. bref : Ital. breve : L. brevis, short, brown : bruin.

A.-S. brun : Du. bruin, brown, bulge : bilge : bouge.

M. E. bulge : O. F. boulge, bouge : L. bulga, a bag. Cf. budget and

bouget. Of Celtic origin, bullion : bouillon.

F. bouillon : LL. buttionem, bullio, a boiling, burg, burgh : burrow, borough.

M. E. burgh, borgh, borwe: A.-S. burh, burg, a fort, shelter.

Cabal: cabala.

F. cabale : L. cabbala, from Heb. quabbaleh, tradition, cabezon: cavesson.

F. cavecon : Sp. cabezon : augm. from LL. capitium, a head-covering,

hood, cad : cadet.

F. cadet : abbrev. cad : LL. capitcllum, a little (younger) head, cadence: chance.

O. F. cheance : F. cadence : LL. cadentia, a falling, caldron, cauldron : chaldron.

O. F. caudrun : F. chaudron : L. caldaria, from calidus, hot. calender (1): cylinder.

F. calandre : O. F. cilindre : L. cylindrus, a roller.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 193

calix : chalice.

A. F. chalice : O. F. calice : L. calicem, calix, a cup. calumniate : challenge.

O. F. chalengier : L. calumniari, from calumnia, false accusation, camera: chamber.

F. chambre : L. camera, vault, campaign : champaign.

F. champaigne : Picard. campaign : L. campdnia, an open field, canal : channel.

O. F. chanel: F. canal: L. candlem, a trench, channel, cancel : chancel.

O. F. chancel : F. canceller : L. cancelldre, from cancelli, lattice- work,

from cancer, crab, cancer : canker.

North. F. cancre : L. cancrum, ace. of cancer, a crab, a canker, cant: chant.

F. chanter : North. F. canter : L. cantare, to sing, captain : chieftain.

O. F. chevetaine, capitain : LL. capitdneiis, capitdnus, from L. caput,

head, captive : caitiff.

A.-F. caitif: F. captif, captive : L. captivus, a captive, card : chart.

F. carte : O. F. charte : L. charta, a paper. cariole : carryall.

carryall, corruption of cariole. F. cariole, dim. of L. carrus, car. cark : charge : cargd.

A. F. karke : F. charge : Sp. cargo : L. carriedre, to load, from carrus,

a wagon, carl : churl.

A.-S. ceorl, a man : Dan., Swed., Icel., karl. case : chase (3) : cash.

O. F. casse : F. chdsse : L. copsa, a box. cashier: quash.

O. F. quasser : F. casser, whence Du. casscren, to cashier : L. quasidrc,

freq. of quatere (sup, quassum), to shake, caste : chaste.

O. F. chaste : Port, casta : L. castus, pure, castle : chateau.

A.-S. castel (borrowed): F. chateau : L. caste/to, dim. of castrum, a

fortified place, castellan : chatelaine.

O. F. castelain : F. chatelain, chatelaine : L. castelldnus, from eastellum. catch : chase (1 ).

O. F. chacier : Picard, cachier : LL. captiare : L. captaret to catch.

*

194 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

catena : chain.

O. F. chaine : L. catena, a chain, cattle : chattel : capital (2).

O. F. chatel, North, catel: LL. capitdle, wealth, cavalier : chevalier.

F. chevalier, cavalier : LL. cabattarius, a horseman, from L. caballus,

horse, cavalry : chivalry.

O. F. chevalerie, cavalkrie : LL. caballdria, horsemanship, knighthood,

from caballus, horse, cave : cage.

F. cage, from LL. cavea : Folk Lat. cava, a cave : L. cavus, hollow, cawk, cauk (min. ) : chalk.

A.-S. cealc (borrowed) : L. calcem, calx, lime, calked, caulked : calced.

M. E. cauken : O. F. cauquer, to tread : L. calcare, to tread, from

calcem (calx), the heel. A.-S. cole (borrowed), shoe. Cf. "the calced

Carmelites." chagrin : shagreen.

F. chagrin : Turk, saghri, back of horse, rough-grained leather, then

friction, corroding grief. Disputed by Skeat, but see Diez and N. E. D. chair : chaise : cathedra.

O. F. chaiere: F. chaise: L. cathedra, a raised seat: Gk. KaBtdpa, a

seat. But see Zeitschriftf. rom. Phil., xxxi, 574. chanson : canzone.

F. chanson : Ital. canzone : L. cantionem, a song, chapel : chapeau.

Q. F. chapele : LL. capella, a hood, from capa, a cape, then the place

where St. Martin's cloak was preserved as a sacred relic. F. chapeau. chapiter: chapter.

O. F. chapitre : L. capitulum, dim. of caput, head, char : chore : (a)- jar.

A.-S. cerr, a turn : M. E. cher, char, a turn of work (cf. char-woman):

ajar = an (on) char (turn) : South, chore. cheat : escheat : excheat.

cheat, aphetic form of escheat : O. F. eschcit, p. p. of eschoir : F. eschoir :

LL. excadere, to fall to one's lot. Escheaters became cheaters. check (-mate) : shah.

check means king : Pers. shah. Shah mat, the king is dead, became in

English check-mate. chest: cist.

A.-S. cist, cest (borrowed) : L. cista, a box, whence also cist-ern. chief : chef : cape (2).

O. F. chief : F. chef : Ital. capo : L. caput.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 195

chirurgeon : surgeon.

F. chirurgien : O. F. surgien : L. ehirurgia : Gr. x€lPovpy^a) a working

with the hands, choir, quire (2) : chorus.

O. F. cuer, later ehoeur : M. E. queir, quer : L. chorus, a band of

singers, choler : cholera.

O. F. colere : L. cholera, bile : Gk. %°^Pa' chuck : shock (1) : shog.

chuck, formerly chock : F. choc, choquer : M. H. G. schoc : O. H. G.

scoc, a swing. Cf . jog. church : kirk.

A.-S. cirice, circe (borrowed) : M. E. chirche, kirke : Gk. Kvpiaic6v, of

the Lord, the Lord's house, cicada : cicala.

Ital. cicala : L. cicada. cithern : gittern : guitar.

F. guitare : O. F. giterne : L. cithara : Gk. Kiddpa, a kind of lyre, clause : close.

O. F. clos : F. clause : L. dausus, p. p. of claudere, to shut, clink : clinch, clench.

M. E. klenken, clcnchen: A.-S. clenc(e)an, in beclencan. cloak : clock,

M. E. cloke : O. North. F. cloque : LL. cloca, a bell, a horseman's cape,

which resembled a bell in shape. Cf. Chaucer's " rounded, as a bell,

out of theprcsse." coffee : cafe".

Turk, qahveh ; Arab, qahwah. coffer : coffin.

O. F. cofre, eo/m, a chest : L. cophinus : Gr. K6<f>ivos, basket, cognate : connate.

L. co -f- gnatus, con -j- natus, from nasci, to be born, cognizance : connoisance.

O. F. connoisance : M. F. cognoissance : L. cognoscentia, from eognoscere,

to know, cohort : court.

O. F. cort: F. court: L. cortem, cohortem (cohors), enclosure, from co

(cum) + hort (as in hortus), garden, coin, coigne : quoin.

O. F. coin, a wedge, a coin (stamped by means of a wedge : L. cuneum,

ace. of cuneus, wedge, collocate : couch.

O. F. coucher : L. coUocare, to put together.

196 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

colonel : column.

F. colonel : Sp. coronel : Ital. colonello, dim. of colonna : L. columna, a

column, common : commune.

O. F. comun : F. commun : L. communis, common, general, from com

+ munis, ready to serve, complacent : complaisant.

F. complaissant : L. complacentem, pres. part, of complacere, from placere,

to please, complete : comply.

Ital. complire, to fulfil : L. complere, to fill up. compliment : complement.

F. compliment : L. complementem, from complere, to fill up. composite : compost : compote.

O. F. compost : F. compote : L. compositum, p. p. of componere, to put

together, comprehend : comprise.

O. F. compris, p. p. of comprendre : L. comprehendere, to grasp, compute: count (2).

F. confer, earlier compter : L. computare, to compute, concept : conceit.

M. E. conceit (by analogy with deceit), as if from p. p. of O. F. concever

(p. p. conceu) : L. conceptum, from concipere, con -f- coper«, to take, conduct : conduit.

O. F. conduit : L. conductum, p. p. of conducere, con -f- ducere, to draw,

lead, confect : comfit.

O. F. confit : L. conftctum, p. p. of conficcrc, to put together, confident : confidant.

F. confidant : L. confidentem, pres. part, of confidtre, to trust, confound : confuse.

F. confondre : L. con/w*us, p. p. of confundere, to pour together, constipate : costive.

O. F. coateve : L. constipatus, p. p. of constipdre, to press together, construe : construct.

L. construere (p. p. constructus ), to heap together, consuetude : custom : costume.

O. F. costume, custume : L. consuetudo, custom, convey : convoy.

A. F. conveier : O. F. convoier : LL. convidre, to accompany, cope (1) : cape.

M. E. cope : O. North. F. cape : LL. capo, a cape, cope (2) : coup.

O. F. coper, from O. F. cop, colp : F. coup : LL. colpus, eolaphus : Gk. r, a blow.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 197

copse : coppice.

O. F. copeiz : LL. copecia, brushwood, copula : couple.

F. couple : L. copula, a bond, copulate : couple.

F. coupler : L. copulare, to join, cordovan : cordwain.

O. F. cordouan, Spanish leather, from Cordova, corpse : corse : corps.

O. F. cors : M. F. corps : F. corps : L. corpus, body. Cf. corset and

corslet. cot: cote.

M. E. cote: A.-S. cot, cote, a den, cot. Cf. sheep-cote. countenance : continence.

O. F. contenance : F. continence : L. continentia, from continere, to hold

together, cousin : cozen.

F. cousin : cousiner, to call cousin : LL. cosinus : L. consobrinus. crate : grate (1).

LL. grata, variant of LL. crata, a grating, crate : L. crates, a hurdle, creel : grill.

O. F. creil, greil, grail : F. gril : LL. craticulum, for craticula, a small

gridiron. Cf. crate and grate, crew : accrue.

creiv, earlier crue, short for accrue, a reinforcement: O. F. accreue,

p. p. of accroistre : L. accrescere, ad -f- crescere, to grow, crisp : crape.

F. crepe : L. crispus, curled, crevice : crevasse.

O. F. crevasse : M. E. crevice : LL. erepdtia, from L. crepdre, to burst, crimson : carmine.

Sp. carmin, short form of carmesin : O. F. cramoisin : LL. cramesinus,

carmeslnus : Arab, qirmizi, the cochineal insect, crook : crouch.

M. E. crouchen, crouken, to bend : O. F. crochir : LL. croccus, a hook, crop: croup (2).

A.-S. cropp, the top of a plant, craw of a bird, protuberance : Icel.

kroppr, a hunch : F, croupe, earlier crepe, hump of a horse, crupper, cross : cruise : crouch (n) : crux.

O. F. crois : Du. kruis (borrowed), whence kruuen : L. crux. crown : corona.

M. E. coroune, crown : O. F. coron« : L, corona, a wreath, crypt : grot : grotto.

F. grotte : Ital. grotta : LL. grupta : L. crypta : Gk. KPVVTJ, a vault.

198 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

cud : quid.

A.-S. cwiduy cudu. cue : queue.

O. F. coue : F. queue : L. cauda, tail, cull : coil (1) : collect.

O. F. cuiller, coillir: L. colligere (p. p. collectum), to gather together, cupola : cupule.

Ital. cupola : F. cupule : L. cupula, dim. of cupa, a cask, curricle : curriculum.

L. curriculum, a race-course, a course, from currere, to run. currant : Corinth.

F. corinthe : raisins de Oorinthe.

Dace: dart: dare (2).

dace, earlier darce : O. F. dars : LL. nom. dardus, dart, javelin : dare,

as if sing, of dars : F. dard : O. F. dart : LL. ace. dardum : of Low

German origin. Cf. A.-S. daroth, dareth, a dart, dactyl: date (2).

O. F. datele, date : L. dactylus : Gk. Sd/crvXcs, finger, daft: deft.

A.-S. dcefte (gedcefte), mild, meek, daisy : day's eye.

A.-S. daeges cage : M. E. dayesye, daisy, dame : dam.

O. F. dame: L. domina, lady, damsel : damosel.

M. E. damosel : O. F. damoisele : LL. domicella, dim. of domina, lady, damson : damascene.

M. E. damascene: L. Damascenum (prunum), from Damascus. Cf.

damask, darling: dearling (Spenser).

A.-S. deorling, a favorite, dim. of deor, dear, date (1) : die (2) : dado : data.

die, used as sing, of M. E. dys, dees : O. F. dez, dice, pi. of det : F.

de, a die : Ital. Sp. dado, a die : LL. datum, a thing decreed : F. date :

LL. data, a date : L. data, neut. pi. of datus, p. p. of dare, to give, daub : dealbate.

O. F. dauber : L. dealbdre, to whiten, from L. aVbus, white. Cf. alb. deal : dole.

A.-S. dsel, ddl, portion, share, dean': decan.

O. F. deien: L. decdnum, ace. of deednus, one set over ten, from L.

decem, ten.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 199

debt: debit: due.

M. E. dette : O. F. dette : L. debita, a sum due, p. p. of debere, to owe :

due is from O. F. deu, deue, p. p. of devoir (L. debere), to owe. decolor: discolor.

F. decolorer : O. F. deseolorer : L. discolorare, from color, color, decompose : discompose.

F. decomposer : O. F. deswmposer, from L. dis + com -+- pausare. See

pose (1). decore : decorate.

F. decorer : L. decorare, to adorn, defeat : defect.

A. F. defeter, from O. F. de/a^, p. p. of defaire : L. defectus, p. p. of

deficere, from de -f/acere = to make, defendable : defensible.

F. defendable, defensable : LL. defensabilis, defensibilis, from L. defenders

(p. p. defmsus), to defend, degrade: degree.

O. E. <%rd, ek#re : F. degrader : LL. degraddrc, from de, down -{-

gradu$, a step, delectable: delightable (Shaks.).

O. F. delitable : F. delectable : L. delectdbilis, from delectdre, to delight, deliberate : deliver.

O. F. delivrer : L. deliberare, to set free, demise : dismiss.

O. F. demise, desmisc, fern, of p. p. of desmettre : L. dimittere, from cfo'

(for dis) away + mittere, to send, denier : dinar : denarius.

F. denier : L. denarius. See dinar. deposit : depot.

F. depot : L. depositum, p. p. of deponere, to lay down, describe: descry.

O. F. descrire : L. describere, to describe, desiderate: desire.

O. F. desirer : L. desiderare, to long for. designate : design.

O. F. designer : L. designare, to denote, desk : disk : dish : dais ; discus,

A. F. deis : L. discus, a platter, a table, etc, despicable : despisable.

O. F. despis, from despire : L. despiceret to look down on. despite: spite.

»pite, aphetic form of despite : O. F. despit : L. despectum, p. p. of

despicere, to despise.

200 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

devote : devout.

M. E. devot, devout : L. devotus, p. p. of devovere, from de -f vovere,

to vow. dictate: dight.

A.-S. dihtan (borrowed): L. dictare, to prescribe, dignity: dainty.

O. F. daintie: L. dignitatem, from dignus, worthy. Cf. " Dainty

maketh dearth." dike : ditch.

A.-S. die, a trench, dilate (1) N. E. D. : delay.

O. F. dilaier, delayer : A. F. dilater : LL. dttdtdre, to defer, freq. of

L. di/ere : Mod. dilate, a different word, diluvium : deluge.

O. F. deluge : L. diluvium. din : dun.

M. E. dine, dune : A.-S. dyne, clamor, dingle : dimble.

dingle, variant of dimble: origin uncertain (N. E. D.). Skeat collates

dimple. Cf. " Dingle or bushy dell" — Milton; " within a gloomie

dimble" — Jonson. Cf. crangle and cramble (N. E. D.). dint: dent.

A.-S. dynt, a blow, direct : dress.

O. F. dresser : LL. directiare, from L. directus, p. p. of dirigere, to

direct, disjoint : disjunct.

O. F. desjoint : L. disjunctus, p. p. of disjungere, to disjoin, display : splay : deploy.

splay, aph. form of display : A. F. desplayer : F. deployer : L. displi-

cdre, to unfold, disrange : disrank : derange.

O. F. desrengier : F. deranger, from L. dis -f F. rang, O. F. reng, rank —

of Germanic origin, dissimulate : dissemble.

O. F. dissembler : L. dissimulare. distrait: distract.: distraught.

F. distrait : L. distractum, distraught (see N. E. D.). ditto : dictum.

Ital. ditto : L. dictum, p. p. of dicere, to say. ditty : dictate.

O. F. ditie : L. dictatum, a thing dictated, diurnal : journal.

F. journal : L. diurndlis, daily.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 201

divers : diverse.

O. F. divers, fem. diverse : L. diversus, p. p. of divertere, to turn aside, doge: duke.

Ital. doge : O. F. due : L. dux (ductm), a leader, dolphin : dauphin.

F. dauphin : 0. F. daulphin : LL. dolphlnus : L. delphlnus, a dolphin, domain : demesne.

A. F. demesne : F. domain : L. dominicus, from dominus, a lord, dominate : domineer.

Du. domineren, from O. F. dominer : L. domindri, to be lord over. 1 dominion : dungecn.

M. E. dongeon : O. F. donjon : LL. dominionem, domnionem, lordship, domino : don : dan : dominie.

Sp. don : O. F. dan : Ital. domino : L. dominus, a lord, drake : dragon.

A.-S. draca (borrowed): L. draco : F. dragon: L. draconem; cf.

fyrdraca, firedrake. draw : drag.

A.-S. dray an : M. E. drawen : Icel. Swed. draga, draw: M. E. draggen. dropsy : hydropsy.

dropsy, aph. form of hydropsy : M. F. hydropisie : L. hydropisis,

hydropisia, from Gk. tiSpwj/ : tiSwp, water, dubitate : doubt.

O. F. douter : L. dubitdre, to be of two minds, dual : duel : duello.

L. dualis : Ital. duello : L. duellum, a fight between two men, from

L. duo, two. dune : down.

M. E. doun : A. S. dun, a hill.

Ean : yean.

A.-S. eanian: ge-eanian, to bring forth. Cf. "In eaning time." — Shaks.

earl : jarl.

A.-S. eorl : Icel. jarl : O. Sax. erl, a man.

ecru: crude.

F. ecru : L. ex -f- crudus, raw : the color of unbleached stuff.

edge : egg (on).

A.-S. ecg, eggian : Icel. egg, eggja. Cf. "Cassius did edge him on the more ' ' —North' s Plutarch. ' ' Flatterers would egg him on ' ' — Thack- eray's Esmond.

eisil : acetyl.

O. F. aisil: L. acetum (vinegar) -{- 2/£ (Gk. tfXij), material.

elite : elect.

F. elite : L. electus, p. p. of eligeret to choose.

3 *

202 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

elongate : eloign : lunge.

A. F. alonger : F. eloigner : L. elongdre, to lengthen, remove, from

longus, long, emboss (2): ambush.

F. embucher : O. F. embosquer : LL. imboscdre, from boscus, a bush, emeroids : hemorrhoids.

M. F. hemorrhoide : L. haemorrhoidae : Gk. di/Ao/>/o6i5es. employ : imply : implicate.

M. F. employer: impliquer: L. implicare, f rom in + plicdre, to fold, endue ( 1 ) : endow.

O. F. endoer, endouer : A. F. endower: L. indotdre, from in -{-dot- (dos),

a dowry, endue (2) : indue.

L. induere, to put on. endure : indurate.

F. endurer : L. indurare, from durus, hard, engine: gin (2).

gin, aph. form of engin : L. ingenium, invention, engle : angle.

A.-S. angel, a hook, fish-hook, dim. of anga, sting, etc. enounce: enunciate.

F. f.noncer : L. enuntiare, from e -f- nuntius, a messenger, enow : enough.

M. E. tnow, enogh: A.-S. genoh. entire : integer.

O. F. «n£ier : L. integer, whole, envious : invidious.

O. F. enmos : L. invidiosus, from invidia, envy, envoy : invoice.

invoice, corruption of envois, pi. of F. envoi : O. F. envoy, a sending :

L. -m viam, on the way. eradicate : rash (3).

F. arracher : O. F. esrachier : L. e(x)radicare, to root out. escutcheon : scutcheon.

A. F. escuchon : LL. scutionem, from scutum, a shield, espousal : spousal.

O. F. espousailks : L. sponsalia, from sponsalis, belonging to betrothal, espy: spy.

O. F. espier : O. H. G. spehon, to spy. estate : state : status.

O. F. estat : L. statum, from stare, to stand, etiquette: ticket.

F. etiquette: M. F. etiquet: O. F. estiquei, "a little note, such as is

stuck up on the gate of a court "—of Germanic origin. Cf. G. stecken,

to stick.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 203

evanesce : vanish.

A. F. evanir : L. evanescere, e -\- vanescere, from vanus, empty, exchequer : checker.

O. F. eschequier : LL. scaccdrium, a chess-board, from scaccus : Arab.,

Pers. shah, king. Cf. chess, the game of the kings, explicate : exploit : explicit.

O. F. exploit : L. explicitum, p. p. of explicare, to unfold.

Fabricate : forge.

O. F. forgier : L. fabrieare, to form, fact : feat.

O. F.fait,fet: L. factum, pp. oifacere, to do. factitious : fetich.

F. fetiche: L. factitius, artificial, from/acere, to make, faction : fashion.

O. F. fachon : L. factionem, a making, faculty : facility.

F. faculte : L. facultatem, facilitatem, fromfacilis, easy, faint : feint.

faint, variant of feint : O. F. feint, p. p. of feindre : L. fingere, to

feign, fan : van (2).

A.-S. /arm (borrowed) : LL. vannus : F. van, a fan. fane: vane.

M. E. fane: South, vane : A.-S. /ana, a banner, fancy : fantasy : phantasia.

O. F. fantasie : L. phantasia : Gk. <f)avra<rla, a making visible, faro : Pharoah.

faro, so called from Pharoah on one of the cards, farm : firm.

M. E. ferme : F. ferme : LL. firma, from L. firmus, firm. Cf. A.-S.

feorm (borrowed), fat: vat.

A.-S. feet, a vessel : South, vat. fay: fate.

F. fee : O. F. foe : LL. fata, a fate, a fay : L. fdtum, what is spoken,

from fdri, to speak, feast: f&e.

O. F. feste: Y.fete: LL./esto, fern. sing. : L. festa, neu. pi., festivals, feature : facture.

O. F. failure : F. facture : L. factura. fee: fief: feud (2).

A. F. fee: O. F. fiu (Koland), fief: LL. fevum, also feudum (d unex- plained): prob. from O. H. G. fehu, property. Cf. A.-S. feoh, cattle,

property, whence M. E. fee, now obsolete.

204 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

feeble : faible.

A. F. feble : M. F. faible : O. F. fleble: L. flebilis, from flere, to weep, fence : defence.

fence, aph. form of defence : O. F. defense : L. defensa, from defendere. fend : defend.

fend, aph. form of defend : O. F. defendre : L. defendere, to ward off. feverfew : febrifuge.

A. F. feverfue : F. febrifuge : LL. febrifuga, from febris, fever, and

fugdre, to put to flight, fiddle: viol.

M. F. t>iofe, a violin : LL. vidula, vltula, whence A -S. fithel, a fiddle, fidelity: fealty.

O. F.fealte: M. F.fidelite: L. fidelitatem, homfldelis, faithful, filibuster : freebooter.

Sp. filibuster, a corruption of Du. vrijbuiter, a freebooter, filter : filtrate.

F. filtrer : LL. filtrare, to strain thru felt : A.-S. /eft. fitch : vetch.

O. F. vecta: M. E. veche,feche: L. w'cta, a vetch (plant), flagellate: flail.

O. F. fldel : L. flagellum, a whip : flagellare, to scourge, flank : flanch : flange.

A. F. flanke : O. F. flanche : F. flanc, side. See N. E. D. flare: flash.

Norw. flam : Swed. flasa, to blaze, flick : flitch.

A.-S./icce ; Icel. flikki, a flick, (flitch) of bacon, flower : flour.

O. F. flour : L. florem, flower, focal: fuel.

O. F. fouaitte : F. focal : LL. focalia, from L. focdlis, from focus, hearth, foil(l): full (2).

O. F. fuler : F. /owk ; M. E. foylen, to trample under foot : LL. fuUare,

folare, to full cloth, folio : foil (2).

O. F./otf: L. folia, folium (in folio), leaf, found (2): fuse (1).

O. F. fondre ; L. fundere : p. p. fusus : to pour, fragile : frail.

O. F. fraile : F. fragile : L. fragilem, fragile, fray t affray.

/ray, aph. form of affray : O. F. e/raier : LL. ex/rufare, to break the

king's peace, from ex -f O. H. G. fridu, peace.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 205

fresh : frisk : fresco.

A.-S. fresc: M. E. fresch : O. H. G. /rise : Dan.-Swed. frisk: O. F.

f risque : Ital. fresco : F. frais, fern, fraiche. fro : from.

A.-S. from : Dan. fra. frumenty : furmenty, furmity.

O. F. fromentee : L. frumentum : thru *frumentata, made with wheat, fulmine : fulminate.

F. fulminer: L. fulminare, from fulmen, thunder-bolt, furl : fardel.

furl, contr. of earlier furdle, to roll up in a bundle : O. F. fardel ;

Span, fardel, fardo : prob. from Arab, fardah, a package, fusion : foison.

O. F. foison : L. fusionem, from L. fundere, to pour.

Game : gammon (2).

A.-S. gamen; M. E. gamen, game: cf. back-gammon. gar(l): gore (3).

A.-S. gar, spearhead, spear: cf. garlic. garden : garth : yard (1).

A.-S. geard : Icel. garthe : A.-F. gardin, O. Frank, gardin, gen. and

dat. of gardo, a yard, gaud ; joy.

M. E. gaude : L. gaudia, pi. of gaudium, mistaken for fern, sing.,

hence F. la joie. Cf. la Bible, from biblia, books, gentle : genteel : gentile : jaunty.

O. F. gentil, variant jantyl : F. gentil: L. gentilis, from gens, a clan, germ : germen.

F. germe: L. germen, seed, germ, german : germane.

M. F. germain : L. germdnus, closely akin. Cf. cousins-german. gest : jest.

O. F. geste, exploit, romance ; L. gesta (res gesta). gin (3); juniper.

gin, short for geneva, corruption of M. F. genevre ; L. juniperum,

juniper, gist: joist.

O. F. gist (F. gity. L. jacet, it lies; gist is " where the matter lies,"

and joist, the timber on which the floor lies, M. E. giste : O. F. giste,

place to lie on. glamour ; grammar.

glamour, a corruption of gramarye or grammar : O. F. gramaire. Cf.

glamourie and gramarye, magic.

206 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

gloom : gloam : glum.

A.-S. glom, twilight, gloom, gnaw ; nag.

A.-S. gnagan, to gnaw : Norw., Swed. nagga. godhead : godhood.

A.-S. had, state, quality. Cf. maidenhead and maidenhood. gonfanon : gonfalon, confalon.

O. F. gonfanon: M. H. G. gund-fano, battle-flag. Cf. A.-S. gufi-fana :

F. gonfalon ; F. confalon, name of a religious brotherhood, is the same

word, granary; garner.

O. F. gernier, variant of grenier : L. granarium, storehouse for grain, grenade : garnet : granate.

O. F. granate : F. grenade t M. E. garnet : LL. granatus, from granum,

grise; grade.

grise, properly grees, pi. of gree, a step : O. F. gre : L. gradus, a step. Cf. "every grise of fortune." — Shaks.

grogram ; grosgrain : grog.

M. F. grosgrain: grog, short for grogram. " Admiral Vernon, nick- named Old Grog, from his grogram breeches, ordered the sailors to dilute their rum with water " (1745).

guy: guide.

O. F. guie, a guide, guier, to guide : F. guide, guider : Ital. guidare — of Teutonic origin.

gypsy : Egyptian.

gypsy, short for M. E. Egypcien : O. F. Egyptian ; LL. Aegyptianus, an Egyptian, from a false supposition that the gypsies came from Egypt.

Hack: hatch (3): hash.

A.-S. haccian : G. hacken : F. hacher. haggle: higgle.

higgle, weakened form of haggle, frequentative of North. E. hag, to

cut : Icel. hb'ggra, to hew ; Norm. F. haguer, to hack, hale : whole.

A.-S. hdl: North. E. hale: Southern (w)hole. hale (2) : haul.

F. holer: M. E. halen, halien: Low G. halen: O. H. G. halon. hamper, hanaper.

O. F. hanapier : LL. hanaperium, a large vase — of Germanic origin, harangue : ring : rink.

A.-S. hring : O. H. G. hrinc: O. F. harangue (Ital. aringa), "a speech

made in the midst of a ring of people" (Skeat). Cf. F. canif and

A.-S. cnif.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 207

hatchment : achievement.

hatchment is for atcheament, corrupt, of achievement. heap : hope (2).

A.-S. heap, crowd, heap; Du. hoop, troop, band. Cf. "verloren

hoop, " forlorn hope — lost band, helpmeet : helpmate.

A corruption of "help meet for him" (Gen. n, 18). hermit : eremite.

F. hermite : LL. heremita, eremite : Gk. Ipwifrip, a dweller in a desert, heyday : high-day.

M. E. hey, high, history : story.

A. -F. stone : O. F. estoire : L. historia. hoax : hocus.

Low L. hocus, a juggler's trick, hoiden, hoyden : heathen.

A.-S. haefien : M. Du. heyden, a heathen, hospital : hotel.

F. hotel : O. F. hostel : LL. hospitdle, pi. hospHalia, apartments for

strangers, human : humane.

F. humain : L. hwndnus, belonging to man. hyacinth : jacinth.

F. jacinth : L. hyacinthus.

Inapt : inept.

F. inapte : M. F. inepte : L. ineptus, from in, not + aptus, fit. inch : ounce.

A.-S. ince (borrowed): O. F. unce : L. uncia, a twelfth part, indict : endite.

O. F. enditer ; LL. indictare, to show, accuse, influence : influenza.

O. F. influence : Ital. influenza : L. influentia, from fluere, to flow, inquire : enquire.

O. F. enquerre : L. inquirere. insulate : isolate.

Ital. isolate: L. insulatus, from insida, an island, intrigue : intricate.

F. intriguer : L. intricare, to perplex, invocate : invoke.

F. invoquer : L. invocare, to call upon.

Jabber : gabber.

O. F. jaber, variant of O. F. gaber, to mock.

208 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

jasmin : jessamine.

F. jasmin : Arab, gasemin : Pers. yasamln, yasmin. jasper : diaper.

O. F. diaspre, diapre : Ital. dlaspro, diaspo : L. jaspidem (jaspis),

a precious stone, whence also O. F. jaspre, jaspe. jealous : zealous.

O. F. jalous : LL. zelosus. jennet : genet.

F. genet : Span, jinete : Arab, zenatu, a tribe of Barbary. jet : jut.

jut, variant of jet : O. F. jetter : L. jactare, from jacere, to

throw.

jimson : Jamestown, jingo : St. Gingoulph. joint : junta.

O. F. joinct : F. joint : Span, junta, junto : L. junctum, p. p. of

jungere, to join, jointure : juncture.

F. jointure : L. junctura, from jungere, to join, jostle : justle.

Freq. of O. F. jouster : LL. juxtare, from juxta, hard by. jot : iota.

jot, Englished from L. iota : Gk. IQra, letter of the Gk. alphabet.

Kale (kail) : cole.

kale, north, dial.: south, cole; A.-S. caul (borrowed) : L. caulis,

stalk, cabbage, kindle (2) : candle.

Icel. kyndill : A.-S. candel (borrowed) : L. candela : see Skeat's

Etym. Diet, sub kindle. kith : kit (3).

A.-S. cy/>, native land, relationship : cf . " the whole kit " — the

whole kith or family, kraal : corral.

Span, corral : Port, curral : Du. kraal, enclosure, from L. cur-

rere, to run ( Diez ) .

Lace : lasso.

M. E. las : O. F. las : O. Span, laso : L. laqueus, a noose, lagoon : lacuna.

Ital. lagone, laguna : Span, laguna : L. lacuna, from lacus, lake, lair : layer : leaguer.

A.-S. leger : Du. leger, a camp : M. ,E. leir. lamp : lampad.

O. F. lampe : L. lampas, lampadis : Gk. Xctjwirds, \afj.ird$os.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 209

lance : launch, lanch.

O. F. lander, lanchier : L. lanceare, from lancea, a lance, lax : leash.

O. F. lesse : LL. laxa : L. laxus, loose, lecherous : likerous.

M. E. lechur, lechour : O. F. lecheor, lecheur, one who licks up,

addicted to lewdness. O. F. lecher : F. Itcher, to lick — of Ger- manic origin, legal : loyal : leal.

A. F. leal : F. loyal : M. F. leyal : L. legalem. lesson : lection.

F. leQon : L. lectionem, a reading, level : libella.

O. F. livel : L. libella, dim. of libra, a balance, levy : levee.

F. levee-, p. p. of lever : L. levare, to raise, libbard : leopard.

L. leo, lion + pardus, spotted, like : lich : ly.

A.-S. lie : M. E. lik, lich : ly = li(ch), li(che). limn : enlumine : illumine : illuminate.

limn, aph. form of enlumine : O. F. enluminer : F. illuminer :

L. illuminare, from lumen, light, live (2) : alive.

live, aph. form of alive : A.-S. on life, in life, livery : liberate.

A.-F. liver ee : F. Iwree, p. p. of livrer : LL. liberare, to deliver

up : L. liberare, to set free, lobby : lodge.

0. F. loge : LL. lobia : O. H. G. louba, arbor, lobster : locust.

A.-S. loppestre, lopust, corruption of L. locusta, a shell-fish,

a locust, lone : alone.

M. E. al one, al oon. lunch : luncheon.

luncheon, an extension of lunch, a lump, now used as short for

luncheon. lurk : lurch (1).

See Skeat and N. E. D.

Madam : madonna.

F. ma dame : Ital. ma donna : L. mea domina, my lady.

210 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

maidenhead : maidenhood.

A.-S. mcegden + had, state, quality, mail (1) : mactile : mackle.

O. F. maille : F. macule : L. macula, a spot, mesh, maim : mayhem.

O. F. mahaym : LL. mahemiare, to mutilate — Origin uncertain, malison : malediction.

O. F. malison : L. maledictionem, a curse, mammet, mawmet : Mahomet.

mawmet, etc., a puppet, doll, idol, contr. from Mahomet. mandate : maundy.

O. F. mande : L. mandatum, a charge, from mandare, to enjoin, mantle : mantel : manteau.

O. F. mantel : F. manteau : L. mantellum, a napkin, also a cloak, manure : maneuvre.

O. F. manuvrer : F. manoeuvre : LL. manuopera, manopera,

handwork, marge : margin : margent.

F. marge : L. marginem, margo : margen-t, with excrescent t. mark : marque : march.

A.-S. mearc : south, march : O. F. marque. mart : market.

mart, contr. of market : L. mercatus, p. p. of mercari, to trade, mash : mess (2).

mash is from a supposed A.-S. base, *masc, a mixture (miscian,

to mix), hence mesh, hence mess, mixture, disorder, massive : massy.

F. massif, from masse : L. massa. master : mister.

0. F. maistre : L. magistrum, magister, master, matin : matutine.

F. matin : L. matutinum, belonging to the morning, matrix : matrice.

F. matrice : L. matrix, matricem. maudlin : magdalen.

O. F. maudeleine : L. magdalene. mauve : mallow.

A.-S. malwe (borrowed) : L. malva : F. mauve. maxim : maximum.

F. maxime : L. maxima ( sententiarum ) , neut. maximum. mayor : major.

O. F. maior : Span, mayor : L. major, majorem.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 211

medal : (black) mail.

F. maille, " a French half-penny " : O. F. medaille : LL. medalia,

medalla, a small coin : L. metallum, metal, megrim : migraine.

F. migraine : LL. hemigranea : L. hemicrania, half a head, mell : meddle — mele*e : medley.

A. F. medlee : O. F. medle, p. p. of medler, mesler : F. meler :

melee : L. misculare, to mix. memoir : memory.

A. F. memorie : F. memoire : L. memoria. mend : amend : emend.

mend, aph. of amend : F. amender : L. emendare, from ex +

mendum, a fault, mess (1) : mass.

O. F. mes (F. mets) : LL. messa : A.-S. mcesse (borrowed) : L.

missa, from mittere, to send. Of. Ite, missa est. mettle : metal.

Mettle, variant of metal : O. F. metal : L. metallum, a mine,

metal, mew (3) : mute : moult.

F. muer : L. mutare : A.-S. miitian (borrowed) : moult, same

word with intrusive I. mince : minish.

F. minuiser : O. F. minder : LL. minutiare, from minutus, small, minim : minimum.

F. minim : L. minimum, least, minster : monastery.

A.-S. mynster (borrowed) : L. monasterium. mint : money.

A.-S. mynet (borrowed) : 0. F. moneie : F. monnaie : L. moneta

(monere, to advise), surname of Juno in whose temple money was

first coined, minuet : minute : menu.

M. F. minuet, little : dance so called from the small steps : F.

menu : L. minutus, small, miscellane, miscellany : miscellanea.

F. miscellane'e : miscellanea, from miscere, to mix. mistery (mystery) : ministry.

O. F. mestier, trade, occupation : LL. misterium : L. ministe-

rium, employment. Cf. mystery plays, " so called because acted

by craftsmen " ( Skeat ) . mizen, mizzen : mean ( 3 ) .

F. misaine : Ital. mezzana : A. F. meien (F. moyen) : L. medi-

anus, from medius, middle.

212 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

mob : mobile.

mob, contr. of mobile (vulgus) : L. mobilis, moveable, fickle, mode : mood (2).

F. mode : L. modus, manner, measure, moire : mohair.

F. moire : O. F. mouaire (1650) — perhaps of Arab, origin, moment : movement : momentum.

F. moment, mouvement : L. momentum ( movimentum ) . mop : map : nappe : nap- (kin).

O. F. mappe, later nappe : L. mappa, a cloth, cf. an apron, for a

napron, O. F. naperon, a large cloth, morris : moorish.

Span, morisco, moorish, moslem : mussulman.

Arab, muslim, a true believer. " Moslem, Mussulman, islam and

salaam are all from the same Arab, root salama, to be resigned."

(Skeat). motif : motive.

M. F. motif : LL. motwus. mould : mulled.

A.-S. molde, earth, dust : " mulled ale is a corruption of muld-

ale or mold-ale, a funeral ale" (Skeat) : Cf. bride-ale, bridal, much : muckle : mickle.

A.-S. micel, great : M. E. muchel, mukel, michel, mikel. musket : musquito.

M. F. mousquet : Span, mosquito, from L. musca, a fly. muster : monster.

O. F. mostre : F. monstre : L. monstrum (mon-es-trum) , a por- tent, from monere, to warn.

Nab : (kid) -nap.

Dan. nappe, to catch : kidnap, to nab a kid (child), nape : knop : knob.

A.-S. cncep, the top of a hill. Cf . O. Fries, halsknap, nape of

the neck, native : naive.

F. naif, fern, naive : L. nativus, native, from natus, born, navvy : navigator.

navvy, short for navigator : L. navigator, sailor, net (2) : neat (2) : nitid.

F. net, fern, nette : L. nitidus, from nitere, to shine, newel : nucleus.

O. F. nuel : L. nucleus, a small nut, kernel, from nucem, nux, a

nut.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 213

nias : eyas.

F. mats, a nestling : LL. nididcem (supposed), from L. nidus,

nest : an eyas, for a nias. Cf. an apron, for a napron. nigromancy : necromancy.

O. F. nigromance : LL. nigromantia, corruption of L. necroman-

tia, from Gk. i>e/cp6s, a corpse + pavrtia, prophetic power.

" Necromancy was called ' the black art ' owing to a popular ety- mology from L. niger, black " ( Skeat ) . noise : nausea.

O. F. noise : L. nausea. norman : northman.

0. F. normand, north-man, norweyan : norwegian. nother : nor.

A.-S. nawther (na -f- hwcether) : nor = no (the) r. Cf. or, contr.

of otHer : G. oder. nought : naught : not.

A.-S. na + wiht : not, contr. of nought. nozzle : nuzzle.

dim. of nose, number : numerate.

F. nombrer : L. numerare, to number.

obeisance : obedience.

O. F. obeissance : F. obedience : L. obedientia. oblige : obligate.

F. obliger : L. obligare, ob + ligare, to bind, oboe : hautboy.

Ital. oboe : F. hautbois : L. altus, high, LL. boscus, wood, of : off.

A.-S. of. ogre : Orcus.

F. ogre : L. Orcus, god of the infernal regions, oillet, oelet : eyelet.

M. F. oeillet, dim. of oeil : L. oculus, eye. onion : union.

F. oignon : L. unionem (unio) , union, or (1) : other.

or, contr. of other, or (2) : ere.

A.-S. Her, before, ordnance : ordinance.

O. F. ordinance : LL. ordinantia, a command, from ordinare, to

set in order.

214 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

orgue : organ.

F. orgue : L. organum, instrument, orison : oration.

O. F. orison : L. orationem, a prayer, orpin, orpine : orpiment.

F. orpin, contr. of orpiment : L. auri-pigrnentum, gold paint, orris : iris.

M. Ital. irios, whence prob. " oris-roote " (Florio) : L. iris, rain- bow, the plant iris. osprey : ossifrage.

osprey, corruption of ossifrage : L. ossifragus, bone-breaking, ostiary : usher.

A. F. usser : O. F. ussier : L. ostiarius, a door-keeper, from

ostium, a door, ostler : hosteler, hostler.

O. F. hosteller, from O. F. hostel : LL. hospitale. ouch : nouch.

an ouch is for a nouch : O. F. nouch : LL. nusca, a buckle, ounce (2) : lynx.

F. once is for lonce (as if Vonce) : L. lynx. ouph : oaf : auf : elf.

ouph, variant of oaf, variant of auf, elf. : Icel. alft : Dan. alp :

A.-S. alf, elf. outer : utter.

A.-S. uttera, utera, comparative of ut, out.

Paage : peage : pedage.

O. F. paage : F. pe"age : LL. pedagiam, for pedaticum, a toll for

passage over another's ground, pace : pass.

F. pas : L. passus, a step, paddle (2) : epaddle : spatula.

paddle, for spaddle : L. spatula, a little spade, paddock (2) : parrock : park.

paddock, corrupt, of parrock : A.-S. pearroc. page : pageant.

F. page : L. pagina, leaf of book, pajock : peacock.

pa jock, corrupt, of peacock : A.-S. pawa, pea (borrowed) : L.

pavo. pain : pine.

F. peine : L. poena : A.-S. pin (borrowed).

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 215

paladin : palatine.

F. paladin : Ital. paladino : L. palatinus, pertaining to the pal- ace, palaver : parley : parole : parable : parabola.

O. F. parabole : F. parole, parler : Port, palavra : L. parabola :

Gk. -rrapapoX-fi, a comparison, pale (2) : pallid.

0. F. pale : L. pallidum, pale, pall : appall.

pall, aph. form of appall : O. F. apallir : L. ad + pallidum. pallet (2) : palette.

F. palette : Ital. paletta, dim. of L. pala, a spade, palsy : paralysis.

M. E. palesy : O. F. paralysie : L. paralysis. paper : papyrus.

F. papier : L. papyrus, an Egyptian rush of which a writing

material was made, parcel : particle.

F. parcelle : Ital. particella : L. particula, a small part, parcener : partner.

partner, corrupt, of parcener through influence of part : O. F.

parcener : LL. partitionarius, from L. partitio, a division, parfit : perfect.

O. F. parfit : L. perfectus, p. p. of perficere, to complete, parlous : perilous.

parlous, variant of perlous, contr. of perilous : O. F. perillous,

perilleus : L. periculosus, from periculum, danger, parse : part.

L. pars (quae pars orationisf) : F. part : L. partem, ace. of pars. parson : person.

O. F. persone : L. persona, a mask, a character, actor, parvis : paradise.

O. F. parvis, outer court : LL. .paravisus : L. paradisus, church

court, paradise, pasch, paas : pasque, paque.

A.-S. pascha (borrowed) : D. paasch : L. pascha : Gk. irdtrxa :

O. F. pasque : F. paque : Heb. pesakh, a passing over- pasha : bashaw : padishaw.

Turk, pasha, basha : Pers. basha, badshah : same as Pers. pad- shah, a great lord, prince (pad, protecting, + shah, king), pastel : pastille.

F. pastel, pastille : L. pastillum, a little roll.

216 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

paten : pan.

M. F. patene : A.-S. panne (borrowed) : LL. panna : L. patina,

a flat dish, patron : pattern.

F. patron, a patron, example : L. patronum, a protector, pause : pose (1).

F. pause, pose, attitude : LL. pausa : Gk. 7rau<m, a ceasing, pavilion: papilio (zool.).

F. pavilion, a tent : L. papilionem (papilio), a butterfly, pawn (2) : peon.

M. E. paune, poun : O. F. paon, a pawn : Span, peon, a foot- soldier, a pawn (in chess) : LL. pedonem, foot-soldier, from

pedem, foot, pay (2) : pitch (1).

A. F. peier : O. F. poier : L. picare, from picem (pix), pitch, paynim : paganism.

paynim, orig. heathen country : 0. F. paisnisme : LL. paganis-

mus, from paganus, a villager, peach (1) : Persic.

O. F. pesche : LL. persica : L. Persicum (malum], a Persian

apple, peal : appeal.

peal, aph. form of appeal : O. F. apel, apeler : L. appelare, to

call upon, pedicle, pedicel : pedicule.

F. pedicelle : M. F. pedicule : L. pediculus, a little foot, peise, peize : poise.

A. F. peiser : O. F. poiser : L. pensare, to weigh, pelisse : pilch.

A.-S. pylce (borrowed) : F. pelisse : LL. pellicea, made of skins,

from L. pellis, a skin, peer (1) : pair : (um)pire : par.

O. F. per, peer : F. paire : L. par, equal. An umpire is for a

numpire : O. F. nomper : L. non par, unequal, odd, a third man

called in to arbitrate, a non peer. peer (3) : appear.

M. E. peren, short of aperen, apperen : O. F. apparoir : L. ap-

parere, to appear. Cf . " So honour peereth in the meanest

habit" (Shaks.). pellitory : paritory, parietory.

pellitory, corrup. of paritory, a flower that grows on walls : M.

F. paritoire : L. parietaria, from parietem (paries), a wall.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 217

pendule : pendulum.

F. pendule : L. pendulum, from pendere, to hang. pennant : pennon : pinion.

M. F. pennon, a flag : F. pignon : L. penna, pinna, wing, feather, pentice : penthouse.

penthouse, corrup. of pentice : M. F. apentis : L. appendicium,

an appendage, people : pueblo.

A. F. people : O. F. pueple : Span, pueblo. perdy : parde.

F. pardi, par Dieu : L. per Deum, by God. peregrine : pilgrim.

Itai. pellegrino : L. peregrinus (per, thru -\- ager, land), a for- eigner, periwig : wig : peruke.

wig, short for periwig, corrup. of F. perruque : Ital. perucca :

Span, peluca, from L. pilus, a hair, pert : apert.

pert, aph. form of apert : O. F. apert : L. apertus : open, from

aperire, to open, phase : phasis.

F. phase : L. phasis : Gk. 0d<7i5, an appearance, piazza : place : plaza.

Ital. piazza, a market place : F. place : Span, plaza, a public

square : LL. plattia, L. platea, a courtyard, pick : pitch ( 2 ) : pique : peak : pike : peck ( 1 ) .

A. S. pic (borrowed) : L. pic, as in picus, a woodpecker : L. L.

picdre, to peck, to use a pickax (pica, a pick, pickax) : F. piquer. pigment : pimento, pimenta.

Span, pimento : Port, pimenta : L. pigmentum, pigment, juice of

plants, pin : pen.

A.-S. pinn (borrowed), a pen, pin, peg : O. F. penne : L. pinna,

penna, wing, feather, pen. pinch : pink (1).

F. pincer : North F. pincher : M. E. pinken, " a nasalised form

of pick" (Skeat) : L. pic : whence pike, pick, etc. piquet : picket.

F. piquet, dim. of pique, a pike, pistil ': pestle.

0. F. pestel : L. pistillum, a small pestle, pitcher : bicker (Scot.), beaker. ,

M. E. picher, biker : O. F. picher : Icel. bikarr : Pop. L.

4

218 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

*piccari-um, *biccari-um : LL. picari-um, licari-um, a wine- vessel, prob. from Gk. /St/cos, an earthen vessel for wine, pity : piety.

O. F. pite : M. F. piete : L. pietatem, from plus, devout, plait : pleat : plat (2) : ply : plight (2).

O. F. pleit : LL. plictum, for plicitum : L. plicatum, from plicare,

to fold : F. plier. plan : plane : plain : piano.

L. planus, flat : F. plan, plane, plain : Ital. piano. plank : planch.

F. planch : North. F. planke : L. planca, a flat board. Cf.

" planched gate " ( Shaks. ) . plaintiff : plaintive.

F. plaintif, fern, plaintive : L. planctivus, from planctus, p. p. of

plangere, to bewail, plea : plead.

O. F. plai, plaid, plait : LL. placitum, from placere, to please, plum : prune ( 2 ) .

A.-S. plume (borrowed) : F. prune : L. prunum, a plum, plumb : plunge.

F. plomb, plonger : L. plumbum, lead, poignant : pungent.

F. poignant : L. pungentem, from pungere, to prick, poison : potion.

F. poison : L. potionem, a draft, poitrel : pectoral.

M. F. poitrel : L. pectorale, from pectus, the breast, poke ( 1 ) : pouch : poach ( 1 ) .

poke, a bag, is of Scand. origin : Icel. poke : F. poche : O. F.

pouch : to poach an egg is to make a pouch of it. pole : pale (2).

A.-S. pal (borrowed) : L. palus, a stake, policy : polity.

O. F. policie : F. politie : L. politia : Gk. iroXirela, from

Tro\lTi}s} a citizen, polite : polished.

F. poliss, — stem of pres. part, of polir : L. polire (p. p. politus),

to make smooth, polyp : poulp.

F. poulpe : L. polypus : Gk. iroXtfirovs, many-footed, pomade : pomatum.

O. F. pomade, cider : LL. pomata, a drink made from apples :

L. pomum, apple.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 219

pomp : pump (2).

F. pompe : L. pompa : Gk. •JTOJKIT^, a sending, procession : pump,

a shoe for pomp, poor : pauper.

O. F. povre : L. pauper, poor, pope : papa.

A.-S. papa (borrowed) : L. papa, father, pope, porch : portico.

F. porche : Ital. portico : L. porticum, from porta, a door, porcupine : porpentine.

M. E. porkepyn, porpentine : L. porcus, swine + spina, thorn, porridge : pottage.

F. potage, from pot -f- age (L. -aticum) : porridge, corrup. of

pottage thru earlier poddige. portgrave : portreeve.

L. portus, harbor + A.-S. gerefa, an officer, bailiff, porthors : portass, portesse, portous.

O. F. portehors, a portable prayer book, from porter : L. portare,

to carry -|- hors ( O. F. f ors : L. foris ) forth, abroad, portray : protract.

0. F. portraire : L. protrahere (p. p. protractum), to draw forth, pose (2) : appose.

pose, aph. form of appose : F. apposer, to put questions to, as

if from L. ponere, but really from L. pausare, to cease : F. poser,

hence poser (for apposer), a difficult question, posy : poesy.

M. F. poesie : L. poesis : Gk. irofycris. potent : puissant.

F. puissant : L. potens, potentem, from potis, able -f esse, to be. poult : pullet.

F. poulet, dim. of poule : LL. pulla, hen. pounce (1) : punch (1).

thru French from an assumed LL. punctiare, from L. punctum,

p. p. of pungere. pounce (2) : pumice.

F. ponce : L. pumicem (pumex), pumice, pound (2) : pond.

M. E. pond : A.-S. pund, an inclosure. praise : price.

0. F. preis, pris, value, merit : L. pretium, price, prank : prance.

M. E. pranken, to trim, prancen. See Skeat.

220 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

preach : predicate.

O. F. precher : L. praedicare, to declare, prentice : apprentice.

prentice, aph. form of apprentice : O. F. aprentis, aprentif : as- sumed LL. apprenditivus, from apprenditus, as if p. p. of appren-

dere, apprehendere, to lay hold of, to learn, priest : presbyter.

A.-S. preost (borrowed) : L. presbyter : Gk. Trpea/Stfrepos, elder, prim : prime.

O. F. prim, prime : L. primus, prima. primer : premier : primero.

O. F. primer, premier : Span, primero : L. primarius, chief, primrose : primerole.

primrose, as if from prima rosa : M. E. primerole, dim. of LL.

primula, dim. of L. primus, first, prison : prehension.

F. prison : L. prehensionem, from prehendere, to seize, privy : private.

F. prive : L. privatus, apart, probe : prove.

0. F. prover : L. probare, to test, proctor : procurator.

proctor, contr. of L. procurator. property : propriety.

O. F. properte : M. F. propriete : L. proprietatem, from L. prop-

rius, one's own. prore : prow.

F. proue : L. prora, prow, prorogue : prorogate.

O. F. proroguer : L. prorogare, from pro, forward -f rogare) to

ask. proud : prude.

O. F. prod, prud, fern, prode, prude : M. E. prud, later proud. proxy : procuracy.

proxy, contr. of procuracy : LL. procuratia : L. procuratio, man- agement, prudent : provident.

F. prudent : L. prudent em, contr. of providentem, pres. part, of

providere, to foresee, prune (1) : provine.

M. E. proinen, prunen : F. provin : provigner : O. F. provain :

L. propagincm (propago) a sucker.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 221

pry : prey.

0. F. prier, to search for plunder : LL. predare, from L. praeda,

booty, pun : pound (3).

pound = poun + d (excrescent d) : A.-S. punian, to pound : M.

E. pounen : pun is to pound into new senses (Skeat). punch (2) : punish.

M. E. punischen, punchen : F. puniss-, stem of pres. part. :

L. punire, to punish, puncheon : punction.

O. F. (Gascon) pouncheon : F. poingon, a bodkin : L. puncti-

onem, from pungere, to prick, punt ( 1 ) : pontoon.

A.-S. punt (borrowed) : L. ponto, a boat : F. ponton, from L.

ace. pontonem — of Celtic origin, punt (2) : punto : point.

O. F. point : Span, punto : F. ponter : L. punctum, p. p. of

pungere, to prick, puny : postnate.

O. F. puisne, younger : L. postnatus, born after, pupa : puppy.

F. poupee, a baby, young of animals, as if from L. *pupata : L. pupa, doll, puppet.

purl (3) : purfle : profile.

purl, contr. of purfle : M. F. pourfiler ; Ital. profile : L. pro +

filum, thread, purloin : prolong.

O. F. pourloigner, to prolong, retard, keep back : F. prolonger :

L. prolongare, from pro + longus, long, purpose ( 1 ) : propose.

O. F. purposer : F. proposer : LL. pausare, to cease, confused in

meaning with L. ponere, to place, purslain, purslane : portulaca.

O. F. porcelaine, pourcelaine : Ital. porcellana : corrup. from L.

porcilaca, for portulaca. Colloq. pusley. pursue : prosecute.

O. F. pursuir : L. prosequi, prosecutus, from pro + sequi, to

follow, purvey : provide.

A. F. purveier : L. providere, to foresee, purview : proviso.

O. F. purveu, p. p. of purveoir : L. provisus, (abl. proviso), p.

p. of providere.

222 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

puzzle : opposal.

puzzle, short for opposal, from oppose. Quadrel : quadrille : quarrel (2).

O. F. quarrel : F. quadrille : LL. quadrellus, from L. quadrus,

square, quatern : quadroon.

O. F. quarteron : Span, cuarteron : LL. quarteronem, a fourth

part, from L. quartus, fourth, quiet : quite : quit : coy : quietus.

O. F. coi, from Folk-Lat. quetus : LL. quitus : O. F. quite :L.

quietus. quinsy : squinancy.

O. F. quinancie, squinancie, aphetic forms of esquinancie, from L.

ex + cynanche : Gk. Kvvdyxv, from Ktwv (wv-), dog -f- ATX"''; to

choke, quitch : quick.

A.-S. cwic, alive. Cf. quitch-grass and quick-silver, quire : cahier.

O. F. quaier : F. cahier : LL. quaternum, a collection of four

leaves.

Race (3) : radish : radix.

O. F. rais : F. radis : L. radicem, radix, root. Cf . " a race of

ginger" (Shaks.). rack (4) : wrack, wreck.

rack = wrack : A.-S. wrcec, what is cast ashore : Icel. rek. Cf.

" go to rack and ruin." rack (5) : arrack.

rack, aph. form of arrack : Arab, araq, juice, distilled spirits :

Span, raque, arrack, raid : road.

A.-S. rad, road, North, raid, rail ( 1 ) : rule.

O. F. reille : Norm. F. raile : A. F. reule : L. regula, bar, rule, rail (2) : rally (2).

F. railler, to deride, raiment : arraiment.

raiment, aph. form of arraiment : O. F. arrai, from L. ad + O.

F. rai : 0. Low G. rede : A.-S. rode : Goth, raidjan, to arrange, raise : rear.

A.-S. r&ran-. Icel. reisa, to raise, raisin : raceme.

O. F. raisin : Folk L. racimum, L. racemum, a cluster.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 223

rake (2) : rakel : rakehell.

rake, short for rakel, corrupt, to rakehell : M. E. rakel, rash :

Swed. rakkel, a vagabond, from raka, to run hastily, ramp : romp.

F. ramper, to leap, climb, rank : range : ranch.

O. F. reng : F. rang : Span, rancho : 0. H. G. Urine, ring. Cf.

ranis des vaches. rampire : rampart.

M. F. rempar, rempart, from remparer : L. re + in + parare.

Cf. " rampired walls of gold" (Browning). " The Trojans round

the place a rampire cast" (Dryden). ransom : redemption.

O. F. raenson, later rangon : L. redemptionem, from red + imere,

to buy back, rapine : ravin : ravine.

O. F. ravine : F. rapine : L. rapina, plunder, rase : raze.

F. raser : LL. rasare, from L. radere ( p. p. rasum ) , to scrape, ratio : ration : reason.

O. F. reison : F. raison : L. ratio, rationem. •.-«

ray : radius.

O. F. raye : L. radius, a ray. rayah : ryot.

Arab, and Hind, raiyah, raiyat, a tenant, peasant, realty : reality.

realty, contr. of reality : F. realite : L. realitatem. reconnaissance : reconnoisance : recognizance.

O. F. recognoissance : F. reconnaissance, from L. recognoscere. recover : recuperate. j

0. F. recovrer : L. recuperare. "v

redingote : riding-coat.

redingote, French adaptation of English riding-coat. redouble : reduplicate.

F. redoubler : L. reduplicare (re + duo + plicare, to fold), redoubt : reduit : reduct.

F. redoute, reduit : L. reductus, p. p. of reducere, to lead back, redounding : redundant.

F. redonder : L. redundare (red, back + unda, a wave), to over- flow, reeky : reechy.

A.-S. rec, vapour, smoke.

224 EDWABD A. ALLEN.

rein : retain.

O. F. reine : L. retinere, to hold back, reintegrate : redintegrate.

L. reintegrare, redintegrare. relax : release.

M. F. relaisser : L. relaxare, from re + laxus, loose, relay ( 1 ) : relish.

O. F. reles, relais : F. relais. relic : relique : relict.

F. relique : L. relicta, p. p. of relinguere, to leave behind, remiss : remise.

F. remise : L. remissus, p. p. of remittere, to send back, renaissance : renascence.

M. F. renaissance : L. renascentia (re, again + nascentia, birth), renegade : runagate.

runagate, corrupt, of O. F. renegat : Span, renegado : LL. rene-

gatus, from L. re + negare, to deny, repair (2) : repatriate.

O. F. repairer : L. repatriare, to go back to one's country, reply : replica.

O. F. replica : Ital. replica : L. replicare, to fold back, to repeat, reprieve : reprove : reprobate.

O. F. repreuve, reprover : F. reprouver : L. reprobare (p. p.

reprobatus ) , from re -f- probare, to test, rereward : rearguard.

rereward, old spelling of rearward : F. guard = ward, which see. residue : residuum.

O. F. residu : L. residuum, remainder, resin : rosin.

M. F. resine : Norm. F. rosine : L. resina, gum from trees, respite : respect.

O. F. respit : L. respectum, p. p. of respicere, to look back upon, retreat : retract.

O. F. retrete, later retraite : L. retractum, p. p. of retrahere, to

draw back, revenge : revindicate.

O. F. revengier : L. revindicare, from re + vindicare, to lay

claim to. revel : rebel.

O. F. revel, reveler : L. rebellare. reward : regard.

A. F. rewarder : 0. F. regarder. Cf. A.-S. wear A, a guard.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 225

rhomb : rumb (rhumb).

P. rhombe : Span, rumbo, a ship's course : L. rhombus : Gk.

/36/i/3os, a thing twirled round, rig (3) : ridge.

A.-S. hrycg, the back : M. E. rig, North, form of rigge. rivel : rifle.

M. E. rivelen : rifle, short for rifled gun : rifle, to groove : O.

F. rifler, to scratch : A.-S. rifeled, wrinkled : Low G. rifln, to

furrow, rob : robe.

O. F. rober : F. robe : LL. rauba : O. H. G. raup, booty, garment

taken from the slain, robber : rover.

Du. roover, a robber, pirate, thief, rod : rood.

A.-S. rod, the cross, a rod or pole, romance : romaunt : romanic.

O. F. romanz, romans, romant : LL. romanice, from Romanicus,

from Romanus. rondel, rondle, roundel : rondeau.

O. F. rondel : F. rondeau. rote (1) : rout : route : rut.

O. F. rote : F. route : L. rupta, p. p. of rumpere, to break, round : rotund.

O. F. roond : L. rotundus, from rota, a wheel, row (3) : rouse (2).

row, as if sing, of rouse : Du. ruus : Swed. rus, drunkenness. Of

Scandinavian origin. Cf. pea, cherry, shay, etc. rowel : rotella.

M. F. rouelle : LL. rotella, dim. of rota, a wheel, royal : regal : real (2).

F. royal : Span, real : L. regalem. ruby : rouge.

F. rouge : L. rubeus, red. rune : roun : round.

A.-S. runian, to whisper, run, a whisper : O. H. G. run, a secret, ruse : recuse.

F. ruse, ruser : O. F. reiiser : L. recusare, to refuse, to oppose

a cause.

sacristan : sexton.

sexton, contr. of sacristan : M. F. sacristain : LL. sacristanus, from sacer, sacred.

226 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

saga : saw (2).

Icel. saga : A.-S. sagu. sage (2) : salvia.

O. F. sauge : L. salvia, sage, from salvdre, to heal, saint : sanctum.

F. saint : L. sanctus, holy, salad : sallet.

F. salade : M. Ital. salata, salted, p. p. from salare, to salt, salary : (salt) cellar.

F. salaire : L. solarium, salt-money, salt-holder, hence A.-F.

saler : M. F. saliere : cellar is for selar. salon : saloon.

F. salon, a large room : 0. H. G. sal, hall, samphire : saint Peter.

F. herbe de saint Pierre. sample : ensample : example.

O. F. essample : A. F. ensample : L. exemplum, sample, pattern, sassafras : saxafrage.

F. sassafras : L. saxafraga, supposed to break stones in the

bladder, sate : satiate.

sate, short for satiate : L. satiare, from sat, satis, enough, savant : sapient.

F. savant : L. sapientem, pres. part, of sapere, to be wise, saveloy : cerebellum.

saveloy, a kind of sausage containing brains : F. cervelas, from

Ital. cervellata, from cervello : L. cerebellum, dim. of cerebrum,

brain, savine^ sabine.

A.-S. safine (borrowed): L. sabina (herba), Sabine herb, scabby : shabby.

A.-S. scceb, scab, scaffold : catafalque.

O. F. escafaut, *escafalt, short for escadafalt = es ( L. ex ) 4-

Ital. catafalco, a funeral canopy, whence F. catafalque. scale (1) : shale.

A.-S. scealu : O. H. G. scala : O. F. escale. Cf. G. schale. scandal : slander.

F. scandale : L. scandalum : Gk. <TK&v8a\ov, stumbling-block,

offence : O. F. escandle, later esclandre, whence slander, scar (2) : scaur : shear : shore : score : skerry.

A.-S. sceran, to shear, p. p. scoren, hence score and shore : Icel.

sker, an isolated rock in the sea.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 227

scarce : excerpt.

O. F. escars : LL. scarpsus, for excarpsus : L. excerptus, p. p.

of excerpere, to pick out. scarf : scrap : scrip (1).

A.-S. scearfe, a fragment : Icel. skrap : A. F. escrepe, a scarf,

hence scrip, a small bag made of a scrap. Cf. N. Fries, skrap, a

scrip, scatter : shatter.

A.-S. scateran : M. E. scatteren, shatteren. schedule : cedule.

F. cedule : L. schedula, a small leaf of paper, school (2) : shoal : scull (3).

A.-S. scolu, a troop : M. E. scole, shole : scull (Shaks., Milton), scot : shot.

Icel. skot : A.-S. scot : M. E. schot : O. F. escot. "Experienced

men of the world know very well that it is best to pay scot and

lot as they go along " ( Emerson ) .

"A man is never .... welcome to a place till some certain

shot be paid and the hostess say 'Welcome'" (Shakspere). scour : skirr : scur : excur.

O. F. escourre : L. excurrere. scourge : excoriate.

A. F. escorge : L. excoriatum, p. p. of excoriare, to flay, scranny : scrannel : scrawny.

Swed. Norw. skran, weak, thin, lean, screech : shriek : shrike.

Icel. skrcekja : Swed. skrika, to shriek, scrawl : scrabble.

scrawl, contr. of scrabble, freq. of scrape, to scratch with some- thing sharp, scuffle : shuffle.

freq. of scuff (Scand.) : Swed. skuffa, to shove, scuttle (1) : skillet.

A.-S. scutel (borrowed) : O. F. escuelette : L. scutella, a dish, seal : sigil.

O. F. seel : L. sigillum, dim. of signum, mark, search : shark : shirk.

0. F. cercher : Picard, cherquier : L. circare, to go round, from

circus, a ring : shirk, variant of sherk, shark. In late Latin

circare meant to hunt (see Grandgent's Introduction to Vulgar

Latin. ) secret : secrete.

O. F. secret : L. secretus, p. p. of secernere, to separate.

228 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

sect : sept : set (2) : suit : suite.

F. secte : Ital. setta : LL. secta, setta, a set of people, a suit

of clothes : O. F. siute : F. suite : L. secuta, p. p. of sequi, to

follow, seek : ( be ) seech.

A.-S. secern : M. E. selce, seche. selvage : selfedge.

M. Du. selfegge, selvage, sennet : signet.

O. F. sinet, senet : F. signet, dim. of signe : L. signum, a mark, sergeant : servant.

O. F. sergant, serjant : F. servant : L. servientem, pres. part.

of servire, to serve, sever : separate.

O. F. sevrer : L. separare, to separate, sham : shame.

sham, " a London slang term, due to North. E. sham, a shame,

hence trick" (Skeat) : A.-S. sceamu, scamu. shamefaced : shamefast.

shamefaced, corrupt, of shamefast ; A.-S. scamfcest, fast in

shame, modesty, shammy : chamois.

F. chamois, a kind of antelope, shard : sherd.

. A.-S. sceard, a fragment, from sceran, to cut. shawm : calamus.

F. chaume : L. calamus, reed, shed (2) : shade : shadow.

A.-S. sceadu : Kent, shed, a shade, shiver ( 1 ) : quiver ( 1 ) .

A.-S. cwifer,* cifer : M. E. chiveren. shred : screed.

A.-S. screade, a shred, shrew : screw (2).

A.-S. sceawa, a shrew-mouse, " having a venomous bite " ;

North, screw, a vicious horse. Of. shrewd, p. p. M. E. schrewen,

from schrewe, malicious, shrub (1) : scrub.

A.-S. scrob, brush-wood, shrub (2) : syrup : sherbet.

Arab, shardb, shurab, shorbat, shirb, shrub from Arab, shoriba :

M. F. syrop.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 229

sir : sire : senior.

F. sire : L. senior, elder, size : assize.

size, aph. form of assize : O. F. assise (p. p. of asseoir), assem- bly of judges, tax, etc. : L. assessus, p. p. of assidere, to sit near, skewer : skiver : shiver (2).

Dan. Swed. skifer, slate. Not proved, skiff : ship.

A.-S. scip : O. H. G. skiff : M. F. esquif. skirl : shrill.

Norw. skryla, to cry shrilly : M. E. schrillen. skirmish : scrimmage.

scrimmage, scrummage, corrupt, of skirmish : O. F. eskirmiss, a stem of eskermir, to fence : hence scrimer, a fencing master, skirt : shirt.

A.-S. scyrte (sceort, short). : Icel. skyrta. skittle : shuttle.

M. E. schitel : A.-S. scyttel : Dan. skyttel, a shuttle, slaver : slabber.

Icel. slafra : Fries, slabbern, to slaver, sleek : slick.

Icel. slike : Fries, silk : M. E. sllke. sleight : sloyd.

Icel. slcegfi, slyness : Swed. sloyd, dexterity, sleuth : slot (2).

O. F. esclot : Icel. sloth, a track : M. E. sloth, sleuth : Cf. sleuth-hound and slot-hound, slogan : slughorn.

slughorn, corrupt, of slogan : M. Sc. slogorne : Gael, sluagh (army) + ghairm (cry), sloop : shallop : chaloupe.

Du. sloep : F. chaloupe. smack : smatch.

A.-S. smcec, taste. Cf. " Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it."— Shaks. smudge : smutch : smootch.

Dan. smuds, dirt : Swed. smuts, dirt, smut, snack : snatch.

M. E. snacchen : Du. snakken, to grasp, snivel : sniffle : snuffle.

M. E. snuvelen, snevelen : From A.-S. snoft, mucus.

230 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

snub : sneb : snib.

sneb (Spenser), variant of snib (Chaucer) : M. E. snibben, to

reprimand : Dan. snibba : Swed. snubba : Fries, snubbe. soil : sole.

A. F. soil : LL. solea, soil, ground, soldan : sultan.

F. sultan : Span, soldan : Arab, sultan, a ruler, prince, solder : solidate.

O. F. souder : L. solidare, to make solid, solid : sou.

F. sou : L. solidus, solid, a coin. Cf. 1. s. d., librae, solidi,

denarii. sombre : sombrero.

F. sombre : Span, sombrero, from L. subumbra (Diez) or ex

umbra ( Littre" ) . sop : sup : soup.

A.-S. supan : Icel. soppa : Low G. soppe : F. soupe, souper. soprano : sovereign.

0. F. souverain : Ital. soprano : LL. superanus, chief, sough : surf.

A.-S. swogan, to resound : M. E. swough : surf, for earlier

suffe. Cf. "the suffe of the sea" (Hakluyt). souse : sauce.

souse, variant of sauce : F. sauce : L. salsa, salted, spawn : expand.

M. F. espandre : L. expandere, to spread out. special : especial.

O. F. especial : L. specialis, from species, kind, spell (4) : spill (1).

M. E. speld, a splinter : A.-S. speld, a torch to light a candle, spend : expend.

A.-S. spendan (borrowed) : L. expendere, to weigh out. spice : species.

O. F. espice, spice : L. species, kind, later Latin, spice. spider : spinner.

A.-S. spider (for spinther), from spinnan, to spin : Dan. spinder. spoil : spoliate.

O. F. espolier : L. spoliare, from spolium, booty, sport : disport.

sport, aph. form of disport : O. F. se desporter, to amuse oneself :

L. disportare, to carry away.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 231

spouse : espouse.

O. F. espouse : L. sponsa (a betrothed woman), p. p. of sponderc,

to promise. Cf. sponsor, sprint : spurt ( 2 ) .

Icel. spretta, for sprenta, sprinta (Noreen), to spring, bound :

sprette, a spring, spurt, sprite : spirit : spright(ly).

A. F. espirit : F. esprit : L. spiritus, from spirare, to breathe, spruce : Prussia.

M. E. spruce = Prussia : " fashionable dress after the

manner of Prussia or Spruce " ( Hall's Chronicle ) . Cf . spruce

leather, spruce pine, spruce beer, spunk : sponge.

0. F. esponge : L. spongia : Gk. ffiroyyid, a sponge : Irish sponc,

sponge, spongy wood, spur : spoor.

A.-S. spor, a foot-track : Du. spoor, spurge : expurgate.

0. F. espurge, spurge, espurger : L. expurgare, to cleanse away, spurt (1) : sprout.

A.-S. *sprutan, spryttan : M. E. sprutan. squall : squeal.

Swed. sqvala, to gush out : Norw. skvella, to squeal, squash : quash.

O. F. esquasser, quasser : L. quassare, exquassare, to shatter.

Disputed, squire (1) : esquire.

0. F. escuier : LL. scutarius, shield-bearer, from scutum, a

shield, squire (2) : square.

0. F. esquarre, esquierre : LL. exquadrare, from L. quadrus,

four-cornered. Cf. "with golden squire" (Spenser), stablish : establish.

O. F. establiss, a stem of establir : L. stabilire, from stabilis,

firm, stave : staff.

A.-S. stcef, pi. stafas. steer (2) : star (board).

A.-S. steoran, styran, to steer : A.-S. steor-lord (steor, rudder),

the side on which the steersman stood, stench : stink.

A.-S. stenc, odor, often in a good sense.

232 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

sterling : Easterling.

A. F. esterling : Easterling, " popular names of German traders

in England whose money was of the purest quality." See N. E.

D. stick : stitch.

A.-S. stice : stician, to prick. Cf. steeks (Burns), for stitches. story : history.

A. F. storie : O. F. estoire : L. historia. stove : stew.

O. F. estuve, hot-house, stove, stew : O. H. G. stupa, hot room

lor bath., straight : stretched.

A.-S. streht, p. p. of streccan, to stretch, strait : strict.

A. F. estreit : L. strictum, p. p. of stringere, to draw tight, strange : extraneous.

O. F. estrange : L. extraneus, from extra, without, strap : strop.

A.-S. stropp (borrowed) : L. struppus, stroppus, a strap, stretch : streek, streak.

M. E. strecchen : A.-S. streccan. stunt : stint.

A.-S. styntan : M. E. stinten, stenten, stunten. sty (1) : ste(ward).

A.-S. stigu, a sty, pen. A.-S. stiweard, a sty ward, suage : assuage.

suage, aph. form of assuage : 0. F. assouagier, from L. ad -f-

suavis, sweet, subtle : subtile.

O. F. sotil, soutil : L. subtilem, finely woven, from sub + tela,

a web. succory : chicory.

succory, for siccory or cichory : F. chicor^e : L. cichorium. such : so like.

M. E. sich, sech, such : A.-S. swylc, from swa (so) -f lie (like), sudden : subitaneous.

O. F. sodain, sudain : LL. subitdnus : L. subitaneus from

subitum, p. p. of subire, to go stealthily, sultry : sweltry.

sultry, variant of sweltry, for sweltery : M. E. swelteren, to

swelter.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 233

summerset, somerset : somersault.

F. soubresaut : M. F. soubresault : L. supra (over) + saltum

(leap), suppliant : supplicant.

F. suppliant : L. supplicant em, pres. part, of supplicare, to

beseech, surcease : supersede.

O. F. surds, p. p. of surseoir : L. super + sedere, to sit. surcharge : supercargo.

F. surcharge : L. super + Span, cargo, freight : LL. carricare,

to load a car. sure : secure.

O. F. setir : L. securus. surety : security.

O. F. seiirte : F. securite : L. securitatem. surface : superficies.

F. surface : L. superficies. surge : source.

0. F. stem sourge, as in sourgeant, pres. part, of soudre : O. F.

sorse, fern, of sors, p. p. of sordre (F. soudre) : L. surgere, to

rise, survey : supervise.

A. F. surveier : LL. supervidere : L. super + videre, p. p. visum. swath : swarth.

A.-S. swa/>u, a track. For intruded r in swarth, cf. varlet,

for valet, etc. swoon : swound.

M. E. swounen, from M. E. swowen : A.-S. swogan, to sigh as

the wind. Cf . sowndl from M. E. sown.

Tabor : tambour.

M. F. tabour : F. tambour : Span, tombor : Arab, tambur, a

kind of guitar, tache ( 1 ) : tack.

O. F. tache, nail, fastening : Dan., Fries, takke. taffrail : tableau.

Du. tafereel, dim. of tafel : F. tableau^ dim. of F. table : L.

tabula. taint : tint, tinct.

F. teint : L. tinctum, p. p. of tingere, to dye. tamper : temper.

A.-S. temprian (borrowed) : L. temperare, to qualify.

234 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

tansy : athanasia.

O. F. tanasie : LL. athanasia : Gk. adavaffia, immortality, tarre : tarry.

A.-S. tergan, to vex : M. E. tarien, to worry, hence hinder, delay, task : tax.

O. N. F. tasque : LL. tasca, taxa, a tax. tawdry : St. Awdry (Audrey).

L. Ethelreda. Cf. " tawdry lace," lace bought at St. Awdry's

fair, tawny : tanny.

F. tanne, p. p. of tanner, to tan. techy, tetchy : touchy.

M. E. teche, whim : O. F. teche, tache, a blemish : changed to

touchy, as if sensitive to the touch, tent (1) : tense (2) : toise.

F. tente : LL. tenta : L. tentum, p. p. of tendere to stretch :

another form of p. p. is tensum, whence tense and F. toise. Cf.

intent and intense, tent (2) : tempt.

F. tenter, earlier tempter : L. tentare, temptare, to try : proba- bly taunt is from the 0. F. form tauter, but see Skeat. tercel : tarsel : tassel (2).

O. F. tercel, from tiers, tierce, a third : L. tertius. The male

of any hawk is so called because it is " third smaller than the

female." terebinth : turpentine.

Norm. F. turpentine : M. F. turpentine : L. terebinthus : Gk.

Teptfiivdos, turpentine tree, term : terminus.

F. terme : L. terminus. thatch : thack.

A.-S. />cec : North. E. thack (Burns), then : than.

A.-S. fionne : M. E. thanne. thread : thrid.

A.-S. /rraed, from thrawan, to twist, thresh : thrash.

A.-S. fitrscan, to thresh, through : thorough.

A.-S. fmrh : ME. thuruh, thoru. tinsel : stencil : scintilla.

M. F. estincele : L. scintilla, a spark.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 235

tithe : tenth.

A.-S. teofia, teonfia, the tenth : tithe, for tinthe, from A.-S.

tyn, tien, ten. to : too.

A.-S. to. ton : tun.

A.-S. tunne (borrowed) : LL. tunna, a cask, tone : tune.

A.-F. tun : F. ton : L. tonus : Gk. r6vos, tone, tort : tortoise : ( nas ) turtium.

O. F. tortis, crooked : F. tort : L. tortum, p. p. of torquere, to

twist : nasturtium = nose- twister, from the sharp smell, touch : tuck (3).

F. toucher : 0. F. toquer. Cf. tocsin, tour : turn.

F. tour : L. tornus : Gk. r6pvos, a lathe, tousle : tussle.

Freq. of touse, to pull about, tow ( 1 ) : tug : taut.

M. E. towen, togen : A.-S. tog, as in togen, p. p. of teon, to

pull : Icel., Swed. tog, a rope to pull by : M. E. toht, toght, p. p.

of togen, drawn tight, taut, track : trek.

F. trac : Du. trek — of Teutonic origin, trait : tract.

F. trait : L. tractum, p. p. of trahere, to draw, traitor : traditor.

0. F. traitor : L. traditor, from tradere, to betray, trance : transit.

F. transe : L. transitus, from transire, to pass away, transmew : transmute.

F. transmuer : L. transmutare, to transform, trass : terrace.

M. F. terrace : M. Ital. terrazza, from L. terra, earth, travel : travail.

F. travail, toil, traverse : transverse.

M. F. travers, cross-wise : L. transversus, from trans + vertere,

to turn, treachery : trickery.

O. F. trecherie, tricherie, triquerie, from tricher : Norm. dial.

triquer, to trick : L. trlcari, from tricae, wiles.

236 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

treacle : theriac.

O. F. triacle, theriaque : L. theriaca, antidote against bites of

wild beasts : Gk. ^pia/cd, from Qriptov, a wild animal, treason : tradition.

O. F. traison : L. traditionem, from, tradere, to betray, treasure : thesaurus.

0. F. tresor : L. thesaurus : Gk. 0y<ravpfc, a store laid up. treble : triple.

O. F. treble : L. triplum, three-fold, trespass : transpass.

O. F. trespasser : LL. transpassare, to step over, trifle : truffle.

M. E. trufle, trefle : M. F. trufle, dim. of truffe, a gibe, jest, a

truffle, from trufre : L. tuber a. Cf. Ital. tartufo (terrae tuber),

a truffle, whence Ger. kartoffel, earlier tartuffel, a potato, troth : truth.

A.-S. treowfi, from treowe, true, trump : triumph.

trump, corrupt, of triumph : O. F. triomphe : L. triumphus. truss : trousseau.

O. F. trousse, troussel, a bundle : F. trousseau. tuberose : tuberous.

F. tubereuse : L. (polyanthes) tuberosa, from tuber, a bulb, tulip : turban.

M. F. tulippe, tulippan : Ital. tulipa, tulipano, from likeness to

a turban : Turk, tulbend, a turban.

Umbel : umbrella.

Ital. umbrella, ombrella, dim. of ombra : L. umbra, a shade :

L. umbella, a parasol, umber : umbra.

F. ombre : Ital. ombra : L. umbra. unit : unity.

M. F. unite : F. unite : L. unitatem, from unus, one. unco : uncouth.

unco (Scot) : A.-S. uncufi, unknown, hence strange ; un + cu/>,

p. p. of cunnan, to know.

Vade : fade.

O. F. fader : M. Du. vadden : L. vapidum, stale, tasteless. Cf. " summer leaves are vaded " ( Shaks ) .

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 237

vail : avail.

vail, aph. form of avail. M. E. availen : O. F. a -{-valoir

(valer) : L. ad -j- valere, to be of use. vail (2) : avale.

vail, vale, aph. of avale : O. F. avaler, to let fall down : L.

ad + valient, valley, vair : various.

F. vair : L. varius. varlet : valet.

F. vaslet, varlet, valet, dim. of O. F. vasal : LL. vasellus, n

tenant, subject, vast : waste.

F. vaste : O. F. wast : L. vastus, waste, veneer : fournish.

veneer, formerly fineer : F. fournir : G. funiren : O. F. four-

niss, a stem of fournir. vertex : vortex.

L. vertex, vortex, from vertere, to turn, vervain : verbena.

F. vervaine : L. verbena. vie : invite.

M. E. vien, aph. of envien : L. invitare, to invite, village : villatic.

F. village : L. villaticus, from villa, a farm house. Cf. " tame

villatic fowl." Milton, visor, vizor : visard.

visard (excrescent d) : M. F. visiere : M. E. visere, from M. F.

vis, the face, vowel : vocal.

O. F. vouel : L. vocalis, vocal, voyage : viaticum.

F. voyage : L. viaticum, from via, way.

Wage : gage.

O. F. wage, later gage : LL. wadium : Goth, wadi, a pledge, wain : wagon.

A.-S. waen, woegn : Du. wagen. warble : whirl.

M. E. werbelen : O. F. werbler : M. H. G. werbelen : G. wirblen,

to whirl, to warble; same as M. E. whirlen, for whirflen : Dan.

hvirvle : Icel. hrifla. ward : guard.

A.-S. weard, a guard, weardian, to guard : O. F. warder, later

garder — of Teutonic origin.

238 EDWARD A. ALLEN.

warden : guardian.

A. F. wardein : O. F. gardein : LL. gardianus, a guardian, warrison : garrison.

O. F. warison, garison : O. H. G. warjon, to protect, warranty : guarantee.

O. F. warantie, garantie, p. p. of warantir, garantir. wayward : awayward.

M. E. aweiward, weiward, turned away, weald, wald : wold.

A. S. weald, a forest, whortleberry : huckleberry.

Formerly hurtle-berry : A.-S. heorot (hart) + lerige (berry) :

Skeat. But cf. A.-S. wyrtil, a small shrub, wick (2) : wich.

A.-S. wic (borrowed) : L. vicus, a village. Cf. Warwick and

Greenwich, wight : whit.

A.-S. wiht, creature, thing, wile : guile.

A.-S. wll, a wile : O. F. guile, — of Germanic origin, wise (2) : guise.

A.-S. wise, way, manner : O. F. guise : O. H. G. totsa. wivern, wyvern, weever : viper.

A. F. wyvre : O. F. wivre : L. vipera, a viper. Final n as in

Mtter-n. wrastle : wrestle.

A.-S. wr&stlian, to wrestle, freq. of wraestan, to wrest, wrath (adj.) : wroth.

A.-S. wrafi, crooked, etc. : M. E. wrath, wroth. Cf. wri/xin, to

writhe.

Yelk : yolk.

M. E. yelke, yolke : A.-S. geoleca, geolca, yellow part, from geolu, yellow.

yelp : yap, yaup, yawp.

A.-S. gielpan, to boast : Icel. gjalpa, to yelp.

yield, 'ild : guild, gild (ale).

M. E. glide : A. S. gieldan, gildan, geldan, to pay : Icel. gildi, a payment, a guild : gildale, a drinking bout in which every one pays an equal share.

ywis : I wis.

A.-S. geiois, certain, certainly : M. E. y-wis, iwis, then erro- neously / lois.

ENGLISH DOUBLETS. 239

Zany : Johnny.

Ital. zanni, familiar form of Giovanni, a silly John — of Heb. origin.

zenith : azimuth.

Arab, as-samut, from as (=al, the) + samt (quarter, direc- tion) : samt became semt of which Span, zenit is a corruption, hence F. zenith.

zero : cipher.

Ital. zero, short for zefiro : LL. zephyrum : Arab, sifr : O. F. cifre : Span, cifra.

EDWABD A. ALLEN.

X.— SEGISMUNDO' S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY IN CALDERON'S LA VIDA ES SUENO.

Spanish poets of the seventeenth century were very fond of the contrast between the physical limitations of men, especially when prisoners, — " ces eternels envieux des mouches et des oiseaux" (Victor Hugo) — and the freedom of birds that fly at will, or of " fishes that tipple in the deep." But nowhere has the comparison been given such artistic form and signal appropriateness as in the mouth of Calderon's hero, Segismundo. This young Titan felt himself fettered by stone walls. They were a real prison to him and he rebelled against his lot. He was not in a mood to admit, had it even occurred to him to do so, the superior advantage of man's mental freedom over the physical freedom of fishes and birds and brutes, or running brooks. But the thought was not original with Calderon, nor, according to Sr. Mene*ndez y Pelayo, was it original with any of Calderon's immediate predecessors, but went back to the Greek phi- losopher, Philo.1 Lope de Vega was probably the first to transplant the conceit to Spanish soil, — and it bore abundant fruit. In one of his early plays, El Remedio en la desdieha,2 written before the close of the sixteenth century, occur the following verses :

1 See the Acad. ed. of Lope de Vega, iv, xxxviii, where it is stated that the indebtedness to the Greek writer was first noted by Joseph Fernandez Vinjoy, in his translation of Philo' s ptoir 7roXtTt%oiJ, El Eepublico mas sabio, 1788. The text was accessible to sixteenth and seventeenth century poets in Segismundo Galenic' s translation. Vin joy's work is very rare, — there is no copy at the National Library, Madrid. The treatise in question is not found in any of the editions of Philo' s works accessible to me.

2 Ed. Kivad., in, 144c-145. It may be noted here, once and for all, that, unless indicated, the material of this study, has not been used before in this connection.

240

SEGISMUNDO'S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 241

Kendido estoy a tu nobleza, y veo Que mi ignorancia fue* mi propio engano ; Aunque si amor a todos da disculpa, I Porque* no la tendran mi amor y celos ? Si tu, si tus soldados, si los hombres Si las aves, los peces, si las fieras, Si todo sabe amor, si todo teme Perder su bien, y con sus celos propios Defiende casa, nido, mar y cueva, Llora, lamenta, gime, y brama ; advierte Que celos y sospechas me obligaron Al desatino que a tus pies me rinde.

We are here, in some respects, far from Segismundo's complaint, and near it only in so far as a contrast is suggested between Arraez (the speaker) and certain animals under similar conditions. Lope cites aves (plural), peces and fieras (equivalent to brutes'), and omits only the arroyo of Segismundo's soliloquy. There is no imagery employed whatsoever, and, finally, it is not a question here of liberty but of love and jealousy.

But Lope offers a closer parallel, and one that Calderon must have seen, for he was elsewhere in La vida es sueno indebted to the play in which it occurs, Barldn y Josafd (ca. 1611):

Tristeza, senor, recibo y justo desasosiego

De verme preso sin causa, i En quo", senor, te ofendi ? I Que" es lo que temes de mi Que tanto rigor te causa ?

Nace el corderillo tierno, y salta luego en el prado, Porque apenas destetado Sufre el natural gobierno.

Un ave arroja del nido, Aun antes de tener alas, El polio a las claras salas Del aire, y vuela aterido.

242 MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

4 A quien despues que nacio Se nego la luz del cielo, Pues el que nace en el suelo Se dice que a luz sali6 ?

Mas no se dira por mi, Que ha tanto que soy nacido, y nunca a luz he salido ; Que a las tinieblas sali. . . .l

This quotation at once suggests a parallel mental attitude in the victims of paternal tyranny, and prepares for the amplified imagery and verbal effects of Calderon's rendering.

In Lope's Lo que ha de ser, dated 1624, Prince Alexander complaining, likewise, of imprisonment at the hands of his father, says, in part :

I Que" es lo que quiere de mi

El Key? ,? Para qu6 naci,

Si aqui me quiere enterrar ? j Tantos anos como tengo,

Preso en aqueste castillo ! i Por Dios, que me maravillo

Como la vida entretengo !

I Que* hice en naciendo yo ? I QUC" intente", sin lengua y manos?

Decid, dioses soberanos, I Que inocencia os ofendi6 ? 2

For the present study the most important line in this passage is the first verse of the third stanza, j,Que hice en naciendo yo? which gives in epitome the theme of Cal- deron's introductory stanzas, and prepares for the subsequent amplification. But, lest it be objected that the parallel is wholly accidental, the following lines from Prince Alexan- der's speech in a later scene ought to be noted :

1 Noted by Krenkel in his edition of La vida es suefio, 1881, pp. 18-19. 3 Ed. Kivad., n, 508.

SEGISMUNDO'S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 243

Asi lo creOj Severe, y el Key, mi senor, lo manda ; Pero entre tantos contentos, Fiestas, comedias y galas, No hallo para mi gusto La libertad que me falta. Sale coronado el sol De su diadema dorada ; Seca las fingidas perlas Que dio a las flores el alba ; y despreciando su cueva, Por las asperas montanas El mas feroz animal Libre corre, alegre caza. Hasta el mas probre pastor Desampara su cabana, y a su gusto y albedrio Lleva sus traviesas cabras. . . . l

Finally, before leaving Lope de Vega, it may be noted that in El animal prqfeta (attributed, also, to Mira de Mesqua), we have an example of a monologue of some- what similar content, composed like Segismundo's in stately dtcimas :

£ QUC" barbaro hiciera tal con otros brutos iguales, Si vemos los animales, Sin sentido racional, Tener afici6n igual A los que les dieron ser ? Pues yo que llego a tener Natural distinto, i habia De intentar tal tirania ?

Ilusion debio de ser. . . . 2

» i

The decima stanza was not so limited in its use as Lope stated in his Arte de hazer comediasj where he asserts that

1 Ibid., 51 lb.

s Ed. Acad., iv, 400. A passage in Lope's El Milagro por los celos, ibid., x, 205b, is more remotely reminiscent of the same thought.

244 MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

it is good for complaints (quexas).1 Rengifo, in the Arte poetica espanola, says of decimas : "they are very appro- priate for conceits (agudos conceptos) and loas and dialogues." In point of fact the decima was very rarely used by the dramatists, and that mostly in pompous soliloquies, which sometimes, as in Lope's El premio de la hermosura,2 turned into dialogue. Calderon was no nice versifier, judged from the standpoint of variety and appropriateness of strophic forms. In the case in question, however, he was most fortu- nate in his choice ; but under the circumstances it would be idle to attempt to decide whether or not his use here of decimas was original with him.

Lope was not the only dramatist to anticipate Calderon. Mira de Mesqua composed certain lines that may be cited next. In his Pruebas de Christo Job avers that he has examined man and has found that :

a napido

para el trauajo y que a sido centre de miserias sumas, como el abe que sus plumas vfana a los vientos dio 6 como el pez que nacio para cortar las espumas.3

Nothing derogatory to man is implied in the comparison. In the same author's Vida y muerte de la monja de Portugal, Maria reproaches herself for her vain aspirations :

El auecilla simple se sustenta del campo, y se alimenta en la regi6n del viento,

JEd. Morel-Fatio, 1. 307. 2Ed/Acad., x, 455.

3 MS. Sibl. noc., Madrid, catal. No. 2763, fol. 5. Eeaders will recall that there is something remotely akin in that classic selection, Ufano, alegre, cdtivo, enamorado . . . often attributed to Mira. There too we have a comparison suggested between man and a bird (el pardo gilgucrillo), a lambkin, etc.

SEGISMTJNDO'S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 245

y se puede dezir tiene su assiento ;

la fiera el monte habita, que vidas roba, y esperancas quita. La concha Eacarada perlas cria, la mina el oro embia,

si bien rusticamente el sol cada manana en el oriente nos muestra su luz pura desterrando la noche triste obscur[a].

Todo tiene principio, origen tuvo, mas no Be" donde huvo intento como el mio, ni tan desatinado desvario, . , .*

As is .seen, Mary contrasts her lot with that of the little bird, the wild beast, the shell, etc., but only in the matter of origin, not of freedom.

Again, in Mira's Examinarse de rey the Infanta solilo- quizes as she sees birds flying about in front of her gallery :

Alii en el ayre miro que andan las aves en hermoso jiro su libertad amando, Alii el aguila sube a coronar de plumas parda nube y los rayos mas puros ba dorando. Sube la exalazion, ama su zentro el calido vapor, y estando dentro de la nube ligera

rebienta por salir y ama su esfera. Alii la impia nube en la rregion segunda conjelada en blancas mariposas desatada ama la tierra que atraves la neue ensenando esta amor el ayre frio, y no quiere aprenderlo el pecho mio.

Si al mar llevo los ojos hallo que ensena amor si abrazar quiere el bien to

1 Porte treinta y ires de, comedias nuevas . . . 1670, 179. The play is of uncertain date, but seems to be one of Mira's early productions.

246 MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

y la esenzion de sus prisiones ama.

Si pierde la soberuia y el aliento

y retrata el firmamento

y su ymagen(a) adora

en sus carteles mora

senos muestran auezes

con guirnaldas de nacar y azu9enas

festejadas de exercitos de pezes,

la concha ama el rrocio

solo no saue amor el pecho mio.

Pues si la tierra beo todo es mostrar amor yedras y parras en olmos y picarras son dotrina y trofeo de amor que en berdes lapos nos ensenan a amar dandose abrafos. Pajarillos y flores se bisten con amor barios colores que las flores son aues immobiles y graues y los pajaros son los rramilletes, que en rusticas canzones y motetes suelen dezir bolantes (aunque atomos de plumas) tambien somos amantes.

En tierra en biento en mar aman en suma aues pezes y fresas (read fieras) y en todas tres esferas se dize aqui ay amor, amor se escriue solo mi pecho sin amores biue.1

What joy it must have been to hear such a stately and well-rounded monologue recited on the stage.2 Attention may be drawn to the refrain which appears for the first time in the passages under discussion.3 The lines moreover recall Tisbea's vaunt in El Burlador de Sevilla :

'MS., 1219, Bibl nac., Madrid. The text is hopelessly corrupt and the variants, which the manuscript offers repeatedly, are of little avail.

2Act I, sc. x.

3 The use of the refrain in monologues is worth insisting upon. Some readers may recall how effective it is in Lisardo's soliloquy in Lope's La Have de la honra (ed. Kivad., n, 129-30). Another version (in decimas) by

SEGISM UNDOES SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 247

Yo de cuantas el mar Pies de jazmin y rosa En sus riberas besa Con fugitivas olas, Sola de amor exenta, Como en ventura sola, Tirana me reserve De sus prisiones locas. . . .

The bold imagery too, for example, atomos de plumas, shows how the literary atmosphere was being prepared for Calderon's flor de pluma (bird), bajel de escamas (fish), etc. The old order of things had to change before Segismundo's pompous decimas could be created.

If some of these excerpts may seem only vaguely remi- niscent of Philo's conceit, and wholly irrelevant to the study of the evolution of this poetical theme, the following sonnet in [Guillen de Castro's El Narciso en su opinion is very im- portant indeed. There can be little doubt but that Calderon had it before him when composing his version :

Apenas tiene pluma el avecilla, Cuando pone en los vientos el cuidado ; El mas menudo pez del mar salado Suele atreverse a su arenosa orilla.

Deja el monte la tierna cervatilla, y aunque con su peligro pace el prado, Las utiles defensas del ganado Pierde tal vez la mansa corderilla.

Sube al aire la tierra mas pesada, Sale de madre el mas pequeno rio, El cobarde mayor saca la espada.

La menor esperanza finge lirio, y solamente la mujer honrada Tiene sin libertad el albedrio ! x

Mira will be found in No hay dicha . . . (Act. Ill) dated 1628. The refrain is interesting :

Y siendo yo racional

es eterna mi tristeza. 'Ed. Rivad, p. 332.

248 MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

According to Sr. Mene"ndez y Pelayo,1 an anonymous play of unknown date, La reina Juana, contains dfoimas that have been imitated by Calderon, or copied from him. The first act of the play is attributed to Calderon, and the third was apparently written by Francisco de Rojas. Catanea there soliloquizes as follows :

Nace con belleza suma

£1 ave, al hielo temblando,

Y apenas mira al sol, cuando

Se halla vestido de pluma ;

Antes que el hambre presuma,

Sustento llega a tener. . . . Nace el bruto mas airado

y apenas se ve nacido,

cuando de una piel vestida. . . . Nace el pez de ovas y lamas,

Tan mudo, que aun no respira,

Y en un instante se mira

Cubierto de alas y escamas. . . , ^ Como, una vez y otra vez, I Cielos ! en discurso igual

No excede lo racional

A la fiera, al aire, al pez ?

Some readers may be familiar with a modern ribald burlesque quoted by Spanish students of to-day :

Nace el buey y con la estaca que le dio naturaleza. . . .

A parody was composed for the benefit of Calderon's contemporaries by Moreto. It occurs in the second act of the Adultera penitente. Theodora enters disguised as a monk and while ringing a bell to wake her fellow-friars she calls to them :

1 Lope, ed. Acad., vii, p. cxxix ; noted by Castro in Una joy a desconocida de Ccdderon, 1881 (2nd ed.), 29 n.

SEGISMUNDO'S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 249

piles os ensena

el paxaro, que del prado fue dulce animada lyra, quando al arbol se retira del blando sueno llamado, apenas del Sol dorado ve la cortina entreabierta, quando las plumas concierta, y dexa el gustoso nido ; y solo el hombre dormido, llamandole, aim no despierta.

La honesta encendida rosa, del Abril la adulacion, quando en el verde boton adormecida reposa ; apenas el Alva hermosa la adora con luz incierta quando alegre, y descubierta sale del lecho florido ; y solo el hombre dormido, llamandole, aun no despierta.

El bullicioso arroyuelo, que libre el campo corrio, y cansado se durmio en el regazo del yelo ; apenas v£ sin recelo, que el Verano abre la puerta, quando su corriente muerta cobra el curso suspendido ; y solo el hombre dormido, llamandole, aun no despierta.

El mas silvestre animal, despues de la noche fria, se levanta con el dia por instinto natural ; solo el hombre racional dormido esta a los luceros de el Sol, anuncios primeros, y mas que Todos sin fee ; yo, Seiior, si desperte, despert£ para ofenderos. . . .*•

1 1 cite from my copy of a sudta, published at Salamanca, Imprenta d la Santa Cruz, pp. 12-13.

6 •

250 MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

We come now to Calderon himself. The thought was very dear to him and he repeated it many times in his early plays.1

In Apolo y Climene, Climene complains because her father allows her no freedom :

Ser hi ja tuya £ es delito ? . . . 4 Qu6" fiera la mas inculta

Despue"s que di6 a sus hi judos

Bruto ser . . .

No les pone en libertad . . . j, Que ave, despues que a sus polios

Nutri6 a piedad de su tierno

Pico, el dia que los ve

De plumas y alas cubiertos,

No los arroja del nido . . .

Pues si la fiera, ave y pez

Nacen libres, ,? como el cielo

Permite que nazca yo

Sin el natural derecho

Del pez el ave y la fiera ? 2

A fuller quotation would show even more clearly how diffuse is this version. In Las Cadenas del Demonio, Irene, imprisoned in a tower, soliloquizes as follows :

£ Que" delito cometi Contra vosotros naciendo, Que fu£ de un sepulcro a otro pasar no mas, cuando veo Que la fiera, el pez y el ave Gozan de los privilegios Del nacer, siendo au estancia La tierra, el agua y el viento ? . . . 3

She proceeds to complain to the gods because they have given her a soul which she has not the privilege of using.

*A11 the parallels referred to have been noted before, by Schmidt, Krenkel, etc. » Ed. Kivad., iv, 156c-157. 'Ed. Rivad., in, 531b.

SEGISMUNDO'S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 251

In Los tres afectos de amor Rosarda under similar circum- stances laments :

Kacional b^rbara vivo, . . .

Porque i qu6 desdicha como

Que no vea en esa vaga

Region de los aires ave,

Que apenas la cubra el ala

La primera pluma, cuando

Arbitro de la campana,

Las prisiones de la noche

No rompa a la luz del alba ? £ Qu6 ansia como que no encuentre

Fiera que apenas cobrada

La primera piel se vea ; . . . iQue* horror como que no mire

Pez que la primera escama

Anna apenas, cuaodo sulque

viviente bajel, las aguas ?

y I que rigor como que

No halle flor que el primer nacar

Apenas rompa al capillo,

Cuando ya goce del aura ;

y que yo con mas instinto,

Con mas razon, con mas alma,

y con menos libertad,

Envidie, sin dar mas causa

Que el delito del nacer,

Ave, fiera, pez y planta 71

We here find much of the completeness without, however, that perfect balance and exquisite imagery of Segismundo's monologue.

Finally, a somewhat novel variant in EGO y Narciso may

be noted :

Undla

Sobre aquella parda sierra Vf tina ave, que es sin duda De todas las otras reina, Segtin lo ufana que vive, Y segun lo alto que vuela.

334.

252 MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

Esta, sobre un verde nido Hecho de pajas y yerbas, Unos polluelos tenia, A quien con su boca mesma Mantenia en cuanto estaban Desnudos de pluma ; apenas Vestidos los vio y con alas, Cuando, las piedades vueltas En rigores, los echo Del nido, para que fuera Del discurso de su vida La necesidad maestra. Entre aquellos dos penascos (Aun alii dura la quiebra) Una leona criaba Sobre pieles de otras fieras Unos cachorros, a quien Desangrada su fiereza Por los pechos, man tenia, Hasta que cobrando f uerzas, Los arrojo de si misma Tratandolos con soberbia, Para que ellos conociesen Lo que les daba en herencia. Pues si una fiera j una ave Del lecho y el nido echan A sus hijos, para que ellos A vivir sin madre aprendan, I Porque* tu, vie*ndome ya Con las alas que en mi engendra El discurso, y con el brio Que mi juventud ostenta, No me despides de ti? *

It is to be regretted that the dates of Calderon's plays, from which citations have just been made, cannot be de- termined. The works doubtless belong to the author's early period, when the theme of the development of an imprisoned soul with its Promethean promptings and untried energies appealed very strongly to him as it had to Lope. But

id., n, 576c.

SEGISMUNDO'S SOLILOQUY ON LIBERTY. 253

whatever may be the chronological order of Calderon's renderings of the conceit in question, there can be no doubt that the poet's art never reached a more intense and perfect note than in Segismundo's soliloquy. Here indeed does he convey to our minds the gloomy despair of one who had brooded from childhood over the loss of what' alone was dear to a king-born soul — liberty. How great must be the genius of a poet who could lend such dignity of form and beauty of color to a thought that had become trite by the third decade of the seventeenth century, when La vida es sueno was composed. Of the objects included in the comparisons Calderon added only the brooklet, and it is unnecessary to justify the addition of the stanza in which he develops the comparison. But the distinctive qualities of the monologue which give it poetical and rhetorical force superior to the charms of other versions seem to be : the appropriateness of the majestic dttimas; an exquisite succes- sion of suggestive imagery elaborated in pompous vocables ; the recurrent refrain which by reason of the changes from " mas alma" " mejor instinto," " mds albedrio" to " mds vida" never grows monotonous, but adds to the cumulative appeal of the soliloquy and prepares step by step, while at the same time welding the stanzas into a single whole, for the triumphant fury of the conclusion. C'est imiter quelqu'un que de planter des choux, — but there are good and bad ways of doing it, and Calderon had it in him to improve the occasion. It is such poets as the author of Segismundo's soliloquy that can profit by Veda's treatise, " On the art of stealing."

MILTON A. BUCHANAN.

XI.— THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH LITERATURE.1

To propose to consider the construction of an ideal or standard undergraduate curriculum, even to the extent only of tentative approach, must seem, at first thought, rather rash and even a bit foolish ; the attainment of any satisfactory result seems extremely difficult, and the result promises to be useless when attained. Yet when we con- sider in connection with the undergraduate years the vast number of the works of English literature and the great body of knowledge concerning them, the question must inevitably arise, What out of all this great mass of material should be presented to the undergraduate? in what order, and by what methods should it be presented ? Again, when we consider that the undergraduate years are but a single stage in the educational life, with distinct limitations, with other stages before and after, and that the curricula of these other stages, especially the secondary school period, have recently been the subject of much discussion having for its aim the construction of a standard or ideal curriculum, it does not seem impossible that some profit may come from such a discussion as that proposed. If it be true that that which has not been treated ought to be treated, then there is ample justification for the choice of this subject. If one may trust the evidence of pedagogical literature this particular subject has not been treated to any great extent. A somewhat careful examination of pedagogical bibliography has failed to disclose a single title bearing directly upon it, and my pedagogical colleagues are unable to refer me to any. To rush in where even pedagogic angels fear to tread surely

1 A paper read before the English Section of the Central Division of the Modern Language Association of America, December 28, 1906. 254

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 255

gives promise of folly; the rashness of the attempt may pardon the folly. With a full appreciation, then, of the difficulties in the way, but with confidence that there are among us idealists to maintain that what is theoretically true must be practicable, provided the means can be found, I venture upon some consideration of the question, What material out of the great field of English literature, includ- ing works of literature, history of literature, and criticism, can best be given to the college student in the several years of his undergraduate life?

In the search for fundamental principles upon which to base an attempt at determination it is natural to distrust one's individual effort ; it is very easy to consider as funda- mental what is in fact only secondary, and to overlook important essential modifications. I present then tentatively as the two chief considerations that should govern in the determination of material and mode of presentation : 1. The nature of the subject ; 2. The educational aim or purpose of the subject. Omitting any general discussion of these con- siderations as applicable to the whole college curriculum, let us consider at once their bearing upon English literature.

I. The nature of the subject. — In defining the nature of a subject the chief consideration is to be given to those characteristics or properties peculiar to it ; characteristics that it has in common with other subjects are of but secondary importance. The position of any subject in the college curriculum is justified by what it has peculiarly its own, rather than by what it has in common with other subjects ; and the principal aim of instruction — not the sole aim, but the principal aim of instruction — should ever be to impart its peculiar element of culture. Now there is almost universal agreement that literature is an art. The study of literature is then, primarily, the study of an art, — not the study of history, not the study of philosophy, not

256 FRANK G. HUBBABD.

the study of science. What, now, is the peculiar thing that art has to offer ? What in art is the supremely important thing ? Here I think that we shall find general agreement that the peculiar, the supreme thing that art has to offer is not generalization, not speculation, not information, but the individual work of art itself. In science the individual phenomenon has no importance except as a manifestation of a general principle. In art the individual phenomenon is all important ; it may be the manifestation of a general tendency or movement, it may be one of many expressions of the same idea or feeling, and an understanding of the general movement and comparison with other expressions may be necessary to its complete interpretation, nevertheless, its interest, its chief human value lies in itself. In the study of the art of literature, then, the thing of supreme importance is the interpretation and appropriation of the individual work of literature.

If this presentation of the matter may seem to place too much emphasis upon the chief object of the study, and to overlook other important objects, it may be well to look upon it from another point of view. Literature may be studied as phenomena, or it may be studied as something to be appropriated, to serve as intellectual and spiritual food. Much of the study of the history of literary move- ments and of the development of literary types is primarily a study of phenomena. It must, of course, be based upon interpretation of works of literature, and is, in its turn, an indispensable aid to complete interpretation and appropria- tion, but its primary object is generalization, scientific or historical. Interpretative study, on the other hand, has for its primary object appropriation. It may call to its aid all knowledge of sources and influences, of general move- ments and tendencies, and of development of types, but its main purpose is not generalization.

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 257

2. The educational aim or purpose of the subject. — I pass now to a brief consideration of the general aims of the undergraduate study of English literature. Without attempting to be exhaustive or logical, I state these as follows : 1. To impart to the average undergraduate the peculiar element of culture to be gained from the inter- pretation and appropriation of the best works of English literature, and to teach him the principles and practice of literary interpretation. 2. To prepare teachers of English literature for secondary schools. 3. To train specialists for graduate work.

This statement recognizes three fairly distinct classes of pupils : specialists, teachers, and those students who elect work in English literature as part of their undergraduate course. The last class is by far the largest and the most important ; it is the most difficult to attract and the hardest to hold ; the results attained with students of this class are generally the least satisfactory. The problems involved in their instruction are considered the most difficult to solve. In any attempt, therefore, to construct an undergraduate curriculum they should receive the first consideration, and courses should be adapted mainly to meet their needs. In what follows attention has been given almost solely to students of this class.

I pass now to a consideration of the present state of the undergraduate curriculum. What is offered here is based upon an examination of the curricula found in the latest catalogues of thirty representative institutions : eight private foundations, Harvard, Yale, Columbia, Princeton, Cornell, Stanford, Chicago, Northwestern ; thirteen state universities, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska, Missouri, Kansas, Texas, Cali- fornia ; seven New England colleges, Bowdoin, Dartmouth, Middlebury, Brown, Williams, Amherst, Wesleyan ; and two

258 FRANK G. HUBBABD.

western colleges, Beloit and Colorado. It may be objected that any inferences based upon the evidence of college cata- logues must be untrustworthy in a high degree ; accuracy has never been a striking characteristic of these publications. The conclusions that have been drawn, however, are of such a general nature that the probability of serious error is not very great. A wrong interpretation may have been given in some individual cases, but the number of these is not large enough to invalidate inferences concerning general condi- tions and tendencies.

The courses have been grouped under the following heads :

1. General and introductory courses.

2. Courses on periods and movements.

3. Courses on literary types.

4. Courses on individual authors.

5. Miscellaneous small groups.

a) Literary criticism and interpretation. 6) Poetics, metrics.

c) Foreign influence, foreign literature in translation,

English Bible.

d) Teachers' courses.

Although this classification is a rather rough one, it will be recognized, I believe, as a natural one. The assign- ment of an individual course to a group is in some cases a matter of difficulty, owing to the small amount of informa- tion given, and even when the statement seems to char- acterize the course plainly, there is the possibility that in the actual giving of the course the emphasis is not that indicated by the statement. For example, a course called The Predecessors of Shakespeare, may put the emphasis upon the works of individual authors and not consider the development of the drama ; again, a course called Words- worth and Coleridge may put the emphasis upon the Romantic Movement.

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 259

In the first group, general and introductory courses, have been put general survey courses on the history of English literature, courses introductory to the study of literature, and courses in American literature. Nineteen institutions have the general survey course, ten have the course intro- ductory to the study of literature, and five have both of these courses. Of the whole number of institutions (30), then, 24 have either one or both of these courses, and 6 have no general introductory courses. Two universities have two courses in general survey, and one has two courses intro- ductory to the study of literature. It is to be noted here that the general survey course is much more common than the course introductory to the history of literature ; there are 21 of the former and 11 of the latter.

In American literature, 29 courses are given in 25 institu- tions. Twenty-two of these are general survey courses, two are on New England writers, one on the South, three on special study of a few writers, and one on significant move- ments. The prevalence of the general survey course is to be noted.

In the second group, courses treating periods and move- ments, there are 135 courses. There is, of course, much variation among institutions in the number of these and much variation in their length ; the length generally varies in inverse ratio to the number. The smaller colleges have few, the large universities many, so many, in fact, that one might be led to expect that, with money and men enough, the periods would be shortened to a decade.

Next to be considered are the courses on the various literary types. Of these there are 87, distributed as follows : drama 30, novel (or prose fiction) 20, epic 4, lyric 6, ballad 5, metrical romance 1, essay 7, biography 2, letter writers 1, miscellaneous (better classed here than elsewhere) 11 (prose 6, Arthurian legend 4, periodical literature 1). The drama

260 FRANK G. HUBBARD.

and the novel, with a total of 50 courses out of 87, seem to have received very full treatment, while the epic, with but 4 courses, appears to have been neglected. Many of the courses in this class, perhaps the majority, treat the histor- ical development in English literature of the type under consideration, and some trace this development in other literatures as well. Such courses are, in their nature, very much like the courses of the preceding group, those on periods and movements.

The next group I have called individual authors ; it is not, however, confined to courses treating only one writer, but includes also all those in the announcement of which several authors are named, without any statement concern- ing a period or the development of a type. It is probable that some of the courses classed under periods or types belong here. Such courses are sometimes rather closely confined to the study of a few representative writers, and the study of these may be as complete as that given in courses where several individual authors are named.

The total number of courses in this group is 85, distrib- uted as follows : single authors, Shakespeare 35, Chaucer 14, Milton 8, Browning 7, Spenser 3, Tennyson 3, Beau- mont and Fletcher 1, Bacon 1, Coleridge 1 ; groups of two, Chaucer and Spenser 1, Tennyson and Browning 1, Shelley and Keats 1, Shelley and Wordsworth 1, Carlyle and Ruskin 1, Arnold and Newman 1 ; groups of more than two, 4. Forty per cent, of these courses are on Shakespeare, nearly sixty per cent, are on Chaucer or Shakespeare, and 70 out of the total of 85 are confined to six authors, Shakes- peare, Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, Browning, Tennyson.

The following points may be of interest. Courses in Shakespeare are given in 25 of the 30 institutions, and in six of these more than one course is given. The 14 Chaucer courses are all given as courses in literature ; in only two

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 261

cases is a knowledge of Anglo-Saxon required. For some reason, Browning study seems to thrive best west of the Hudson ; of the seven courses enumerated all are given in state universities of the Middle West; in one of these a half-year is devoted to select dramas and a half-year to Sordello.

The last group, miscellaneous, need not detain us long. Ten institutions have courses in literary criticism with a total of twelve courses, four of which, or one-third, are on the history of English literary criticism. Nine universities have special courses in poetics, metrics, versification ; two have courses on the theory of poetry. Courses treating foreign influence are given in four places. Foreign litera- ture in translation is studied in four courses of varying nature, — Great Books, Greek and Latin Classics, Greek Drama, Dante in English. To these may be added nine courses in the English Bible, given in six institutions. Eight courses for teachers are given in as many state uni- versities ; these are, however, general in their nature, not confined to literature.

I give now a brief summary of the results of this investi- gation as far as they concern the four principal groups of courses: 1. General Introductory Courses, 2, Courses on Periods, 3. Courses on Types, 4. Courses on Individual Authors.

1. General Introductory Courses. There are 21 courses on the General Survey of English Literature, 11 courses on Introduction to the Study of Literature. On the subject of American Literature there are 22 general survey courses and 5 more special courses.

2. Courses on Periods and Movements. The total num- ber here is 135. There seems to be a tendency to multiply courses of this type.

3. Courses on Literary Types. The number of courses in

262 FRANK G. HUBBARD.

this group is 87 ; 30 of these are on the drama, 20 on the novel, 4 on the epic, 6 on the lyric.

4. Courses on Individual Authors. Total number 85, 40 per cent, of which are on Shakespeare, and nearly 60 per cent, on Shakespeare or Chaucer ; 70 out of the 85 are con- fined to six authors, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Milton, Brown- ing, Tennyson, Spenser.

It is to be noted that group 1 (general courses) has much in common with group 2 (periods and movements) ; the general survey courses generally differ from those on periods only in the extent of time covered. In order, then, to get the whole number of historical courses, we must add to the 135 of group 2 the 21 general survey courses on English literature and the 22 courses of the same type on American literature. This will give a total of 178 his- torical courses. But, further than this, a large majority of the courses on literary types (group 3) are historical in their nature, i. e., they treat the development of the types to a greater or less extent. For example, several of the courses classed under the novel are courses on prose fiction, some of which begin with the Elizabethan age, and others much farther back ; courses on the drama, also, in the majority of cases, are concerned with the history of its development. It is evident, then, that there is a rather close relation between courses of this group (literary types) and those of group 2 (periods and movements). It would, of course, misrepresent the actual state of the case to put these two groups together under the head Historical Courses ; never- theless, in making up the total number of courses chiefly historical in character, we should add to the 178 courses of groups 1 and 2 a majority of the 87 courses in group 3.

We have seen that the 85 courses on individual authors are confined, for the most part, to six writers, and chiefly to Shakespeare and Chaucer. A comparison of this group with

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 263

the courses mainly historical in character brings out clearly the fact that the latter predominate very strongly in the undergraduate curriculum. It would be wrong to base any exact quantitative determination upon the figures presented here ; the classification is too rough and uncertain ; never- theless, when all due allowance has been made, it is plainly evident that in the present undergraduate curriculum his- tory of literature holds the chief place, historical method prevails, the main approach to authors is through literary history.

Perhaps it may be well to turn aside for a moment to consider some of the influences that have shaped the present curriculum. What I have to suggest here applies, for the most part, only to the larger institutions.

The first influence to be considered is the training of teachers. In the case of teachers the results of university training are to a certain extent visible ; points of strength and weakness are made prominent by iteration. The inspec- tion of secondary schools in connection with accrediting, and the unceasing agitation for better work in English literature in these schools, have constantly impressed upon university instructors the necessity of adapting material and methods to the training of teachers. This influence has been good in so far as it has made undergraduate work more definite and effective; but it has been bad, I believe, in so far as it has tended to magnify the importance of this class of students, and to divert attention from the needs of the much larger class that want English literature for its own sake rather than as a part of professional equipment.

A much stronger influence than the training of teachers is the influence of graduate courses. Even a superficial exam- ination of catalogues will show that no definite principles govern the distinction made between undergraduate and graduate courses. One of the largest universities opens to

264 FRANK G. HUBBABD.

graduates all but one of its very large number of under- graduate courses ; another offers but six undergraduate courses, all the others are graduate; a western state uni- versity does not credit as graduate work any course open to undergraduates. The ordinary curriculum groups its courses under the three familiar heads, " Open to under- graduates," "Open to undergraduates and graduates," and " Open to graduates." The second (open to undergraduates and graduates) is generally by far the largest class. In many cases one cannot help feeling, as he looks over courses in this group, that they are, for the most part, courses wholly undergraduate in character, which should not be open to graduates (for credit) and courses wholly graduate in character, which should not be open to undergraduates. In some institutions the number of graduate students is as yet rather small, and the number of strictly graduate courses that can be offered is consequently not large. The number of men ready and eager to give advanced courses is generally comparatively large. In order to get students for such courses it is necessary to open them to undergraduates ; and thus it comes to pass that some courses graduate in nature are brought into the undergraduate curriculum.

A third influence is that coming from the nature of the research work done by members of the instructional force. In these days of what one of my colleagues irreverently calls "frenzied research," when publication is the indispensable condition of promotion, it is not to be wondered at that the principal interest of many university teachers lies in investigation. If the field be English literature, the subject will almost inevitably be concerned with the history of literature rather than with interpretation and criticism. A natural consequence of this is to magnify the importance of the historical point of view, to give undue weight to details, to over-emphasize sources, influences, movements; to look

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 265

at literature as phenomena rather than as material for appropriation.

Another influence closely associated with the preceding, and perhaps not to be clearly distinguished from it, is that coming from special knowledge of certain subjects by instructors. The desire to impart one's special knowledge is very natural ; to impart it is to clarify one's own percep- tion of it. Then, too, such special courses exemplify the great doctrine of academic freedom (Lehrfreiheit) and shed glory on the curriculum. Again, if the applicant for per- mission to give such a course is oppressed by the burden of much theme work, it seems a labor of mercy to grant his request. Thus it comes about, now and then, that courses wholly unsuitable for undergraduates throw the curriculum out of balance and proportion.

Thus far have been considered the general principles that should govern in the shaping of the undergraduate cur- riculum, the present state of that curriculum, and some of the influences that have shaped it. There remain to be presented some questions that arise when we come to apply these principles to the construction of a standard or ideal curriculum.

In the discussion of principles in the first part of this paper the attempt was made to derive them from a con- sideration of the nature of the subject and of its educational aim or purpose. It was found that the characteristic,, unique, supremely important thing that the study of liter- ature has to offer, is the interpretation and appropriation of the best works of literature; that the chief aim of under- graduate courses is to help the average student (not the teacher or specialist) to interpret and appropriate some of these works, and to teach him the principles of literary interpretation, in order that he may be able to appropriate; others for himself.

266 FRANK G. HUBBARD.

If, now, these fundamental considerations are well grounded, it follows that our undergraduate courses should be chiefly courses in interpretation. This interpretative study, as it advances in breadth and intensity, should naturally involve more and more of the historical element, not so much for its own sake as for the sake of a more perfect interpretation. To give the first place to courses in interpretation is not to exclude from the curriculum courses chiefly historical in character. Such courses will have an important place, for the study of the history of literature has its peculiar element of culture, different from that offered by the study of political, economic, or social history, or the history of philosophy. The popular objec- tion to such courses is that the vital things of literature are neglected and sacrificed to the acquiring of facts concerning its history. This objection is no more valid against the historical study of literature than it is against all other historical study. It has great force, however, if historical courses are given the most important place in the under- graduate curriculum, and if such courses are the only ones offered to students that wish but one, two, or three courses.

This brings us naturally to the question of the introduc- tory course. Our examination of present curricula shows that the more common type of introductory course is the general survey of English literature. Now, if the con- siderations advanced above are true, the introductory course should rather be one. that has for its aim to teach the elements of interpretation, and to apply them to certain masterpieces. The class in the introductory course is generally a large one, containing students of different degrees of culture and with a great variety of tastes and interests. This fact suggests the advisability of grouping in small divisions students of like tastes and interests, and, as far as possible, adapting the material presented to the

THE UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULUM IN ENGLISH. 267

character of each division. It may be objected that it is not advisable to make any one course prerequisite to all others. If this objection seem a serious one, it may be suggested that instead of one course of this type there be offered three or four courses on individual authors or groups of authors, in each of which the principles of inter- pretation are taught indirectly through the study of their works; any one of these courses to be prerequisite to all others. The problem of the introductory course is too large and difficult to be treated adequately here ; both time and wisdom are wanting. The discussion held in this section two years ago called forth many valuable suggestions, to which, no doubt, much will be added in the discussion to-day.

However this problem may be solved, there will remain the question of the succession or gradation of the remaining courses. One of the effects of the free elective system has been a tendency to abandon to a greater or less extent a gradation of courses, and this tendency seems to have been strong in English literature, perhaps from the nature of the subject. According to the published curricula of some English departments it appears to be possible to elect almost any of the remaining courses after one prerequisite course has been taken. This tendency I believe to be a bad one. It seems to me that much undergraduate teaching loses efficiency by the presence in the same class of students of widely different degrees of maturity and of widely different degrees of advancement in the pursuit of the study. This cannot be wholly avoided, and any narrow, rigid line of advancement is not advisable ; as far as possible a variety of courses should be open to the student at each stage of his progress. I believe, however, that we should go so far as to group courses according to the four years of undergraduate

268 FRANK G. HUBBARD.

life and require students to make progress through these groups and not over them.

Should undergraduate courses be limited in number ? The natural answer to this, I am sure, will be a rather strong negative. Still, it may be worth while to consider whether such a limitation would not eliminate some of the special courses better adapted to graduates ; whether teach- ing would not gain in efficiency if the effort of a department should be concentrated on a smaller number of courses ; whether, finally, we should not have more constantly before us the question, What subjects and methods are best adapted to meet the needs of undergraduate students?

FRANK G. HUBBARD.

XII.— ON THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF GUIL- LAUME DE LORRIS' ROMAN DE LA ROSE.

Our positive knowledge concerning the date and author- ship of the first part of the Roman de la Rose is wholly derived from the lines in which Jean de Meun refers to his predecessor, Guillaume de Lorris :

Ve*s-ci Guillaume de Lorris,

Cui Jalousie, sa contraire,

Fait tant d'angoisse et de mal traire,

Qu'il est en peril de morir. Michel's Edition, 11291-94.

Ci se reposera Guillaume,

Le cui tombel soit plains de baume. 11326, 11327.

Car quant Guillaumes cessera

Jehanb le continuera

Apres sa mort, que ge ne mente,

Ans trespasses plus de quarante. 11352-55.

The query, which naturally arises, on reading these words, is how Jean de Meun obtained his information, and in the absence of any hints on his part we are forced to take refuge in surmise. It may have been derived from notes written on the margin of the manuscript of the poem, but it is more natural to suppose that it was furnished Jean de Meun by the persons who loaned him the manuscript. These may have been friends or even relatives of Guillaume de Lorris. They were probably his contemporaries. For he himself tells us that he was but twenty-five years old when he began his romance (11. 21-46), while Jean de Meun asserts that he took up the unfinished work some forty years after it had been laid down. So that by extending this figure to its limit of forty-five (it is more likely forty-one or forty-two), men born in the same year with Guillaume de Lorris would not have exceeded the Psalmist's measure of active life,

,269

270 F. M. WARREN.

when Jean de Meun began his sequel. Some one of these sexagenarians would have had the manuscript of the Roman de la Rose in his keeping. He would have told Jean de Meun about it, and finally produced it. Jean de Meun would have read it, copied it and added his continuation.

This explanation of the preservation of Guillaume de Lorris' poem and the sources of Jean de Meun's knowledge concerning the older poet's fate is the natural one, and there- fore plausible. It is also supported by facts of a different order, which belong to the domain of negative evidence, but which are entirely pertinent. The more significant of these facts is the absence of any reference in French literature to the Roman de la Rose, until it was made popular by Jean de Meun. Such absence of literary allusion would point very decidedly towards the existence of but one manuscript, and this manuscript in the custody of persons who did not write.1 The other fact is, that of the one hundred and fifty or more extant manuscripts of the poem none is earlier than the years assigned to its completion by Jean de Meun.2

*The claim that Thibaut, the author of the Roman de la Poire, was acquainted with the Roman de la Rose before it came into Jean de Meun's hands, is considered farther on. Waiving this connection for the time being, I know of but three references to the Rose which may antedate the year 1300. They are found in a verse translation of Solomon's Song (in J. Bonnard's Les Traductions de la Bible en versfrancais au moyen dge, p. 164), which may have been made before the end of the thirteenth century, in Nicole de Margival's Panttere d> Amour (11. 1029-1038), and in Mahieu de Poiriers' Cour d* Amour (see Tobler's Abhandlungen, p. 288). The first two references are to Guillaume de Lorris' part, the last one to Jean de Meun's — In an article in the Bibliotheque de I'Ecole des Chartres (year 1907, pp. 249-271) E. Langlois shows that Gui de Mori wrote a continua- tion to Guillaume de Lorris in 1290. Langlois thinks it more than prob- able that Gui de Mori did not know at that time about Jean de Meun's work on the romance. But as some fifteen years had passed since Jean de Meun had begun his sequel (which Langlois sets towards the year 1275), such ignorance on the part of Gui de Mori appears quite incredible, especially since Jean de Meun had translated Vegetius in the meantime.

2Grober, Grundriss, vol. n, p. 735. Guillaume de Lorris' own rnanu-

GUILLAUME DE LORRIS' ROMAN DE LA ROSE. 271

We therefore do not see any valid reason for doubting Jean de Meun's testimony concerning Guillaume de Lorris. Its very indefiniteness implies a knowledge of the older poet's career on the part of Jean de Meun's associates. Consequently the time when this testimony was offered becomes of primary interest. It is generally accepted that the continuation of the Roman de la Rose was begun after Conradin's execution by Charles d'Anjou, in October, 1268, and before Charles's assumption of the crown of Jerusalem in 1277. For the poet includes the former event in his eulogy of Charles but does not mention the latter.1 But the limits of this period may be narrowed by a few years. After the passage which tells of Conradin's death, there is this account of the fate of his ally :

Henri, frere le roi d'Espaigne,

Plain d'orguel et de tralson,

Fist-il morir en sa prison. 7396-7398.

This statement is incorrect. Henry of Castille, a notorious soldier of fortune, had in fact been handed over to Charles, and sentenced to imprisonment for life in the castle of Santa Maria in Apulia.2 But when Charles died he was * released through the intercession of Pope Honorius IV N (1285-1287), and some years later (1294) returned to Spain. There he took active part in the troubles of the country, and in 1295 succeeded in obtaining the important post of governor to the king, a minor. Jean de Meun had been told of Henry's sentence, and had assumed that he had suc- cumbed to his confinement, as prisoners usually did. Still, in order to speak of his death in such positive terms, some years must have passed since the incarceration, two at least, probably five or six. Consequently this passage could not

script, undoubtedly of inferior material and loaded with corrections, would hardly have been considered worth saving.

1 See lines 7392-7395. 2G. Villani, Cronica, VH, c. 27.

9

272 F. M. WARREN.

have been written before 1271 at the earliest, and may not have been written before 1274.1

Taking then 1271 (1274) as the earliest date for Jean de Meun's sequel and 1277 as the latest, and interpreting his " plus de quarante " as forty-one or forty-two, we get the years lying between 1229 (1232) and 1236 as the season of Guillaume de Lorris7 composition. He would be younger than Raoul de Houdan, the first notable writer of allegory in French, younger than Gerbert de Montreuil, the author of a sequel to Perceval and the Roman de la Violette. His part of the Roman de la Rose would be contemporaneous with Huon de Mori's Tornoiement de 1J Antichrist and the Provenyal romance of Flamenca. But unlike these produc- tions it would have remained unnoticed by the public until it was revealed by the ambition of Jean de Meun.

Yet what of the relation of the Roman de la Poire to the

first part of the Roman de la Rose ? Did the author of the

Poire, Thibaut, know it before it came into Jean de Menu's

hands? Its editor makes this claim, and his conclusions

have not been seriously challenged.2 There is no question

f of the borrowings of the Poire from the Rose — unless we

\jassume that the Rose borrowed from the Poire, which seems

chronologically impossible, because the Poire contains a

definite historical allusion. In extolling the charms of his

lady Thibaut is emboldened to say :

Qu'onques ne nasqui sa pareille

Des le tens sainte Elysabel. 1639, 1640.

1 As stated above, Langlois thinks Jean de Meun wrote towards 1275, but reserves his reasons. — Jean de Meun's error on the subject of Henry's fate is not without bearing on the poet's biography. Had he survived Henry's appointment of 1295, he would undoubtedly have changed the lines which took Henry's death for granted. That he did not do this would imply that he was not alive in 1295, or at the latest in 1296.

2 See the Roman de la P&ire, edited by • Fr. Stehlich, Halle, 1881, pp. 9, 10.

GUILLAUME DE LORRIS' ROMAN DE LA ROSE. 273

The " Elysabel " of the comparison is Elizabeth of Hun- gary, who, after a short life of adversity, died in 1231, at the age of twenty-four. She is the Elizabeth of Tann- hduser. In 1235 she was canonized. Therefore Thibaut is writing after 1235. But we think that he was writing long after 1235, four or five decades afterwards, and for various reasons. Why should Thibaut transform Elisabeth into Elysabel ? How could he assume that his readers had heard of a German saint recently deceased, whose life had not been connected with wars and conquests ? Both of these questions may be answered by one answer.

Some time after Elizabeth's canonization — between 1256 and 1269, and probably in 1268 — the Parisian poet Kute- beuf was commissioned to turn into French verse a Latin account of her life. The poem was to be presented to Isabella of France, queen of Navarre. Now in this version the name of the saint underwent a change in the final syllable. It became Ysabiaus in the subjective case and Elysabel in the objective.1 The explanation for this volun- tary confusion of Elizabeth and Isabella is obvious, and it may even be that the name of the recipient determined the choice o^_the_saint. Rutebeuf's morphology is accounted ' for. Thibaut' s is not. But if we admit that both form and allusion were given him by the vogue of Rutebeufs poem, . t we see at once why he spells Elisabeth Elysabel, and also ! why he alludes to her at all. In other words, the Roman de la Poire was written after Rutebeuf ?s Vie sainte Elysabel \ had spread abroad throughout the reading circles of France J ' the reputation of the young landgravine and the peculiar spelling of her name.

Other features of the Poire support this assumption.

lSee JubinaPs edition of Kutebeuf (La Vie sainte Elysabel), vol. n, pp. 311-313, 11. 17, 29, 32, 37, p. 318, 1. 200, etc.

274 F. M. WARREN.

The very words, " Des le tens sainte Elysabel," indicate a generation later at least. They are not the utterance of a contemporary. Thibaut's fondness for acrostics points to the last years of the thirteenth century, and Bartsch long ago noticed that the larger number of the lyric refrains cited by him are to be found in Renart le Nouvel1 (1288-). So that all the evidence which can be gleaned from the Roman de la Poire itself would place its composition after the second part of the Roman de la Rose, rather than between the two sections.

If we may consider it settled then that Guillaume de Lorris wrote early in the fourth decade of the thirteenth century, in 1233 or 1234, the content of his work would be typical of its environment. The subjective imaginings of the poet would be supplemented by scenes alike realistic and narrative. And an analysis of the beginning of his poem furnishes this theory with a basis of fact. In the first fifteen hundred lines of the Rose, or more than a third of Guillaume de Lorris' whole composition, traditional, conven- tional material is predominant. Hardly does he introduce his subject before he is impelled to describe the spring time and his own morning toilet (11. 46—128). Then he returns to complete his outlined plan with a purely allegorical delineation of vices and misfortunes, which he sees on the park wall (11. 129-462). His conception thus firmly estab- lished, he proceeds to win over his audience by pictures with which it was familiar, such as descriptions of the park itself (11. 463-512, 635-730, 1293-1311, 1331-1424), in no way differing from the parks of Thebes, Floire et Blanche- fleur, Cliges, Galeran de Bretagne and the Tornoiement de VAntechrist, portraits of women and details of their dress (11. 527-576, 803-868, 990-1026, 1059-1114, 1169-

1 Zeitschrift filr romanische Philologie, vol. V, pp. 571-575.

GUILLAUME DE LORRIS' ROMAN DE LA ROSE. 275

1180), which recall the beauty and elegance of the heroines of Meraugis de Portlesguez and Blancandin, a eulogy of Gawain (11. 1181-1196), and finally the story of Narcissus (11. 1433-1514). And thru these scattered passages of objective composition, some six hundred lines in all, con- necting them like a thread, runs the postulated allegory, persistent yet unobtrusive.

But portraits of maidens, delight in nature and tales from mythology are not peculiar to the first decades of the thir- teenth century. They begin, as we know, with the begin- nings of the romantic schppl^of_medieval France, with the great poems which seek their subjects among the themes of classical antiquity, with Thebes] Eneas, and froie. They do not indicate any "particular date. But in the Roman de la Rose another scene is pictured which points more directly to its own time and surroundings. After the poet enters the shadowy park he follows to the right a fragrant foot-path, and is led to an open meadow, where a company of youth is diverting itself by treading the measures of the carole dance (11. 731-780). This form of amusement was not, to be sure, an invention of the thirteenth century. It seems to have existed for many generations. Few poets, from Wace and the author of Thebes down, fail to mention it. But only in Jbhejoems of the first third of the thirteenth century are the movements of the dance described. Towards the ImddTeof the reign of Philip Augustus it seems to have been taken up by the nobility, and cultivated with all the ardor of a fashionable accomplishment. Its presence, there- fore, in the Roman de la Rose, and the detail with which it is described there, are wholly in keeping with the custom of that generation.1

1 Our information concerning the carole dance seems to be mainly derived from Guittaume de Dole (1199-1201), Meraugis de Pvrtlesguez (1210?-

276 F. M. WARREN.

From what has been said, it will be seen that objective material of a kind similar to the material which is found in romantic poems contemporaneous with the Roman de la Rose, or preceding it, forms a large part of the first third of Guillaume de Lorris' narrative, in fact over one half of that third. Yet it would not be just to stress the importance of this fact unduly. For the remaining half, or seven hundred lines, is purely subjective and creative, three hundred lines being filled with the portrayal of the figures on the park wall and four hundred employed in sustaining the thread of the allegory. What Guillaume de Lorris has accomplished in this beginning of his story has been to conciliate his audience. He has attained this result by judiciously blend- ing certain essential episodes of his main_conception with descriptions to which hishearers were accustomed. Having in this~manner~~gained their attention, and at the same time led them to accept unconsciously his central thought, he is at last free to abandon the conventional allurements of current poetry and concentratehis talents on the develop- ment of his real idea. And this is what he~does, without further digressiontKan the long"^assage in which the God "of Love lays down rules for the lover's guidance (11. 2067- 2592), and, considerably later, the fine sketch of a baronial stronghold (11. 4409-4475). The latter description is wholly objective. But the rules of the God of Love, while not allegorical in themselves,, are yet didactic._and (jo^notu notice- ably detract from the force of the image which the poet is trying To^present.

1215?), Guillaume le Marechal (-1225-), the Roman de la Vioktte (-1225- 1230) and the Roman de la Rose. The description given by Guillaume de Lorris ranks next in definiteness to the one given by the author of Guil- laume de Dole. In addition to thfL-TT^ftfa nf H<f popularity at this time which these^poems-eSeTj frequent allusions to the carole dance, which occur in the Carolingian ^£ic_ofthis period, loathe iiQDtemporaneous Poems on the tGnisades' andTIn1 Gautier^Je Coincy* s JlfiracLcs-de la Vierge (-1220- ), attest the favor which it then enjoyed in fashionable society.

ROMAN DE LA ROSE. 277

Accordingly we should not characterize the Roman de la Rose as an allegorized roman d'aventure. Tt is rather a new creation, a romantic allegory which_has assimilated to itself some of fhe~ striking^features of the courtly romans d'aventure, and has made them

of its own thougM^-^oFTiaTFa century this end had been sought by writers both in Latin and in the vernacu- lar, Jean de_Hauteyjlle__witb. his A^hMremus_^(l 184- 1185), Alamjje Lille ( tl202Twith his De Planctu Natum and Anticlaudianus, Raoul de Houdan with his more limited Voyages and Roman des Ailes, Huon de Me"ri with his pious Tornoiement de V Antechrist. But in neither Latin nor French had the ideal been realized. To combine the differ-

ent kinds of allegory which were_sflatitprf>(l h^rp and thrnnnt thp literature of the ...twelfth ...century into-one. con- tinuous, -coLLsis lent, romantic" naTrative' hadTprove (T beyond the str£n^^_pJL^ny_.auihor, The accomplishment of this \ task had been reserved for Guinaumejfe2JiQrr^s- Alone of / the poets of the day he succeeded in mingling fact and fancy in a wqrk^jvvhose content and style place it easily above any of the efforts of his predecessors or contem- poraries. The misfortune of it was that his work remained unknown to his own times. For had this new kind of imaginative writing received at the beginning of the reign of Louis IX the powerful assistance of the Roman de la Rose, we may believe that romantic allegory would have restored to France the sway of subjective composition, which had dominated its poetry from the days of the First Crusade to the disillusionment of the siege of Acre. Guillaume de Lorris gone, the Roman de la Rose buried, the repentant verse of a Raoul de Houdan and the personified chivalry of a Huon de M£ri could not avail to check the inroads of an arid, desiccating realism. Another generation and the oppor- tunity had passed, and even Guillaume de Lorris' sincere

278 F. M. WARREN.

and simple romance was destined to receive an erudite and cynical ending.1

The sources of the Roman de la Rose, whether in the field of allegory or the field of romance, have been the subject of many thoro and productive studies.2 Few details possessing any importance can have escaped such vigilant scrutiny. There remains, however, one passage, at least, which has not been commented upon, and yet which seems worthy of occupying a fairly large place in the annals of medieval allegory. It is found in one of the earliest — perhaps the earliest — of t\\e~rbmans ^ove?^^,Jn_the__£pem of Oracle by It was probably in the years 1166 or

^

Il67 that Gautier turned into rime, for the diversion of no fewer than three noble patrons, the story of the rise of Hera- clius from the state of^sfevery to the position of "emperor ofj-hft T^gLgt.3 In this poem we are told how the future sovereign, while still in bonds, had been ordered to select a

1 Other features of Guillaume de Lorris' composition, as similes, proverbs, and familiar expressions, correspond in general with the style of his day and do not call for particular mention. A notable exception to this uniformity is made, however, by the saying,

Lors feras chastiaus en Espagne, 2454,

of which no other example has been noted. — Also the name of "Fontaine d' Amors" (1. 1605), given by the poet to the spring in which Narcissus drowned himself, seems unique, though he at once adds : Dont plusors ont en maint endroit Parle", en romans et en livre. 1606, 1607.

This name recurs, to be sure, in Watriquet de Couvin ( -1319-1329- ), a century later, but may have been taken from our romance. It is possible that Guillaume de Lorris invented the appellation himself, for the Nar- cissus spring and the instances to which he refers may be allusions to the story of that misguided youth,

2 Preeminent among them is E. Langlois's well-known Origines et Sources du Roman de la Rose

3&'acle, edited by E. Loseth, in the Biblioiheque franchise du moyen dge, vol. vi.

GUILLAUME DE LORRIS* ROMAN DE LA ROSE. 279

fitting bride for his master, the king. A general congress of marriageable maidens had been called, and Heraclius was to estimate at their just value their physical attractions and moral character. He goes from one to the other, as they are assembled, halting now and then before a maiden unusually endowed, but only to divine very quickly that soul and body are in no instance in complete accord. Finally he comes upon one who is physically perfect. But as he looks at her intently he sees that her modesty is not invincible. Or as the poet words it :

Je ne vi onques nule tour

Rendre sanz plait et sanz estour.

Eracles voit bien que li rose

N'est pas de tel paliz (tar, oudour] enclose

Qu'il s'en Fust pjourjfqlz tenuz

Teulqurpeust^stre venuz^ 2394-2399. *

This metaphor is not an accident. It is too well formu- lated to"be anythinjyjbut a deliberate figure oF^peech^care- fully considered by the author. Besides, it is not the only place \vhere Uautier likens a woman to a rose. For Hera- clius, having condemned this candidate, pursues his quest and finds another, whose beauty and virtue are equally complete. But this paragon, on close inspection, is seen to be ill-tempered. There's a nettle near that rose :

Mais que 1'ortie est od le rose. 2508

N'affert pas a 1'empereur

Qu'il ait 1'ortie entour le fleur. 2510, 2511.

And once again, when the ideal woman has been revealed, and made empress, her husband is warned against subjecting the " rose " to harsh treatment during his absence :

1 In this citation I have used the variant for 1. 2398, and have emended both 1. 2398 and 1. 2399.

280 F. M. WARREN.

Sire, ne malmetez le rose,

Car s'ele est quatre mois enclose

Tart en vendrez al repentir. 3136-3138.

There is no doubt, therefore, that Gautier deliberately J^— a^ose^as o ther poets had probably him an^Ueertainly-did after him. _ He had com- bined this simile — or some predecessor had effected the combination — with a metaphor in which the rose-maiden is protected against the enterprise of a suitor by a barrier- palissade. In other words, a poet of the reign of Louis VII states in outline the plot of the Roman de la Hose.

But how did this plot gain entrance into Oracle f Did Gautier invent the metaphor himself, or did he borrow it from some one else ? Originality was not Gautier' s forte. XA more time-serving, eclectic writer than he can hardly be imagined. Still if the manuscripts agreed among them- selves in making the barrier which defends the rose a palissade, we should hardly be justified, on general grounds, merely, in denying to Gautier the credit for this striking figure. The substitution of _a palissade for a hedge is obvious. The poet had just compared a woman's virtue to* a toaster, Palissades formed the outer defences of a castle, and would naturally suggest themselves in any repetition of the comparison. " Paliz " must have been the word which Gautier selected. But why the variant " oudour " in line 2397? It resembles "paliz" neither in form nor sense, and is clearly due to the aberration of a copyist, an aberra- tion which is apparently incomprehensible.

Possibly an examination of the lines in which Guillaume de Lorris develops the thought of his narrative may be helpful here. He has brought himself, the lover, to the Fountain of Love, and sees, reflected in its depths, rose- bushes covered with roses, and the hedge which intervenes :

281

Choisi rosiers chargids de roses,

Qui estoient en un detor

D'une haie clos tout entor. 1624-1626.

When he turns towards the roses, their perfume greets him and penetrates to his soul :

Et sachie's que quant g'en fui pres,

L'oudor des roses savorees

M'entra ens jusques es corees,

Que por noient fusse embasmds. 1634-1637.

At all risks he must pluck one in order to smell its fragance :

Se assailli ou mesame's

Ne cremisse estre, g'en cuillisse

Au mains une que ge tenisse

En ma main, por Fodor sentir. 1638-41.

But when he tries to reach them, briars bar his way :

Ains m'aprochasse por le prendre,

Se g'i osasse la main tendre.

M£s chardon felon et poignant

M'en aloient moult esloignant ;

Espines tranchans et agues,

Orties et ronces crochues

Ne me lessieTent avant traire,

Que ge m'en cremoie mal faire. 1681-88 ; cf. 1808-14.

Or it was a hedge which stopped him :

Li rosiers d'une haie furent

Clos environ, si cum il durent. 2791, 2792.

And it is a hedge which Bel Accueil urges him to pass in order to breathe in the perfume of the flowers :

Biaus amis chiers, se il vous plest,

Passes la haie sans arrest,

Por Podor des roses sentir. 2809-11.

Finally, when the lover reaches the roses and kisses the

8

282 F. M. WARREN.

flower he had desired so long, it is the odor which assuages his bitter grief:

Car une odor m'entra ou cors,

Qui en a trait la dolor fors,

Et adoucit les maus d'amer

Qui me soloient estre amer. 4081-84.

Et quant du baisier me recors,

Qui me mist une odor ou cors

Ass<§s plus douce que n'est basme,

Par un poi que ge ne me pasme. 4382-85.

The real difference, therefore, between the plot of the Roman de la Rose and the outline of that plot as it is pre- sented in Gautier's romance, lies in_the part_assigned. by Guillaume de Lorn^_to_the^a^ That

fragrance excites the lover's ardor, but also dispels the pangs of love when once he has breathed it in.1 Now the variant to line 2397 of Oracle furnishes us with a hint regarding the missing factor. And because the variant, as it stands, is so absurdly out of place, we can excuse the copyist for his blunder in no othe'r way than by supposing that the real situation has been interpreted to us by the Roman de la Rose (or by the verses of Guillaume de Palerne),

1 Charles Joret's brilliant work, La Rose dans Vantiquite et au-moyen dge, calls attention, on page 305, to the soothing effects produced by a rose on the lover, in Guillaume de Palerne. In a dream he receives a rose from his mistress and her attendant :

Dessi en droit a lui venoient,

Une rose li aportoient ;

Tantost com recevoit la flor,

Ne sentait paine ne dolor,

Travail, grevance ne dehait. 1453-1457.

Guillaume de Palerne may have been written as early as 1190. It cannot be later than 1212. — A rose seen in a garden reminds the lover in Blan- candin of his mistress, and he consequently kisses it. But the kiss does not at all alleviate his distress of mind (11. 2605-2652). The author of Blan- candin was probably a contemporary of Guillaume de Lorris.

and that in Gautier's original the part played by the flower's perfume was a prominent one.

Such a solution of the problem assumes that Gautier knew a poem which is now entirely lost. In support of this assumption stand not only the impossible variant of the line in question, but also the improbability that Guillaume de Lorris drew on Gautier's metaphor for the skeleton of his plot. Gautier had already deviated from nature by sub- stituting the palissacle ofTSnc^for thejiedge of fact. Had Guillaume de I^orrTs imitated Him, he would have been obliged to carry the image back to nature, a proceeding which is contrary to the usual method of rhetorical develop- ment. Besides,_he would not have found in Gautier's figure the deep significance wnlch he attribute^ to the rose's fra^ grance. Another theory, of independent invention on the \ part of each poet, is tenable, but it runs counter to the ordinary opinion regarding the methods of medieval writers. When the same conception is presented by two or more authors of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the general conclusion is that the repetition of the thought indicates imitation and not originality. And in this particular in- stance the usual assumption is strengthened by the oddity of the variant in j&racle.

The existence of a third poem, therefore, would furnish the most consistent explanation for the likeness between Gautier's metaphor — including the variant — and the plot of the Roman de la Rose. This third poem would have con- tained the essential features of the story narrated later by Guillaume de Lorris. These features he would have made his own, as he did his loans from antecedent allegories, from romans d'aventure, from Ovid and other writings. From this third poem Gautier would have borrowed so much as he needed to complete his metaphor. A copyist, who was familiar with the contents of this third poem, and who had

*

284 F. M. WARBEN.

been impressed by the importance it gave to the fragrance of the flower, would have unconsciously blundered at the point where Gautier, excluding this element from his com- parison, changes the natural barrier of a hedge into the artificial one of a fortification. And in his confusion he would have writteji_down one leading term for another, " oudour " fojJLpdiZt^ __That_vvedo not find any evidence of the e^sten^e^C-this_Jiypoih^icaI poemr Bother than the inferences which may be drawn from Erade, Guillaume de Palerne, and the Roman de la Rose, would not seriously invalidate our argument. Far more important works of the .Middle Ages have failed to withstand the attacks of time. Still we should not wish to claim too much, nor lay too much weight on the plausibility of this or that theory. For the fact which suggests the theory remains here the essential point : that the metaphor on which rests the Roman de la Rose had appealed to another mind long before it was elaborated by the talent of Guillaume de Lorris.

F. M. WAKREN.

XIII.— THE DATE OF CHAUCER'S TEOILUS AND CRISEYDE.

In the twenty-fifth stanza of the first book of the Troilus occurs a passage which is puzzling in more respects than one. The stanza is as follows :

Among thise othere folk was Criseyda, In widewes habite blak ; but nathelees, Right as our firste lettre is now an A, In beautee first so stood she, makelees; Hir godly looking gladede al the prees. Nas never seyn thing to ben preysed derre, Nor under cloude blak so bright a sterre.

It is the line about the letter A which, even on a cursory reading, gives one pause, while closer scrutiny but heightens one's perplexity. For, in the first place, as Sandras long ago pointed out,1 Chaucer has here curiously diverged from Boccaccio. The corresponding stanza in the Filostrato reads as follows :

Tra' quali fu di Calcas la figliuola

Griseida, la qual'era in bruna vesta,

La qual, quanto la rosa la viola

Di beltd vince, cotanto era questa f Piu ch'altra donna bella, ed essa sola

Piu ch'altra facea lieta la gran festa,

Stando nel tempio assai presso alia porta,

Negli atti altiera, piacente ed accorta.2

The change from " quanto la rosa la viola di beltH vince " to "Right as our firste lettre is now an A" Sandras characterizes flatly as bizarre,3 and there is much that seems

1 Etude sur G. Chaucer, 1859, pp. 45-46. 2 II Filostrato, I, stanza 19.

3 He is illustrating his thesis that "comme les poe'tes anciens, Boccaee excelle a assortir les sentiments et les images ; Chaucer neglige les plus gracieuses comparaisons ou les altere" (op. cit., p. 45). Professor Skeat also notes (Oxford Chaucer, 2. 463) that "Boccaccio's image is much finer."

286

286 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

to warrant, at first blush, his stricture. For Chaucer's substitution is, to say the least, prosaic, where Boccaccio is elegant and graceful ; so much, whatever one's interpreta- tion of the fact, seems clear.

But it is when one turns from the curious divergence of the comparison from its original to the precise wording of the line itself that the essential difficulty appears. For it seems to have been overlooked that Chaucer is speaking with an explicituess of reference which is unaccountable if the conventional' interpretation — that of a somewhat bald use of the letter A qua A — be correct.1 One word in particular demands more critical examination.

In the first place, the line in question reads : " Right as our firste lettre is now an A." 2 Why " now f " Has not A always been our first letter? The obvious and, I think, inevitable implication of the line, taken fairly as it stands, is that such has not always been the case. But this implica- tion carries with it the alternative that Chaucer is either so recondite as to advert to a time when the Roman alphabet was not, or so subtle as to intimate that our alphabet, to be sure, was not that of Troilus and Pandare and Criseyde.

1 Even Professor Skeat's apt citation (Oxford Chaucer, 2. 462) of Henry- son's reference to Criseyde as "the flower and A-per-se Of Troy and Greece" (suggested as it probably was by Chaucer's phrase) does not, as will be seen, offer a precise parallel.

"There is no question of the text. Except for purely orthographic variations (oure, Cl., Harl. 2280, Gg., Cp., Harl. 1239, Add. Ms. 12044 ; first, Cl., Cp., Jo. ; fyrst, Gg., Harl. 1239 ; furste, Harl. 2280 ; ferste, Add. Ms. 12044 ; letter, Gg., Jo.; nowe, Harl. 2280) the six MSS. of the Parallel- Text Print and the Three More Parallel Texts, together with Add. Ms. 12044 (Brit. Mus. ), agree throughout. Nor is any variation noted in the colla- tion of Harl. 2392 (now in the Harvard College Library) used by Professor Skeat in the Oxford Chaucer. The only exception is Harl. Ms. 3943 (in Kossetti's Parallel-Text Edition of T. and C. and the Filostrato), in which the line reads : " Eight as our chef lettre ys now A." The bearing of this variant will be noted later.

DATE OF CHAUCER'S TROILUS AND CRISEYDE. 287

The suggestion that Chaucer was concerned at this point with the abstruse history of the alphabet one may dismiss at once. Nor is such realistic subtlety as that involved in the second alternative more credible, especially when one recalls Chaucer's own frank disclaimer of historical verisimilitude after arming Palamon's knights with Prus- sian shields : " Ther nis no newe gyse, that it nas old." But granting either interpretation of the " now," the thing of capital importance to note is that as an element of the comparison the word is wholly without point. For there is nothing in the present state of the letter A as A, as com- pared with some other time than "now," which demands, for the purposes of the simile, such curious explicitness of reference. On the assumption of a comparison with the letter solely as a letter, the passage seems inexplicable.2

But there is unmistakable evidence that what Chaucer did say he said with distinct intention. The name of the heroine occurs in rhyme fifty-three (53) times in the Troilus? In every one of the other fifty-two instances, without exception in the seven accessible MSS., its form is Criseyde, with final -e. Instead, then, of using (as one might suggest) the letter A itself as the most obvious and easy rhyme for a final -a already written in his first line, Chaucer has deliberately varied, in order to introduce the A, from his otherwise

*A. 2125.

2 Moreover, it is not quite clear why Chaucer, if the comparison is with A merely as A, should say " Right as our firste lettre is now an A." 11 An A," it is to be noted, has the effect of seeming to individualize the letter, as if the reference were to some A, a certain A.

3 I. 55, 169 (the passage under discussion), 459, 874, 1010 ; II. 877, 1235, 1417, 1550, 1603 ; III. 1054, 1112, 1173, 1420, 1473; IV. 138, 149, 177, 195, 212, 231, 347, 378, 666, 829, 875, 962, 1147, 1165, 1214, 1252, 1436, 1655 ; V. 216, 508, 523, 687, 735, 872, 934, 948, 1031, 1113, 1123, 1143, 1241, 1264, 1422, 1437, 1674, 1712, 1732, 1833.

288 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

uniform usage.1 Whatever the line means, it is clearly no hurried makeshift.

In a word, Chaucer seems to be using an admittedly prosaic, even banal, comparison, instead of the apt and graceful one of his original ; seems, moreover, to be phrasing it in a strangely irrelevant, not to say meaningless, fashion ; yet is unmistakably doing what he does with deliberate intention. Is there any other possible interpretation of the line?

On January 14, 1382, Richard II, then in the second week of his sixteenth year, and Anne of Bohemia, not yet seventeen, were married at Westminster. Many things con- spired to render the young queen consort at once the object of keen interest. For five years previous the marriage of the king had been a matter of anxious thought to his guardians and of manifold conjecture to his subjects. There had been negotiations in 1377 and 1378 looking toward a marriage between Richard and Princess Marie of France ; 2 in 1379 Bernabo Visconti had offered the hand of his daughter Caterina ; 3 the marriage with Anne herself was

1 The situation is very closely paralleled in the KnigMs Tale. In the Tale, Emily's name occurs 29 times in rhyme (A. 871, 1077, 1273, 1419, 1567, 1588, 1594, 1731, 1749, 1833, 2273, 2341, 2571, 2578, 2658, 2679, 2699, 2762, 2773, 2780, 2808, 2816, 2836, 2885, 2910, 2956, 2980, 3098, 3107). In every instance except one (A. 1077) it is spelled Emelye, with final -e. But in 1. 1077, through the influence of a following "a," it be- comes Emelya, with final -a :

He caste his eye upon Emelya,

And there-with-al he bleynte, and cryde " a I "

For other instances of rhymes in -a see A. 161-2 (crowned A, omnia) ; Bk. of Duchesse 1071-2 (Polixena, Minerva), H. F. 401-2 (Medea, Dyanira), 1271-2 (Medea, Calipsa) ; A. 867-8 and 881-2 (Ipolita, Scithia); B. 71-2 (Ladomea, Medea); F. 1455-6 (Bilia, Valeria).

2 Life Records, pp. 203-4.

3 Walsingham, Hist. Angl. (Kolls Series), n, 46 ; Eymer's Foedera (ed. Holmes), Vol. in, Pt. iii, p. 84.

DATE OF CHAUCER'S TROILUS AND CRISEYDE. 289

under formal consideration as early as the middle of 1380 j1 and the period intervening had not been without its inci- dents. When at last, after the long delay occasioned by Wat Tyler's rebellion, Parliament was prorogued upon word of Anne's coming, the news of her arrival at Brussels was accompanied by the disconcerting intelligence that twelve armed vessels, sent by the King of France, were waiting in the channel to intercept her.2 Charles's coup de th$dtre was met by prompt diplomacy, and on December 18, 1381, attended by the imposing escort sent to meet her, Anne embarked at Calais, and was conveyed, "cum omni gloria mundi," to Dover. Hardly had she disembarked, however, when a still more startling incident occurred. By a strange and unprecedented disturbance of the sea, the ship from which she had just stepped was broken to pieces, and the rest of the convoy scattered.3 How strikingly this "mirabile cunctis anspicium" contributed to the further focussing of already curious eyes upon the queen, Walsing- ham's contemporary account4 makes clear. Meantime, a general amnesty to the rebels had been proclaimed at her intercession,5 and the marriage and coronation were cele- brated with " muchel glorie and greet solempnitee." 6 Any

^atlock, The Development and Chronology of Chaucer* 's Works (Chaucer Soc., 1907), p. 42; Diet. Nat. Biog., XLVIII, 147; Wallon, Richard II, i, 454-5.

2Froissart, Chroniques, ed. Kaynaud (Paris, 1897), x, 166-67 ; Diet. Nat. Biog., i, 421.

3Walsingham, Hist. Angl (Kolls Series), u, 46; cf. Stow, Annales (London, 1631), p. 294; Holinshed's Chronicles (London, 1807), n, 753. For further references see Mod. Lang. Notes, vol. xix, pp. 240-43.

* Walsingham, n, 46.

5 See Wallon, i, 455, for references.

6 One must not forget, moreover, that almost at once the prevalence of high headdresses peaked like horns, of long trained gowns, of extrava- gantly pointed shoes, testified to the young queen's vogue; "also noble women . . . rode on side saddles, after the example of the Queene, who

290 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

allusion, one may be sure, to Anne of Bohemia, during the months succeeding her dramatic arrival, would be secure of ready comprehension.

Moreover, that Chaucer himself would be particularly apt to turn to account any chance of a passing and graceful allusion to the queen, one has evidence enough. He had been one of the commissioners to negotiate the marriage of Richard II to the Princess Marie, before Anne of Bohemia was thought of;1 he had celebrated in the Parkment of Foules the betrothal of Anne herself; the bringing home of Hippolyta to Athens associated itself in his mind, as he began the story of Palamon and Arcite, with the eventful arrival of Anne, and by a single vivid touch the tempest at Anne's home-coming had been shifted to Hippolyta's.2 What could be more in keeping than that again, in the poem of all others whose vogue at court Chaucer could not but have foreseen, he should permit himself a delicately veiled and graceful reference to the queen ? 3

So much is a priori; but when one reverts with the suggestion thus gained to the hitherto baffling lines about the letter A, one finds all the perplexities resolved. For every detail which was absurd or impossible when applied to A as A, becomes clear and relevant if the allusion is to Anne. "Right as our firste lettre is now an A" — the passage runs — "In beautee first so stood she makeless."

The two " firsts," for one thing, are brought at once into complete coordination. If A stands as the initial of the first

first brought that fashion into this land, for before, women were used to ride astride like men " (Stow, Annaks, London, 1631, p. 295).

1 Life Records, pp. xxviii, 203-4, 219, 230.

2 See my discussion of this point in Mod. Lang. Notes, vol. xix (Decem- ber, 1904), pp. 240-43.

3 The specific dedication of the Legend of Good Women to the queen comes later ; but it shows like the rest how definitely at this period Chaucer had the queen in mind.

DATE OF CHAUCEK'S TROILUS AND CRISEYDE. 291

lady of the realm, it becomes thereby " our firste lettre " in just the sense in which Oiseyda is " in beautee first" l Moreover, precisely this sense of "first" clears up at once the mystery of the " now." For instead of being a gratui- tous statement about the alphabet per se, the line conveys the courtly suggestion of a new dignity conferred upon what is now her letter by the coming of the queen. A has always begun the alphabet; now the king's choice of his consort — " unto my sovereyn lady, and noght my fere," Chaucer himself had made him say2 — has constituted it " our firste lettre " in a double sense. Even the " our," instead of breathing purely alphabetic ardors, adds its light but unmistakable touch of national loyalty to the young queen.3

Boccaccio's elegant but hackneyed " quanto la rosa la viola Di belta vince " has given place, then, not to a bizarre transmogrification, as Sandras supposed, but to an aptly turned and adroitly worded compliment at court. Just as a certain A is now our first letter — -just as (that is to say) its bearer is the " flour and A-per-se " of ladies in the realm

irTlie "chef lettre " in Harl. Ms. 3943 (see p. 286, n. 2)— " Eight as our chef lettre ys now A" — almost looks as if the Harleian scribe (or some predecessor) had understood and tried to make even clearer the allusion.

2Parlement of Foules, 1. 416,

3 Moreover, if the A referred to is not after all the mere first letter of the alphabet, but a specific A, the royal A, the now familiar initial of the queen, the problem of " an A " is also solved. Whether, indeed, as may well be, the collocation is accidental, or whether Chaucer is designedly heightening the .transparency of his allusion, the fact itself remains that " an A," read with the fourteenth century pronunciation of the A, gives the familiar Latin form of the queen's name. It is the letter, to be sure, and not the name of which Chaucer is speaking ; but double allusions would fare ill if they had to be rigidly logical, and a double allusion here can scarcely be said to be out of keeping with the context. The fact, in any case, is there, and must be reckoned with, despite Chaucer's disinclination to pun.

292 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

— so Criseyda stood first in beauty without peer. And it must not be overlooked that "s<?" looks back as well as forward, and dexterously links "in beautee first . . . make- less" with the implication of its preceding line, in no less delicate than pertinent recognition of the fact that beauty is an indefeasible prerogative of queens. "Ye knowe eek," Chaucer found it necessary shrewdly to remind his own contemporary readers,

' ' Ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge With-inne a thousand yeer, and words tho That hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge Us thinketh hem ; and yet they spake hem so." l

And all this which now it takes so disproportionately many words to make explicit, for the very reason that the "chaunge withinne a thousand yeer" has made it "wonder straunge" to us, one may readily believe was patent at a glance to Chaucer's quick-witted audience at court, adepts in the art of allusion as they were.2

But there are facts which seem to make it unnecessary to appeal to any special proficiency in the interpretation of allusions on the part of Chaucer's readers — facts which seem, indeed, to render this particular allusion so obvious as to be unmistakable, even now. It is only a few years since the death of Queen Victoria and the accession of Edward VII made strikingly evident, in the sweeping changes involved in the substitution of E. R. for V. R., the part still played in actual affairs by the royal initial. What was the usage in the court of Richard and Anne ?

1T. ii, 22-25.

2 One has only to recall, for example, the literature of the Flower and the Leaf, on both sides of the channel, to be satisfied on that score. Indeed, if an allusion had not been intended, it is hard to believe that one would not have been understood — if the dates allowed !

It is worth while to go back for a moment to the pre- ceding reign. In the Wardrobe Roll of 21st Edward III — the roll which contains the first reference to the celebrated motto of the Garter — there are mentioned " materials . . . for three escutcheons of the king's arms, quarterly ; of blue and silver Cyprus, sindon and silk for making forty clouds for divers of the king's garniments, embroidered with gold, silver and silk, having an £ in the middle of gold, and gar- nished with stars throughout the field, or ground.' ' * Not only were the king's garments embroidered with his initial, but the royal plate was also marked with it. In his " Ob- servations on the Origin and History of the Badge and Mottoes of Edward Prince of Wales," 2 Sir Harris Nicolas refers to "an indenture (not hitherto known) witnessing that Sir Henry de Wakefeld, late Keeper of the King's Wardrobe, had delivered to . . . de Mulsho, his successor in that office, at Windsor, on the 24th of October, in the . . . year of the reign of King Edward the Third, the plate therein mentioned. The date of the year no longer exists, but it must have been after the 43d Edward III, 1369. The Roll commences with a list of plate belonging to the King, some articles of which were marked with the Arms of England and France quarterly ; others with a leopard, others with a fleur-de-lis, others with a rose, others with a crowned E" It is clear that the king's initial was a familiar object at Court during the reign of Edward III. But was the queen's? "The second membrane of the Roll,"

1 Sir Nicholas Harris Nicolas, * ' Observations on the Institution of the most noble Order of the Garter," Arvhaeologia, xxxi, 120. See also John Gough Nichols, Archaeologia, xxix, 47 : ' ' Ashmole quotes from the Ward- robe Eoll of the 21st Edw. Ill a charge for ' forty of these clouds [from which the sun of the king's device was rising], embroidered with gold, silver, and silk, having in the middle the Saxon letter 6 of gold, provided to trim several garments made for the king, and garnished with stars.' "

2 Archaeologia, xxxr, 352.

294 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

Sir Harris Nicolas continues, " is entitled the l Queen's Plate ' — < Vessellamenta Reginae/ which title, and the fact that all the articles, if marked at all, were marked with her arms, or her initial,1 are very important to this inquiry." Among these articles were "fifteen silver spoons, one of which is gilt and not marked, and fourteen of silver not gilt, marked outside with the letter JJ." 2 There were, more- over, " five silver salt-cellars, marked on the edge with the letter ;|J," 3 and in this case the entry reads " . JI . corofi." 4 Queen Philippa, accordingly, used her own initial as the king used his.5 During the reign of Edward III, then, the initials not only of the king, but of the queen consort as well, appeared on various objects about the court. The inference that Anne's initial would probably be no less conspicuous is an easy one.

But one does not have to rely upon inference. There is conclusive evidence that Anne's initial was a familiar object to the readers of the Troilus. Even in the reign of Edward III, as has been seen, it was the vogue to embroider initials upon court robes.6 During the reign of Richard II, and especially after Richard's marriage to Anne of Bohemia, the custom of wearing letters and armorial devices became a

JThe italics are Sir Harris Nicolas' s.

2 Archaeologia, xxxi, 353 ; see p. 377 for transcript.

3 76., p. 354. *lb., p. 379.

5 1 do not feel sure that the E and P which appear over the ostrich feathers in the Black Prince's Great Seal of the Duchy of Aquitaine (see Sandford's Genealogical History, p. 125, quoted in Archceologia, xxxi, 362) may not stand for Edwardus Princeps, rather than as the initials of the king and queen. But the latter seems to be a possible alternative.

6 Compare also Strutt, Dress and Habits of the People of England (1842), n, 243, n. 7: "An old English chronicle MS. cited in the second volume of the horSa Anjelcynnan, page 83', informs us, that in the reign of Ed- ward the Third, 'the Englishmenne clothede all in cootes and hodes peynted with lettres and with floures.' "

DATE OF CHAUCER'S TROILUS AND CRISEYDE. 295

craze, reaching finally such an extreme that in the succeed- ing reign prohibitory statutes were enacted.1 That Richard himself wore his own initial on his royal robes is placed beyond doubt by the famous painting of the king in the choir of Westminster Abbey, said to be the earliest contemporary portrait in existence of an English king. In Dart's West- monasterium 2 is a large and beautiful print of this painting,

1 After discussing the prohibitory statutes of 4 Henry IV (1403) relating to apparel, Strutt continues : " Four years after the establishment of these statutes, another was added ; by which it was ordained, that no man, let his condition be what it might, should be permitted to wear a gown or gar- ment, cut or slashed into pieces in the form of letters, rose-leaves, and posies of various kinds, or any such like devices, under the penalty of forfeiting the same" (n, 108). See also Archaeologia, xx, 102: "Armorial devices were embossed and embroidered upon the common habits of those who attended the court [of Richard II]. Upon the mantle, the surcoat, and the just-au-corps or bodice, the charge and cognizance of the wearer were profusely scattered, and shone resplendent in tissue and beaten gold. The custom of embroidering arms upon the bodice was intro- duced by Richard II, but mantles of this kind had been worn long before " ( Translation of a French Metrical History of the Deposition of King Richard the Second, written by a Contemporary . . . By Rev. John Webb). On the passion for finery in the reign of Richard II see also Shaw, Dresses and Decorations of the Middle Ages, London, 1843, Introduction, under xiv century ; also i, plate 33. The plates in Shaw and Strutt (as, for example, Plates xciii, xcvi, xcvii, in Strutt, and the plate in Shaw, vol. i, no. 33) are illuminating. Compare also An Alliterative Poem on the Deposition of Richard II, in Political Poems and Songs (Rolls Series), I, 398 ff. ; or ed. Camden Soc., pp. 19 ff. More generally, one may recall the mottoes em- broidered on the sleeves (1. 119) of the ladies in The Assembly of Ladies, 11. 88, 208, 308, 364, 489, 583, 590, 598, 616 ; see Skeat, Chaucerian and other Pieces, p. 536. Note also Gower's reference (Cronica Tripertita, i, 52) to the Earl of Derby as ' ' Qui gerit S, " in allusion to his badge. In Anglia, xxx, 320, Miss Eleanor Prescott Hammond calls attention to the allusions, in Rondeaux et autres poesies du XVe siecle (Soc. des Anc. Textes franp. ), pp. 72, 108, 135, to "her for whom I wear the M," "the A," etc. Miss Hammond interprets these letters as referring to Amor. But may it not be that the lover is wearing his mistress's initial?

2 London, [1742], i, opposite p. 62. It is described as "an antient Painting of that unhappy beautiful Prince Richard II, sitting in a Chair of Gold, dress' d in a Vest of Green flower' d with Flowers of Gold, and

296 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

an exact copy of an engraving from the picture itself, made under the auspices of the Society of Antiquaries. On the king's robes no less than twenty crowned B/s are visible. But the evidence that Anne's initial was similarly used is even more remarkable. After the queen's death the king himself gave orders, still extant, for the building of her tomb.1 On this tomb were placed the effigies of the king and queen, represented as clasping each other's hands. I now quote from NichoPs detailed description.2

"The robes of the King are powdered or strewn with three badges, the White Hart, the Broom Plant, and the Rising Sun. Among them are intermixed the letters r and a, the initials of Richard and Anne* . . It is now high time to turn to the devices found upon the effigy of Queen Anne. Her coat or boddice is covered with a flowered pat- tern, intermixed with the letters r and a crowned. On her gown are the same letters linked together, and also crowned ; but the largest figures are alternations of a peculiarly formed knot, of which no other example has been found, and the badge of the Ostrich, collared and chained, and holding in its beak a nail.4 About both the two last are small sprigs or leaves, which there is reason to suppose are those of the

the initial Letters of his Name," etc. In Shaw, plate 32, is given a print of the Wilton House portrait of Kichard II (1377), in which the magnificent robes are covered with harts, beanpods, eagles, etc., in intricate devices. See also Strutt, n, Plate Ixxxiv (opp. p. 229).

1 For the directions to the masons, see Rymer's Foedera, III, Pt. iv, pp. 105-6 (April 1, 1395); for the directions for the metal work, see p. 106 (April 24, 1395). See Dart's Westmonasterium, n, 42-46, for further ac- count of the tomb.

*Archaeologia, xxix (1842), pp. 32-59. I am indebted for this important reference to Professor Charles H. Mcllwain, of Princeton University.

3 P. 36.

*See the account in Camden (Remaines, ed. 1629, p. 181), of the queen's device. Camden' s authority, however, seems to have been this very effigy.

DATE OF CHAUCER'S TROILUS AND CRISEYDE. 297

linden or lime, which was used by the house of Bohemia. The same leaves are added to the White Harts on the King's robe ; they form the running border of the Queen's mantle, and they are sprinkled over the latter, together with crowned A's and Vs, which differ from the letters before mentioned, in being capitals, and of a much larger size." l The use of Anne's initial in a manner similar to that in which the initials of Edward III, Queen Philippa, and Richard himself had been employed, is, accordingly, estab- lished.2

1 Arehaeologia, xxix, p. 48.

2 This use of Anne's initial brings at once into question the " crowned A " of the Prioress's brooch :

Of smal coral aboute hir arm she bar A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene ; And ther-on heng a broche of gold ful shene, On which ther was first, write a crowned A, And after, Amor vincit omnia (A. 158-62).

Is there a reference here also to the queen's initial? I think not. It is of course merely a coincidence that Anne and Amor begin with the same let- ter, and in this instance there seems to be no reasonable ground for ascribing any other significance than Amor vincens to the crowned A. The motto itself was of very frequent occurrence, (see, for example, Gower, Vox CL, VI, 999 ; Cronioa Tripertita, Prologue, 1. 7 ; Ecce patet tensus, 1. 3), often with a pious transfer of its reference from earthly love to the "love celestiall." This transfer is shown unmistakably by the fact — pointed out to me by Professor C. F. Brown — that the substitution of caritas for amor is not uncommon in mediaeval religious literature ; as, for instance, in the Miraculum S. Nicolai Andegavensis (Bib. Nat. Ms. lat. 12, 611, xii cent.): " Sed quia scriptum est : Caritas omnia vincit," etc., (text printed in Catal. Codd. Hagiogr. Lai. Biblioth. Nat. Parisiensis, ed. Bollandists, Vol. in, p. 159). The common use of the first word of the motto as a device — referring, however, to " love of kinde" — is clear from the well-known passage in Tlie Squyr of Lowe Degre (ed. Mead, 11. 211-16; cf., also, Miss Hammond's interesting remarks on the crowned letters in certain Shirley MSS., Anglia, xxx, 320 ; and see, too, the cut of the A-brooch in Fairholt, Costume in England, third ed., 1885, n, 95). Is it not simply one of the Prioress's engaging foibles that she wears the device of the heavenly love as earthly lovers had set the mode ? The Amor alone gives ample explana-

9

298 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

But we know not only the mere fact that Anne's initial was employed ; there is vivid contemporary evidence of one at least of the specific forms which its employment took. On the 29th of August, 1393, Richard and Anne visited London in order that the king might be publicly reconciled with the citizens after their long estrangement. The occa- sion, which was celebrated with pomp and extravagant dis- play, is described circumstantially in the well-known poem of Richard de Maidstone.1 Among the other festivities was a procession of the several trades, which are enumerated at great length.2 The list closes with the significant detail :

A super r gratis stat in artibus hie numeratis.

Whether on their pageants or on their liveries or insignia, Anne's letter was displayed above Richard's in the long

tion for the crowned A ; so understood, the characterization is of a piece throughout ; whereas a reference to the queen seems here not only quite uncalled for, but even to strike a discordant note. 1 Political Poems and Songs (Rolls Series) , i, 282-300.

2 Hos sequitur phalerata cohors cujuslibet artis ;

Secta docet sortem quaeque tenere suam. Hie argentarius, his piscarius, secus ilium

Mercibus hie deditus, venditor atque meri. Hie apothecarius, pistor, pictor, lathomusque ;

Hie cultellarius, tonsor, et armifaber. Hie carpentarius, scissor, sartor, ibi sutor ; Hie pelliparius, fulloque, mango, faber. Hie sunt artifices, ibi carnifices, ibi tector ;

Hie lorinarius, pannariusque simul. Ibi vaquinator, hie zonarius, ibi textor ;

Hie candelarius, cerarius pariter. Hie pandoxator, ibi streparius, ibi junctor ;

Est ibi pomilio, sic anigerulus hie. A super r gratis stat in artibus hie numeratis,

* * * * * * (pp. 284-85.)

Unluckily there seems to be just here a break in the MS., but the essential point is clear.

procession through the London streets. And it is of some- what curious interest that the king himself is said, in the lines just following, to impress the beholder " velut Troilus ; " while Anne

Pulchra quidem pulchris stat circumcincta puellis, Vincit Amazonibus Troja novella sub his.

It seems safe to say, then, in the light of all these facts, that the coronation of Anne of Bohemia was followed by the appearance at court, in manifest and conspicuous fashion, of the letter A, side by side with or together with the hitherto familiar R, Chaucer's allusion would then be perfectly transparent and instantly intelligible to his contemporary readers.

If this interpretation of the line be correct (and it reads into it absolutely nothing extraneous), the date of the first book of the Troilus is fixed as after January 14, 1382. * The use of the "now" seems to imply a somewhat recent modification of the status of the letter, and to point, accord- ingly, to a date soon rather than long after the coronation. Farther than that one cannot well go ; the essential thing is that the Troilus is placed, if the argument be sound, pre-

1 It may be suggested that the line under discussion belongs to the revision of the Troilus, for which Professor Tatlock suggests the date " 1380, or somewhat later" (Chronology, p. 15). In that case, the reference to the queen would not be found in Phillipps 8252. Through the courtesy of Dr. Furnivall and of Mr. T. Fitzroy Fenwick I am able to give the reading of the Phillipps MS. , which is as follows :

Among ye which was Criseida

In wydewes habite blak but netheles

Eight as our lettre is now a

In beute ferst so stood she makeles.

The line, then, has been in the Troilus from the first. As it stands in the Phillipps MS., the reference seems even more unmistakable, for it is "our lettre" par excellence which "is now a." But a word (in all likehood "firste" itself) has probably dropped out.

•

300 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

cisely where the independent considerations of its style and maturity and of its relations to the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women have seemed to indicate that it belongs.1

But what, it will undoubtedly be asked, is to be said of Gower's supposed allusion to Chaucer's Troilus in the Mir our de V Omme f Altogether independently of the considerations which have just been brought forward, I believe it to be highly improbable that Gower is alluding to Chaucer's poem. It becomes necessary, therefore, to recur briefly to the argu- ment of Professor J. S. P. Tatlock,2 based on the passage referred to, in support of a date for the Troilus before 1377. This argument I have already discussed,3 and to this criticism Dr. Tatlock replies at length in his recent volume on The Development and Chronology of Chaucer's Works.4 In the process of rebuttal and surrebuttal the mass of detail has obscured certain salient points which it seems well to dis- engage.

1. It is important, first of all, to define the bearing of Gower's phrase " o'it chanter la geste De Troylus et de la belle Creseide." Professor Tatlock,5 for example, metamor- phoses a statement of mine 6 that Guido may possibly have been the source of Gower' s knowledge, into a willingness "to enter- tain the idea that the geste which Sompnolent dreams he hears sung may have been a few scattered pages in Guide's Latin prose ! " The point is immaterial, except as it con- cerns the principle to be followed in interpreting the phrase. For it is essential to notice that the form in which Gower represents Sompnolent as hearing the story need have nothing whatever to do with the form under which Gower himself

1See mj discussion of these considerations in Publ. Mod. Lang. Assoc., xx, 819-23, 833-41.

2 Modern Philology, I, 317 ff.

*PubL Mod. Lang. Assoc., xx, 823-33.

4 Chaucer Soc., 1907, pp. 26-33. 6 Chronology, pp. 28-29.

6 Publ. Mod. Lang. Assoc., xx, 833.

DATE OP CHAUCER'S TKOILUS AND CRISEYDE. 301

may have known it. I myself know, let us say, the story of Hero and Leander through Marlowe's poem, and I write a narrative in which I represent one of the characters as hear- ing told the story of Hero and Leander. Does that mean to anybody, unless I say so, that I represent my character as hearing recited Marlowe's poem ? Dr. Tatlock himself would hardly suggest that what Sompnolent heard sung was the actual eight thousand and odd lines of Chaucer's Troilus. In other words, " chanter la geste " belongs to Sornpnolent's dream ; he hears sung, in his dream, the story of Troilus and the fair Criseyde, precisely as he might, at the marriage of Pride and the World, earlier in the Mirour, have listened to Temptacion, when

" ... mainte delitable geste Leur dist, dont il les cuers entice Des jofnes dames au delice" (11. 981-83).

The " chanter " naturally, though not necessarily, suggests a story sung by " minstrales and gestiours, that tellen tales," l and Gower indeed, may possibly have known it himself in some such form. But the manner in which he represents Sompnolent as hearing it leaves the form or forms in which he himself actually knew it, absolutely indeterminate. The phrase " chanter la geste," then, has practically no evidential value.

2. The allusion in Gower dates from about 1377.2 But in 1369 Froissart, in his Paradys d' Amours, had placed Troilus, whose name he coupled in the same line with that of Paris, at the head of a conventional list of lovers.3 Troilus as a lover implies Criseyde as inevitably as Paris implies Helen. The loves of Troilus and Criseyde were accordingly the subject of an allusion eight years before

1H. jP., 1197-98.

3 Tatlock, Chronology, p. 26; cf. pp. 220-25.

3Potsies, ed. Scheler, i, 29, 11. 971 ff., esp. 1. 974 ; cf. Publ. Mod. Lang. ' Assoc. , xx, 825 ; Tatlock, Chronology, p. 29.

302 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

Gower referred to them, and Froissart's reference is cer- tainly not to Chaucer's poem. What version of the love- story Froissart had in mind is for our purpose wholly unimportant; his allusion demonstrates the fact that inde- pendently of Chaucer the love-story of Troilus (not Diomede) and Criseyde was known, and known well enough to permit one's knowledge to be taken for granted. That in itself makes the extreme of caution necessary in dealing with a bare reference such as Gower's. Moreover, Tatlock' s state- ment of "its [the love-story's] insignificance all over Europe before or apart from their [Boccaccio's and Chaucer's] in- fluence5'1 and his reference to it as "a few scattered bits lost in a long poem, or (worse yet) in a Latin prose work" 2 simply beg the question. For the earlier treatments of the episode were manifestly not insignificant to Chaucer, who used again and again the "scattered bits lost" in both Benoit and Guido to supplement or modify Boccaccio.3 That is to say, Chaucer was indubitably familiar with the story of Troilus and Criseyde independently of Boccaccio : that we know. But suppose we did not know it. Is there any argument which Professor Tatlock draws from the alleged earlier insignificance of the love-story which would not bear with equal force against the possibility of any reference to earlier versions in Chaucer's work ? Yet it is insisted that the bare mention of the story by the one cannot possibly refer to any of the sources whose use by the other to supplement Boccaccio is accepted as a common-place ! Any difficulty which is raised on the score of Gower's (or his readers') supposed unfamiliarity with the love-story before Chaucer's Troilus is, I think it may be fairly said, factitious. 3. As regards the spelling Oreseide, Professor Tatlock

1 Chronology, p. 28. 2 16., p. 30.

3 See especially, on this point, Karl Young, The Origin and Development of the Story of Troilus and Criseyde (Chaucer Soc., 1908), pp. 105-139. Dr. Young' s brilliant study reached me only after this article was in page-proof.

DATE OF CHAUCER'S TROILUS AND CRISEYDE. 303

admits that "we must not assume . . . that Chaucer was the innovator" in the substitution of C for G.1 In other words, independently of Chaucer the initial C appears in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, in MSS. of Guido, and even in the Filostrato itself. It is not necessary — and without fur- ther evidence it certainly is not safe — to assume that Gower followed Chaucer's usage, or Chaucer Gower's. There may readily have been a common influence — a possibility which the mere lack of adequate data cannot invalidate. As for the fact that " Gower's form is French, with a final -e, Creseide," 2 one is inclined to surmise that that, perhaps, is due to the fact that Gower was writing in French ! A glance at the index of Macaulay's first volume will show a score or so of proper names to which, in his French poems, Gower has (naturally) given the French form, and logic would suggest that that obvious fact is reason enough for the -e of Creseide. It is sufficient to add that when Gower writes in Latin, he spells Orisaida, with final -a,3 and that the same is true once when he uses the name in English.4 Neither the supposed unfamiliarity of the story, then, nor the peculiarity in the spelling of Criseyde's name makes strongly against a reference to an earlier version than Chau- cer's. There is, on the other hand, evidence which makes strongly for such a reference, and to that I pass.

4. Gower, as Dr. Tatlock points out,5 mentions Criseyde again in the Vox Clamantis (soon after 1383). " It is worthy of remark," Tatlock continues, "that there is no significant change in his manner of mentioning the lovers, which suggests that he had had no accession to his information since the first reference" (1. c., n. 1). The line in the Vox

1 Chronology, p. 31; cf. Publ. Mod. Lang. Assoc., xx, 826-29.

2 Chronology, p. 31. sVox Clamantis, vi, 1328. 4 Confessio, n, 2456. 5 Chronology, p. 30.

304 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

Clamantis l repays examination, especially in the light of the statement just quoted. It is as follows : " Fictaque Crisaida gaudet amare duos." The final -a of Crisaida has already been adverted to. It is the conception of Criseyde herself — as implied in the "gaudet amare duos" — which is here im- portant. For that conception belongs to the older sources — to Guido in particular — and not to Chaucer. It is just such fickleness as is implied in Gower's " gaudet " that one finds Guido harping on in his account of Briseida's faithlessness.2 And it is just this harsh judgment of the earlier versions against which Chaucer sets his own interpretation with a strength of feeling which is almost personal :

Ne me ne list this sely womman chyde

Ferther than the story wol devyse.

Hir name, alias ! is publisshed so wyde,

That for hir gilt it oughte y-now suffyse.

And if I mighte excuse hir any wyse,

For she so sory was for hir untrouthe,

Y-wis, I wolde excuse hir yet for routhe ( v. 1093-99).

These lines follow the poignant and tragic lament, suggested in part by Benoit,3 which in turn is introduced by the state- ment that

Ther made never womman more wo

Than she, whan that she falsed Troilus (v. 1052-53).

If Gower wrote the line in the Vox Clamantis, with its " gaudet amare duos," of Chaucer's Criseyde, one is forced to conclude that he had never read, or else deliberately ignored, the fifth book of the Troilus. On the other hand, the reference fits perfectly the pre-Chaucerian conception of

1 vi, 1328.

2 See, for example, the long extract from Guido' s fortieth chapter in Sommer's edition of the Recuyell, I, cxlix-clv ; cf. also Hamilton, Chaucer1 s Indebtedness to Guido delle Col&nne, pp. 84-88, 124-26 ; Young, p, 127.

3 Hamilton, p. 124 ; Young, pp. 135-36.

DATE OP CHAUCER'S TKOILUS AND CBISEYDE. 305

Criseyde's falsity. But as Dr. Tatlock himself points out, this allusion and the earlier one in the Mirour show no significant differences, and therefore stand or fall together. The "Crisaida [quae] gaudet amare duos" and " la belle Creseide" are admittedly one and the same, and one of them sharply diverges from Chaucer's conception of the character. The conclusion is obvious.

5. Finally, in considering the possible bearing of Gower's allusion, I wish to repeat the suggestion already made l that Gower might readily have known the story of the Filostrato itself from Chaucer before the Troilus was written. This suggestion is given additional point by a curious fact which Professor Tatlock himself adduces. "All are agreed/' he remarks,2 "that Gower knew no Italian. Yet lines 3831-4 [of the Mirour\ run :

1 Sicomme ly sages la repute, En vie est celle peccatrice, Qes nobles courtz de son office Demoert et est commune pute,'

which cannot be independent of Dante's words on envy :

' La meretrice, che mai dall' ospizio Di Cesare non torse gli occhi putti, Morte commune, e delle corti vizio ' (Inf., xm, 64-6). . .

We can hardly avoid believing that Chaucer read or re- peated the passage to Gower." 3 Gower, then, knew Dante. He must, accordingly, either have known Italian (and the striking verbal similarities which Tatlock notes are hard to explain on any other supposition), or Chaucer must have shared his new found treasure with him. If Gower could

lPubl Mod. Lang. Assoc., xx, 823-24.

2 Chronology, p. 221.

3 See I. c., n. 2, for other verbal parallels.

306 JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

read Dante, he could read Boccaccio. If Chaucer read Dante to Gower, he could (and more probably would !) also read Boccaccio.1 In either case, Gower was scarcely ignorant of the Filostrato. If he knew the Filostrato, the reference in the Mirour is sufficiently explained.

Professor Tatlock himself, then, has contributed evidence of weight in support of the position that "there are too many other possible [one may now, I think, say " prob- able "] explanations of the reference in Gower to allow one safely to use it " 2 to settle the date -of the Troilus. Whether the interpretation which has just been proposed of the line in the Troilus itself is open to the same objection, it is for others to judge. But its accordance with definite external facts, its solution at every point of the otherwise baffling difficulties in the wording of the line itself, and its harmony with Chaucer's well-known personal attitude toward the Court, seem to warrant consideration of its validity.

JOHN LIVINGSTON LOWES.

1 Note also Tatlock's suggestion (Chronology, p. 221, n. 3) that the anec- dote of Dante in CA., vn, 2329* ff., probably came through Chaucer, and that the reference to the tyrants of Lombardy in the Mirour, 23233-68, was also due to Chaucer's report (op. cit,, p. 222, n. 1).

*Publ. Mod. Lang. Assoc., xx, 833.

XIV.— A NEGLECTED PASSAGE ON THE THREE UNITIES OF THE FRENCH CLASSIC DRAMA.

The need for critical research in at least one field of modern literature is exemplified by the lack of exact information regarding the establishment on the French stage of the three dramatic unities that characterized so markedly many pieces of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Although our knowledge of "the history of these unities has been increased by several works that have recently appeared, a number of facts concerning them re- main to be determined, as Dannheisser, the chief authority on the subject, has clearly shown.1 Thus, while demonstrat- ing that these unities of action, time, and place were not imposed at one time, but, developing separately, came only after a half century into general acceptance and a rigorously narrow form, he has left unfixed the date at which they were first singled out in seventeenth century France as the distin- guishing marks of the classic drama.

According to Dannheisser, the first French writer of the seventeenth century to make reference to these unities was the physician, Isnard, in his preface (published April 30, 1631) to the Fittis de Scire, a posthumous play by his friend, Pichou. That this is the earliest seventeenth century refer- ence to the three unities is apparently believed by Rigal 2 and by Morf 3 in their treatment of the subject. It is my purpose to show that this belief is ill-founded, for, before Isnard

xln his admirable treatise Zur Geschichte der Einheiten in Frankreich, Zeitschrift fur franzosische Sprache und Litteratur, 1892, xiv, 1-76.

2 Cf. Petit de Julleville's Histoire de la Langue et de la Litterature fran-

iv, 241. 8 Cf. Herrig's Arehiv, 1905, cxv, 433.

307

0

308 H. CARRINGTON LANCASTER.

wrote, the unities were distinctly discussed by Antetine Mare- schal, who was no mere theorizer, but an active dramatist, a declared opponent of the unities that he named.

Le sieur Mareschal, a contemporary of Corneille and Rotrou, is known to us only through his nine extant dramas. His works have been noted by de Beauchamps,1 the Freres Parfaict,2 and La Valliere.3 One of them, Le Railleur, was reprinted by iSdouard Fournier in Le Thedtre franqais au XVIe et au XV IP siecle 4 with a brief prefatory statement concerning the author.

Fournier judges Mareschal to have possessed "de P esprit, de la litte"rature, du monde, une certaine ind6pendance d'idees, qui le poussait aux originalites de sujet et de style et qui Fengageait dans des voies vraiment nouvelles." He believes, though he has no conclusive proof of it, that Mareschal was probably attached to the household of some nobleman, in spite of the title avocat applied to him in his Inconstance d'Hylas. The poet's versatility is shown by the wide range of subject and genre covered by his plays. His Inconstance d'Hylas (1630-1635) is one of the many pastoral dramas drawn from the romance of Astree. La Sceur Valeureuse (1634) is an exceedingly romanesque tragi- comedy, extravagantly praised in introductory verses by Mairet, Du Ryer, Scudery, Rotrou, and Corneille. Le Rail- leur (1636 or 1637) is a comedy of intrigue; Le Veritable Capitan (1637 or 1639) a translation of Plautus's Miles gloriosus. La Cour Bergere (1639) is a tragi-comedy of especial interest to an English reader, for it is based on Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia and is dedicated to "Robert

1 Recherches sur ks Theatres de France, n, 106, Paris, 1735. *Hi<$toiredu Theatre fran$ois, iv, 497-8, Paris, 1745.

3 Biblwtkeque du Theatre francois, II, 64 seq., Dresden, 1768.

4 Pages 349-372.

THE THREE UNITIES OF FRENCH CLASSIC DRAMA. 309

Sidney, Comte de Leycestre, Ambassadeur en France." Le MausoUe (1639-1641), tragi-comedy, and Papyre (1646), tragedy, are dramatizations of ancient history. Le jugement Equitable de Charles le Hardy (1645),1 tragedy, draws its plot from what was then modern history, an unusual pro- ceeding in seventeenth century France.

But MareschaPs play with which we are at present con- cerned is La Genereuse Allemande ou le Triomphe d' Amour } a romantic tragi-comedy written in two journees, according to an occasional usage of the time.2 The privilege to print this work was given to Pierre Rocolet at Lyons, September 1, 1630. The acheve d'imprimer for the first journee is dated January 10, 1631 ; that for the second, November 18, 1630,3 so that the second journee preceded the first by nearly two months. Now it is to this second journee that a preface is attached, giving at some length the dramatic principles of the author and containing the passage describ- ing the three unities. The document was certainly written before November 18, 1630, probably before September 1 of that year, thus preceding Isnard's preface by from five to eight months.

The passage in which Mareschal mentions the three unities and declares his hostility to them runs as follows :

" . . . n'ay pas voulu me restraindre & ces estroites bornes ni du lieu, ni du temps, ni de Faction; qui sont les trois poincts principaux que regardent les regies des Anciens.

1 The dates given indicate the first known appearance of the plays, when they were acted, privileged, or printed, as the case may be.

2Cf. Du Ryer's Argenis et Poliarque (1630 and 1631) and Schelandre's Tyr et Sidon (1628).

3 For a careful investigation of these dates I am indebted to the kindness and scholarship of Mr. W. A. Stowell, Fellow in the Romance Depart- ment of the Johns Hopkins University.

310 H. CARRINGTON LANCASTER.

Qu'ils me soutiennent que le suie"t de Theatre doit estre un en 1'action, c'est a dire estre simple en son euenement, et ne receuoir d' incidents qui ne tendent tons a un seul eiFect d'une personne seule ; ie leur declareray que le mien en a deux diuerses. Qu'ils soutiennent encore que la Scene ne connoist qu'un lieu, et que pour faire quelque rapport du spectacle aux spectateurs qui ne remuent point, elle u'en peut sortir qu'en mesme temps elle ne sorte aussi de la raison ; i'auou'ray que la mienne du commencement et pendant les deux premiers Actes est en la Ville de Prague, et presque tout le reste en celle d'Aule, en uu mot qu'elle passe de Boheme en Sylesie. De plus qu'ils iurent qu'un suie"t, pour estre iuste ne doit contenir d'actions qui s'e"ten- dent au dela d'un iour, et. qui ne puissent auoir este" faites entre deux Soleils ; ie ne suis pas pour cela prest a croire que celles que i'ay de"crites, et qui sont veritables, pour auoir franchy ces liinites ayent plus mauuaise grace."

To appreciate the importance of this passage it is neces- sary to consider the previous history of the rules in France. During the sixteenth century the unity of action was occa- sionally implied, the unity of place was mentioned once or twice, the unity of time was discussed with some frequency. All three unities may be deduced from Scaliger's Poetices (1561), though they are not presented together and though Scaliger requires the unity of place only as a means of facilitating the observation of the unity of time. Jean de la Taille declares in his Art de la Tragedie (1572) that, " il faut tousiours representer Phistoire, ou le ieu en vn mesme iour, en vn mesme temps, et en vn mesme lieu." In his second preface to the Franeiade Ronsard states that tragedy and comedy are limited to " peu d'espace, c'est a dire d'un iour entier." Rivaudeau in the preface to his Aman (1564) holds that the time represented should not exceed the actual

THE THREE UNITIES OF FRENCH CLASSIC DRAMA. 311

time required by the performance.1 Jean de Beaubreuil (1582) speaks of "la regie superstitieuse des unites."2 Laudun d'Aigaliers3 opposes the twenty-four hour rule, while Vauquelin de la Fresnaye 4 upholds it. But these theorists do not form the views held by seventeenth century dramatists with regard to the unities. They influence only the academic tragedies of the sixteenth century, a type of play that ceases to be written during the first quarter of the following century, giving way before the practical and irregular drama of Hardy and his contemporaries. When Frenchmen are again attracted to classic play-writing, they turn for their rules to the Italians,5 to Aristotle, and to the example of the ancient tragedies themselves, rather than to the plays and theories of their sixteenth century compatriots. Such critics as Morf and Dannheisser are therefore correct in beginning the history of the French dramatic unities with the rebirth of the classic tragedy and its first appearance in France as a popular dramatic form, in the generation of Richelieu, Chapelain, and Corneille. Turning to this period of literary history, we become acquainted with the following facts.

As early as 1620 Chapelain mentioned the unity of action, but only as a general principle adhered to in the construction of any poem to distinguish it from a piece of prose fiction. " Or 1' unite" de Faction, entre les regies ge"ne" rales que toute

1Cf. Morf, Geschichte der neuern franzosischcn Litteratur, pp. 206-207, Strasburg, 1898. 2Cf. ibidem, p. 207.

3 Cf. Arnaud, Theories dramatiques, p. 334, Paris, 1888.

4 See I? Art poetique de Vauquelin de la Fresnaye, Paris, 1885.

0 Especially to Castelvetro, to whom the first promulgation of the law of three unities is commonly ascribed. Even he, though dilating upon the unities, does not speak of them as the three essential rules of the classic drama, as does Mareschal. See La Poetica d* Ai-istotele vulgarizzata et sposla, pp. 109, 173, and 534 in the edition of Bale, 1576.

312 H. CARKINGTON LANCASTER.

6pop6e doit observer, est particulierement la principale, sans laquelle le poeme n'est pas poeme, ains roman." l Mairet appears to know this rule when he writes his Silvanire (1629), though he does not mention it until two years later.

Before Mareschal, indeed, the writings concerned with dramatic unities were largely devoted to the unity of time, which, taken from Aristotle as interpreted by Renaissance scholars, had been familiar to Italian critics of the sixteenth century. Thus Chapelain referred to " un an, terme que se sont prudemment prescrit tons ceux qui avec honneur ont voulu traiter d'action illustre en poe"sie narrative, comme celui djun jour naturel, ceux qui ont embrasse" la representa- tive."2 On September 28, 1628, Balzac wrote to Mme Desloges concerning a preoieuse who "n'a point assez de patience pour souffrir une come'die qui n'est pas dans la loi des 24 heures, qu'elle s'en va faire publier par toute la France." 3 The same year Ogier opposed this rule in his preface to Schelandre's Tyr et Sidon, while in 1629 Mairet intentionally observed it in his Silvanire. Other references to the unity of time, such as those made by Isnard, Mairet, and Scude*ry, are subsequent to the citation I have made from Mareschal.

It now becomes clear that Mareschal is the first French author of the seventeenth century known to mention the unity of place, and the first to speak of the unity of action as belonging especially to the drama rather than applying to all poetic forms. Of greater importance is the fact that he is the first French author known to group these unities of action, time, and place so as to point them out as the three essential rules of the classic theater. Whether he was

*Cf. E. Bovet, La Preface, de Chapelain a I1 Adonis, page 42, in the Fest- schrift Heinrich Morf, Halle, 1905.

2 Ibidem, page 46.

3 See Dannheisser, ZMT Geschichte der Einheitcn, page 71.

THE THREE UNITIES OF FRENCH CLASSIC DRAMA. 313

actually the first may well be doubted, for the fact that he opposes these three rules implies that they had been previously upheld. Such an advocate of the unities may or may not have written in French, but until he is discovered, the priority in this matter of French dramatic history clearly belongs to Mareschal.

But the passage cited from Mareschal is of interest, not only in showing its author's position among writers on the unities, but also by the light it throws upon the manner in which these unities were understood in 1630. MareschaPs conception of the unity of action is much the same as that which Mairet expresses in the Preface (1631) to his Silvanire by the phrase, "maistresse et priucipale action h laquelle toutes les autres se rapportent com me les lignes de la circon- ference au centre." Of greater importance is MareschaPs understanding of the unity of place, for he shows clearly that those who prescribed the observance of that unity did so, not because it was a natural consequence of the observ- ance of the unity of time, as Corneille held later,1 but because by logical realism the location of the actors should coincide with that of the spectators " qui ne remuent point." The unity of place, therefore, as Dannheisser remarks, was first observed in consequence of the author's objection to a change of scene, due to his desire to conform with the nec- essarily fixed position of the audience.

It is difficult to determine whether Mareschal held that the classic rule reduced the scene represented in a play to the actual space occupied by the stage, or whether he be- lieved that it allowed the inclusion of some locality, limited in extent, though larger than the stage ; as, for example, a town, provided the action did not go beyond its walls. This

1 Cf . Dannheisser, who, in Zur Geschichte der Einheiten, page 57, points out Corneille' s error without acquaintance with Mareschal.

10

314 H. CARRINGTON LANCASTER.

larger view of the unity of place, the one which Corneille presents in the Cid, is probably that referred to by Mare- schal, for he states that his play violates this unity of place by reason of the fact that its action occurs in two towns, situated in different provinces. It is probable that what Danuheisser calls Zirrmereinheit, subsequently established on the classic French stage, was as yet unknown, for Isnard in 1631 explains the observance of the unity of place by writ- ing, "si Ton veut representer une effusion de sang dans Constantinople, qu'on ne doit rien executer de cette entre- prise ailleurs." 1

According to Mareschal the unity of time is observed when the action takes place " entre deux Soleils," an ambig- uous phrase explained by Chapelain as follows : " L? action se termine entre deux Soleils, c'est a dire, vn peu plus ou vn peu moins que la moitie" des vingt quatre heures." If this is also MareschaPs meaning, his reduction of the unity of time to a period of twelve hours instead of twenty-four coincides with the view held previously by Castelvetro and subsequently by d'Aubignac.3

MareschaPs statement regarding the unities shows further that Corneille was mistaken in declaring that the only rule known in 1630 was that which limited the time of the action to twenty-four hours.4 It shows, too, that Dann- heisser is incorrect in referring to Scudery's Ligdamon et Lidias as " der erste Protest gegen die alleinseligmachenden Theorien der Regeldichter." 5 As MareschaPs mention of the unities precedes this Protest by a year, Scud6ry cannot be considered their first opponent.

In conclusion I cite two documents of this period which

1Cf. ibidem, p. 75. 2Cf. Arnaud, op. cit., p. 343.

3 See ibidem, p. 240, and Castelvetro, op. cit., p. 109. 4 See his Examen to Clitandre. 5 Op. tit., p. 23.

THE THREE UNITIES OF FRENCH CLASSIC DRAMA. 315

express briefly the opinions of Mareschal and have been entirely neglected by dramatic critics. Le sieur de Riche- mont Banchereau writes in the Advertissement au Lecteur before his Passions esgarees, a tragi-comedy published in 1632, "Au reste, ne t'arreste pas tant aux regies de la Tragicomedie en lisant celle-cy, ny aux loix du theatre Franpois : Telle contrainte, qui n'est que bien-seante aux mercenaires, me sieroit assez mal, a cause que ie la hays." At greater length the anonymous author of Les Trophee? de la Fidelity declares in his preface aux bons esprits that he has not observed certain rules " parce que ie les ignore, et ne les veus pas syauoir. Ie parle de celles qui ne sont point necessaires a la Poesie, et qu'une nouuelle cabale d'esprits trop reguliers, de la glose desquels on m'a voulu faire peur, a ose donner pour des loix prononcees de la bouche me'me des Muses. C'est une espece de chiquane dans cet Art, ou la clarte du discours, la fluidite de la veine, et la propriete des ternies, apres la mesure, sont les parties les plus requises

par moy. Ie n?ay suiui que Pimpetuosite de mon Genie.

))

These passages, taken in connection with the earlier and more important citation made from Mareschal, show by their outspoken opposition to classic rules that, at the begin- ning of the fourth decade of the seventeenth century, the three unities had become sufficiently strong in France to elicit the explanations of their opponents, even when they were unable to overcome the expression of their hostility.

H. CARRINGTON LANCASTER.

Published at Lyon, 1632.

XV.— COORDINATION AND THE COMMA.

Those who consider punctuation ' largely a matter of taste ' and look upon the so-called ' sentence-sense ' as a kind of sixth sense that comes only from generations of gentle breeding, will regard with small favor the attempt to formulate any very definite principles governing the structure of the sentence ; but those who have little faith in the subjective conclusions of capricious taste will welcome any systematic presentation of facts that may enable them to settle points of disputed usage for themselves. It is with this conviction that I offer the following contribution to the study of the sentence, not without hope that it may incite others to a more thoro investigation of related prob- lems of English usage.

The use of the comma alone between coordinate clauses which should without question be pointed as independent sentences, as in,

A New Forest Ballad is also good, it ends thus — *

or of the comma and a purely logical connective when usage demands at least a semicolon, as in,

John was an old servant, and had known his master when he was the cadet of the house, therefore he often gave him his Christian name,2

is generally considered the mark of an illiterate or slovenly style. Yet the distinction between right and wrong usage in this respect is sometimes so subtle that even the careful writer may occasionally be at fault. It is the purpose of this paper to determine more definitely : (a) under what

1 Frederic Harrison, Early Victorian Literature, p. 167.

2 Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre.

316

COORDINATION AND THE COMMA. 317

conditions the comma alone is sufficient ; and (6) what dis- tinction is to be made between ' structural/ or grammatical, and non-structural, or ' logical/ connectives.

The conclusions that have been reached are based upon more than 16,000 pages of nineteenth century prose, from De Quincey and Carlyle to Walter Pater and Mr. Jolm Morley, including thirty-five authors and ranging in subject matter from miscellaneous essays to novels and familiar letters. In matters of punctuation it is not always possible to discriminate between author and printer. The publishing house has its system of pointing, from which only eternal vigilance can protect the intelligent writer. But mechanical rules are uniform in their operation and take no account of subtle variations ; least of all do they meddle with the interrelation of independent clauses. It is safe to assume, therefore, that the examples cited below reveal in almost every case the intention of the author ; and this assumption finds confirmation in the fact that, whereas authors differ widely in the pointing of coordinate clauses, no correspond- ing difference is to be found among publishers.

The first part of this paper will deal with all sentences containing independent clauses separated by the comma alone. The three-clause series in which the last two members are joined by the conjunction is too common to detain us. I may say in passing, however, that in every instance the comma is retained before the conjunction. When the con- junction is omitted, the series, usually of a climactic order, has sufficient structural significance to bind the clauses together without the use of the semicolon, as in the follow- ing example :

Romulus does not mount into heaven, Epimenides does not awake, Arthur does not return. l

1 Arnold, God and the Bible.

318 RAYMOND B. MILLER.

This construction is also a familiar one. It is legitimate only when the three clauses are equally coordinate in thought — they must form a genuine series. If they do not, the semicolon must be used to show that two of the clauses are in parallel dependence upon the third, thus forming what may be called an Imperfect Series. The two coordinate clauses may give details elucidating or enforcing a general statement, as in,

Hints were dropping about the neighborhood ; the hedgeways twit- tered, the tree-tops cawed ; l

the relation may be causal, as in,

Anon the applauses wax fainter, or threaten to cease ; she is heavy of heart, the light of her face has fled ; 2

or obverse, as in,

It is not a Convent, it is not a Seminary ; it is a place to fit men of the world for the world ; 3

or may reveal some more subtle discrimination difficult to classify.

But our chief concern is with the use of the comma between two coordinate clauses which do not form part of a three-clause series. Of such usage 688 examples (about 1 to every 23 pages) have been collated. A rigid classifi- cation shows, however, that nearly half of these are not in a strict sense coordinate, but may be accounted for in the following three ways : —

1. In about 152 of the examples one of the clauses is so obviously subordinate in meaning that the coordinate structure, deceiving no one, has become more or less conventional or idiomatic. This we may call Veiled Sub- ordination and classify as follows :

1 Meredith, The Egoist. a Carlyle, The French Revolution.

3 Newman, Idea of a University.

COORDINATION AND THE COMMA. 319

a. Causal dependence involving the omission of some such word as because, since :

His kisses will not wound, the hair on his lip is yet light.

Arnold, Essays in Criticism, I, p. 240. Than canst not speak, called one, the blood of Danton chokes thee.

Morley, Miscellanies, I, p. 126. The tone is playful, Gray was not yet twenty-one.

Arnold, Essays in Criticism, n, p. 86. The doors are well watched, no improper figure can enter.

Carlyle, The French Revolution.

b. As object of the verb of a preceding clause, usually involving an omitted tJiat :

I protest, my lord duke, I do not comprehend your Grace.

Landor, Imaginary Conversations.

c. With a correlative involving the omission of that :

And I dare not look back on it, my heart is so weak.

Newman, Callista.

As to his poetry, Emerson's word shall suffice for us, it is so accurate and so prettily said : . . . . Stevenson, Thoreau.

I really half believe you are a Faun, there is such a mystery and terror for you in these dark moods. Hawthorne, The Marble Faun.

d. With a verb of permission or command equivalent to if or tho :

Let him be drenched, his heart will sing. Meredith, The Egoist.

We may struggle as we please, we are not born economists. Steven- son, The Amateur Emigrant.

Open the book where you will, it takes you out of doors. Lowell, My Garden Acquaintance.

In like manner, sow small-pox in the human body, your crop is small-pox. Tyndall, Fermentation.

e. A less obvious kind of Veiled Subordination is Apposi- tion between one clause and a significant phrase of the other, sometimes involving an omitted in that, that is, that is to say, or even a whole dependent clause :

320 RAYMOND D. MILLER.

The claim was to be jumped next morning, that was all that she would condescend upon. Stevenson, The Silverado Squatters.

One thing you may be assured of, he will be proud of you. Mere- dith, The Egoist.

You are right, my dear sir, she is rather old. Dickens, Pickwick Papers.

It has this advantage as a witness, it cannot be debauched. Emer- son, The Method of Nature.

The history of reform is always identical, it is the comparison of tha idea with the fact. Emerson, Lecture on the Times.

2. In 88 examples both clauses stand in parallel relation to a restricting word, phrase, or dependent clause. This we may call Common Restriction.

a. Conjunction :

But, as we have insisted in a previous chapter, art is not life, it is not even an exact transcript of life. Winchester, Principles of Literary Criticism, p. 309.

b. Prepositional phrase :

In the sublimest flights of the soul, rectitude is never surmounted, love is never outgrown. Emerson, Divinity College Address.

c. Participial phrase :

.Rising in his strength, he will break through the trammels of words, he will scatter human voices, even the sweetest, to the winds. New- man, Idea of a University.

d. Infinitive :

We are not bound, perhaps we are not able, to show that the form of government which he recommends is bad. Macaulay, Westminster Reviewer's Defence of Mill.

e. Common object :

Who it was by dying that had earned the splendid trophy, I know not, I inquired not. Lamb, Essays of Elia.

f. Dependent clause :

Well, but though Mr. Whitford does not give you money, he gives you his time, he tries to get you into the navy. Meredith, The Egoist.

COORDINATION AND THE COMMA. 321

It was the Troad, it was Asia that in those days constituted the great enemy of Greece. De Quincey, Style.

You need not speak to me, I need not go where you are, that you should exert magnetism on me. Emerson, The Method of Nature.

3. In 79 of the examples one of the clauses serves merely to introduce, to conclude, or parenthetically to eluci- date or enforce the other. Such clauses may be called Tags.

a. Initial and final tags, chiefly exclamatory :

Doubt it not, he had his own sorrows : . . . . Carlyle, Heroes and Hero Worship.

God help thee, Elia, how art thou changed ! Lamb, Essays of Elia. I'm not treating her ill, I'm not indeed. Newman, Callista.

b. Parenthetical tags :

I don't believe Mr. Peter came home from India as rich as a nabob, he even considered himself poor, but neither he nor Miss Matty cared much about that. Mrs. Gaskell, Cranford.

When we have in this manner eliminated all cases of apparent coordination, we discover that the remaining ex- amples, 369 (or 1 to every 43 pages) readily fall into one large group characterized by a more or less clearly marked balance of thought and expression. In other words, Balance is in two-clause coordination what the series is in three-clause coordination — a structural equivalent for the semicolon.

1 . The most common form of Balance is Antithesis :

You began with a dream, you are ending with a vision. Landor, Imaginary Conversations.

Heat kills the bacteria, cold numbs them. Tyndall, Fragments of Science, n, p. 270.

Wives are plentiful, friends are rare. Meredith, The Egoist.

With Dante the main question is the saving of the soul, with Chaucer it is the conduct of life. Lowell, Chaucer.

Teresa breaks in her pupils, Natalia forms them. Dowden, New Studies, p. 177.

322 RAYMOND D. MILLER.

2. Obverse Repetition may also be considered a form of Antithesis :

I did not pick her up, she was left on my hands. Bronte, Jane Eyre.

. . . . ; all beautiful proportions are unique, they are not general formulae. Kuskin, Seven Lamps of Architecture.

They are not tended, they are only regularly shorn. Carlyle, The French Revolution.

She had not uttered words, she had shed meanings. Meredith, The Egoist.

3. When antithesis is lacking, the balance usually includes some degree of repetition of thought or phrase. We may have repetition of thought alone, giving (a) Cumulative Repetition, (6) Progressive Repetition, (c) Synonymous Repetition.

a. Cumulative Repetition :

I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship was consigned, I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. Irving, The Sketch Book.

The moonlit hours passed by on silver wings, the twinkling stars looked friendly down upon him. Thackeray, Burlesques.

The fine nose had grown fleshy towards the point, the pale eyes were sunk in fat. Stevenson, The Amateur Emigrant.

b. Progressive Repetition :

Long night wears itself into day, morning's paleness is spread over all faces ; . . . . Carlyle, The French Revolution.

. . . . ; the city woke about him with its cheerful bustle, the sun climbed overhead ; . . . . Stevenson, Some College Memories.

c. Synonymous Repetition :

Sense would resist delirium, judgment would warn passion. Bronte, Jane Eyre.

He has put on the strong armor of sickness, he is wrapped in the callous hide of suffering. Lamb, Essays of Elia.

Make all clear, convince the reason. Stevenson, Virginibus Puerisque.

. . . , ; the long festival of the ravenous night is over, the world of darkness is in the throes of death ; . . . . Swinburne, Essays and Studies, p. 39.

COORDINATION AND THE COMMA. 323

4. More frequently, however, the repetition of some significant word or phrase serves also to join the clauses. The following sentences illustrate the repetition of subject, verb, object, or modifier as the key-word of both clauses :

Reason gives us this law, reason tells us that it leads to eternal blessedness, and that those who follow it have no need of any other. Arnold, Essays in Criticism, I, p. 371.

It might be a duty, it might be a merit ; . . . . Newman, Callista.

For us was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight limbs and fingers so deformed. Carlyle, Sartor Resarlus.

Here and now, just as of old in Palestine, he has the rich to din- ner, it is with the rich that he takes his pleasure : . . . . Stevenson, Beggars.

Dear to us hast thou been at this coming, dear to us shalt thou be when thou comest again. Arnold, Essays in Criticism, I, p. 241.

They all have the immediate beauty, they all give the direct delight of natural things. Swinburne, Essays and Studies, p. 374.

Under this head may also be placed the use of correlatives and comparatives.

Not only had Shelley dealings with money lenders, he now had dealings with bailiffs also. Arnold, Essays in Criticism, II, p. 232.

He now needs to know more than an author, he must know a period. Dowden, New Studies, p. 445.

Shakespeare's language is no longer the mere vehicle of thought, it has become part of it, its very flesh and blood. Lowell, Shakespeare Once More.

We have now concluded the first part of our classifica- tion ; and tho to classify is not to justify, it is at least significant that all but a score of the sentences collated should fall readily into one or more of the categories named above. In all cases of apparent coordination the comma would seem to be the necessary usage, and this is unques- tionably true of Common Restriction and Tags. But in some forms of Veiled Subordination, such as causal dependence or

324 RAYMOND D. MILLER.

apposition, the subordination may be so slight as to warrant or require the use of the semicolon.

In all cases of clearly marked balance of thought or expression the writer uses at pleasure the comma or the semicolon. When the balanced clauses are long or compli- cated by the use of other commas, the semicolon is preferable ; when the balanced clauses are but part of a larger sentence, the comma is preferable. To the latter class belong 197 of the examples collated. There remain, therefore, but 172 examples of the use of the comma in independent balance, giving us the remarkably small ratio of 1 to every 93 pages. So rare a usage clearly indicates a preference for the semi- colon and warrants the conclusion that in balanced construc- tions the comma should be used only when some special effect may thereby be gained.

The second part of our investigation will attempt to divide all coordinating connectives into two classes accord- ing as they do or do not require the semicolon.1 The former will be called grammatical, or ' structural/ the latter non- structural, or ' logical.7 Such a division may be based upon the following differentiae :

A structural connective is always the first word of the clause. It may follow a period, a semicolon, or a comma, but it can never be imbedded within the clause. Conse- quently it can never be combined with another structural connective, tho it may precede any logical connective when the meaning permits or requires it.

On this basis the following connectives are structural : and, but, or, for, nor.

A logical connective may always be imbedded within the clause. Consequently it may be preceded by a structural

1 The colon, which is used more rarely, has of course the same structural significance as the semicolon.

COORDINATION AND THE COMMA. 325

or another logical connective. When placed at the begin- ning of the clause it requires the semicolon or its structural equivalent.

On this basis the following connectives are logical : accordingly, also, besides, consequently, hence, however, indeed, moreover, nevertheless, now, otherwise, still, then, therefore.

To this list must be added the exceptional connectives yet, only, else, and so, which require especial notice.

The connective yet seems to be logical in that it may be combined with a structural connective or imbedded within the clause ; yet modern writers use it freely with the comma. This anomaly may be explained if we consider the preced- ing clause dependent, thus involving an omitted altho, as in the following sentence :

But though such special rules might be of service to the literary critic, . . . yet it can hardly be the duty of literary criticism to formulate them. Winchester, Principles of Literary Criticism, p. 147.

The connective else, which is also freely used with the comma, (in Felix Holt 18 times) may be considered a kind of compromise between or and otherwise. It seems to take the place of a condition obversely implied in the preceding clause :

It was not so well for a lawyer to be over-honest, else he might not be up to other people's tricks. George Eliot, Felix Holt.

Only, when used with the comma, adds a qualifying and therefore subordinate clause, and is usually equivalent to except that :

. . . . ; a very keen and clear argument, only the facts are all against it. Swinburne, Essays and Studies, p. 168.

'Tis the same thing as the Tuileries at Paris, only the park has a certain beauty of simplicity which cannot be described. Thackeray, George the First.

Last, but by no means least troublesome of these excep-

r

326 RAYMOND D. MILLER.

tional connectives, is so. According to every principle which ci'etermines the classification of connectives, so should be ' logical/ but memories of the nursery have endeared it to us as the most docile and serviceable of beasts for an easy jog along the byways of syntax. The best writers, how- ever, avo. it as a structural connective. In twenty of the authors read I find not a single example of such usage. It does occur once in Arnold, Carlyle, Irving, Newman, and Euskin, but the sentence is in no instance a strong one, seldom rising above the level of the following example :

. . . . ; and there is a pretty piece of modern political economy besides, worth preserving note of, I think, so I print it in the note below. Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies.

For the worst specimen, however, we are indebted to Mr. Saintsbury :

Doggerel (my printers prefer this spelling, and they have Chaucer at their back, so, though I myself write it "doggrel," I have not thought it worth while to trouble them with correction throughout) is a subject as inseparably connected with prosody as vice is with virtue. Saintsbury, History of English Prosody, I, p. 392.

The hotbed of the structural so is the novel and the familiar letter. Yet novelists differ widely in this respect. George Eliot's Felix Holt reveals only 4 examples, all in conversation; Meredith's Egoist 16, half of which are in conversation ; Bronte's Jane Eyre 8 ; Dickens' s Pickwick Papers 29, 15 of which are in conversation. Hawthorne's Marble Faun is guiltless of a single structural so.

In familiar letters the writer feels even more free from the restraints of formal prose. In 419 pages of Science and Christian Tradition Huxley uses this so but once, in 200 pages of his letters, 24 times. Twelve hundred pages of Stevenson's essays and travels contain 3 examples as against 8 in 200 pages of his letters. It is especially worthy of

COORDINATION AND THE COMMA. 327

notice, however, that in both novels and letters in which the structural so abounds, the logical so occurs almost as frequently in sentences that are structurally identical. The only justification for the use of the comma seems to be that it reproduces the effect of careless or slovenly speech.

Other logical connectives may occasionally bj>*bund with the comma alone. Otherwise is thus used, but once only, by Darwin, De Quincey, George Eliot, Meredith, and Mr. Saintsbury. Mr. Saintsbury again gives us the choicest example :

That neither was a poet of absolutely the first class may be granted, otherwise they would have done more than they did ; . . . . Saints- bury, History of English Prosody, I, p. 305.

But since we find, all told, only 24 examples of any kind in about 14,000 pages of formal prose (or 1 to every 583 pages), there is no escape from the conclusion that the modern writer who takes any pride in the integrity of his style will be found to observe most scrupulously this funda- mental distinction between structure and logic.

We have now reached the end of our quest and may briefly summarize. The modern English sentence, far from being a will-o-the-wisp, difficult to define or classify, reveals a clearly marked structure in accordance with the following principles : —

Every independent clause is, structurally speaking, an independent sentence and must be separated from other independent clauses by a period or its structural equivalent.

There are four structural equivalents of the period ; namely, the semicolon (or colon), the structural connective, the series, and the balance.

A comma is never the structural equivalent of a period.

The use of the comma alone between independent clauses not in series or balance implies structural dependence and is

328 RAYMOND D. MILLER.

justifiable only in clearly defined cases of Veiled Subordina- tion, in Common Restriction, and in Tags.

A logical connective is never the structural equivalent of a period.

The use of the comma alone before a logical connective is the mark of an illiterate, slovenly, or careless style.

RAYMOND D. MILLER.

331

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

Modern Language Association of America.

19O8.

VOL. XXIII, 3. NEW SERIES, VOL. XVI, 3.

XVI. —THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR .LITERATURE.

A recent study of the narrative urt of Chaucer's Reeves Tale1 attempted to set forth some of the technical excel- lences of the Old French fabliau*, to call attention to their striking resemblance in forjtute the modern short- story, and, with all due appreciation of the originality of all Chaucer's work, to show that- he was technically at his best in tales like the Miller's and the Reeve's, because he was writing under the influence of the best narrative art of the Middle Ages, under the influence of the fabliaux. If these contentions are true, the fabliaux, in spite of their very manifest imperfections, — their lack of style, of moral sense, of any ideal or uplifting quality, — cannot be neg- lected in any study of Chaucer, of the short-story, or of the history of narration. It s the purpose of the present essay to push the inquiry a step farther back, and to ascertain what were, in turn, some of the possible sources

1 In the present volume of the Publications, pp. 1 ff.

1 329

328 WALTER MORRIS HART.

-of the technique of these early masterpieces of narration. The fabliaux themselves are, indeed, not all alike ; they are to be found in all stages of elaboration, from the longer and more complex signecl poems, which disclose an interest not only in plot, but also in character, emotions; scene, and even in moral significance, down to the mere anecdote, anonymous, brief, and simple. It is not difficult to see how the more complex fabliaux could be developed from the more simple. Seeking, however, forms still simpler and less developed than these latter, the critic is obliged to turn his back upon the literature of art and to examine the underlying stratum of the literature of the people. Such a procedure is suggested by the subtitle of Professor BSdier's Les Fabliaux, — " Etudes de Iitt6rature populaire," — by Professor Matthews' s definition of the fabliau as " a realistic folk tale," and by the general impression produced by the fabliau of kinship with ballad and folk tale. And it is justified by our knowledge of the general fact that popular literature precedes and paves the way for the litera- ture of art. Fabliaux, ballads, folk tales are, then, to be analyzed and compared with a view to ascertaining what the more developed forms owe to the less developed. In making such analyses and comparisons it is always an advantage when the whole matter can be focussed upon such single stories as may appear in the various forms concerned. Such a narrowing down of the field makes for simplicity and clearness, and, provided the examples chosen be typical, does not invalidate the general truth of the conclusions.

I. THE FABLIAU AND THE BALLAD.

Queen Eleanor's Confession1 is a typical popular ballad and tells a story found also in the typical fabliau of Le

1 Child, No. 156.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 331

Chevalier qui fist sa fame confessed It offers, therefore, excellent opportunity for analysis and comparison. In substance it is as follows :

Queen Eleanor, fearing that she was about to die, sent for two friars of France. The King commanded Earl Martial to don a friar's coat, dis- guised himself in the same fashion, and swearing that he would not write down what the Queen might say, went with the Earl to hear her confes- sion. She told them that she had sinned with Earl Martial, had made a box of poison strong to poison King Henry, and had poisoned Fair Rosa- mund in Woodstock bower. Earl Martial's son she loved best, King Henry's son least of all. When the King pulled off his friar's coat, she wrung her hands and cried that she was betrayed. King Henry declared that but for his oath Earl Martial should have been hanged.

This ballad " seems first to have got into print in the latter part of the seventeenth century, but was no doubt circulating orally some time before that, for it is in the truly popular tone." 2 If one may venture to take what has been called the "Simple Ballad,3 — ballad par excel- lence,— as a standard of the truly popular, one finds that Queen Eleanor's Confession is, in almost all respects, typical of the class. It was, and still is, sung.4 It has the necessary brevity : its five hundred words are one hundred less than the average. The scene of the action is White- hall, but it is not visualized ; France and Woodstock bower are named. There is no date, and there seems to be no passage of time. The persons form a narrow group ; atten- tion is focussed on husband, wife, and lover. "King," "Queen" and "Earl" reveal the ballad love of titles; and, while it is unusual that these figures should be histori- cal personages, the ballad is loyal to the popular manner, rather than to history, in its perversion of fact.5 The

1 Montaiglon-Raynaud, No. 16.

2 Child, in, 257.

8 In the present writer' s Ballad and Epic, pp. 8ff.

4 Professor Gummere refers to Hardy's Return of the Native, Chapter III.

6Cf. Child, n, 19.

332 WALTER MORRIS HART.

characters are all more or less evil, are not further indi- vidualized, or described in any way ; they are, in fact, mere doers of deeds. Emphasis upon emotion is unusual in the Simple Ballad, but the method in stanzas 19 and 20 is not unlike that in the ballad of Lady Maisry ; and here, as there, the emotion is not named,1 but expressed by "pantomime." The pantomime suggests, however, the vulgar convention of the broadside :

She shriekd and she cry'd, she wrong her hands, And said she was betrayd.

More in the true ballad manner,

The King lookd over his left shoulder, And a grim look looked he.

Structurally, Queen Eleanor's Confession, like ballads of the most primitive type, is a single situation.2 This is the climax and close of the story, as final as a comic catastrophe can be. As in Babylon, the persons are all before us at once. The tale is told almost without pre- liminaries ; 3 nothing is said of the earlier relation of the King and Queen, and the history of the lovers is sup- pressed until it is revealed dramatically in the confession. The situation is developed almost wholly by dialogue, .71 as compared with the ballad average of .50 of direct dis- course. The threefold repetitive confession involves group conversation of a primitively formal kind. The speeches are not all assigned, and, in general, one finds the abrupt transitions of the Simple Ballad. And when a "journey"

1 Cf. Ballad and Epic, p. 57. 2Cf. Gummere, The Popular Ballad, pp. 113 ff.

3 For relative emphasis of Introduction, Situation, and Conclusion, se<- p. 338, below.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAK LITERATURE. 333

is traced the phrasing suggests the broadside style.1 Yet the end is seen from the beginning ; it is the King's oath in stanza 4 that compels a comic outcome of the threatened tragedy in stanza 20. While there is no refrain, repetition, incremental and other, is in the popular manner. Earl Martial approaches the King, and both approach the Queen, in parallel stanzas.2 The Queen's confession falls into the conventional form of a group of three members, each consisting of two stanzas, — one of confession and one of comment. Of this comment two lines are the King's and two are .Earl Martial's. The order of the confessions, however, is not climactic. Repetition heightens the con- trast between the Queen's two sons. Question is repeated in answer.

For comic effect the balladist depends mainly on the irony of the situation. Because of a kind of poetic justice (the comment, " it served him right " is readily suggested, with the proverb about listeners) the husband's pain is comic, also. It is impossible to say how far the comic effect is calculated, yet the balladist' s care, just noted, to provide • the oath at the beginning to avoid a tragic outcome, looks like conscious art. Clearly, there is some sort of contrast here with the ballad habit of neglecting all special treat- ment in dealing with the Supernatural.3

For all its " innocuous humor " Queen Eleanor's Confes- sion implies something of the cynicism of the Minstrel Ballad. It is not, of course, so described by either Professor Child or Professor Gummere, yet it has certain charac-

Thus both attired then they go ;

When they came to Whitehall .... (st. 6).

2 Stanzas 3 and 7.

' 3 Cf. Ballad and Epic, pp. 20 ff. For tragic ballads of false wives see Old Robin of Portingale (80) or Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard (81), both very different in tone from Queen Eleanor's Confession.

334 WALTER MORRIS HART.

teristics which recall such ballads as The Boy and the Mantle.1 While the form is still truly popular, its use of historical personages, its knowledge of the world, the nature of its comic effects, imply professional rather than domestic tradition, minstrels rather than knitters and weavers. It would "suit the hall better than the bower, the tavern or public square better than the cottage, and would not go to the spinning-wheel at all." 2 In so far as it diverges from the Simple Ballad and approaches the Minstrel Ballad, it approaches also the fabliau, — how near we are now to see. The story of Le Chevalier qui fist sa fame confesse is, in sub- stance, as follows :

In le Bessin, near Vire, there lived a knight, whose wife was famous in that country for her courtesy and fine breeding. Her husband so loved her and had such faith in her that he trusted her in everything and left all his affairs in her hands. So they lived happily for many years until the lady fell ill, and, fearing that she was about to die, was confessed by her priest. Not satisfied, however, she desired her husband to send for the prior of a near-by monastery, that he also might give her absolution. The knight declared that he himself would go, and, as he rode along, thinking pf his wife, there came into his mind a desire to know whether she was really as good as all supposed her. So, instead of summoning the prior, he borrowed his habit, and waiting until after night-fall, returned, thus disguised, to hear his wife's confession. At his own house a squire took his horse and a maid-servant conducted him to his lady's bedside. He admonished her to conceal nothing, and she, failing, because of her great illness, his disguise, his changed voice, and the darkness, to recog- nize her husband, confessed to having sinned with a squire, and to having been intimate, for five years, with her husband's nephew, for he alone could, without arousing suspicion, be with her at all times. And she had not only granted him her favor, but had shared with him her husband's fortune as well, for she had control of all his property ; she was ruler

1 Child, No. 29. The same story is told in an Old French fabliau, but The Boy and the Mantle, like Crow and Pie (111), "is not a purely popular ballad, but rather of that kind which .... may be called the minstrel- ballad."— Child, n, 478. It is, in fact, practically a fabliau, and thus not valuable for purposes of contrast.

2 Child, i, 257.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 335

of the house and had made her husband nothing in it. The supposed friar now imposed suitable penance and extracted from her a solemn promise never, if she lived, to love another man. Then, in wrath, he left her and meditated revenge. Next day the wife was surprised at her husband's coldness, but not until he heard her, one day, giving orders in her old proud manner, did he accuse her of the crimes she had confessed. She readily understood that it had been he who had heard her confession, and immediately declared that she had at once recognized his voice, protested her innocence, and accused him of being a traitor and coward in having thus come to her in disguise and attempted to betray her. So much and so long did she protest that he was at last compelled to believe that she spoke the truth. The story provoked many a jest and many a laugh in le Bessin.

Composed, not for singing, but for recitation, this story is not told, like Queen Eleanor's Confession, in ballad stanzas, but in a form which is, if anything, even more primitive,1 in the regular fabliau couplets of four accents in each verse. Its greater elaboration requires more than three times as many words.2 As in the ballad, the action is localized, — at le Bessin, near Vire. The scene, however, changes from the home of the knight to the monastery and back. It is not more definitely indicated, and not visualized. Unlike the balladist, the trouv£re is conscious of the passage of time : husband and wife, he tells us, had long lived happily together ; the lady's illness lasted three weeks ; she had loved the nephew five years. The time of action in the story proper is carefully indicated : the knight did not venture to return, in his disguise, until after dark ; he had promised to bring back the prior's habit by midnight, and so rode away after the confession, and did not return until next day. It was not until "one day/' — clearly several days later, — that his wife made her vigorous defence.

While the fabliau elaborates, it compresses, and attention is now fixed, in the main situation at least, wholly on wife

1 Cf. Gummere, The Popular Ballad, p. 60, n. 2.

2 About 1700.

336 WALTER MORRIS HART.

and husband; the lover is not obliged to hear the confes- sion ; no children are mentioned. The prior, however, is a new character, even with some individuality ; and priest, servants, and squires are mentioned. All are lower in rank, the familiar "chevalier," "dame," and priest of the fab- liaux. The trouvere begins with an account of the relations of husband and wife, emphasizing, for contrast with what is to follow, her excellent reputation, his long-established faith in her, and their perfect harmony. This contrast is height- ened by the lady's description of her own character; "I v am held in great esteem," she says, "but I am really a hypocrite and a false wife." More noteworthy is the charac- terization of the prior : he was an upright man and a courteous ; when he saw the knight he hastened to welcome him and to receive him hospitably. This description is, doubtless, inserted simply for the purpose of furnishing a motive, and so lending an air of probability to the prior's one function in the story, the loan of his habit to a layman. Throughout, the variety of methods of characterization is noteworthy, — words, actions, epithets, reputation, self-de- scription. In further contrast with the ballad, moreover, more detail of the husband's disguise is given, — the prior's high boots and cloak and hood of black cloth.

Still in the interests of probability, the fabliau introduces some study of mental states. Thus the knight's great love for his lady led him to go himself for the prior, and his thought of her, as he rode, easily became a curiosity to know how perfect she really was ; and of this curiosity came naturally the plan to act himself as her confessor. When he heard her confession he " wrinkled his nose in wrath," l and wished that sudden death might overtake her; he trembled with anger and with hatred of the wife

1 De mautalent le nez fronci (v. 135).

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAK LITEKATURE. 337

whom he had loved so much and prized so highly ; the thought of vengeance alone comforted him ; when he heard her giving orders as usual, he looked at her, shook his head wrathfully, and threatened to kill her. And we see into her mind as well as into his : we learn that it was the fear of death that led her to desire absolution ; that she was deceived by her husband' s disguise ; that she marveled, next day, that he who was wont to kiss and embrace her did not deign even to speak to her ; and that she was not at all at ease when he accused her of her crimes, until she understood how he had learned of them. Here again the variety in method is noteworthy, — epithet, words, "pantomime," "physiological psychology/' Nice observation must have supplied the nose wrinkling, and the head shaking, in wrath.

jj That the purpose of it all is motivation, verisimilitude, is manifest.

Structuraljy^the fabliau develops the^situation of the

\- ballajd^Jbu±_prefixes anTruTodnc^ion to "heighten ^the effect, and works out the wife's defence at the end. ]Fqr^she_is. now saved, not by her ^usbanj'^-Qath^ut, jn conformity with fabliau Jraffiipji^_byjiej^

bility. If the story really developed in this way, as seems most likely, proportion and emphasis were determined by its history. If, that is, the germ of it was the Wife's Confession, it is natural that this should still be regarded as of most importance, and be elaborated at greatest length.1 Yet, as has been said, the lover is not present, as he is in the ballad : and the scene with the prior, and the later scene with the wife are elaborated for introduction and conclusion.

1 The difference in emphasis and proportion can be shown most clearly by means of the following table. In the fabliau twenty per cent, of the story is taken from the Confession. Of this four per cent, is added to the Introduction, and sixteen to the Wife's Reply.

338

WALTER MORRIS HART.

The latter renders the situation less final, more comic in effect. For purposes of contrast the earlier history of husband and wife is sketched. The main situation is still developed largely by means of dialogue.1 The group con- versation disappears with the lover; soliloquy (thought, purpose, emotion) is added to dualogue; and the wife's reply may be described as monologue. The ballad repeti- tion has completely disappeared and with it the artificiality ; the confession scene now wears the aspect of a real conver- sation, though the order of the revelations is less climactic than in the ballad. The speeches are assigned and gaps are filled in by "journeys" and by details of action. Thus when the knight had promised to fetch the prior he rode away on the horse he had mounted, and ambling along the road, thought of his wife. His arrival, his dismounting, his return on the prior's horse, which ambled slowly ; his concealment of his face in his hood, his reception by the servants, — all this is traced with a care quite foreign to the ballad. Manifestly, too, the situation as a whole is foreseen and more carefully motived. And not content

	QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.	LE CHEVALIER CONFESSEUR.
Words.	Per Cent.	Words.	Per Cent.
Introduction	144 300 24 12 480	.30 .62 .05 .03 1.00	582 714 96 324 1716	.34 .42 .05 .19 1.00
Confession
Transition
Wife's Reply

1 Now, however, only .62, as compared with the .71 of the ballad.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 339

with concealing the wife's wickedness up to the moment of confession, the trouv£re emphasizes her reputed virtue and her fine breeding, thus increasing the shock of surprise. In the same way he expressly states that she did not recog- nize her husband, in order to give full significance to her statement that she did.

As^in ihe ballad,i_the_main souivc£-_of_Jhe_cpmic effect is the irony of jhe situation and' the pain ofjthe husband in learning, in a kind of poetic justice^__that_he_Jias— been betrayed. This irBSTirroMtis^rick seems less expected than in me l>allad. To this must now be added the contrast between the husband's hoped-for revenge and his disappoint- ment, as well as whatever amusement may be derived from the final deception of the gullible husband and the evil cleverness of the wife. As his closing lines in regard to the amusement of those who heard the story show, the trouvere was fully alive to its comic character. At the beginning, too, he calls it a " marvel/7 His anxiety for verisimilitude, also, of which ample evidence has been cited,1 is further indication of his critical powers. Closely akin to these is, finally, his faculty for general comment upon life.2

Analyses of these typical examples of Ballad and Fabliau \ leave one mainly impressed with the contrast between the two. Both, indeed, are in the main popular in matter and manner, — anonymous, relatively impersonal, in primitive metres. In both, the action, though roughly localized, is not placed in a visualized setting. In both the attention is focussed on a small group of persons, with a few others in the background, but with little suggestion of the world

1 Cf., however, the careful explanation of the lady's failure to recognize her husband, — because of her great illness, his changed voice, and the darkness of the room illuminated only by a night lamp.

2Cf. vv. 103 ff., 126 ff., 204 ff.

*

340 WALTER MORRIS HART.

and society at large. From the ideal point of view all the characters in both are evil. Structurally, both are grasped k as wholes, ends are seen from beginnings. And in each the main thing is a situation involving comic irony, and implying a cynical view of life.

The contrasts aiFe more striking. There is, in the first place, the obvious difference in metre, — the ballad was composed for singing, the fabliau for recitation. The fab- liau is more than three times as long. It emphasizes and traces carefully, with reference to the action, the passage of time. It jsuopresses _lh^__lover^ a~nc^ introduces and develogs_thecharacteF-o£-the prior. In general, the persons become more real, no longer mere human agents, but types. Emotion and thought, mainly to be heard between the lines of the ballad, is, with a view to motivation and verisimili- tude, carefully traced in the fabliau.

Taking as its own the primitive situation furnished by the ballad, the fabliau elaborates it and adds to it. It substitutes for the repetitive confession a natural conversa- tion, taking account of accompanying thought and action. At the same time it makes the situation relatively shorter, adds a preliminary sketch of the chief persons and their relations, and develops a new conclusion on the basis of the general fabliau tradition of the character of the false wife. It fills in gaps, makes transitions, traces journeys. The situation furnished by the ballad, however, is still the matter of chief interest. It has the same comic irony. But other comic effects are now worked out, new contrasts between expectation and fulfilment. Though in this elaboration of the story the inevitable ballad unity of time, place, and point of view, is lost, unity of impression is in no way impaired, and the deception of the wife gains much in verisimilitude. In matter and manner there is evidence

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 341

of a new power of criticism, not only of literature, but of life.

These differences, however, striking as they are, are not to blind one to the marked resemblances of fabliau and ballad. Any classification of literary types must place these two close together. To contrast with both what may be regarded as a modern development of the same story is to make this clear. De Maupassant, in IS Inutile Beaute, takes this same theme, modernizes it, refines it, elaborates it, almost past recognition. Yet there is in the technique of his story nothing essentially new, nothing that is not to be found, though perhaps only in the faintest foreshadow- ing, in the fabliau. The wife no longer lies in her Defence, but in her Confession. The story is no longer comic, but deeply serious ; and it is pushed to a serious and significant conclusion. In the end the husband, Count de Mascaret, " sentit soudain, il sentit par une sorte d'intuition que cet £tre la n'etait plus seulement une femme destined a perpe"tuer sa race, mais le produit bizarre et myst^rieux de tous nos desirs compliques, amasses en nous par les si£cles, detourne"s de leur but primitif et divin, errant vers une beaute" mystique, entrevue et insaisissable." To attain to this conception of his wife the Count de Mascaret had to hear from her lips the solemn declaration that one of her children was not his, and, after six years of torturing doubt, to learn that this declaration had been a lie, that she had, in fact, always been faithful to him.

There are obvious contrasts, — the fourfold increase in length, the prose for private reading substituted for the verse for public recitation, a distinctive style and technique, for the old impersonal manner. While the attention is again focussed on husband and wife, the figures in the back- ground,— the servants, the seven children, the governess and the tutor, the audience at the opera, the two friends who

342 WALTER MORRIS HART.

discussed the Count and Countess, the people in the crowded streets, — all have become more real. The action is set in a real and visible world. It falls into two parts, separated by six years, one, an afternoon, evening, and night, the other, an evening. The persons are still, from the ideal point of view, evil. But they are far more complex, not wholly good or bad, but human. Doubtless we are to regard the wife as justified in her lie. The lover, from being present in the ballad, absent though existent in the fabliau, has become purely imaginary. Studies of mental states are elaborate and continual.

The Confession has ceased to be the main thing; de Maupassant is interested rather in the moral question involved in its motive, in the results of the long-sustained situation which it creates, in the immediate emotional effects, in the reaction upon character and upon the relations of husband and wife. The Introduction is put into the mouth of the Countess, an impassioned exposition, which gives the reader the necessary information, yet carries the story rapidly forward, with increasing suspense. A thoroughly modern motive is here substituted for the traditional trick of the fabliau. Unities of time, place, persons, point of view, are disregarded, yet the story remains essentially one, true to its heritage, from ballad and fabliau, of singleness of impression, of "dramatic concentration." Most striking is the development, from the foreshadowings in the fabliau conversation of husband and wife, of the criticism of life and human relations. The story as a whole has come to have a moral purpose, exists to enforce a moral concept ; one whole scene, nearly a third of the story, is given over to the discussion of it by persons introduced and character- ized simply for that purpose ; and only when the husband has grasped it, can the story end.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 343

II. THE FABLIAU AND THE FOLK TALE.

It is important to distinguish, at the beginning of our inquiry, between the two principal types of the folk tale, between mdrchen and schwank. This suggestive distinction is discussed in an admirable dissertation by Dr. L. F. Weber. He defines the marchen as " eine mit dichterischer phantasie entworfene erzahlung : " the schwank is the name for "einen lustigen streich, und die erzahlung eines solchen." Mdrchen may be translated fairy tale ; for schwank there is no English equivalent. Dr. Weber points out the differ- ences in technique between these two types and refers them to the differences in author, audience, and material. The marchen is, typically, told by nurses to women and children, is a tale of wonder which may be trusted to produce its own effect. The schwank, on the other hand, is, typically, told by men, in the tavern, is comic and can, therefore, be told in only the one way fitted to produce the desired effect. Hence the schwank is subjective in the sense that the narrator is obliged to think of technique, to plan carefully for the effect he intends. One may venture, then, to regard the schwank as less primitive than the marchen, implying more emphatically an audience and a narrator, the latter endowed with special skill, self-conscious, critical, calculating.

Das Burle1 is a fairly typical schwank, and contains a wholly typical scene, which is found, in elaborated form, in the fabliau of Le Povre Clerc.2 It offers, therefore, excel- lent opportunity for analysis and comparison. In substance it is as follows :

1 Grimm, no. 61. Dr. Weber regards Das Siirle as a schwankmarchen. Yet it differs from the schwank proper only in that it consists of a series of events instead of a single event.

2 Montaiglon-Raynaud, No. 132.

344 WALTER MORRIS HART.

In a wealthy village lived one poor peasant who owned not so much as a cow, but did so wish to have one. So he had the carpenter construct a calf of wood, and paint it brown, hoping that in time it would grow and become a cow. The carpenter cut and planed the calf, and painted it, and made it with its head hanging down as if it were grazing. At the peasant's request the cowherd carried it to pasture, but seeing that it would not come when he called, returned without it. When the owner went to look for it, it had been stolen, so he complained to the mayor, and the cowherd had to give him a cow.

But the peasant couldn't feed his cow, so he killed it, salted the meat, and set out to sell the skin in the town. On the way he saw a raven with broken wings, and out of pity he wrapped him in the hide and carried him along. A storm compelled the little peasant to stop at a mill and ask shelter. The miller's wife, who was alone, gave him bread and cheese to eat and straw to lie on in the corner, and thought that he went to sleep. So she welcomed the priest and prepared a feast for him. But just as they were ready to begin her husband came home, and she had to conceal the meat, the wine, the salad, the cake, and the priest. The miller demanded supper and invited the stranger to join him. Asked about his raven Biirle declared that he was a soothsayer, — " he tells four things, but keeps the fifth to himself." Biirle interpreted the raven's croaks as directions where to find meat, wine, salad, and cake, and the delighted miller agreed to pay three hundred thalers for one more prophecy. This was to the effect that the devil was in the cupboard. When the cupboard was opened the priest ran out and the miller ex- claimed, "It was true, I saw the black fellow with my own eyes ! "

When the peasant was brought before the mayor to explain his new prosperity he said that he had sold his cowhide in the town for three hundred thalers. Thereupon all the peasants killed their cows and took the hides to town ; but they got less than two thalers each for them. So they decreed that the little peasant should be put in a cask pierced full of holes, and rolled into the water. The priest who came to say a mass for his soul was the one whom he had seen with the miller's wife. He said to him : " I set you free from the cupboard ; set me free from the barrel." Just then a shepherd came up who desired to be mayor and Biirle per- suaded him that the proper way was to be closed up in the barrel. Biirle went off with the sheep and the peasants rolled the shepherd down into the water.

The peasants went home, and as they entered the village saw Biirle driving a flock of sheep and looking quite contented. He had found them, he said, at the bottom of the water. Then all the peasants plunged in to look for sheep. So all the village was dead, and Biirle, as sole heir, became a rich man.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAK LITEKATUKE.

345

The parallel fabliau makes use of but part of this tale ; this is the scene in the mill ; and this will, for the most part, engage our attention. Passing reference, however, must be made to typical characteristics in other parts of the story.

The time of the action is not the dim past, the typical " once upon a time " of the marchen. It is not stated, but gives the impression of the present, or, at least, of a past immediate and vivid. The place of action is regularly indi- cated; in the event under consideration it is the mill, or rather the single room in the mill where dwelt the miller and his wife. Its contents indicate its use : the straw in the corner where the peasant was invited to take his rest ; the tiled stove, the bed 1 and pillow, the cupboard in the entrance, where were concealed meat and wine, salad, cakes, and priest; clearly, this real and humble interior is very different from the gorgeousness desired by the marchen. The persons of the tale are no less humble, not only those who appear in the scene in the mill, — peasant, priest, miller, and miller's wife, — but also those who appear throughout the story. Unlike the marchen, the schwank does not marry its peasant hero to a princess. Unlike the marchen, too, the schwank is concerned with but a single generation. The namelessness of persons and places is rather a marchen than a schwank trait. The presence of domestic animals, realistic in effect, is in the way of the true schwank, how- ever, and the soothsaying raven is perhaps to be regarded as a schwank parody of the speaking birds of the marchen.

Nowhere are the persons directly described, and nothing is said of personal appearance ; through words and actions alone we gain our knowledge of character. The mayor

1 Where apparently the miller's wife went to bed and took the keys with her.

346 WALTEB MOBKIS HAKT.

.

of the neighboring town thus reveals himself most satis- factorily. "My servant must go first/' he said, when the peasants planned to sell their cowhides to the merchant. And when it was proposed to fetch the sheep from the bottom of the water he declared, " 1 come first." At the water's edge he pressed forward and said, " I will go down first and look about me, and if things promise well I'll call you."

From the marchen point of view the persons of the tale are all evil, except perhaps the miller, who is good-natured, at least, if somewhat stupid and gluttonous, — the typical gullible husband of the schwank. The relations of his wife and the priest are clearly characteristic, and are taken for granted as a common situation, requiring no explanation. The character of the hero is not altogether clear. Mani- festly, he is a rogue, but seems to blunder into the clever things he does and says. At the beginning of the tale he is apparently stupid enough to have built a wooden calf in the hope that in time it will grow and become a cow. It does not appear that he foresaw the astonishing success of the experiment. And it is not said that he had a definite plan in mind when he declared that his raven was a sooth- sayer. Doubtless we are to suppose that he had such a plan, and, like the typical rogue hero of the schwank, intended to make use of a stupid belief in the supernatural in order to deceive his victim. This is, in the main, his method throughout the tale ; his ulterior purpose, even the fact that he had an ulterior purpose, is, doubtless, inten- tionally concealed, in each case, for purposes of surprise. Thus any lack of clearness in character is the result of the use of an artifice of plot.

And if the central motive, — the relative stupidity and cleverness of the little peasant, — is not altogether clear, great pains are taken with the minor motivation. Burle

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 347

passed the mill on the way to sell his cowhide ; he took the wounded raven out of pity ; he sought shelter at the mill because of the storm ; the miller's wife received the priest because her husband was out, and because she supposed Biirle to be asleep ; when the peasant heard her speak about feasting "he was vexed that he had been forced to make shift with a slice of bread with cheese on it," — and so on. Apparently the narrator is making a special effort to get his story believed. It is scarcely necessary to call attention to the fact that he is not wholly successful. Thus it is mani- festly improbable that the miller's wife should entertain the priest while Biirle lies on the straw in the corner of the same room, even if she does suppose him to be asleep. Moreover, the stupidity of the cowherd, the shepherd, and the peasants generally, is beyond the limits of credibility, though perhaps frankly and laughably so, as in many examples of typical American humor. For all this, it is clear that the narrator of our schwank does try to provide for objections, to furnish adequate motives for the actions, and, in this respect, differs significantly from the narrator of the marchen. This empha- sis on motives leads even to some description, or suggestion by words and actions, of mental states, — the peasant's pity and vexation, the wife's fear, the miller's curiosity.

Structurally, Das Burle is not a typical schwank, for it consists not of a single event, but of a series of events. Nevertheless, it has not the inorganic structure of the marchen, the transitions from one event to another are carefully motived, — the scene at the mill results from kill- ing the cow, and the success of this adventure leads to a general slaughter of cows in the village, resulting in the attempted punishment of the peasant and his escape and triumph. At the beginning of the story he is the one poor peasant in a prosperous village ; at the end he is sole survivor and possessor of all the wealth. Clearly, the story

0

348 WALTEE MORRIS HART.

was conceived as a well-rounded whole, with a sense of proportion and of the relative values of beginning, middle, and end. It is very interesting to note that the second event, the scene in the mill, is the longest of the three.1 The internal structure of this scene shows the same sense of proportion and relative values. The preliminary or transitional motive is treated rapidly, the last and most important part of the scene is most fully elaborated.2 There is further evidenqe of grasp of the scene as a whole in the admirable foresight and preparation. The raven is mentioned at the moment the peasant finds him, though he is not needed until the last incident of the scene; the husband7 s absence is mentioned when the peasant enters the room,3 though it does not become significant until he returns, driven home by the same storm that led the peasant to ask for shelter.4

Thus, without backing and filling, the narrative moves forward steadily, but not too rapidly. The narrator knows how to conceive a climax, to approach it gradually, to hold back his point as long as possible. As has been said, he does not tell us that Biirle had any ulterior purpose in making the wooden calf, or in declaring his raven a sooth-

1 The figures are, roughly, —

1. The Wooden Calf, .19.

2. The Event in the Mill, .42.

3. The Triumph of Biirle, .39. 2Cf. p. 367, below.

3 It is further noteworthy that the priest is allowed to escape without a beating because it is necessary for him to befriend the little peasant later in the story. In the fabliau, we shall see presently, this source of comic effect is possible, because the story ends here.

*This art of preparation is not obvious or inevitable. A moment of hesitation, followed by "Oh, I had forgotten to say," etc., is not uncommon with more cultivated, if less skilful, narrators. See Stevenson's comment on Scott's neglect of "preparation," Memories and Portraits (1898), p. 272.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 349

sayer, or in telling the peasants that he had found his sheep at the bottom of the water. Thus, too, the narrator not only leads up, through a series of four, to the raven's chief revelation, — the presence of the devil-priest in the cupboard, — but also takes especial pains to hold back the last member of the series : " The miller would have liked much to know the fifth, but the little peasant said, < First we will quickly eat the four things, for the fifth is some- thing bad/ So they ate, and after that they bargained how much the miller was to give for the fifth prophecy, until they agreed on three hundred thalers." No less noteworthy is the narrator's effective use of contrast : he does not fail to emphasize the difference between Biirle lying on the straw in the corner, eating bread and cheese, and Biirle sitting at the table, sharing with the miller the supper prepared for the priest, and finally departing, three hundred thalers the richer for his adventure. A typical character- istic of the structure of popular narrative is the use of repetition, and for this the five prophecies of the raven offer an excellent opportunity. This is, naturally, made use of by the narrator. Four of the prophecies are developed by two sentences of simple " incremental repetition : " " Biirle . . . sprach, ' erstens (zweitens, drittens, viertens), hat er gesagt, es steckte Wein unterm Kopf kissen ' (ware Braten in der Ofenkachel, Salat auf dem Bett, Kuchen unterm Bett). f Das ware des Guckgucks ! ' rief der Miiller, gieng hin und fand den Wein (Braten, Salat, Kuchen)." The fifth member of the series, the close and climax, is, of course, differently phrased. The series of five members is, perhaps, an exaggeration or parody of the customary series of three of the marchen.

The use of dialogue is interesting. Thirty-three per cent, of the tale is in this form, and there is, in addition, a good deal of indirect discourse. There is no group

350 WALTER MORRIS HART.

conversation or soliloquy; monologue and dialogue are common. The former reveals mental states, the thoughts and feelings of the miller's wife and of the peasant, and character, as in the case of the mayor, cited above. The latter is used to expound purposes and motives, as in the case of the planning of the wooden calf; to carry on the action in concrete and dramatic fashion, throughout the tale ; and situations where one person moves another to act, as where Biirle persuades the cowherd to carry the wooden calf to pasture, the peasants to sell their cowhides, the foolish shepherd to enter the cask, etc.

So far as comic effects are concerned, it will be obvious at once that our schwank depends mainly upon comic dis- appointments, contrasts between expectation and fulfilment. Illustration is not necessary. Chance, the intriguer, and his victims, are all to blame. Thus it is quite by chance that the peasant finds the raven, comes to the mill on the same night as the priest, and meets the miller there, just as it is quite by chance that the same priest is appointed to say a mass for the little peasant's soul, or that this particu- lar shepherd, who desired to become mayor, passes at just this moment. Yet these are merely opportunities ; it requires a particularly quick and clever intriguer to make use of them all for the discomfiture of his victims. And the victims, in each case, are only too eager to walk into the traps thus set for them.

Comic effect depends also on incongruity in character, though in less degree. This consists mainly in the implied contrast of the incredible stupidity of Biirle's victims with the normal Intelligence of men. But there is contrast^also with the moral norm in priest and miller's wife and in the selfish omciousness of the mayor. Yet there is.no sugges- tion whatever of a satirical tendency. With no thought of judging, no sense of superiority, narrator and audience

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 351

simply enjoy these comic imperfections, moral as well as intellectual. Enjoyment, however, never approaches sym- pathy with the victims ; there are no regrets for the cheated cowherd or miller, for the poor shepherd who is drowned in the cask in Biirle's place, even for the whole village, when, led by the mayor, they find death instead of sheep at the bottom of the water.1

Absence of sympathy, of pathos, of any suggestion of seriousness, complete control of the story by the schwank feeling, as opposed to the marchen feeling, are striking characteristics. And if an unconscious and instinctive sense of fitness has preserved this unity of impression in the story as a whole, it has preserved, all the more completely, in the scene at the mill, this and the other unities, — of place, of time, of action, of persons, even of point of view.

The story of Le Povre Clere is, in substance, as follows :

A clerk, compelled by poverty to leave Paris and return to his home, found himself, at the end of a day's walk, tired and hungry, with no shelter for the night. Approaching a peasant's house, he found there the peasant's wife and a maid-servant, and asked for a lodging. On the ground of her husband's absence the wife refused, and would not listen to the plea of the poor scholar, who had been walking since early morning. As he spoke, a man brought in two casks of wine and the wife ran to conceal them in a dark corner. Meanwhile he saw the maid baking cake and taking pork from the pot and placing it on a platter. The poor clerk stood hesitating on the threshold. "How nice it would be if I might remain," he said ; but all to no purpose ; he heard the door slam as he turned away.

1 Like the savage punishment of wicked mothers-in-law, or the wanton beheading of unsuccessful suitors, in the marchen, this comic view of death, in the schwank, is doubtless a survival from primitive beginnings. It is not uncommon in popular literature, — see the variant versions of the tale now under discussion, and tales like that of the Three Monks of Colmar (Gesammtabenteuer, No. 62). But much the same thing appears in the familiar modern story of the Texas vigilance committee which hanged an innocent man for a horse-thief, and concluded its letter of apology to the widow, "We can only say, Madame, that the joke is

352 WALTER MORRIS HART.

Not far from the house he met a man in the dress of a priest, who stole past him without greeting, and was received with honor where he had been turned away. " Where am I to stay this night," he cried. The peasant, returning from the mill with a sack of flour for his children's bread, heard him and invited him to return. When she heard her husband knock, the woman concealed the priest in the stable [crozcAe] and opened the door. Asked to prepare a meal for the guest, she declared that she had nothing in the house, and could only bake bread with the flour which her husband had just brought in.

As they waited, the peasant asked the clerk to pass the time by telling the story of some adventure or song which he had read or heard. The clerk replied that he knew no fablel, but would tell the story of a great fright which he had just had. Passing through a forest he had seen a herd of swine attacked by a wolf who chose for his meal one of the herd whose flesh was "as fat as the meat that your servant took but just now from the pot." So the wife had to produce the pork. " The blood," the clerk went on, " was as red as the wine that the man was carrying into your house when I stopped to ask for a lodging." In his fright the clerk had thrown a stone, as big as the cake that the servant was baking, at the wolf, who appeared very much like the priest " who is now looking at us through the window." The priest got a beating, and the poor scholar feasted on meat, wine, and cake, and was given the priest's cloak into the bargain.

It is evident that the fabliau selects but one of the scenes of the schwank. This it proceeds to elaborate into a story of about 1,500 words, nearly twice as long as the mill scene in the schwank. With the details of this elaboration we are now concerned.

The reality and immediacy of effect is carried a little farther. The time of the action is no less the present. The place is still unnamed, but it is in France, a day's march from Paris, where the clerk has been studying ; the scene is a room in the peasant's house ; whether it is the only room or not is not clear, for we learn nothing of its contents. Apparently door and window connect it with the stable. We now find ourselves a degree higher in the social scale. The hero is not a peasant, but a clerk, who, by study- ing at Paris, connects the story with the known world. Like Biirle, however, he is distinguished by his poverty. His

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 353

host is not a miller, but a peasant, who is bringing flour from the mill for his children's bread. He is a person of more importance than the miller, since man and maid servant are in his employ. These last, and the children, are fabliau additions to the dramatis personse of the schwank. As in the schwank, all are nameless. The raven and the domestic animals disappear.

Again with the exception of the husband, the characters are all evil. There is the same cynical view of the relations of priests, women, and husbands, typical alike of schwank and fabliau. There is no reason to suppose that the clerk was better than the usual clerk intriguer of the fabliau, though he is in no way blameworthy in the present story. As has been said, he is justified in mentioning what he had seen, and unlike Biirle, he does not practice any deception upon his host. The priest remains the same lay figure. The miller's wife is, in the interests of poetic justice, made a less agreeable person, who sends the hungry clerk away from her door instead of offering him even the meager hospitality of bread and cheese and a bed of straw. She is less passive and silent than her schwank prototype, and attempts to explain to her husband the presence of meat, cake, and wine. He is perhaps somewhat less gullible. At any rate, though he seems to believe her excuses, he is not called upon to give credit to the powers of a sooth- saying raven. Though more irritable, he is at the same time more hospitable, a shade more complex than his proto- type. The hero appears in a more favorable light. His little intrigue or trick is more justifiable; and there is nothing in the fabliau to suggest that he is stupid.

As in the schwank, we gain our knowledge of the persons, not from direct descriptions1 of appearance or

1 Except that the miller's wife is described as being very proud in man- ner, " mout fu de fier con tenement " (v. 24).

H

354 WALTER MORRIS HART.

character, but from words and actions, as in the contrasted receptions of the clerk by the peasant and by his wife, the peasant's declaring that his house is his own, to receive whom he likes, his wrath at finding nothing for his guest to eat, the priest's passing the clerk without greeting.

While we have, in the schwank, the trick partly for the supper, but mainly for its own sake, we have, in the fabliau, the trick for purposes of revenge. And, perhaps because the scene stands alone, and is not one of a series of similar adventures, there is less emphasis upon the character of the intriguer. Though the story is simplified by the omission of the raven, there is the same care in minor motivation : the clerk's poverty (a common fabliau motive) ; his hunger and weariness ; the husband's trip to the mill for flour for his children ; l his desire to hear stories, leading directly to the clerk's narrative of his great fright. In neither story is it quite clear why the hero should employ stratagem at all. In the schwank, gratitude, perhaps, causes him to spare the wife; in the fabliau, fellow-feeling causes him to spare the priest ; in both cases, doubtless, he gains the husband's favor more completely by this means. In the schwank, the marvelous insight of the raven wins his owner three hundred thalers. This pseudo- supernatural element seems to have been lost from the fabliau and to have been replaced by something not so effective. The fabliau, however, manifestly improves upon the schwank in doing away with the improbable third person in the room, and provides more vigorous motive for the intriguer's action in the wife's refusal to admit him at all. The feelings of the hungry clerk, as he stands on the threshold and sees preparations for the feast, are, the

1 Yet this does not account, as the storm does in the schwank, for the husband's unexpected return. The schwank is clearly, in this respect, superior.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 355

trouv£re evidently thinks, better imagined than described. Elsewhere, however, motives are emphasized, as in the schwank, by brief references to emotions, — to the husband's vexation, or the wife's fear.

Structurally, the fabliau differs from the schwank in that it consists of a single event, rather than of a series. This structure is, however, the rule for the schwank ; Das Burle is exceptional. It is also the rule for the fabliau. Com- pared with the internal structure of the mill scene in Das Bwie, Le Povre Clerc, as a whole, shows the same sense of proportion and relative values ; the same parts of the story receive much the same emphasis.1 There is really no signifi- cant difference, except that the trouvere permits himself to add a "moral," to the effect that one should never send away any man in haste from one's door, — had not the peasant's wife been inhospitable the clerk would not have said a word. Thus the whole story is interpreted as an example of poetic justice, and this " moral," however curi- ous it may seem to modern readers, is interesting as evidence of the trouvere's power to comment on the action. His opening line, similarly, reveals a self-consciousness beyond the narrator of the schwank : he does not, he says, wish to tell a long story. And he has clearly a firm grasp of his tale as a whole, makes adequate preparation for whatever is to come. The poor and hungry scholar sees, as he stands on the threshold, wine and meat and cake ; and presently he meets the priest in the street. When the husband knocks at the door the priest conceals himself in the stable, later looking through the window at the clerk. Thus each incident is mentioned in its proper place. There is no back- ing and filling ; the narrative moves steadily forward ; as in the schwank, the climax, — the discovery of the priest, —

iSeep. 367, below.

356 WALTER MORRIS HART.

is approached through a series of less important incidents, now three in number instead of four. Unlike the schwank, however, is the absence of special effort to delay the climax ; l it is introduced in exactly the same manner as the other incidents, though distinguished by the different effect pro- duced upon the peasant. This series of incidents, obviously, offers an opportunity, in the fabliau as in the schwank, for verbal repetition, but of this the trouvere does not avail himself.2 The same contrasts are involved in the story.

Of dialogue there is, relatively, nearly twice as much in the fabliau as in the schwank.3 There is relatively less indirect discourse. The increase in amount of dialogue is due largely to the fact that the clerk's story of his great fright takes the place of the soothsaying raven. The interruptions of the peasant, too, are longer, and each time his wife has something to say, does not simply go to bed and take the keys with her, as in the schwank. There is thus, in the successive incidents leading up to the climax, a series of group conversations. In each case the order of speeches is the same, the form is the simplest possible. What is remarkable is the presence of group conversation in any form ; it is unusual, if not unparalleled, in the fabliau. To the more extended use of dialogue is due mainly the greater length of the opening scene between clerk and peasant's wife. In the fabliau he makes several vain requests for food and lodging ; in the schwank he is admitted at once. It is noteworthy that in each case his opening speech is given in the indirect form ; in the fabliau

1Cf. pp. 348-9, above,

3 A trace remains in the peasant's

"Que est ce, dame? avon nos vin?" (v. 187). "Qu'est ce, dame? avon nos gastel?" (v. 211).

'About 64 per cent.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 357

it has more nearly the effect of direct discourse.1 There is no monologue ; mental states are for the most part directly described, as, for example, the effect upon the wife of each of the clerk7 s revelations. Dialogue, however, in the form of dualogue or group conversation, is the main method of carrying on the narrative. Omit from the last part of the scene the brief reference to the wife's emotions, and dialogue is all that is left. To dialogue, finally, we owe, as has been said, most of our knowledge of the character of the persons concerned.

For comic Affects thefabliau, like the schwank, depends mainly on plot. There are the same comic disappointments ; but they are now due not to the stupidity of any victim, but wholly to chance and to the intriguer. As a source of comic effect character is less important than in the schwank. Imperfections are moral, merely, not intellectual ; the moral tag at the end does not affect the attitude of mere unjudging enjoyment. Since the story ends with the discovery of the priest, it is not necessary to let him off without the usual beating ; this is described, however, with less than the usual detail. Death, as a source of comic effect, does not appear, since that part of the schwank is not included in the fabliau.

While the trouvere expands or elaborates the story, he does so without destroying the unities. His new incident, indeed, — the meeting of clerk and husband in the street, — involves a slight change of scene, and, later, when priest and wife are alarmed at the peasant's return, it involves a slight inconsistency in point of view. These are matters of minor importance, however. Unity of impression is

xln the schwank : "err. . . . bat urn Herberge ;" in the fabliau,

" L'ostel li a li clers requis Par charitS et par amor " (vv. 26 f. ).

9

358 WALTER MORRIS HART.

nowise affected ; unities of time, of persons, of action, are no less marked than in the schwank.

Unlike the analyses of Ballad and Fabliau, these analyses of Schwank and Fabliau leave one mainly impressed with the remarkable similarity of the types. Both are " subjec- tive " in the sense that they are composed with reference to a definite comic effect. Yet both are impersonal, — give us no hint, beyond the suggestion of masculine authorship, of a man behind the composition, — are essentially anonymous. Both were intended for a more or less public recitation.1 Both are realistic in effect. In both, time and place are vivid and near at hand. The persons are of the middle class, commonplace, unnamed, of a single generation. Their appearance is not mentioned ; their characters are not empha- sized, and not described, but suggested dramatically. A certain cynicism with regard to them is implied. In both, the preliminary motive is poverty ; the minor motivation is excellent; the grasp of the story as a whole is noteworthy. Both are remarkable for proportion, relative emphasis, prepa- ration for what is to come. In both, comic effects are due mainly to plot ; and in the attitude toward the comic imper- fections of character is neither satire nor sympathy. Both have marked unity, in every sense ; and both are notably concrete and dramatic in effect.2

1 The Fabliaux are intended ' ' bei passender Gelegenheit offentlich recitiert zu werden." J. Loth, Die Sprichworter und Sentenzen der Altfranzosischen Fabliaux. They are, says Bedier, "destines a la recitation publique." Les Fabliaux, p. 37.

2 All that has just been said is equally true of Hans Sachs's Derfarendt Schuler mit dem Teuffelbannen ; schwank or fabliau become farce with the slightest of changes. The farce is obviously all dialogue, it is longer (2,150 words), and, like the fabliau, it is verse. The priest is received before the scholar, and both priest and Bewrin take part in turning out the scholar. The series of revelations does not appear. Instead, the final revelation is elaborated : the priest is compelled, disguised as the devil,

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 359

The fabliau manifestly differs from the schwank in that it is verse, and in its greater length, due in part to addition of new material, mainly, however, to an elaboration of what was already there.1 Aside from these very obvious matters, however, the differences, while not without significance, are slight and rather subtle. In the fabliau we find ourselves in a world which, in its mention of the clerk of Paris, is a shade more real and a degree higher in the social scale. There is less mention of the furnishings of the room where the action takes place. The clerk's host is a man of greater importance than the peasant's. Background characters are added. The central motive, — the character and purpose of the hero, — is clearer. There is direct evidence of greater self-consciousness in the opening line and in the moral at the close. The latter interprets the story as an example of poetic justice. In conformity with this idea is the wife's refusal to admit the clerk. The story thus becomes more credible. The same effect is produced by the exclusion of - the abnormally stupid victims, and of the soothsaying raven. The device which takes the raven's place, the clerk's story, with its series of similes, is indeed more proba- ble, but at the same time more learned, more artificial,

to bring in wurst, semmel, and wine. The Bawer is frightened, but notices the resemblance to the priest. The wife declares that she would like to see the devil oftener in their house. Thus the tendency to give most space to what is most important, which increases as we pass from schwank to fabliau, is carried still further in the farce. The phase of life is practically that of the fabliau. There is the same underlying sense of poetic justice. There is still more, and more varied, group conversation. As in the schwank, however, the hero makes use of the belief in the supernatural to practice upon the stupidity of one of his victims ; and the unexpected return of the husband is motived. On the whole, — except for the increase in dialogue, — it does not appear in any way necessary to suppose fabliau or its equivalent to intervene between schwank and farce. It is an easy step from schwank to farce direct. 1CL p. 367, below.

360 WALTER MORRIS HART.

less effective. The absence of a special effort to delay the climax renders the fabliau, in this respect, inferior. The incremental repetition vanishes. There is an increase of over thirty per cent, in the amount of dialogue, and a greater diversity in the forms employed ; group conversa- tion marks an important advance in the art of dramatic narration. Comic disappointments are due no longer to the stupidity of the victim but to moral obliquity. The elabo- ration, finally, results in momentary disregard of the unities of place and point of view. The fabliau is, then, peculiar in the possession of a certain intellectual or rational quality, of which there is evidence in the self-conscious opening line, the notion of an underlying moral law, and in the substitu- tion of the artificial series of similes for the soothsaying raven.

A further elaboration of this same story may be traced in the Scottish fabliau of The Freiris of Berwik, sometimes ascribed to Dunbar.1 It is about 4,600 words in length, — more than three times as long as Le Povre Clerc, about six times as long as the mill scene in Das Burle. The story is, in substance, as follows :

It happened one day in May that two Jacobin friars, Allane and Robert, were returning from the country to their monastery in the fair walled city of Berwick-upon-Tweed. As it drew toward night they stopped at an inn

1 Professor W. H. Browne prints it with Dunbar' s poems in his Early Scottish Poets. To Professor Henderson ' ' it does not seem to be stamped with the impress of Dunbar' s peculiar genius. It is too purely and lightly comic, too genial, and even too merely superficial, to be his. The irony possesses little of his subtlety, corrosiveness, or depth. The style, easy, simple, and apt though it be, lacks his peculiar strength and incisiveness." Scottish Vernacular Literature, p. 278. Professor G. Gregory Smith says : "The ascription of this piece to Dunbar has been doubted, but there is nothing in it unworthy of his metrical art or his satiric talent." The Cambridge History of English Literature, n, 288. The question of author- ship is not involved in the present study. So long as it is unsettled, it will be convenient to speak of the author as Dunbar.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 361

kept by one Symon Lawrear. Symon himself was away, and his wife, while she gave them ale and bread and cheese, refused them, in her hus- band's absence, any lodging other than the loft at one end of the hall. Thither the maid conducted them, made their bed, and closed them in.

However, Freir Kobert, in quest of adventure, cut a hole in the floor, and was rewarded by sight of preparations for a feast. Presently Freir Johine, abbot of the Augustinian monastery, entered, and began to make merry with dame Aleson. But just as the table was spread they heard a great knocking at the door and Symon' s voice calling for admittance. Wine, rabbits, capons, partridges, and plover were concealed in the cup- board, and Freir Johine under a great trough in the corner. While the maid swept the house and put out the fire, Aleson flung off her finery, got into bed, and let Symon knock and call to his heart's content. At last she rose, demanded who was there calling her name, and refused admittance to anyone. When Symon declared himself, she welcomed him heartily, hastily covered the board, and set soused calve' s foot and sheep's head before him. He expressed a desire for company at this repast ; a discreet cough informed him of the presence of the guests above, and he insisted upon their being asked to join him. In reply to his half apology for "such as we have," Freir Allane declared that here was God's plenty, but Freir Kobert confessed that he had learned certain practices in Paris, over sea, and could provide whatever was desired. After turning toward the east, reading in his book, clapping his hands, groaning and glouring as if he were mad, and more hocus-pocus, all terrifying enough to Aleson, he directed her to go to the cupboard and bring forth wine, rabbits, capons, partridges, and plover. Aleson found what she had herself placed there, yet started back, as if terrified, crossed herself, and cried out that it was a great marvel.

The company now proceeded to enjoy these dainties. The friars drank "cup out," they and Symon sang loudly, and thus with good cheer they passed the long night. For the dame there was little pleasure in it, yet she must needs bear her part, a smile on her face and a heavy heart in her breast. At length Symon expressed a very natural wonder at the friar's skill. Robert replied that it was a very simple matter, — he had at his beck and call a servant who brought him whatever he desired. Symon wished to see this servant. Freir Kobert at first refused outright, then made difficulties, but at length consented that he should appear in the compara- tively harmless form of an Augustinian friar. Symon was stationed at the door, a staff in his hand, somewhat frightened,— but stout was his heart. Then Freir Kobert conjured the evil spirit to appear in the likeness of a friar, in a black habit, from the great trough in the corner, and, with cowl drawn down over his face, harming no one, to leave that house and come there no more. And so it happened. As the black friar reached the door Robert called on Symon to strike hard. Symon brought down his staff

3 »

362 WALTER MOEEIS HART.

with such force on the abbot's neck that he himself fell and broke his head on a stone. Freir Johine missed the step and fell into a mire, but picked himself up and made ofl in haste, his clothing " nothing fair." Kobert raised Symon from the floor, revived and reassured him. Thus Symon's head was broken, the abbot was fouled in the mire, and Aleson in no wise got her will.

We find ourselves here in a Present still more vivid, — a morning and a night in May, — in a place still more real, — the neighborhood of Berwick, whose walls and towers are celebrated in a manner characteristic of the early Scottish delight in description for its own sake. The scene of the action is now the interior of an inn, a hall with a loft for corn and hay, reached by a trap, at one end ; sleeping rooms elsewhere ; table, spread with rich cloth and fair napery above, chairs, fire, cupboard, in a corner a great trough for dough, a stone for grinding mustard ; outside, a vast mire, wherein, missing the steps, one might fall. We continue to ascend the social ladder. Symon's inn betokens his import- ance. The intriguer is no peasant or poor clerk, but a friar; his victim, an abbot, whose supper was to be worthy of his rank. The moral elevation is much the same.

The most noteworthy phase of the elaboration of the story is in the direction of character. Each of the persons is introduced with a few lines of description. The victim, Freir Johine, was a " Blak Freir of grit renown : "

He had a prevy posterne of his awin,

Quhair he micht ische, quhen that he list, vnknawin (vv. 127 f. ).

While Symon Lawrear was but a " woundir gude hostillar," who had the usual qualities of good nature and gullibility, required by the story, his wife Aleson had gone far beyond her prototypes in cleverness. She was "dink" and " danger- ous/7 and, not content with silence or mere passive explana- tions, she planned an active campaign to deceive her husband, feigning sleep and then indignation when he returned, and

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 363

an astonishment equal to his own at the discovery in the cupboard. Freir Allane, an addition of Dunbar's, was old, weary, lay still on the straw in the loft, declared himself content with Symon's simple fare. His only function in the story is to act as foil to Eobert, who was young, vigor- ous, restless, hot of blood, cut a hole to see what was going on below, and at once devised and carried out a plan to conjure the dainties out of the cupboard and the abbot out of the house. Both these simple friars "with wyffis weill cowld gluder." Evidence of character, it is manifest, is obtained from epithet, from direct description, as well as from words and actions. Still we learn nothing of personal appearance.

Freir Robert's trick is motived in much the same fashion as Biirle's, — not so much by desire for revenge or even by desire for the supper, as by delight in the art of gulling for its own sake. Add to this the rivalry of Jacobins and Augustinrans, clearly implied. And there is, as has been said, greater emphasis upon the character of the intriguer, a gratuitous emphasis, one may say, since it is not necessary to explain the action, or, as with Biirle, to unify a longer and looser plot. There is the same care in the minor motivation, though Dunbar, like the trouvere, neglects to account for the husband's unexpected return. As in the schwank, the intriguer is permitted to remain in the house, but his bed of straw is moved to a loft, where he is locked up, supposedly unable to see or hear what goes on. Thus the story becomes more credible. Desire for credibility, however, does not exclude the pseudo-supernatural element, as it does in the fabliau, but gives it a form practically identical with that in the Farendt Schuler. Freir Eobert' s hocus-pocus, certainly, requires far more interesting and characteristic action of the wife, and Dunbar, to emphasize her cunning, dwells upon her fear, contrasts what she does

364 WALTER MORRIS HART.

with what she feels. Nor does he fail to look into the minds of the other persons, — even of Freir Johine, — and thus mental states come to receive more attention than in schwank or fabliau.

Structurally, Dunbar carries still further the development of the single scene ; he elaborates what was already there, adding nothing from without. He closes, not with a moral, but with a summary, and makes no comment on his story. He carries still further the emphasis of important matters.1 He makes the same adequate preparation for what is to come, reveals the same grasp of his story as a whole.2 The narrative is no less steady in its forward movement, but the pace is now slower, there is more delay, more suspense. The series of minor revelations, taken over, though with loss of one number and of incremental repetition, by the fabliau from the schwank, now disappears altogether. In- stead we have the single revelation, with elaborate dialogue and minor actions, followed by the nightlong merry-making,3 then more dialogue and hocus-pocus, all leading up to the comic climax, and, at the same time, delaying it. This is the method of the Farendt Schuler and, manifestly, it is more dramatic, since the suspense is greater, and the monotony of the series is avoided. The usual contrasting situations and

'Cf. p. 367, below.

2 Yet there are some minor inconsistencies. Thus the two friars feared that the gates would be closed (v. 47), and for this reason planned to spend the night at Symon's. Yet when, as they were making merry they heard the bell, "they were agast," because they knew that the gates were now closed (v. 77). Again, Aleson "covers the board" (v. 178), though she had already done so (v. 143). And, finally, Freir Kobert conjures a good deal more out of the cupboard than Aleson put in. Cf. vv. 132 ff. and 151 ff. with vv. 361 S. As a story grows longer it grows more difficult to handle.

3 This special delay, it will be remembered, is a virtue of the schwank, not found in the fabliau.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITER ATUBE. 365

mental states, involved in the story, now receive greater emphasis. Merely for purposes of contrast with the hero is introduced, as has been said, the new figure of Freir Allane.

While, as in the schwank and the fabliau, it is never necessary for the plot that distinct series of actions should be carried on simultaneously, Dunbar is nevertheless careful to mark very clearly the transitions from the doings of one character or group of characters to the doings of another, to call attention to every shift of point of view. So he says :

Thus in the loft latt I thir freiris ly (v. 118).

And, after a mere description of Freir Johine,

Now thus in-to the toun I leif him still, Bydand his tyme ; and turne agane I will To this fair wyfe (vv. 129 ff. ).*

While there is relatively less dialogue than in the fabliau, absolutely there is a good deal more. Of the 4600 words, that is, about 2400, or .52, are in the form of direct discourse. In the fabliau there are only 1500 words in all, of which 960, or .64, are dialogue; and in the Farendt Schuler there are only 2150 words, so that Dunbar actually writes more dialogue than Sachs. Yet it is less dramatic in effect than the conversation in the fabliau. It is, indeed, used to make clear purpose and situation, and to express mental states ; it even takes the place of narrative in Freir Johine' s list of his contributions to the feast. But there is a distinctly non-dramatic tendency to separate speeches by narrative passages, and to mingle indirect with direct discourse. Thus

1Cf. vv. 164 ff., 256 ff., 4983.

366 WALTER MORRIS HART.

Freir Robert said, 4I pray grit God him speid Him haill and sound in- to his travell,' And hir desyrit the stowp to fill of aill, ' That we may drink, for I am wondir dry' (vv. 64 ff. ).

There is a good deal of indirect discourse, — as in schwank and fabliau the first speech to the hostess is in this form. Furthermore, while there is dualogue, soliloquy, monologue, Dunbar neglects excellent opportunities for group conversa- tion. Dialogue -alone would not carry along the story as it does in the most important part of the fabliau.

Comic' effects are, once more, mainly a matter of plot. In spite of his increased interest in character, Dunbar makes little or no attempt to develop its comic incon- gruities. The contrast between Allane and Robert is amusing, indeed, yet in no way comparable to Chaucer's contrast of Absolon and Nicholas, for instance ; and though Aleson is described as a dink and dangerous," these qualities are not brought into comic relation with the plot, as they are in the case of Simkin's wife in the Reeve's Tale. The effect of the comic disappointments of the plot, how- ever, is considerably heightened by Dunbar' s elaboration, and the possibilities of Pain are more completely developed. Thus, as has been said, Aleson's fear is dwelt upon with more frequency and emphasis, and a good deal is made of the terrors of Johine, not mentioned in schwank or fabliau. Moreover, he is not permitted to escape unharmed, as in Das Burle, or with a mere beating, as in Le Povre Clerc, but a fall into the mire is added to Symon's great blow, which now becomes even more disastrous for the innocent husband than for the guilty lover. Freir Robert thought, indeed, that Symon was dead, but this height of comic climax Dunbar does not permit us to enjoy. Manifestly, however, there is no thought of justice, poetic or other ; there is no moral tag, appropriate or inappropriate, no

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 367

rationalization of the story, and enjoyment of it, as of the schwank, is purely unjudging and emotional.

If the fabliau in elaborating the story trespassed some- what against the unities, Dunbar, in carrying on the elaboration, trespassed still farther. His description of Berwick is there for its own sake, simply, as is some of his description of character. There is, moreover, in the earlier part of the story, continual shift of point of view. But these, once more, are minor matters, and in the main Dunbar holds fast to the schwank-fabliau tradition of unity, — of time, of place, of action, of persons, of impression.

In spite, then, of its greater length, The Freiris of Berwick seems to be very nearly as conservative as Le Povre Clerc in its elaboration of the technique of Das Burle. Character- istics common to schwank and fabliau, though doubtless more pronounced or more highly developed, are still, for the most part, preserved. There is the same "subjectivity," impersonality, fitness for recitation ; the same realism and vividness ; the same cynicism ; the same careful motivation, grasp of the story as a whole, proportion, emphasis,1 prepara-

1 The relative elaboration of the various parts of the story, in its three forms, may be set forth in the following table :

	SCHWANK.	FABLIAU.	DUNBAK.
Words.	Per Cent.	Words.	Per Cent.	Words.	Per Cent.
					216 216 584 480 400 2640 48 4584 |	.05 .05 .12 .10 .09 .58 .01 1.00
1. Introduction	80 60 55	.10 .07 .07	120 210 180 90 846 78	.08 .14 .12 .06 .55 .05
2. Reception of Hero
3. Reception of Priest
4. Hero meets Husband
5. Arrival of Husband	75 510	.10 .66
6. The Revelations
7. Moral
	780	1.00	1524	1.00

368 WALTER MORKIS HAET.

tion ; the same dependence on plot for comic effects ; the same attitude toward comic imperfections of characters; the same concrete and dramatic method ; and, finally, very nearly the same unity.

In certain respects The Freiris of Berwick differs from Le Povre Clere and resembles Das Burle. It resembles it in the absence of poetic justice ; in the retention of the pseudo- supernatural as a means of gulling the husband ; and in the special effort to delay the climax. But like Le Povre Clerc it is in verse, and it resembles it furthermore in its apparent connection with the real world, in the clearness of its central motive, and in its use of Pain as a source of comic effect.

Dunbar's technique owes much, then, to schwank and fabliau ; and even for the little that is left we can claim no great originality for him, since his improvements were made under the very evident influence of his master, Chaucer. His metre is the familiar heroic couplet of the Canterbury Tales. The description of Berwick may have been inspired by a desire to outdo the descriptions prefixed to the Miller's Tale and the Reeve's Tale; like the opening lines of the Clerk's Tale it introduces matter not necessary for the story. The elaboration of character recalls Chaucer. There are two intriguers, as in the Reeve's Tale; but one has nothing to do ; doubtless he is there only to make a contrast like that of Absolon and Nicholas in the Miller's Tale. The bits of character-description suggest Chaucer's method, though D unbar is briefer and does not follow Chaucer's plan of describing two characters fully, then introducing to these a third. The very names, though they all occur in the French fabliaux, are doubtless taken from Chaucer — Johine, Allane, and Symon, from the Reeve's Tale, Aleson, from the Miller's Tale, Robert, perhaps, from the Friar's Tale (D. 1356). Again, the preliminary motive is not poverty, but, as in the Reeve's Tale, the intriguers come in wet and

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 369

weary, simply, desiring food and lodging. Freir Robert's use of the pseudo-supernatural to gull a stupid husband recalls Nicholas, in the Miller's Tale; their methods are much the same. Rough parallels for the verses used to mark transitions may be found in the Franklin's Tale.1 It is even conceivable that the " mustard-stone/ ' upon which Symon fell, was the same that tripped his namesake in the Reeve's Tale.2 The mention of " Wednesday " as the day of the husband's departure recalls the similar and really necessary indication of the time of the husband's absence in the Miller's Tale. And for the final summary close parallels are to be found in the closing lines of Miller and Reeve. '

III. GENERAL CONCLUSIONS.

We have now traced the development of the story of the Wife's Confession from Comic Ballad (with incidental con- trast with the technique of the more primitive Simple Ballad), through the Fabliau, to the Short Story ; and we have traced the parallel development of the story of the Lodging for the Night from the Schwank (with incidental contrast with the technique of the more primitive Marchen), through the Old French Fabliau, to the Scottish Fabliau. The first line is longer than the second ; it begins with a more primitive form and ends with one more highly elabo- rated. We have now, by way of summary and conclusion, to combine the results of these inquiries, and, disregarding the subject-matter, the story, to trace the development of manner, of technique, alone, from the simplest type to the most complex.

1Cf. vv. 1084 f., 1099 f.

2 This stone, Professor Browne explains, was used for grinding mustard. Perhaps this was the purpose of the stone in the floor of the miller's house.

370 WALTEB MORRIS HART.

For Queen Eleanor's Confession part, at least, of Professor Guinmere's characterization of Babylon still holds : " Here the situation retains its sovereignty, and keeps the ballad brief, abrupt, springing and pausing, full of incremental repetition, and mainly in dialogue form." * But there is now something more than bare situation ; we know where the dialogue took place, who the speakers were, how they felt. We learn what happened just before and just after the confession. We are conscious of something like a special effort to preserve unity of tone, to produce a purely comic effect.

Das Burle represents a higher stage of the development. It is not alone that prose is less primitive than verse, the narrator and his audience, than the chorus ; the situation has begun to lose its supremacy, elements of narration are thrust forward. We learn now not merely what the setting was, but, in a measure, how it looked. We know when* the action took place, what sort of people took part in it, just why it was that they came together. Abruptness vanishes ; the action moves more slowly and steadily, with the special pause, for suspense, as, through a series of ballad-like repetitions, we approach the climax. Dialogue yields to narrative. In general, the art is manifestly more self-conscious, more is made of the comic possibilities of the story, comic effects are more nicely calculated. So far as the scene in the mill is concerned the unities are all preserved.

We have already traced the development of this story in Le Povre Clerc, — the change back to verse, and the further increase in length. Due conceivably to the per- sistence of ballad traditions are the closer connections with the real world, accompanied by slight loss in visualization,

1 The Popular Ballad, p. 111.

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 371

the rise in the social scale, the increase in dialogue, with group conversation. But all repetition now vanishes. Character is more firmly grasped, the central motive be- comes clearer. Most notable is the development of the tendency towards self-consciousness and reflection. Comic effects are more carefully calculated. Unities of place and point of view are not so well preserved.

Le Povre Clere and Le Chevalier qui fat sa fame confesse are not far from the same level ; the latter is, however, a little longer and is clearly the more highly developed. It lacks, necessarily the homely details of Das Burle and Le Povre Clerc, yet the trouvere was at some pains, evidently, to visualize the dimly lighted room where the knight heard his wife's confession. And he was far more careful than the composer of the Clerc to give date and duration of action. His persons, though higher in the social scale, and though still types, are a shade more real, more complex ; their relations to one another are more clearly realized. Their thoughts, purposes, emotions, are traced with far greater care. The whole is more elaborately motived. Structurally, the Chevalier has a more elaborate introduc- tion, and adds an important concluding scene, for which, of course, no parallel was necessary in the Clerc. Yet the main situation still holds its own. The amount of dialogue is the same, but there is no group conversation. No conventional series like that carried over by the Clerc from the schwank, is carried over by the Chevalier from the ballad. There are changes of scene, carefully indicated by connective passages. Comic effects are less obvious, less varied, perhaps, but more refined, even more subtle. In still higher degree than the ClerCj the Chevalier gives evidence of the rational or critical quality, the faculty of comment upon life. It deals with the unities more freely : there are distinct changes of place

372 WALTER MORRIS HART.

and point of view ; the action falls into two parts, separated by several days ; a minor character is described. '

Beyond the Chevalier the Freiris of Berwick marks no great advance ; yet in certain directions there is, thanks mainly to the influence of Chaucer, a distinct development. The action is for the first time dated, though the passage of time is not so carefully followed as in the Chevalier. There is for the first time a relatively full description of a real city ; and the immediate scene of the action surpasses all predecessors in the vividness of homely detail. The persons are more complex, more real, and a minor character is introduced, not for the sake of plot, like the prior in the Chevalier, but for the sake of character-contrast merely. The Freiris thus goes farther than the CJievalier in elabora- tion of time, place, character. But, though emotions are traced, and we see the inside of several minds, we make no advance in this direction. Nor is the action more carefully motived, nor the story more credible, better proportioned, more coherent; nor the wife more clever in extricating herself from an embarrassing position. Yet there is more skilful delay, more suspense, — a development, however, of that found in Burle. There is greater variety, though no greater subtlety, of comic effects. The unities are more care- fully preserved. The peculiar intellectual quality present in both the fabliaux, particularly noteworthy in the Chevalier, is wholly lacking in the Freiris. There is no reflection, no comment on life or on the story as a whole.

The debt of a modern Short Story like IS Inutile Beaute to popular and medieval narration will now be still more apparent. To place the action of one's story in real and vivid settings, temporal, spatial, social, is nothing new. It is nothing new to create real characters, thinking, speaking, acting, like human beings, differing significantly one from another. It is nothing new to construct a plot with due

THE FABLIAU AND POPULAR LITERATURE. 373

regard for the unities, proportion,1 emphasis, suspense, climax, to develop it by means of lively and dramatic dialogue and of concrete and suggestive action. It is nothing new, finally, to abstract from one's story its moral significance, to see in it a criticism of life. Modern narrative art at its best adds nothing to these technical virtues; it has but elaborated what it found ready to its hand.

We have been dealing with but a restricted group of documents, yet all are so nearly typical that ifc is not likely that a more comprehensive study would greatly modify our conclusions. So far as the development from Ballad and Schwank to Fabliau is concerned, it would seem to be governed 'by laws of growth and change much like those which govern the transition from Ballad to Epic.2 Though always in lower degree, there is the same increase in scope, in organization, in abstraction, and in elaboration. There is, it is true, but little increase in art, in felicity of style. And for increase in architectural power there is little opportunity. The Ballad is primarily a simple situation, and adds the elements of narration so cautiously that this situation still remains supreme. Thus it inevitably has all the unities, as well as excellent proportion and emphasis. It may even have suspense and climax ; but these are, in all probability, a more inevitable contribution of the Schwank, a result of the narrator's desire to tell his story in the one way best suited to produce the comic effect. The Fabliau of

xlt is interesting to note that the chief situation, in ballad, schwank, and fabliau, always occupies more than one-half of the story. De Maupas- sant's interest in a general question leads him to give equal space to an abstract discussion, leaving only a third of L' Inutile Beaute for the main scene or situation. Omit the discussion, surely not to the detriment of the story as a work of art, and the old proportion would be restored.

2 Cf. Ballad and Epic, pp. 307 ff.

374 WALTER MORRIS HART.

average length (such as those just under consideration) makes no great demand upon the grasp and foresight of the trouv£re, and contributes but little to the development of plot- const ruction. But it must not be forgotten that there are other fabliaux, longer and more elaborate, which make no small demands upon their authors and very considerable contribution to the narrative art in all its phases.1 To the technique of such fabliaux may be traced much of Chaucer's skill, and they go far towards bridging the gulf between Fabliau and Short Story.

WALTER MORRIS HART.

1 Like Du Vair Palefroi, Le Lai d'Aristote, and others, discussed in the study of the Reeve's Tale, pp. 30 ff.

XVII.— A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE.

The Romance and Prophecies of Thomas of Erceldoune is a poem dealing with the adventures of a Scottish prophet in fairyland, and with the predictions concerning Scotch history which it was his privilege to hear from the fairy queen. Of this poem the graceful "romance" occupies the first fytt, and the prophecies the remaining two fytts.

The five MSS. known have been printed and described by Dr. J. A. H. Murray in his valuable edition of the poem.1 The most satisfactory version, on the whole, is that in the well-known Thornton MS. (Lincoln A., 1. 17), written about A. D. 1430-1440. All the leaves in this MS. are more or less injured, but there are no serious gaps in the first fytt, and few in the second. " It is, in date probably, in form certainly, the oldest of the existing MSS., retaining the original Northern form of the language little altered ; while it is free from most of the corruptions with which . . . the Cambridge and Cotton, abound." Ms. Cambridge, Ff. 5, 48, is in English handwriting of the middle of the fifteenth century. This MS., which gives a Southernized version of the original, is nearly illegible, and generally inferior. It has its value, however, for " those parts where the Thornton and Cotton are partially or wholly destroyed." Ms. Cotton, Vitellius E. x. presents a copy of Thomas of Erseldown of about or slightly after 1450. It has been seriously impaired by fire, so that scarcely one line of the poem is perfect. In general, its text agrees closely with the Thornton ; but besides numerous omissions it has " some singular additions of its own, as

1 The Romance and Prophecies of Thomas of Erceldoune, E. E. T. S., No. 61. 9

375

376 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

lines 109-116, and others near the end." Ms. Lansdowne 762, of about 1524-30, includes Thomas of Erceldoune, together with other prophetic literature. Besides omitting long passages, it gives three remarkable additions to our poem, lines 141-156, lines 237-248, and the reference to Eobert II in lines 465-468. Ms. Sloane 2578 is a collec- tion of prophecies, compiled in 1547. It gives only the second and third (or prophetic) fytts of the poem. " The conclusion is also very much abridged, the writer seemingly being impatient of everything not prophetic. In other respects the text agrees very closely with the Thornton MS. both in its extent and readings, always excepting lines 577-604, found only in that MS." x

Professor Brandl,2 after a careful examination of the MSS., divides them into two groups, V L and T S C, and postulates as the sources of these groups two MSS., x and an inferior y. All the existing MSS., then, are independent of one another.

It is interesting and significant that the hero of the poem was an historical character. Thomas Ryrnour lived in Ercildoune, in the thirteenth century, and probably died, as Murray has shown, before 1294. Apparently he was actually a poet, for although, as Murray has pointed out, the name By m our may be a mere patronymic, his reputation as poet and prophet began soon after his death, if not before it. From 1314 to 1870 he was quoted as an authority of undoubted weight.3 Besides the ballad of Thomas Rymer, and the poetical prophecies founded to a greater or less extent on The Romance and Prophecies of Thomas of Ercel-

1 For Murray's collation of the various MSS., and his numbering of the lines (followed by Brandl), see T. of E., pp. Ixii if.

2 Brandl, Thomas of Erceldoune, Berlin, 1880.

3 Murray, T. of E., pp. xviii ff . Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland (London, 1870), p. 211.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 377

doune,1 a good number of popular legends and of " derne " sayings have attached themselves to his name. Thomas is a sort of Scotch Merlin, generally believed to have had dealings with supernatural powers, and to have acquired thereby knowledge of future events.

Professor Child was even inclined to attribute to Thomas an account of his adventures with the Elf-queen.2 "All four of the complete versions [of the Romance and Prophecies] speak of an older story. . . . The older story, if any, must be the work of Thomas." Yet Professor Child him- self says that the appearance of the first person in part of the story is without significance. Any evidence that Thomas was the author of this or any story about himself, it would be difficult to find. We can never hope, unless fresh MSS. are forthcoming, to identify any verse as Thomas's own.

As for the authorship of The Romance and Prophecies, the poem itself furnishes no real clue. The narrative begins in the first person, but changes to the third, lapsing once for a moment into the first. So, as Murray says, " it is difficult to say whether it even claims to be the work of Thomas " (Murray, p. xxiii). Of any other author there is no trace. Even the nationality of the poet seems uncertain. Murray seems to assume that although some of the MSS. have been copied and changed by Englishmen the poem was written by a Scotchman ; and the very nature of the topics treated in the second and third fytts would, as Pro- fessor Child has said,3 tend to confirm this view. Brandl,

1 Child, Ballads (1882-1898), I, 317-329; Murray, T. of E., App. I, II, and III; Brandl, T. of E., pp. 117 ff.

2 Child, Ballads, I, 318.

3 Child, Ballads, I, 319. Yet how are we to explain the popularity in England, attested by the English MSS., of this poem devoted to the Scotch wars?

4

378 JOSEPHINE M. BUENHAM.

however, shows that the language might be that of a northern Englishman just as well as of a Scotchman.1 He finds difficulty also in the poet's emphasis on Scotch reverses, and his bitter reviling of the Countess of Dunbar. (Brandl, pp. 41 f.). Still more serious is the confusion Brandl discovers in Murray's interpretation of the first prophecy in the second fytt. In this passage, which Murray understands as referring to 1333, we have Baliols, Erasers, Corny ns — families on different sides in 1333 — joined in one anathema. BrandFs explanation is simpler: that the passage refers to the defection of Baliol and others from England in 1295, and is therefore to be regarded as an English prophecy against all these persons. The nationality of the author is nowise indicated by the fact that the Scotch Thomas is his authority ; for in a MS. earlier than 1320 we have a prophecy, ascribed to Thomas, in a southern or south-midland dialect.2 The single trait which seems indubitably Scottish is the prediction of victory for the Scots at Halidon Hill — if indeed the transcriber's JEldone hille is to be so read — in the oldest MS., the Thorn- ton. The later MSS., conforming to fact, assign the victory to the English. May we not infer that this part of the poem, at least, was written by a Scotchman on the eve of Halidon Hill? With it we should perhaps link the romance and the introduction of the second fytt, with which its connection seems close. ' The passage preceding, relating to the Baliols, Comyns, and Erasers, may be an old prophecy coming down from the year 1295, and interpolated by some transcriber; and the whole poem, — originally, it may well

1 Brandl, pp. 41, 51. He also suggests (p. 74) " dass der dichter, wie er seine prophezeiungen fur ein jahrhundert alter ausgab als sie waren, auch seiner sprache ein archaisierendes colorit zu leihen ver- sucht habe."

2 MS. Harl. 2253 If. 127, col. 2. See Murray, pp. xviii f.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 379

be, the work of a Scot, — may have been enlarged and altered by some transcriber antecedent to x and y.

The date of the poem in its present form can be pretty clearly determined. Murray points out (p. xxiv) that all the events of the second fytt are "historical and easily identified/' and that with the exception of the battle of Halidon Hill, which comes first, — or, if we follow BrandPs interpretation, first after the lines relating to 1295 — these events are arranged in chronological order from 1298 to 1388. Fytt II, then, was completed after 1388. The second prophecy of Fytt III seems to refer to Henry IV's invasion in 1401 ; the rest is unintelligible. Part of Fytt III is thus seen to belong to the year 1401 or later. "The oldest MS. of the poem, the Thornton, itself clearly not an original, dates to 1430—1440, some time before which the poem must have existed in its present form, so that we have the period between 1402 and 1440, with strong reasons in favour of the earlier date, for its completion."

But the prediction about Halidon Hill, coming out of order, before the chronological list in Fytt II, and being closely associated with the introduction of the fytt, stands alone. The question

Wha sail be kynge, wha sail be none,

was, as Murray shows, scarcely likely to be asked after 1401. The Thornton MS., moreover, seems to predict Scottish victory in that battle — a prophecy which events proved mistaken. This part of the poem, then, would seem to date from the year of the battle, 1333. Murray con- cludes (p. xxv) "that this part, with perhaps Fytt I, the conclusion, and an indefinite portion of Fytt III, which is in all probability a melange of early traditional prophecies, may have been written on the eve of Halidon Hill, with a view to encourage the Scots in that battle." Around this nucleus

380 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

other prophecies would naturally be clustered, and there is no telling how many times these predictions may have been revised or augmented before the version of 1402-1440 was written.

FORM AND STRUCTURE OF THE POEM.

The most interesting part of the poem, and the one which I shall especially treat, is the first fytt. In brief, the story is this : Thomas, lying under a " semely " tree on Huntley banks, sees a " lady gay " come riding over the lea. Thinking her the Virgin Mary, he runs to meet her. As they meet at Eldon tree, Thomas addresses the lady as " Queen of Heaven," but she disclaims the title, saying that she is of another country. When Thomas pleads for her love, she warns him that if she grants it, that will fordo all her beauty. But the lover persists, and the lady yields. It is as she had said ; Thomas presently finds that the lady has become a gruesome and loathly object. She now tells him that he must take leave of sun and moon, and go with her, not to see earth again for a twelvemonth. Regard- less of his pleadings (he has forgotten that he said a little while before

Here my trouthe j will the plyghte Whethir ]?ou will in heuene or helle),

she leads him into Eldon hill. For three days he wades in water to the knee, in utter darkness, hearing always the " swoghynge of the flode." When at last he complains of hunger the lady leads him into " a faire herbere." Naturally Thomas reaches for some of the fruit which grows there. But the lady checks him ; if he takes this fruit, " the fiend " will " atteynt " him. Bidding him lay his head on her knee, she points out to him the roads to

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF EBCELDOUNE. 381

heaven, paradise, purgatory, hell, and the castle which is

hers

And be kynges of this Countree.1

She would rather be hanged and drawn than that the king should know what has passed between her and Thomas. For this reason, possibly, she enjoins Thomas, when they come to the castle, to answer none but her. Thomas now finds that the lady is as fair as at first. They proceed to the castle, which is somewhat fully described. After a certain time spent there, Thomas is told by his love that he must return to Eldon hill. He protests, saying he has been in the castle only three days ; but is told that the time is three years instead. The fiend is about to " fetch his fee " from "this folk/' and Thomas, being "mekill mane and hende," is likely to be chosen. Back once more at the Eldon tree, Thomas begs for a token as she turns to leave him, that he may say he has spoken with her.

"To harpe, or carpe, whare-so bou gose, Thomas, bou sail hafe be chose sothely," And he saide, " harpynge kepe j none ; ffor tonge es chefe of mynstralsye."

" If bou will spelle, or tales telle,

(Thomas, bou sail neuer lesynge lye."

Not yet satisfied, he begs her to remain and tell him of some ferly. The rest of the poem is composed of the pre- dictions which the lady utters in response to this request, often repeated. Finally she leaves Thomas, with a promise to meet him at Huntley banks.

In this story the MSS. substantially agree.2 The Lans- downe has two additional passages in Fytt I. The first,

1 Neither here nor elsewhere in the poem are elves, fairies, or Elf- land named.

2 The Cambridge MS. makes Thomas's stay seven years.

*

382 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

lines 141-156, represents Thomas as thinking the "loathly lady " was the devil, and as being rebuked for this thought. The passage is, as Murray says (p. Ixxii), unworthy, and is awkwardly interpolated, for lines 153-4 give a clumsy rendering of a thought immediately repeated in its proper place, line 159. The other passage is one (lines 237-252) in which, after reaching the other world, Thomas inquires why the lady lost her beauty on Eldon hill, and is told that the double change of form somehow keeps the knowledge of her misdeed from the king.

Distinct as the romance is from the prophecies which follow it, it is closely linked in structure. The first fytt closes with a " derne " saying about a falcon, and the lady's stereotyped formula (used later again and again) of farewell. Thomas's request for a token and its answer appear in the opening of the second fytt, and the first words of prophecy are made to follow very naturally from this. And at the close of the third fytt, in spite of the amount of very different material which has intervened, the relations of Thomas and the lady are not forgotten ; Thomas weeps at parting, and she promises to meet him again. Further than this the prophetic fytts need not detain us, except that we may recur to the fact that they contain at least two passages — one apparently relating to 1295, the other to 1333 — which seem to have been independent earlier prophecies.

One very curious and somewhat puzzling feature of this poem is the change of person before alluded to. For the first seventy-two lines the story is told in the first person ; then the third appears, with Thomas as subject. In line 276 the first person is used again, but only for the moment. "In the prophecies from line 317 to 672 the speeches of Thomas and the lady are merely quoted without even so much as an introductory ( he said ' or ' she said/ so that

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 383

nothing can be determined as to the professed narrator " (Murray, p. xxiv). The conclusion, as Murray has pointed out (loc. cit.), is distinctly of the third person, in spirit as well as in form.

" Of swilke an bird mane wold j here ]?at couth Me telle of swilke ferly," etc.

Brandl's explanation (Brandl, p. 13) that by the change of person the reader is bewildered and so brought to the proper state of mind for receiving prophecies must, I think, be rejected as far-fetched. A more plausible view is that the writer of the poem used as one of his sources, but did not entirely assimilate, an earlier story in the first person ; or that the present romance is, as a whole, merely a redaction of one in the first person. The motive for change of person is readily conjectured : the poem is to be given in the third person that the impressive name of Thomas the Rhymer may be thoroughly understood to belong to it. It is even possible that the original poet, beginning by con- vention in the first person, may have turned to the third to draw attention to the name of Thomas ; l but this view offers no explanation of the third person at line 276. The exact significance of these changes we cannot, however, determine without further study of the material and form of the poem. As for the reference in lines 83 and 123 to an older " story e," if it be not, as Brandl thinks (p. 14), a mere literary device, it would tend to confirm the hypothesis of an earlier work used as source for all or part of the romance.

The opening lines of the romance — the very lines which

1 Cf. Adam Davy's fourth and fifth Dreams; especially the fourth, E. E. T. S., No. 69, pp. 14, 16. Here we have vacillation from one person to the other, but nothing like the unexpected momentary lapse of line 276.

384 JOSEPHINE M. BUENHAM.

are characterized by the use of the first person — deserve separate consideration. If one were to read them without knowledge of the story to follow, one would doubtless suppose them to form the induction to a vision of some sort. We find a conventional opening in the first person, with a definite date for the narrative — "this endres day" — the usual walk on a May morning, the usual position of the hero — lying under a tree. We miss the statement that sleep and a dream came upon him. But the apparition of a lady is just what one might expect in a vision. The " season-mo^/"," to be sure, appears in romances with no visionary character,1 but in connection with the walk and the use of the first person, it seems to belong distinctly to visions. Ladies, again, of necessity, appear in many stories and lays.2 In other stories, too, we may have the sleep under a tree (as in Sir Orfeo) • but not usually in connec- tion with the walk and the first person.3 It is the combi- nation of all these elements — the specified date, the May morning, with singing birds, etc., the walk, the use of the

1 For use of the season-motif in poems not recounting visions, see Richard Cceur de Lion, Part n (in Weber's Metrical Romances, vol. n) ; Heuline and Eglantine (Le Grand, Fabliaux, tr. by G. L. Way, vol. ii) ; The Testament of Cresseid, etc.

2 And sometimes fairies appear when one has been sleeping under certain trees. Cf. Tydorel (Romania, vm, 67) ; Sir Orfeo, in which Heurodys, lying under an ympe-tree, visits fairyland in a dream, just as she is the next day compelled to do in reality; Tamlane, version G 26, K 14 (Child, Ballads, I, 350, iv, 456) ; Child, Ballads, I, 340, in, 505; G. L. Kittredge, Am. Jour. Phil, vii, 190. Scott, Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft (London, William Tegg), p. 125: " Sleeping on a fairy mount, within which the fairy court happened to be held for a time, was a very ready mode of obtaining a passage for Elfland." In the conventional vision, however, the tree seems to be merely a part of the "May morning" machinery. In going to sleep out of doors one naturally looks for shade. In Thomas of Er- celdoune, perhaps we have the two conceptions united.

' The first person and the sleep appear in the ballad of Tamlane.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF EKCELDOUNE. 385

first person, and the appearance of a lady — which seems typical of the visions.1 The lady, too, if we take into account the prophetic fytts, is by no means the ordinary fay of romance. On the contrary, she does just what the lady of a vision should do ; she imparts instruction. Or, to put the matter in another way, Thomas knows nothing about the future of himself; he is a passive recipient of knowledge, like the seer of any vision.

Analysis of the poem, then, brings to light inconsistent if not disparate elements within it : a prophecy apparently English in sympathy, and dating from 1295; a prophecy perhaps written and circulated to encourage the Scotch before the battle of Halidon Hill ; a vision induction in the first person ; and traces of an older " storye," appearing

10n the vision-type see Langlois, Origines et Sources du Roman de la Rose, jfp: 56, 57; Triggs, edition of Lydgate's Assembly of Gods, pp. Iv f ; and Schick's Introduction to The Temple of Glas, cxviii ff . On the season-motif, see Triggs, Assembly of Gods, liii. On the dating of visions and other poems, see C. G. Osgood's Introduction to Pearl, p. xvi (Boston, 1906). For visions opening with the season- motif, the walk, and the sleep: The Vision of Piers Ploughman; the Parlement of the Three Ages; Winnere and Wastour; Death and Life in the Percy Folio MS.; Douglas's Prologue to the " 13th" book of the ^neid; Dunbar's Golden Targe; Henryson's Prologue to his Moral Fables. Cf. also the late and very curious Armonye of Byrdes (Hazlitt's Early Popular Poetry, in, 187), in which, though there is no vision, there is an induction in the conventional style; indeed the whole is a sort of apotheosis of the May morning motif and its singing birds. For visions without the walk and the outdoor de- scription, though often with mention of the season: Lydgate's Assem- bly of Gods and Temple of Glas; Dunbar's Dance of the Seven Deadly sins, Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris and The Tenyeit Freir of Tungland; The Romaunt of the Rose and The Boke of the Duchesse (in which the May morning description appears in the dream) ; The Parlement of Foules; The Hous of Fame; Adam Davy's Visions; Boethius. For ladies of one sort or another in visions: Boethius, Pearl, Death and Life, etc. For the first person in visions, any one of the above.

386 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

first (line 83) just after the shifting of the narrative from first to third person. The mere mechanical structure of Thomas of Erceldoune suggests at once that its author drew from various sources.

SOURCES OF THE ROMANCE.

There are several stories, any one of which, were it not for the existence of the others, might somewhat plausibly be affirmed to be the source of Thomas of Erceldoune.

A. The general machinery of the poem is paralleled, as Brandl notes (p. 131), in an old Scotch prophecy found in a MS. ,of the fourteenth century.1 The poem begins

Als y yod on a Mounday

bytwene Wyltinden and Walle Me ane aftere brade waye

ay litel man y mette withalle.

The " little man " is grotesque in appearance, but of great strength. The narrator asks where he dwells, and receives

the reply,

My wonige stede ful wel is dygh nou sone thou salt se at hame.

Terrified, as it seems, the other says,

For Godes mith, lat me forth myn erand gane.

But he must go. After a trying journey —

" Stinted us broke no becke, ferlicke me thouth hu so mouth be " —

they go " in at a gate " to a castle or court where lords and

1 Child, Ballads, I, 333; Langtoft's Chronicle (ed. Wright), n, 452 ff.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 387

ladies are enjoying themselves. After the brief description of the place there is a break. The narrator goes on to report a " tale told on a Wednesday " — that is, a conversa- tion in which he interrogates " a mody barn," a " merry man " about the outcome of the wars, and receives answers couched in the usual zoological figures.

Here we have the walk ; the encounter with a richly- dressed supernatural person ; l the command, reluctantly obeyed, to follow to a castle ; the difficult journey ; and the prophecies given through question and answer.2 But the story is bald and uninteresting compared with that of Thomas of Erceldoune, and the prophecies are much less skilfully combined with it. Even if the ground-plan of the romance were derived from this poem, its details must evidently be sought elsewhere.3

B. The Merlin cycle offers another tempting parallel, combining romance with prophecy much more organically than "Als y yod on a Mounday." I have already pointed out the general similarity between the positions of Merlin

1 See stanzas i and v of " Als y yod."

2 Of. many of the Irish prophecies cited by O'Curry : MS. Materials of Ancient Irish History, pp. 383 ff.

3 "Als y yod on a Mounday," being a Scotch prophecy, would doubtless be available as a source to a Scotch or Northern poet of the fourteenth century. And though it appears in a MS. of the fourteenth century, it may quite possibly in one form or another be even older. Brandl points out a similarity of phrase between line 33 of the prophecy,

Wei still I stod als did the stane, and line 233 of Thomas of Erceldoune,

Thomas still als stane he stude.

But the phrase is not uncommon. We have it in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (line 242) :

& al stouned at his steuen, & ston-stil seten.

388 JOSEPHINE M. BUKNHAM.

and Thomas in popular thought. The two further resemble each other in being not knights, like the heroes of most fairy-love tales, but prophets. And in the romance there is a coherent story, suggesting the imprisonment of Merlin. Thomas of Erceldoune loves a damoisele cacheresse, who detains him in an other- world castle. Of the Welsh prophet we read : " Essentially the story places Merlin among the many heroes of old who fell victims to fairy blandishments, and were transported by other-world agencies to a land without return. . . . The story of his disappearance from the world was popular in the highest degree." l The general likeness of the two stories, and the fact that the universally known Merlin material could be readily used by any writer, suggests that the author of our romance may have had Merlin in mind. There are, however, some distinctions to draw. The correspondence of the underground journey with the cave is not of great importance, for this was a very common way of reaching the other world.2 The fairy-love in Thomas of Erceldoune is uniformly friendly. Though forced to enter Eldon Hill against his will, Thomas finds himself happy in fairy-land. (In this particular his experi- ence is more typical than Merlin's.) Even his banishment to earth was a distinct act of kindness. The love of Merlin is treacherous and cruel ; she decoys Merlin into the cave and imprisons him there. Thomas, so far as the romance testifies, is an ordinary man.3 He has no prophetic power

xLucy Allen Paton, Studies in the Fairy Mythology of Arthurian Romance (Radcliffe College Monographs, No. 3), p. 224.

2Cf. Wright, St. Patrick's Purgatory (London, 1844), pp. 81 ff., 85; Am. Jour. Phil, vii, 194 ff.; the story of Oisin (Miss Paton's Fairy Mythology, p. 215); Mapes, De Nug. Cur., p. 16; Giraldus Cambrensis, It. Earn., liber I, ch. 8; Tarn Lin, I, stanza 31 (Child, Ballads, I, 354) ; Sir Orfeo.

8 The popular stories of the nineteenth century, representing Thomas as being taught by the fairies in childhood recall, of course, the myth concerning Merlin's origin. These stories may or may not be as old as our poem.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 389

without the teaching of the fairy queen, no necromantic arts to impart to his lady-love. The only striking point of contact, then, is the love of the prophet-hero for a huntress. But to have the fairy lady ride is common enough.1 Even if horn and hounds be added to her equip- ment, through the suggestion of some Merlin tale, there is nothing to show that the whole romance is based on such a story of Merlin. Later I shall have occasion to show that the huntress may have entered the story in another way. Nor does Merlin the Wild offer a more satisfactory parallel. In the Vita Merlini, Merlin Sylvestris, or the Wild, instead of being carried away to the other world, lives the life of a wild beast in the woods. He resembles Thomas in being eventually restored. But here again, Merlin is prophet independently of his relations with the fay. Before his madness

Rex erat et vates: Demetarumque superbis Jura dabat populis, ducibusque futura canebat.2

Again, too, the fairy love of Merlin is unkind and treacher- ous. The incident of the fruit in Thomas of Erceldoune may indeed suggest the poisoned apples which drove Merlin mad.3 It might be maintained that the fruit forbidden Thomas was of the same character, and conceivably the original reading may have suggested madness instead of punishment in hell as the penalty of eating. But the more obvious explanation, if we are to postulate any older version, or the influence of any traditional conception, is the danger

1 Child, Ballads, I, 339.

2 Vita Merlini, lines 21, 22.

3Brandl, p. 23 f. Stephens in his Literature of the Kymry (p. 232) shows that the name of Merlin is associated with apples, but gives nothing to throw light on the relationship of Thomas and Merlin.

390 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

of eating anything in the other world.1 The points of similarity between the stories of Thomas and Merlin Sylves- tris are only, then, that each contains a story of fruit better not eaten, and that, unlike Merlin Ambrosius, both heroes are restored to their homes.

C. Another correspondence which has impressed some readers is that between Thomas of Ereeldoune and Tann- hauser. In her Legends of the Wagner Drama, Miss Weston speaks of a connection between the two not yet worked out, and quotes Simrock as saying that Ercildoune is equivalent to Horselberg.2 Fiske, in his Myths and Myth-makers (p. 40) draws the parallel with less hesitation, and gives the same etymology. I shall try to point out certain facts which must be taken into account in any examination of this theory. In each story, it is true, the hero — a poet who really lived in the thirteenth century — is lured away to an abode within the hills by a supernatural woman or goddess. "Thomas remains with her for seven3 years (a period also assigned by a Flemish version of the legend to Tannhauser's stay").4 But the number seven is by no means peculiar to this incident ; the time of any sojourn in the other world would naturally be expressed in threes or sevens. Other features found in these two stories are common also to many

*As to eating in the other world, see Child, Ballads, I, 322; Hart- land, Science of Fairy Tales, ch. ill; Meyer and Nutt, Voyage of Bran, I, 299 ; Scott, Demonology and Witchcraft, p. 125. It is surely an exasperating predicament in which Thomas finds himself His complaint of hunger leads to his being conducted to the arbor full of fruit, and then he is forbidden to touch or taste.

2 Simrock says : " Auch erinnert allerdings Horselberg an Ercil- doune."— Deutsche Mythologie (ed. 1874), p. 386. He also compares Thomas with Tannhauser (ibid., p. 330).

8 In the Cambridge MS. and the ballads.

4 Weston, Leg. Wagner Drama, p. 351.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 391

tales.1 The fact that both heroes were poets need not lead us to conclude that somewhat similar accounts of them have the same root. On the contrary, supposing that the basis of both stories were the same, it is a most singular coincidence that it should come to be associated with two poets, of different countries, who were contemporaries. If the legend is much older than either of the two poets, and Ercildoune is really Horselberg, the application of the myth to two contemporary poets is yet more singular. This supposed equivalence of the two names seems to be the clinching argument for the identity of the two stories. But what does this imply? That the name Ercildoune was given in remote heathen days,2 or shortly thereafter, and that connected with it was a tradition of a goddess or fay luring away a human lover, which lingered till the thir- teenth century and then attached itself in Scotland as in Germany to a local poet. If this were true, should we not expect to find some evidence of the existence of the story before the days of Thomas, some ballad or tale? It may be that such evidence exists. Until it is brought forward, however, it is not necessary to connect Thomas with Tannhauser.

D. A theory which stubbornly reappears is that Ogier the Dane was the original of Thomas in the romance. Professor Child (Ballads, I, 319) states this view emphati-

1 On the underground abode, see supra, p. 388. . For the fairy love, see Mapes, De Nug. Cur., pp. 70, 77, 801; Gir. Cam. It. Kam., I, ch. 5, 10; the story of Owain in the Mabinogion-, Cuchulin's Sick- bed; the story of Oisin (Miss Paton, pp. 215 and 243) ; Merlin stories; lays of Lanval, Graelent, etc.; numerous ballads in Child, Ballads, i.

2 If, indeed, it is possible to regard " Ercil " as cognate with " Horsel " in case we derive the latter from Asen, or even from Hor-sed (Simrock, Deut. Myth., p. 386).

392 JOSEPHINE M. BUKNHAM.

cally, and he is followed by F. F. Henderson (Scottish Vernacular Literature, p. 23). The surviving versions of Ogier's other-world experiences belong to the fourteenth century and later, and have, indeed, not been published in full. (Apparently, however, there were earlier versions.) * The story as it is known from extracts and summaries is thus outlined by Professor Child :

" Six fairies made gifts to Ogier at his birth. By the favor of five he was to be the strongest, the bravest, the most successful, the handsomest, the most susceptible of knights: Morgan's gift was that, after a long and fatiguing career of glory, he should live with her at her castle of Avalon, in the enjoyment of a still longer youth and never wearying pleasures. When Ogier had passed his hundredth year, Morgan took measures to carry out her promise. She had him wrecked, while he was on a voyage to France, on a loadstone rock conveniently near to Avalon, which Avalon is a little way this side of the terrestial Paradise. In due course he comes to an orchard, and there he eats an apple, which affects him so peculiarly that he looks for nothing but death. He turns to the east, and sees a beauti- ful lady, magnificently attired. He takes her for the Virgin; she corrects his error, and announces herself as Morgan the Fay. She puts a ring on his finger which restores his youth, and then places a crown on his head which makes him forget all the past. For two hundred years Ogier lived in such delights as no worldly being can imagine, and the two hundred years seemed to him but twenty; Christendom was then in danger, and even Morgan thought his presence was required in the world. The crown being taken from his head the memory of the past revived, and with it the desire to return to France. He was sent back by the fairy, properly provided, vanquished the foes of Christianity in a short space, and after a time was brought back by Morgan the Fay to Avalon."

This does indeed, at first sight, seem to offer more corre- spondences with our poem than any story hitherto considered. Morgan's gift to Ogier at birth may possibly be compared with the popular tradition of Thomas's education in fairy- land. To the romance Ogier shows a closer parallelism. In the Ogier story, as in the romance, we have a journey to

1Miss Paton, Fairy Mythology, p. 74.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 393

the other world, in this case without a preliminary appear- ance of the fay. Ogier eats fruit with dire results, as Thomas would have done had he not been prevented. (Yet it is not clear whether this is not part of Morgan's plan.) A beautiful lady appears, whom Ogier, like Thomas, takes for the Virgin. The country of Avalon is near the terres- trial Paradise ; and in Thomas of Erceldoune the ways to both Paradise and the unnamed country we may call fairy- land were pointed out. Ogier sojourns, like Thomas, for a time that seems much shorter than it is. Like Thomas, too, he is sent back to earth ; not, after much insistence, per- mitted to go. Then there is a final return of the hero to the other- world, paralleled by the popular story of Thomas. There is, surely, a general similarity between the two stories, or cycles.

On the other hand, certain details in these romances are quite dissimilar. Ogier is not a prophet but a knight ; he is claimed by the fay at birth ; the mode of his journey to the other- world is altogether unlike Thomas's ; * the fairy- lady appears to him at the end, not at the beginning of this journey ; a ring of youth and a crown of forgetfulness are given him.

What of the details which are alike? Fairy fruits are not peculiar to these two stories.2 Fays are elsewhere mistaken for the Virgin.3 The connection of Avalon and

1 Except that both have to traverse water. But Thomas, after first entering the hill, wades in water to his knee. Ogier is trans- ported in a ship which seems to be a variant of the magic boat employed by many enamoured fairies. See Paton, Fairy Mythology, p. 16, note 1.

2 See supra, p. 390. It seems to have been overlooked that though tne apple — the fruit associated with Merlin and Ogier — grows in the arbor to which Thomas is led, the fruit which Thomas attempts to pluck is not specified.

8Cf. S6billot, Oontes Populaires de la H. Bretagne (Paris, 1880), n, 31; Hist. Litt., xxx, 93; Child, Ballads, I, 319, note; m, 504. (References given by Miss Paton, p. 77.) 0

5

394 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

of the fairy castle with the terrestrial Paradise, though certainly an interesting correspondence, is to be regarded in each case simply as the result of the widespread con- fusion of Christian and fairy other- worlds.1 Avalon, in the Ogier story, is perhaps placed near the terrestrial Paradise to emphasize the felicity of life there. In Thomas of Ercel- doune the poet evidently wishes to give a complete view of other-world regions, doubtless, as Brandl suggests (p. 24), in order to establish the authority of Thomas by ascribing to him a knowledge of regions forbidden other living men. Another point of similarity — the illusion concerning the lapse of time in fairyland — is a mere commonplace.2 Such resemblances evidently give very slight ground for deriva- tion of one romance from the other. On the other hand, in the case of that somewhat remarkable feature, the definite dismissal of the hero by his fairy-love, the reasons given in the two stories are quite different. Ogier is spared for a time to the needs of Christendom ; Thomas is sent back to earth that he may escape the tiend to hell.3 To sum up, the points of similarity between Ogier and Thomas of Erceldoune are mainly from stock fairy material, and there are impor- tant differences between them. We must search elsewhere for the main source of our romance.

E. None of the stories thus far examined throws any

1 Cf. Wright, St. Patrick's Purgatory, p. 82.

2 Cf. Mapes, De Nug. Cur., p. 16; Wright, 8t. Patrick's Purgatory, p. 93; Baring Gould, Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, p. 219; Miss Paton's Fairy Mythology, pp. 2, 69, 211, n. 5, 215; Hartland's Science of Fairy Tales, chs. 7, 8, 9, passim-, Rom., vin, 51 ff.; Se"billot, Contes Pop., n, 36; Meyer and Nutt, I, 143.

3 For the tiend to hell, see Lady Wilde, Ancient Legends of Ireland, I, 70; Scott, Bord. Mins. (Edinburgh, 1861), n, 325; Child, Ballads, V, 215; Tamlane, versions A, B, C, D, G, H, I, J; Scott, Demonology and Witchcraft, p. 127. This seems to be distinctly a folk-lore con- ception, and altogether dissonant with the Ogier material.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF EECELDOUNE. 395

light on the " loathly-lady " incident in Thomas, the grue- some transformation of the fay. Professor Child, indeed, holding that we have here the Ogier story in disguise, says that the episode has properly no place in the poem (Ballads, I, 320). That it does probably belong to the story is shown by the firm way in which it is joined to the rest, and by the fact that it appears twice, and at suitable points. In any case, however, we must look further for a source from which the incident could have been derived, either detached or as an integral part of a longer story. Brandl, evidently regarding .it as an essential part of the romance, thinks that the poet borrowed from the Anturs of Arthur and from some folk-tale resembling the story of Meilerius told by Giraldus Cambrensis. Of the latter, he says (p. 20) :

" Mit dieser als volkssage iiberlieferten darstellung 1st die unsers dichters in wesentlichen punkten, besonders in der verwandlung der schonheit und in der verleihung dauernder weissagungsgabe, jeden- falls verwandter als mit den elfenliebschaften, welche manche kunst- dichter erzahlen."

Later (p. 21), he sums up his views :

" Nach alle dem halte ich es fur das wahrscheinlichste, dass unser dichter den kern seiner einkleidung aus mtindlichen quellen, teilweise mit anlehnung an Aunt. Arth. und die genannte altschottische pro- phezeiung,1 geschopft hat."

To consider first the Anturs of Arthur. Brandl sees in Guinevere's mother a strong resemblance to the fairy-love of Thomas :

" Der prophezeiende geist, allerdings keine elfin, war auch vorher eine konigin und the fayereste of alle gewesen und dann ebenfalls durch liebessiinden schwarz, nackt und scheusslich geworden."

The lady is certainly " keine elfin," being simply a ghost 1 " Als y yod on a Mounday."

396 JOSEPHINE M. BUKNHAM.

modeled after that in The Trentals of St. Gregory, and, like her prototype, returning to earth to give her child a message of religious purport.1 The association of a frightful hag with prophecy is, of course, a trait strongly suggestive of Thomas of Ercddoune. But the conditions of the trans- formation in the two poems are quite dissimilar. The mother of Guinevere is a mortal who has died ; she is undergoing punishment — an idea absent from our romance2 — and can be restored only through masses and prayers. No lover of hers appears in the story, and she bestows no gift of true-speaking.

The minor correspondences pointed out by Brandl (pp. 21, 22) are without great significance. Brandl connects the "grenwode spraye" of Thomas of Erceldoune with the laurel in stanza VI of the Anturs, as well as with the ympe-tre of Sir Orfeo. Plainly, he regards them all as magic trees, exposing one to the fairies' influence.3 But as the Anturs can hardly be interpreted as fairy material, we must make exception of the laurel. Nor has Thomas's blunder in mistaking the fairy lady for the Virgin any necessary rela- tion with Gawain's conjuring the ghost by the name of Christ.4 The very natural figure and play upon sound in line 171 of Thomas:

1 See W. H. Schofield, Eng. Lit., p. 220. A reading of the two poems would seem sufficient to' demonstrate the derivation of the Anturs from The Trentals of St. Gregory. In the latter, the Pope's mother comes to her son at mass, a grisly apparition; she explains that she is in torment for her sins of adultery, and begs that masses be said for her soul. In the Anturs it is Guinevere's mother who returns to make similar confession and to warn her daughter, and receives a promise of masses to be said.

"Except in the Lansdowne MS., lines 151, 152.

»Cf. supra, p. 384, note; Miss Paton, Fairy Mythology, p. 52, note 1.

* Anturs, xi. Of. the second appearance of the lady in The Trentals of St. Gregory, where she is addressed as Queen of heaven.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 397

Whare it was dirke als mydnyght myrke,

though possibly copied from stanza VI of the Anturs,

The daye waxe als dirke, Als it were mydnyght myrke,

might well be either original with the poet or proverbial. There is little reason, then, for assuming indebtedness to the Anturs on the part of our poet, though he may, of course, have caught up a detail here and there.

A more complete parallel with Thomas of Erceldoune is to be found in the story of Meilerius recounted by Gerald of Wales (It. Kam., Liber I, ch. 5) in which, as Brandl points out, the hag appears in connection with prophecy and the gift of true-speaking. Of Meilerius Gerald tells us ;

" Nocte quadam, scilicet Ramis palmarum, puellam diu ante ada- matam, sicut forma prseferebat, obviam habens loco amoeno, et ut videbatur opportune, desideratis amplexibus atque deliciis cum in- dulsisset, statim, loco puellse formosse, formam quamdam villosam, hispidam et hirsutam, adeoque enormiter deformem invenit, quod in ipso ejusdem aspectu dementire coepit et insanire. Cumque pluribus id annis ei durasset, optatam sanitatem recuperavit. Sem- per tamen cum spiritibus immundis magnam et mirandam famili- aritatem habens, eosdem vivendo, cognoscendo, colloquendo, propri- isque nominibus singulos nominando, ipsorum ministerio plerumque

futura praedicebat Videbat autem eos fere semper pedites et

expedites, et quasi sub forma venatorum, cornu a collo suspensum habentes, et vere venatores non ferarum tamen nee animalium sed

animarum Quoties autem falsum coram ipso ab aliquo di-

cebatur, id statim agnoscebat, videbat enim super linguam menti- entis daemonem quasi salientem et exultantem. Librum quoque mendosum, et vel falso scriptum, vel falsum etiam in se continentem inspiciens, statim, licet illiteratus omnino fuisset, ad locum mendacii digitum ponebat."

Here, for the first time, we find an analogue to that most remarkable feature of Thomas's history, his adventure with

398 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

a fay who assumes a "loathly" form.1 The difficulty of interpretation is greatly enhanced by the thoroughly eccle- siastical tone of Gerald's narrative. If, however, we are to regard the story as popular in any sense, and not merely as a figment of Gerald's brain, we shall doubtless be justified in translating it into the language of popular fairy-lore. In view of the widespread tendency to associate fairies and demons,2 and of the features common to Meilerius and many fairy tales — the hero's love for a supernatural woman, a change of form, familiarity on the part of the hero with supernatural beings who bestow peculiar powers — the transi- tion is easy. Apparently, considering the material in this light, we have come upon the track of that ancient and widely known story of which the most familiar embodiment is the Wife of Bath's Tale. Meilerius, as I have said, offers the first true parallel to the fairy in Thomas of Erceldoune, who loses — or lays aside — her beauty.3 Moreover, Meilerius and Thomas vary in the same way from the typical loathly- lady story, for in both the lady is at first beautiful, is wooed by the hero instead of wooing him, and becomes frightful after a love-scene. .

Some essential features of the loathly-maiden theme which are absent from Meilerius, at least in Gerald's meagre version, are preserved in Thomas. The loathly-lady properly tests

1 Compare the puella in the Meilerius story, " villosam, hispidam, et hirsutam," with the daughter of King Underwaves, with her " hair down to her heels." Campbell, Popular Tales of the West Highlands, in, 403 ff.

2 Cf. infra, p. 406, note 2.

3 The lady of the earliest transformed-hag stories could hardly be termed a fay. (See Whitley Stokes, The Marriage of Sir Gawain, Academy, xu, 399). But in the later development of the legend, at least in that form into which the idea of enchantment has not entered — as The Wife of Bath's Tale — the heroine seems to take on the nature of the fairy-ladies of Celtic romance.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 399

the hero, recovers her beauty if he meets the test, and bestows on him happiness or some more tangible gift.1 The fairy-love of Thomas tests him, while wearing her loathly guise, by insisting on compliance with hard conditions, and rewards him by resuming her beauty. Perhaps it would be fanciful to interpret Thomas's words,

Here my trouthe j will the plyghte, Whethir J?ou will in heuene or helle,

as yielding sovereignty to the lady in the fashion demanded in the Wife of Bath's Tale, especially since they are spoken before the fay's unpleasant metamorphosis. The tongue that will not lie, however, may be analogous to the gifts bestowed in certain other loathly-lady stories.2 The legend given by Gerald, so far as it suggests any explanation of the truth-testing power of Meilerius, seems to ascribe it simply to commerce with unclean spirits — in popular language, probably, fairies.

In various other particulars Meilerius corresponds more or less closely with our romance. The puella of the tale, if not, like Thomas's love, a huntress herself, seems to be associated with spirits who appear as hunters. The mad- ness of Meilerius may be compared with the other- world sojourn of Thomas, as well as with the insanity of Merlin the Wild. In one respect, indeed, it more nearly resembles the former, since both Thomas and Meilerius acquired prophetic power through this absence (or madness).3 Like

1 On the meaning of the loathly-lady theme, see Maynadier's Wife of Bath's Tale, p. 160.

2 Of . the story of Daire's Sons (Academy, XLI, 399), and the "Daughter of King Underwaves " (Campbell, Pop. Tales, in, 403). But fairy ladies of every sort as a rule bestow gifts on their lovers.

3O'Curry remarks that "The word Baile, which means madness, distraction, or ecstacy, is the ancient Gaedhlic name for a Prophecy." (M8. Materials, p. 385.) Cf. Gir. Cam., Descriptio Kamlrice, Liber I, ch. 16.

400 JOSEPHINE M. BTJRNHAM.

both Thomas and Merlin Sylvestris, Meilerius is restored. Finally, as has already been pointed out, the supernatural beings of Gerald's story endow a mortal with prophetic knowledge, and with something comparable to the tongue that will not lie. Of these common details the huntress, and still more the other-world sojourn, belongs to stock fairy-material. The permanent restoration of the hero to his home is more unusual. The gifts of prophetic knowl- edge and of true speaking are still less commonly met with outside the Merlin cycle, and in combination with the hag story — which usually deals in rewards of a material nature — would seem to be unique.1

All in all, the general parallelism between Thomas of Erceldoune and Gerald's tale of Meilerius, considered in the light of the typical " loathly-lady " story, suggests, on the one hand, that Meilerius is a rationalized and moralized version of a story about a fairy-love who bestows prophetic gifts, and, on the other hand, that Thomas is largely based on some story very similar, in theme and order of events, to that of Meilerius.2 Between the typical transformed-hag

1 For truth in general as an object of concern to fairies see Hist. Litt., xxvi, 105; Meyer and Nutt, I, 190, 191, 217; a story from Gir. Cam. cited by Miss Paton (p. 129) of lovers of truth who lived underground; and these words from the Sickbed of Cuchullin (cited in another connection by Prof. Kittredge, Am. Jour. Phil., vn, 197) : " a country bright and noble, in which is not spoken falsehood or guile."

2 These two points would seem to be established, even if the specifically " loathly-lady " details — the test of the hero and the lady's return to her beautiful form — never existed in Meilerius, and entered our romance from quite a different source. That the latter was very likely the case, is suggested at once by the fact that no unmistakable transformed-hag story, technically so called, seems to appear in Wales. Two folk-tales, of fiends assuming the guise of beautiful women, but in the end exhibiting their true nature, may be cited as of some interest here (Owen, Welsh Folk-lore, pp. 186 f,

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 401

story and Meilerius, Thomas occupies middle ground, retain- ing some traits of the former not to be discerned in Gerald's tale, yet resembling the latter in important and perhaps unique particulars.

Nor are the discrepancies between the two stories very significant. In Meilerius, it is true, some details of the Thomas story are lacking : the episode of the fruit, the underground journey, the vision of the ways to heaven, hell, etc., the enjoining of silence, the delusion as to the lapse of time. Some of these may very likely have been in the Meilerius story originally, if there was an earlier and more popular version in which a journey to the other world took the place of madness. At any rate, all but one (the roads to the different regions of the other world) belong to a stock fairy-material, and might be introduced into any story of fays.

To show that these two stories are related is easier than to demonstrate derivation of one from the other. The fact that we have the story of Meilerius from an ecclesiastical source rather strengthens any supposition in favor of its connection with Thomas ; for in spite of Gerald's (or some one's) decidedly non-popular improvements — the demons who betrayed the lying book or man, the hunters after souls, etc. — the resemblance between Meilerius and Thomas is still strong. We can hardly suppose, however, that the poet of our romance drew directly from Gerald. His treatment of the material is far more in the spirit of popular fairy- love, and, as we have seen, is in some ways closer to the original meaning of the loathly-lady theme. Certainly, if

and Sikes, British Goblins, pp. 193 ff.)' The second presents some points of likeness to T. of E. : the lady insists on the hero's following her, at the same time implying that her beauty may sometime depart. But the order of events is different, and the theme of the story is plainly not test and reward, but exorcism of a devil.

402 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

he was by chance a reader of Gerald, and took a suggestion from his book, he reshaped the tale with other stories in mind.

Of a popular legend in England and Wales, to be postu- lated as the source used by both Gerald and our poet, there is no satisfactory evidence. Brandl, indeed, remarks (p. 20):

" Doch will ich noch nicht behaupten class er [the author of our romance] die geschichte gerade bei Giraldus gelesen oder in Caerleon gehb'rt habe; denn derartige niarchenziige sind in England iiberhaupt seit dem 12n jahrhundert als popular nachzuweisen."

But as the examples from British writers which he pro- ceeds to give want the loathly-lady episode, they can hardly — except through the fairy-love — serve to connect Meilerius and Thomas of Erceldoune. Other stories which we may cite, such as Dame, Ragnell, The Marriage of Sir Gawain, and The Daughter of King Underwaves, though they demonstrate the widespread popularity of the loathly-lady, down even to our own day,1 lack the incidents preceding the transformation of the fay to a hag, and are quite uncon- nected with prophecy.

So far as the prophetic elements in the story are con- cerned, there seems to be nothing to serve as link between Meilerius and Thomas of Erceldoune. It may even be that the correspondence of the two stories is mere coincidence, the result of the tendency seen throughout the British Isles to

1 " The Daughter of King Underwaves " was written down from an old woman's recital in 1860 (Campbell, Pop. Tales, ni, 403). The latest appearance of the hag seems to be that in Campbell's Super- stitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland (Glasgow, 1900), cited by Maynadier, Wife of Bath's Tale, p. 194. It is singular enough that the loathly-lady theme, so popular in other forms, and so natural a magnet for the equally popular stories of disenchant- ment, should have dropped out of the ballad Thomas altogether.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 403

clothe prophecy with romance.1 Or, the Meilerius material as found in Gerald may simply have been attracted into the Thomas story (which told how a prophet was instructed by the fairy-queen) through the common idea of prophetic knowledge imparted to a mortal, and may have been worked over to conform more nearly with other loathly-damsel stories.2 At any rate, if a popular legend of a hag asso- ciated with prophecy existed antecedent to Gerald's account, and lingered in Wales or Scotland till it was used by our poet, all traces of that legend are lost.

If we attempt to show a relationship between Thomas of Urceldowne and Meilerius solely through the loathly-damsel incident, we find one English poem which at first sight seems to promise a vague connection between the two, since it gives the same sequence of events in the early part of the story as Thomas and Meilerius. In the ballad of The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter,3 as in Thomas, the heroine at first is beautiful and is wooed by the hero ; they go on a journey ; the lady becomes loathly (disagreeable to deal with) ; she recovers her beauty (turns out to be of noble rank). Again, Thomas, Meilerius and the Knight resemble the Wife of Bath's Tale form of the hag-story in beginning the narrative with an incident of rape, but differ from it in

xOn the vogue of prophecy in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and the forms under which it appeared, see Schofield, Eng. Lit., pp. 367 f; Brandl, T. of E., p. 12; O'Curry, MS. Mat., pp. 383 ff.; Stephens, Lit. of Kymry, pp. 273, 275 ff.; Skene, The Four Ancient Books of Wales, I, 436-446.

2 Cf. Maynadier, Wife of Bath's Tale, p. 161 : The " resemblance of the story of Thomas to the incident of Meilyr, coupled with its northern location, may be due to a fusion of two legends — one of Welsh origin, the other of Scottish Gaelic — by a poet who recognized that they contained virtually the same incident."

3 For explanation of this ballad see Maynadier, Wife of Bath's Tale, pp. 260 if.

404 JOSEPHINE M. BUKNHAM.

making the woman of the opening scene the same one who undergoes the transformations of the story. Thus the three tales seem to form a group by themselves. But in the case of The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter the identification of the two women seems to be due to the ballad-writer's desire to simplify his material, joined with some misunder- standing of its nature. It is, moreover, intimately connected with a scene at court which has no counterpart in the other stories. And if the identity of the two women is not a common trait, neither is the change from beauty to ugliness, which depends upon it. Meilerius and Thomas, then, stand alone in containing this chain of incidents ; a love-scene between a mortal and a beautiful woman, her transformation into an ugly hag, and the final bestowal, through her, of a gift. Moreover, in The Knight and the /Shepherd's Daughter, we have, as in The Wife of Bath's Tale, the appeal to the king, and, as in most English versions of the loathly-lady story, relationship between the hero and the king's family. In lacking this group of background characters, Thomas and Meilerius are nearer the simplicity of the more primitive transformed-hag story.

Thus any attempt to trace relationship between Thomas of Erceldoune and Meilerius through any extant popular story of a hag, connected or not connected with prophecy, breaks down. If our poet made use of any popular version of the Meilerius material, that version is lost. At the same time, our examination has brought out more sharply the resemblances between the two stories; the opening love- scene, the loss of beauty, and the gifts of prophecy and of true-speaking. The author of our romance would seem to have known the Meilerius tale in some form. But the version which he knew was either much closer than Gerald's to the typical loathly-lady story, or was altered by him to conform more nearly to the type.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 405

To sum up the points of resemblance which we have found between Thomas of Erceldoune and other stories. The fairy love is found in Ogier, Tannhduser (a goddess here), Merlin, Meilerius ; is connected with the hunt in Merlin (some versions) and Meilerius; she is taken for the Virgin in Ogier ; she leads the hero to an underground dwelling in Tannhduser and in some versions of the Merlin story. There is an episode connected with fruit in Merlin the Wild and in Ogier. The hero is deceived as to the passage of time in Ogier. He returns to earth or is restored to sanity in Ogier, Tannhduser, Merlin the Wild, Meilerius, and "Als y yod on a Mounday." Prophetic knowledge or power is given by a supernatural person in "Als y yod " and Meile- rius. Truth-telling is connected with this person in Meilerius.

Among all these stories more or less roughly correspond- ing to the story of Thomas of Erceldoune, it is evidently dangerous to pick out any one as the main source of the romance. Especially is it hazardous to base conclusions on stock incidents, such as the fairy love, unless they are associated with more unusual details. We may, however, consider these points established : that the author of Thomas of Erceldoune was not acquainted with the legend of Tann- hauser, or in any fundamental sense indebted to the story of Ogier, if indeed he knew it; that though, like every one else, he doubtless knew something of the Merlin cycle, he did not borrow from it in important particulars ; that he very likely knew and possibly took a hint from "Als y yod on a Mounday;" and that he was pretty certainly acquainted with the typical " loathly-lady " story, and with some version of the Meilerius material, combining a transformed hag with prophecy and the gift of true-speaking.

F. The other-world elements in the story, recalling, as they do, that ancient and popular tradition of Christian

406 JOSEPHINE M. BUBNHAM.

literature which found its supreme' expression in the Divine Comedy, must be separately considered. In this poem the roads to heaven, hell, purgatory, paradise, and apparently fairyland (the country is not named), are pointed out. No distinction is made between Christian and popular or pagan conceptions ; the two are placed side by side. The appear- ance of fairyland is readily accounted for by the nature of the heroine. The association of fairyland with hell, since both are frequently conceived as underground,1 is natural enough. We often find, indeed, a moral association between the two, as in the tiend the fairies are obliged to pay.? On the other hand, fairyland, being a land of pleasure, is easily connected with the terrestrial paradise, as in Ogier. And given any one of the four — heaven, hell, purgatory, or paradise — the tendency would of course be to introduce the whole series.

The occurrence of this other-world material in a poem beginning with a conventional vision-induction suggests at first sight that there is some intimate connection between the two. We cannot, however, suppose that such an induc-

3 For Paradise located in the East, see Wright, St. Patrick's Pur- gatory, pp. 92-3; Maundevile, ch. xxx. For hell and purgatory underground, Owayne Myles (Englische Studien, I, p. 100) ; St. Patrick's Purgatory, pp. 85, 94, 99, 102, 103; Becker, Medieval Visions of Heaven and Hell, p. 58. For Fairyland underground, St. Patrick's Purgatory, pp. 81 if.; Gir. Cam. It. Kam., I, 8; Mapes, De Nug. Cur., p. 16; Sir Orfeo; Meyer and Nutt, I, 174; Miss Paton, Fairy Mythology, p. 215.

2 Scott (Demonology and Witchcraft, p. 126), speaks of a man who, for his sins, was condemned to wander with the fairies after his death. The easy transition from fairies to demons is doubtless illustrated (if my view of the material is correct) by the demons who attended Meilerius. It is shown again in Thomas's feeling (as reported by the Lansdowne MS., line 144) that the hag he sees in place of the lovely fay must be the devil. Cf. also Scott, Bord. Mins., II, 291 ff.

A STUPY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 407

tion as that of our poem would be used if the author's main purpose were to give a view of the world beyond.1 Visions of heaven and hell were usually begun in other ways.2 Though Owen Miles visits purgatory and paradise in the flesh, the seer of the vision generally falls into a trance, and there is no preliminary walk or season-mo^.3 The conventions of the allegorical or moral vision and of the other-world vision were not the same,4 and the induction of our romance belongs to the former class.5 At the same time, the roads to heaven and hell, though here not the main feature of the vision, might very well be an element in it. If a prophet is to be taken to the other world that he may gain authority, why not make the most of the opportunity, and give him the importance, not only of one who has heard strange predictions in his dreams, but also of one who has seen all these unknown realms?6

1 It is noteworthy that in Thomas we have only the roads to the different realms, with a brief characterization of each, but no de- scription.

2 Becker, Mediaeval Visions, passim; The Eleven Pains of Hell (E. E. T. S., No. 49, p. 147) ; In Diebus Dominicis (E. E. T. S., No.

•34, p. 41).

3 Pearl seems to partake of both the allegorical and the other- world vision, in form as well as in thought. See Schofield, Nature and Fabric of the Pearl, Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass., xix, 162.

4Cf. Schick in Temple of Glas, p. cxix.

5Brandl (T. of E., p. 131) remarks: "II hat besondere ahnlich- keit mit dem eingange eines gedichts, welches ebenfalls eine vision des paradises enthalt und von Wright aus einem MS. des 15. jahr- hunderts in Rel. Ant. I 26 gedruckt worden ist:

myself walkyng all alone

Full of thoght, of joy desperat,

To my hert makyng my mone," etc.

But the most attentive reading of the song printed by Wright fails to reveal any vision of Paardise.

6 The details of the other-world experiences of Thomas are con- ventional. Christian elements: For the darkness of the journey cf.

r

408 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

There is a very curious poem, in the same verse-form as Thomas of Erceldoune, printed by Wright in his St. Patrick's Purgatory (p. 86) from a MS. of the beginning of the fif- teenth century. It is about a youth, who, desirous of learning the fate of his dead father and uncle, was guided to hell and paradise by one in a white surplice.

He led hym till a cumly hille

The erth opynd [and] in thei yede.

He found his father in hell. In paradise He led him to a fayre erber.

The pellican and the popynjay,

The tomor and the turtil trew, A hundirth thousand upon hy,

The nyghtyngale with notis new.

"He saw near at hand the tree 'on which grew the appull that Adam bote/ and from the place where the fruit was plucked blood issued whenever any one appeared who was not purified of his sins."

Owayne Myles (Eng. Stud., I, p. 100) ; Maundeville (ed. Halliwell), p. 302; for the roaring flood, Maundevile, p. 305; cf. also Becker (Mediaeval Visions, p. 61) : "The loathsome flood or river is a con- spicuous feature in almost all detailed early Christian accounts of hell." Fairy elements: For the usual view of eating in the other world see Child, Ballads, I, 322; Hartland, Science of Fairy-Tales, ch. ni; Meyer and Nutt, i, 299; Scott, Dem. and Witchcraft, p. 125. For silence as a wise measure in the other world, Child, Ballads, I, 322. So ballad Thomas A 15. Sir Orfeo and his wife say nothing when they meet in fairyland (Am. Jour. Phil., vn, 193). But Thomas is not told to be speechless, only to say nothing to any one but the fairy queen. Perhaps the object here is the secrecy so dear to the fairy nature (See Brandl, T. of E., p. 24). In general, " Kings or Queens of the Otherworld, when they entered into rela- tions with mortals, established a sort of taboo" (Schofield, Eng. Lit., p. 191). On this point see Meyer and Nutt, I, 143, 150, 299; Schofield, Lays of Graelent and Lanval, Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass., xv, 166.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 409

He led hym forth upon [a] playne

He was war of a pynakyll pigt. Sechan had he never seyne

Of clothes of gold burnyshed brigt.

Ther under sate a creature,

As brigt as any son beme, And angels did hym gret honoure.

"Lo! childe," he said, "this is thyn erne!"

This poem may have no relation whatever to our romance, but it certainly offers some interesting parallelisms. Of correspondences in diction there are a number. Compare with the third line I have quoted, line 177 of Thomas:

Scho lede hym in-till a faire herbere.

In the arbor of Thomas, among other birds, there are also popinjays and nightingales. The stanzas about the youth's "erne" recall the first appearance of the fay in Thomas. Of her, too, it is said (11. 47, 48) :

Als dose J?e sonne on someres daye, J?at faire lady hir selfe scho schone.

We might even compare lines 46 and 63 :

Swylke one ne saghe j neuer none; And als clere golde hir brydill it schone.

But though the number of resemblances in diction is striking, we should not emphasize them overmuch, for the phrases are all more or less conventional. More important is the entrance to the "cumly hille," somewhat like that

of Thomas.

Scho ledde hym jn at Eldone hill, Vndir-nethe a derne lee.1

*Of course, however, this is a commonplace of fairy material.

6 ,

410 JOSEPHINE M. BUBNHAM.

Another interesting coincidence with Thomas is the "fair arbor" in the other world. And the arbor is associated with the tree of which Adam ate — a tree which bears testi- mony against sinners. In Thomas of Erceldoune, although the true fairy-reason for denying Thomas the fruit would doubtless be that, eating it, he must remain in the other world, the reason stated is

T>e fende the will atteynt.

If }?ou it plokk, sothely to saye,

Thi soule gose to T?e fyre of helle;

It commes neuer owte or domesday,

Bot her jn payne ay for to duelle.

In the poem given by Wright, the tree is in the terrestrial paradise, exactly where it should be ; * in Thomas the inci- dent of the fruit is not connected with the lady's castle, as we should expect in a pure fairy-tale, but immediately precedes the pointing out of the ways to heaven, paradise, etc. Finally, the two poems are alike, and different from other stories of visits to the Christian other-world, in con- ducting their hero thither in the flesh, in giving only a brief and general description of the place, and in treating the theme with an unusual, almost lyric, simplicity.

What are we to conclude as to the relationship of these poems ? The MS. of the shorter seems to be of about the same age as the Thornton and Cambridge MSS. of Thomas. But as any poem may be much older than its MS., one of these might well be antecedent to the other. If there were any influence of one upon the other, however, it would have to exist in spite of or previous to 2 difference of dialect. Granting the possibility of influence, it is a little hard to decide which poem is to be regarded as the source. But the incidents which they have in common are more vital

1 Genesis, 2, 15-17; Owayne Myles, st. 146, p. 108; second text, lines 527-8, p. 119.

2 In case there were an earlier version of one of the poems.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF EECELDOUNE. 411

and essential to the shorter poem. The author of Thomas may, then, with this poem in mind, have added the " arbor " and with it the tree of knowledge, possibly also the roads to heaven, etc., to his hero's other-world experiences. The arbor or garden,1 being common to Paradise and to faery, might serve to attract Christian material into a fairy-tale, or vice versa. The rather purposeless and clumsy way in which the arbor is fitted into our romance — since it directly follows Thomas's demand for food, but, leaving him hungry, serves only to introduce the routes to heaven, etc. — suggests that the poet either interpolated the scene, or was fitting together with some difficulty parts of two or three stories. Taking into account the numerous points of likeness between the two poems, we conclude that the author of Thomas of Ereeldoune very likely had in mind this poem, or one very similar. In any case, our examination of the poem has been instructive, as showing by analogy how the incident of the fruit and the arbor is probably to be understood.2 It is plain, moreover, that whether their immediate source be a particular story or mere floating tradition, Thomas of Erceldoune contains suggestions of Christian other-world description combined with romance in a fashion for which we find no analogy in the stories hitherto considered — "Als y yod on a Mounday," Merlin, Tannhduser, Ogier, or Meilerius; and that the description is handled by the poet with a brevity and lightness of touch almost unknown in religious poems on this theme.3

1 As to fairy gardens, see Meyer and Nutt, sections 6, 39, 43.

2 The ballads repeat this interpretation. May not the poet have intended a fusion of the Christian and the fairy conceptions, using the tree of knowledge because he happened to be dealing with para- dise (possibly by imitation of some such poem as that under con- sideration) but also preventing Thomas from eating, that he might return to give his prophecy?

3 Contrast, for example, The Eleven Pains of Hell (E. E. T. Sv No. 49, pp. 211 if.). *

412 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

G. To complete our study, we must examine the relation of the prophetic and the vision-elements in the poem to the rest. Certain details in this romance seem to point pretty clearly toward the prophecies which follow. The fairy-love and the sojourn in elfland may obviously be employed to give weight to prophecies.1 So of course may the roads to heaven, hell, and paradise. The "tiend to hell" or some other device for getting the hero back to earth is of value, as explaining how one lured away to fairyland, and so in the way of obtaining prophetic power, returned to earth, where he might exercise it. The gift of the tongue that never will lie has marked advantages for a prophet. If I am correct in my interpretation of the loathly-lady inci- dent, that, too, can be directly utilized toward the same end. The loathly-lady properly tests the hero and rewards him ; why not reward him with the gift of prophecy ? 2 Other details, it is true, and some of them very characteristic, can hardly be shown to have any such bearing. The injunction to keep silence, the episode of the fruit, the journey through darkness and the flood, the delusion regarding the passage of time, the character of the lady (a huntress), the mistak- ing of the fay for the Virgin — no one of these relates in any way to the prophecy. On the other hand, none of these is an essential feature in the history. They are rather embel- lishments or " corroborative detail."

*Cf. the old Irish tract of "The Champion's Ecstacy," in which Conn gains knowledge of the future during what seems to be an other- world sojourn. (O'Curry, MS. Mat., p. 385.) The same tract faintly suggests the connection of fairy and Christian other-worlds in T. of E., for though the land whither Conn journeys seems to be of fairy (or pagan) character, the "Champion" is one of Adam's race who has come back from death.

2 It may be remarked — though the suggestion is far-fetched — that the original transformed hag prophesied to the hero in the sense of promising him or his descendants sovereignty (Academy, XLI, 425).

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 413

Putting the matter in another way, the plot of the romance, as we know it, is fundamentally this : A beautiful fay wooed by the hero turns out to be a " loathly-lady." She carries off her lover to her underground home, where she rewards him by returning to her beautiful form, since he has stood the test, has loved her despite her warning, and has followed at her command in spite of her distressing transformation. Finally she sends him back to earth, rewarding him further with the gift of the truthful tongue. Now in Meilerius we have an analogous story — recounting the hero's love for a supernatural woman, her loss of beauty, an other-world sojourn (possibly), and the gift of truth — with the addition of prophetic power. The plot seems by no means incompatible with prophecy. As for the subordinate features of the story, they are, as I have shown, either neutral or actually in keeping with prophetic intention. It would appear, then, that the prophecies are not so disparate as Professor Child thinks them from the romance.1

The vision-form of which we have found suggestions in part of the poem accords better with prophecy than with some features of the romance. The vision, pure and simple, would call almost necessarily for prophecy or some other kind of instruction to give it purpose.2 On the other hand, the loathly-lady episode, itself quite consistent with prophecy, would seem incongruous in a vision. Moreover, the vision would naturally occupy a much shorter time than Thomas's three years in Elfland; and the induction to the poem actually begins with "this endres day/' thus seeming to throw the whole story into the recent past. One is forced to conclude that our poet either in the first instance used

1 Child, Ballads, I, 319.

2 The vision used as a vehicle for prophecy is illustrated by Adam Davy's Dreams about Edward II, and further by the vision of Art as he slept on his hunting-mound (O'Curry, MS. Mat., p. 391).

414 JOSEPHINE M. BUKNHAM.

inconsistent conventions with considerable carelessness (as poets have been known to do) or put together older stories containing incongruous elements.

We have now disentangled the four main threads which are so intricately interwoven in the fabric of Thomas — the story of a fay who is a " loathly-lady," who lures her lover to her castle and presently sends him home, endowed with the truthful tongue ; a glimpse of the Christian other- world ; suggestions of a vision of the allegorical, non-ecclesiastical type ; and prophecy. To the first, the fairy -story, belongs the general framework of the romance (whether or not it originally included the loathly-lady features), and the stock detail of fairy-lore which it has attracted to itself. The second accounts for the roads to heaven, hell, and purga- tory, and perhaps for the fair arbor and the fruit. Third, the vision is to be traced in the induction with its use of the first person, its May morning atmosphere, and its rest under the semely tree ; and perhaps in the passage immedi- ately following, which describes, still in the first person, and with conventional details of costume, the meeting of the hero and the lady. Prophecy, the fourth component of Thomas, appears only in the second and third fytts, but relates itself readily to each of the other three. No one of the four sorts of material, as has been shown, is in any sense the invention of the author.

Analyzing the poem, part by part, we may divide it thus : opening in the vision-manner, lines 25 to 72, with which we should perhaps connect lines 693-694 ; view of the other- world, 171-222; prophecy, 301-304, 323-700; loathly-lady story, lines 97-140, 233-236 (or— if we accept the curious passage interpolated in the Lansdowne MS. — 233-252), 309- 322 ; general frame- work of a fairy-love and fairyland sojourn, easy enough to combine with most of the other elements, all other passages in the poem. The demarcation

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 415

of different sorts of material is, however, extremely diffi- cult ; and our analysis demonstrates chiefly the close texture of the whole.

Are we to believe that the poem in its present form, so cunningly wrought of various material, is the production of the original author, or a working over of earlier pieces? The mere variety of material is in itself inconclusive. We must take into account, however, the two singular facts of the change of person from first to third at line 72, and back to first for a moment in line 276 ; and the references to a "storye" in lines 83 and 123. Four hypotheses present themselves : (a) the changes of person are due to corruption of the text, the references to a story being a literary device ; (b) both the change of person and the references to a story are devices of the poet ; (c) the first change of person and the hints of a story are to be set down to literary artifice, the second change of person to corruption of the text ; (d) these peculiarities result from imperfect welding together or working over of an older story or stories.

None of these theories admits of rigorous verification. It will appear, however, that the two last are better founded than the others. Though (a) might account for line 276, the change at line 72 seems too marked, and the new form too consistently held, to be due to mere blundering. Both (b) and (c) have considerable plausibility, but (c) is prefer- able as offering a more satisfactory explanation of the apparent slip in line 276. All these three — (a), (b), and (c) — leave out of account the inconsistencies in subject- matter already noted. Lastly, (d) is supported, though hardly proved, by certain features of the passages in ques- tion. The first change of person, considered in connection with the style of the opening passage, suggests at once a patching together of a vision about a fairy-lady, and some story in the third person. The change in line 276,

0

416 JOSEPHINE M. BUKNHAM.

Till one a daye, so hafe I grace, My lufly lady sayde to mee,

is not so easily accounted for. It may be due — even on the hypothesis assumed for the moment — to corruption of the text. Or we may have here — in spite of the discrepancy in time, a discrepancy less violent than that between " endres daye " and " three years " — a fragment of the vision we have postulated. Again, the lines may indicate imperfect assimilation of still another story in the first person. This, by the way, would hardly be the same as the "storye" quoted in other passages of our romance, since a writer putting together two stories in the first person would scarcely introduce the third person. The references to a "storye/7 if they can be identified with any specific part of the material, seem to belong to the loathly-lady episode. The second reference occurs in the midst of one of the loathly-lady scenes. The first is connected with the meeting of the fay, mistaken for the Virgin, at Eldon tree — an incident which, being conventional, might easily have been part of one " story " with the second. It is possible, then, to postulate at least two sources : a vision of a lady and an other-world experience, a vehicle for prophecy ; and a loathly-lady story, probably much like the tale of Meilerius. In this way (d) may explain not only the changes of person and the allusions to the story, but also the incongruities of the poem.

It is clear that we may dismiss (a) and (b) as leaving too much out of account. Whether one decides for (c) or (d) will largely depend on how strongly one feels the discrepan- cies and incongruities which have been pointed out : (c) convicts the original poet, gifted though he evidently was with artistic feeling, of rather careless workmanship ; (d) supposes a poet who worked over and adapted material with

A STUDY OF THOMAS OP ERCELDOUNE. 417

some heedlessness as to details, but with great skill. One fact, however, so far as it has weight, is in favor of the former view — the uniform quality of the verse. There are no marked changes in meter or rime-scheme to indicate patching.

In either case, we cannot hope to trace precisely the growth of the romance. If we adopt (c), we may surmise some such process as this : A popular tradition of a visit by Thomas to fairyland may very well have existed before the poem was written. (Unless, however, such a story were attached to Thomas's name, or had some unusual feature, it could never be shown to be the basis of our romance ; the motif is too common). Given the bare outlines of such a story about Thomas, the writer may have taken a hint from the "Als y yod on a Mounday," — which combines prophecy in dialogue-form with a visit to a sort of fairy castle — and may then have added the Meilerius material from some source. The three stories would naturally be drawn together by the connection between prophecy and faery common to them all. Suppose there were no such tradition, at that time, concerning Thomas ; he was nevertheless a renowned prophet, whose name was valuable as authority, and the machinery of the poem could still be furnished by the other two stories.1 The vision-induction might be a literary flourish, and the Christian other-world material, from current tradition or from a story similar to that of the youth who went to Paradise, added merely by way of elaboration. For such details as the tiend to hell the writer had only to draw upon popular folk-lore. Finally,

1It is much to be desired that we have some popular utterance on the name True Thomas. If any tradition accounting for the name has existed apart from the ballad and the romance, the name may be independent of the whole Meilerius story. If so, it might nevertheless attract the Meilerius material into the story of Thomas.

418 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

the prophetic fytts may have been written, in their present form, at the same time and by the same author as the romance, though they may have been largely made up of earlier scraps of prophecy.

Our most complex hypothesis, (d), accounting for the peculiarities of the poem by imperfect assimilation of earlier works, offers us almost an un chartered freedom of speculation.

1. The writer of the original poem may have used all the material now included in it, gathering it from various popular sources, but may have put the whole into the form of a vision. A later writer might have worked this over, introducing the third person almost anywhere, but retaining the induction.

2. But certain parts of the material seem better adapted than others to the vision-form. As has already been pointed out, the chronology of the story is confused. It begins with " this endres daye," and goes on with the events of three years. The loathly-lady story may be conceived as appear- ing in a vision, but not very readily. The vision, moreover, being a didactic form, would be cumbered by the wealth of incident given in the present romance, and would doubtless proceed much more briefly and directly to the business in hand. The apparition of a lady who should take the hero to the other-world and speak prophecies to him — suggested per- haps by "Als y yod on a Mounday," and by popular stories of fays, possibly already connected with Thomas — would be machinery enough for the vision.1 And such a lady we find intimately associated with the vision-like opening passage. This lady might explain the geography of the other world

*May the vision account, at least in part, for the fact that the lady is nowhere classified as fay or what not? It is only in the ballads that she is called Queen of Elfland.

A STUDY OF THOMAS OF ERCELDOUNE. 419

to Thomas, by way of giving him greater authority. Such a vision as this might have been the vehicle for the Halidon Hill prophecy of 1333 which Murray postulates.1

The lady of this supposed vision has two points of contact, perhaps, with the Meilerius story. First, obviously, her connection with prophecy. Second, and more doubtful, the huntress character which she evidently possessed, which is emphasized in almost the first lines of the romance. If there is really some such character belonging to the fays of Meilerius7 acquaintance, this might serve to attach them to the other legend. A later writer, seeing the possibilities of the Meilerius material, might add it to the rest. And here we have a motive for the working over suggested by the changes in person. For why work over the whole, unless to add fresh material? With the working over, we should have the third person, the loathly-lady incident, i. e., the " storye," and the gift of the truthful tongue.2 At the same time, through oversight on the part of the poet, the con- fusions in chronology which we have noted may have crept in. Thomas's three-year stay in Elfland, and the tiend to hell which was the occasion of his dismissal — details readily associated with other-world visits — might be added out of a desire to embellish the narrative.

3. The original vision may have been even simpler and more purely of fairy character than has been suggested above,

1 And would not a shorter story than our present romance accord better with the shorter prophecy?

2 It may now seem more remarkable than before that the loathly- lady has entirely disappeared from the ballads. But the ballad writer might not see her connection with " the truthful tongue." In the prophecies, too, he had no interest. Nor is it strange that the loathly-lady episode has dropped out of the later prophetic poems based on T. of E., when we consider that the narrative element in those poems is simplified almost to the point of extinction.

420 JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

and the Christian other-world details may have been added later, perhaps at the same time as the Meilerius material.

If we adopt (2) or (3), we may suppose that around the nucleus of the Halidon Hill prophecy fresh predictions were gathered, either at the same time the Meilerius story was added, or before, or later. However that may be, the con- nection of the prophecies with a "lady" is plain throughout. They are spoken in answer to questions put by Thomas, and the third fytt closes with the promise of the lady to meet Thomas at Huntley banks. The author or redactor of the poem in its present form clearly had every intention of com- bining romance and prophecy.

It is plain that we can only suggest possibilities, and can never trace exactly the stages through which Thomas of Er- celdoune developed, either in the hands of its sole author — if we assume his existence — or in the hands of a series of poets and redactors. Nor can we, by the most patient investi- gation, demonstrate a servile following, by the poet of the romance as we know it, of any known story. Hints he doubtless gathered here and there ; much of his material was literary commonplace. He handled it all with freedom and individuality.

JOSEPHINE M. BURNHAM.

XVIIL-frTALY IN ENGLISH POETRY.

In ways innumeraWe in the course of the past fou4<or five centuries Italy has inmtejjced the thoughts^wfG feelings of Englishmen. The full history""bf Lilly funuence is yet to be written. And naturally enough, for Italy appeals variously to the student of archaeology, to the historian, to the artist, to the poet, and to the mere tourist in search of amusement. No landscapes more exquisite can be found in the world than some portions of Italy ; no city can fill the peculiar place of Rome or Florence or Venice ; and nothing can sur- pass the subtle witchery of Capri and Sicily and some of the half-forgotten hill towns ruined ages ago.

Italy has for centuries drawn streams of travellers from all over the world. At the time of the Renaissance Italy became the University of Europe and the one unrivaled center of the new culture. This initial supremacy did not continue undisputed, and, in the course of a generation or two, passed in part to other lands. But Italy retained for a variety of reasons its preeminence as a land of fascination,

1 This paper makes no pretence to rival the detailed studies that have been made of two or three of the poets who have pictured Italy in their verse. It aims rather at a general survey, and it must sacrifice a good deal of detail for the sake of a wider view.

The material for this paper has been gathered by an independent exam- ination of English poetry from about 1525 to 1890. Longfellow's Poems of Places, Boston, 1876-1879, comprises 31 volumes, 18mo., of which three are on Italy. This collection contains but a portion of the English poems dealing with Italy, and it includes translations from Greek, Latin, German, and Italian writers. Another collection has just appeared, under the edi- torship of Kobert Haven Shaumer, Through Italy with the Poets, with selec- tions " ranging from Homer and Pindar to Arthur Symons and William Vaughan Moody." Two recent books, neither of which I have consulted, are Anna Benneson McMahon's Florence in the Poetry of the Brownings, and Helen A. Clarke's Browning's Italy.

421*

422 WILLIAM EDWAKD MEAD.

and by its natural beauty, its art, its architecture, its learn- ing, its romantic history, its brilliant society and manifold forms of entertainment, attracted visitors of the most diverse type.

Among the strangers who early made their way to Italy Englishmen were conspicuous for their numbers, their rank, and their wealth. Multitudes of Englishmen went by sea to Naples or made the long, hard journey over the Alps, being carried by stalwart mountaineers over the dangerous passes, and in the land of Circe, as Ascham calls it, they fed upon the new learning or yielded to the danger- ous allurements that beset them on every side.

The Italian journey naturally varied in popularity from one generation to another, and it was now and then inter- rupted by war. But for several centuries there has been substantially the same unceasing current of travel setting towards Italy from England. The travel in the last hundred years has been larger than ever, but the conditions under which it has been performed mark off the nineteenth century from any of its predecessors. The eighteenth cen- tury established a standard of comfort which has steadily risen ever since, and which has enticed the poet of limited means to Italy along with the ordinary traveller.

We have now to consider a striking fact. One might have expected that the Revival of Learning and the rapidly growing familiarity with Latin classics, the popularity of Italian literature, and the increasing fondness for travel in Italy would have led to frequent poetic treatment of Italian scenes. But although there is a superfluity of classical allusion, there is singularly little poetic description of Italy for the greater part of three centuries.1 The trend of litera-

1 "It was this presence of danger, as well as of personal inconvenience of travelling, which perhaps delayed for so long the appreciation of natural beauties. The interest in scenery and landscape on the part of the Eng-

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 423

ture was in another direction ; and the delineation of a scene or a land for its own sake we must recognize as a compara- tively modern affair.

In the three centuries from 1500 to 1800, notwithstanding the notable interest in Italy as evidenced in a great variety of ways, the number of English poems written in that period that have Italy as their theme can be numbered on the fingers. The dramatists, it is true, often lay the scenes of their plays in Italy, because in many cases the stories they borrow are Italian, and they are almost inevitably compelled now and then to depict an Italian scene. But the poets in general either ignore Italy altogether or touch it only incidentally in passing. As we approach our own time, however, we find the poems on Italy increasing in number until they cannot be enumerated in detail in a paper as brief as the present one.

Our main topic, then, by the mere force of facts, is nine- teenth century poetry on Italy. But we must spend a few words upon the earlier attempts.

While noting the rarity of early poems on Italy we may observe that there seem to have been in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries about as many English poems on Italy as on France or Germany or Spain or Egypt. But Englishmen were writing poems about their own land. Besides what we find in the dramatists we may note Warner's great, or, I should say, bulky, poem, Albion's England; and there is also Drayton's Polyolbion, both associating different parts of England with various legends and historic tales. Why should there have been such • a

lish travellers in Italy was certainly not very pronounced. They noticed the general situation of each city, and at times made a few remarks on the beauty of the locality, but their observation of nature fell behind all their other comments; the real attraction they found in Italy lay in other directions." — Einstein, Italian Renaissance in England, p. 134.

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424 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

dearth of poems on Italy? It could not be because men were not thinking of Italy,1 for they thought of few things so often. The question cannot be fully answered. But the fact remains that such poems were scarcely attempted until the beginning of the eighteenth century, and even then, with one or two exceptions, might about as well have been unwritten.

"We must, however, turn from these general considerations to the poems themselves. The only sixteenth century Eng- lish poem on Italy — apart from the bits found in plays — is a version of du Bellay's poem on The Ruines of Rome. This version appeared in 1569, and is printed in Edmund Spenser's works. If it is really his, it is one of his early exercises in translation. The theme is one in harmony with the classical taste of the Renaissance. The poem is a series of thirty-three sonnets and contains comparatively little description but many reflections on the marvellous history of Rome as suggested by the scattered fragments of once mighty structures.

In a characteristic line or two we catch the tone of the entire poem.

" Thou stranger, which for Rome in Rome here seekest, And nought of Rome in Rome perceiv'st at all,

These same olde walls, olde arches which thou seest, Olde Palaces, is that which Rome men call.

Beholde what wreake, what ruine, and what wast." 2

1 Sir Philip Sidney was on the Continent two years in his youth, much of the time at Venice. His work was profoundly influenced by Italian culture, but there is no picture of Italy in any of his verse. Cf. S. Lee, Great Englishmen, p. 73.

" Nearly all the English poets had then travelled abroad, and Walling- ton even gave advice to such of his travellers in Italy as were anxious to follow the muse." — Einstein, Italian Renaissance in England, p. 339.

See the whole of Einstein's third chapter, and also Garnett and Gosse, Engl Lit., I, 241; Maugham, The Book of Italian Travel, 1580-1900, Lon- don, 1903.

2 Stanza in, lines 1-5.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 425

It must be confessed that in view of the marvellous influ- ence that Italy exerted upon English thought and English literature in the sixteenth century we might have expected more on this theme than this single translated poem, but there is nothing else except the scattered bits in the dramatists.1

1 The dramatists are not included in the scope of this paper, but I must find space for the following remarks on the relation of Shakespeare to Italy and Italian themes.

"It seems unlikely that Shakespeare ever set foot on the Continent of Europe in either a private or a professional capacity." — S. Lee, Great Englishmen of the 16th Century, p. 298.

And yet, as the author hastens to add : " To Italy — especially to cities of northern Italy, like Venice, Padua, Verona, Mantua, and Milan — Shakespeare makes frequent and familiar reference, and he supplies many a realistic portrayal of Italian life and sentiment. But the fact [of various blunders] renders it almost impossible that he could have gathered his knowledge of Northern Italy from personal observation. Shakespeare doubtless owed all his knowledge of Italy to the verbal reports of travelled friends and to Italian books, the contents of which he had a rare power of assimilating and vitalising. The glowing light which his quick imagina- tion shed on Italian scenes lacked the literal precision and detailed accuracy with which first-hand exploration must have endowed it." — p. 299.

"With Italy — the Italy of the Kenaissance — his writings show him to have been in full sympathy through the whole range of his career. The name of every city of modern Italy which had contributed anything to the enlightenment of modern Europe finds repeated mention in his plays. Florence and Padua, Milan and Mantua, Venice and Verona are the most familiar scenes of Shakespearian drama. To many Italian cities or dis- tricts definite characteristics that are perfectly accurate are allotted. Padua, with its famous university, is called the nursery of the arts ; Pisa is renowned for the gravity of its citizens ; Lombardy is the pleasant garden of great Italy. The mystery of Venetian waterways excited Shakespeare's curiosity. The Italian word 'traghetto,' which is reserved in Venice for the anchorage of gondolas, Shakespeare transferred to his pages under the slightly disguised form of ' traject.' " — p. 303.

See also pp. 304-307 for other evidence of Shakespeare's knowledge of Italy and Italian literature.

"In no less than five plays the action passes in Rome. Not only is the ancient capital of the world the scene of the Koman plays Titus Andronicus,

7 •

426 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

In the seventeenth century the gleanings are almost as scanty. William Drummond has ten lines Upon a Bay Tree Not Long Since Growing in the Ruins of Virgil's Tomb,1 but he attempts no description. Davenant, in his unread- able poem, Gondibert, 11, 1, gives us a picture of "Verona, by the poet's pencil drawn ; " and mentions Brescia, I, 1, 5, Bergamo, i, 1, n, 3, "the UbaBan bay," i, 5, etc., but apart from his attempt to describe Verona he presents no descrip- tion worthy the name and little of anything else essentially Italian besides the names of places and characters. We may, however, be grateful that the piece is no longer.

The one really striking passage on an Italian theme in the seventeenth century is Milton's description of Rome in Paradise Regained. Yet even this is not Rome as Milton really saw it, but as he conceived it to exist in the time of Christ. Then there is Milton's sonnet, On the Late Massacre in Piedmont, which has little local color, and, lastly, his famous lines on Vallombrosa, perhaps more often quoted than any others in Paradise Lost :

11 Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks la Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, High overarched, embower."

I, 302-304.

For the seventeenth century we have but one more name to consider, Dryden. He was no traveller, and what he knew of Italy he got at second hand, but in his translations from Boccaccio he treated with free hand two themes deal- ing with Italian life and scenery. The first tale, Sigismonda

Goriolanus, Julius Ccesar, and Antony and Cleopatra, but in Cymbeline much that is important to the plot is developed in the same surroundings. Of all the historic towns of northern Italy can the like story be told." — p. 311.

On this question, see also, Einstein, Italian Renaissance in England, pp. 369-372.

1 Chambers, English Poets, v. 691.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 427

and Guiscardo, has its scene at Salerno, but it is not par- ticularly vivid in portraying the place. In Theodore and Honoria, on the other hand, he displays considerable skill in picturing the Pineta and other characteristic features of the region about Ravenna. Nothing could more completely prove, than does this enumeration, that the attention of poets was directed to other things. Most of the poets were classically educated and might have been as much expected to write about Italy as about anything else ; but for some reason they did not.

The eighteenth century contribution, as far as mere quantity goes, is far larger than that of the two preceding centuries, though for the most part the quality is nothing to boast of. But as indicating the trend of literature, some of them are worth noting. The much -abused eighteenth century, prosaic and commonplace as it was, took an interest in a great many things. Among the things that appealed to contemplative and artistic natures were ruins, — particularly if artificial — and sooner or later ruins found their way into poetry. We have a succession of poetic exercises, of no special inspiration, that deal either wholly or in part with the wrecks that time has wrought and minister to the feeling of melancholy so dear to the poets of a century or two ago.

First in point of time is Addison's famous Letter from Italy. It is difficult to share the enthusiasm of Addison's contemporaries for this production, which, to modern taste, appears to be the most conventional of commonplace industri- ously translated into glittering generality. The trail of the vicious eighteenth century poetic diction is over the whole piece. No one now reads it except as a task — and few at that. And yet, it is polished and graceful, and now and then suggests that Addison has really seen what he is trying

to describe.

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428 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

But in general the picture is blurred. Take these lines on the Coliseum :

" Immortal glories in my mind revive, And in my soul a thousand passions strive When Home's exalted beauties I descry Magnificent in piles of ruin He. An amphitheatre's amazing height Here fills my eye with terror and delight, That on its public shows unpeopled Rome And held uncrowded nations in its womb : Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies : And here the proud triumphal arches rise, Where the old Romans deathless acts displayed Their base degenerate progeny upbraid."

Addison's prose has the elastic grace of the conversation of the polished man of the world : his verse is stiff and formal, and displays all the faults of the attempted poetry of his day.

Addison's example was followed in all its pompous vagueness by more than one writer of verse and, in a few instances, by genuine poets. In 1715 Alexander Pope wrote an Epistle to Mr. Addison Occasioned by his Dialogues on Medals.1 The Dialogues were not then published, but were handed about in manuscript. Pope was never in Italy, yet his pictures of Rome, drawn in the conven- tional eighteenth century style, are quite as vivid as Addison' s own.

"See the wild Waste of all-devouring years ! How Rome her own sad Sepulchre appears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread ! The very Tombs now vanish' d like their dead ! Imperial wonders rais'd on Nations spoil' d, Where mix'd with Slaves the groaning Martyr toil'd: Huge Theatres, that now unpeopled Woods, Now drain' d a distant country of her Floods : Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride survey, Statues of men, scarce less alive than they ! ' '

11. 1-10. 1 Moral Essays, Epistle V, ed. Ward.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 429

With varying degrees of dulness one poet after another touched more or less briefly on Italy. We have, for ex- ample, from John Hughes (1677-1720) a few lines in his poem, The Court of Neptune,1 which seem to require no inspiring source beyond a classical dictionary :

" hence Tiber takes his course ; Hence rapid Rhodanus his current pours ; And, issuing from his urn, majestic Padus roars ; And Alpheus seeks, with silent pace, the lov'd Sicilian shores."

The poet Akenside was never in Italy, but he was classi- cally educated and could therefore safely venture upon an occasional classic allusion or partly borrowed description. One or two such appear in his Odes :

1 ' Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands, Amid the domes of modern hands : Amid the toys of idle state, How simple, how severely great.

I care not that in Arno's plain,

Or on the sportive banks of Seine," 2 etc.

To produce such lines, no long journey over the Alps was required.

Among the crowds of titled Englishmen who made the grand tour and visited Italy we may note Lord Lyttleton, who in 1730 addressed An Epistle to Mr. Pope from Rome? In this production he assures Mr. Pope that " The muses fly from Baise, Umbria's plain," and elsewhere, and

" To Thames' s flowery borders they retire And kindle in the breast the Koman fire."

He laments in proper form over "Unhappy Italy," but he tells us very little about it.

1 Chambers, English Poets, X, 14.

2 Book i, No. 18.

'Chambers, English Poets, xiv, 174.

430 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

Another English visitor to France and Italy in 1730 and 1731 was James Thomson, who was there as travelling companion to Charles Richard Talbot, eldest son of Sir Charles Talbot. Thomson had already made his reputation as the author of The Seasons and now tried his hand on a classical theme. This was his Liberty,1 a subject which at first thought might seem not un suited to the poet. But the result is not very happy. He knows his English landscape, and he can paint it in truthful colors, even though he generally lays them on too thickly. But his pictures of Italy are conventional and vague. If he is familiar with Italy, one would hardly suspect the fact on reading his poem. In his verses on Rome, in Liberty, Part in, scarcely a line or an epithet can be found that is really descriptive. All is commonplace and in the traditional style. Italy is viewed as a land that has fallen from its high estate and become the prey of the spoiler. The prevailing note is one of depression :

"Mark the desponding race, Of occupation void, as void of hope."

A few lines in Ancient and Modern Italy are fresher than the rest and suggest that the writer is describing what he has actually seen, but, taken as a whole, the poem is a decided failure. It won few readers, even in its own day, and it drew a not undeserved sneer from Dr. Johnson.

The only really notable eighteenth century poem of its class is Dyer's on The Ruins of Rome (1740), a title antici- pated by du Bellay in 1558. John Dyer was a landscape painter, as well as a poet, and had spent considerable time in

1 The First Part of this poem was published late in December, 1734, the Second and Third Parts in 1735, and the Fourth and Fifth Parts in 1736. A good deal of the portion dealing with Ancient and Modern Italy in Liberty, Part I, is merely a reflection of the author's classical reading and shows little trace of actual observation.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 431

Italy. Before writing this poem he had already published his Grongar Hill } and was recognized as an author. Dyer is a genuine poet, though not a great one, but he is fettered in his movement by the stiff poetic diction of the eighteenth century. In the style of the time he has his fling at luxury, as the

" Bane of elated life, of affluent states,"

and he periphrastically mentions oysters as,

"Neptunian Albion's high testaceous food."

Every page suggests a reminiscence of Milton or Thom- son. But there is, nevertheless, in Dyer's verse much of the simple, unobtrusive beauty which is often present in work done with honesty guided by discrimination. He attempts to describe what he has actually seen, and he views Rome with the eye of a painter and a poet. In form, too, the poem follows the blank verse of Thomson rather than the rigid rhyming couplet of Pope.

Dyer dwells, as his subject suggests, upon what is forlorn and waste; he is mournful at the sight of the destruction spread round him, and in general introduces considerable of the standard eighteenth century melancholy.

"Fall'n, fall'n, a silent heap ; her heroes all Sunk in their urns ; behold the pride of pomp, The throne of nations fall'n ; obscure in dust ; Ev'n yet majestical."

He notes "the Theban obelise" lying deep in dust; "grey-mould7 ring temples;" the ruins on the Palatine Hill; the roar of the waters in the ancient sewers of Tarquin. He muses on the great men who once trod the place before

1 Printed in a collection issued by Kichard Savage in 1726, and revised and published separately in 1727.

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432 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

him — Scipio, Marius, Pompey, Caesar, Brutus, Tully. From the Palatine he views the amphitheatre.

" Mountainous pile ! o'er whose capacious womb Pours the broad firmament its varied light ; While from the central floor the seats ascend Kound above round, slow-wid'ning to the verge, A circuit vast and high."

He turns to the Pantheon, which he has evidently studied closely. He observes,

" How range the taper columns, and what weight Their leafy brows sustain."

We cannot accompany the poet on his entire itinerary through the city, and we can note only a striking passage or two. He has a genuine inspiration when he sees,

" From yon blue hills Dim in the clouds, the radiant aqueducts Turn their innumerable arches o'er The spacious desert, bright' ning in the sun, Proud and more proud, in their august approach : High o'er irriguous vales and woods and towns, Glide the soft whispering waters in the wind, And here united pour their silver streams Among the figur'd rocks, in murm'ring falls, Musical ever."

He is likewise moved at sight of Vespasian's Temple of Peace, of which,

" Three nodding isles remain ; the rest an heap Of sand and weeds ; her shrines, her radiant roofs And columns proud, that from her spacious floor, As from a shining sea, majestic rose An hundred foot aloft, like stately beech Around the brim of Dion's glassy lake, Charming the mimick painter : on the walls Hung Salem' s sacred spoils ; the golden board, And golden trumpets, now conceal' d, entomb* d By the sunk roof. — O'er which in distant view Th' Etruscan mountains swell, with ruins crown' d Of ancient towns ; and blue Soracte spires, Wrapping his sides in tempests."

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 433

Striking, too, is the picture when,

"Cool ev'ning comes ; the setting sun displays His visible great round between yon tow'rs, And through two shady cliffs."

Had he maintained this level throughout the five or six hundred lines of the poem, we should have to claim for him a place among the foremost of the poets who have striven to picture Italy. But Dyer cannot break away, except now and then, from the manner of the eighteenth century, and his work is notable mainly as a foretaste of better things.

I cannot take space for detailed comment upon a con- siderable number of poems, or what were meant for poems, that mention Italy or Italian cities. They are all alike insignificant as poetry, though they are now and then sharply satirical.1

*For the sake of completeness I cite the following titles. There are probably others that I have overlooked.

1. Brno's Vale. A Song. Written at Florence on the Death of the Last Grand Duke of Tuscany of the Medici Family, by Charles Duke of Dorset. Dodsley, Poems (1783), Supplement, n, 292, 293. This merely mentions "Arno's silver stream" and " Arno's vale."

2. An Epistle from a Swiss Officer to his Friend at Rome. Dodsley, Poems, (1763), in, 58-61. The Swiss boasts of the freedom of his own land and scorns to "sell himself to Kome and slavery." This is the burden of the whole piece: Italy is enslaved — "Who fights for tyrants is his country's foe."

3. On a Bay-Leaf, plucVd from Virgil's Tomb near Naples, 1736,

by . Dodsley, Poems, in, 268, 269. Of this, nothing is Italian but

the title.

4. To the Memory of a ,Gentleman, Who died on his Travels to Rome, written in 1738 by the Kev. Dr. Shipley (now Bishop of St. Asaph). Dodsley, Poems (1763), v, 256, 257. This merely mentions the Tiber and

"the last remains Of ancient art ; fair forms exact In sculpture, columns, and the mould' ring bulk Of theatres," etc.

5. An Epistle from Florence, To T. A. Esqr.; Tutor to the Earlj/P .

434 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

A piece by Gilbert West, On the Abuse of Travelling* deserves no attention as poetry, but is worth noting as illustrating certain conceptions common to eighteenth century poets. The style is in imitation of Spenser.

"For long, to visit her once-honoured seat The studious sons of learning have forbore ; Who whilom thither ran with pilgrim feet Her venerable relics to adore, And load their bosom with the sacred store, Whereof the world large treasure yet enjoys. But sithence she declined from wisdom's lore, They left her to display her pompous toys To virtuosi vain and wonder-gaping boys."

After describing the methods of the ciceroni, he proceeds :

Written in the Year 1740. By the Honorable . Dodsley, Poems, in,

75-89. This contains some very severe satire on the oppression of Italy by the church and by great lords.

6. To Mr. Fox, written at Florence. By the late Lord H y. Dodsley,

Poems, in, 187-189. This presents nothing on Italy except—

"Or thro' the tainted air of Home's parch' d plains, Where Want resides, and Superstition reigns."

7. Ode to the Genius of Italy, occasioned by the Earl of Corkers going Abroad. By Mr. J. Buncombe, Dodsley 's Poms (1782), vi, 284-286. There is nothing really Italian in this poem. But the Genius of Italy is urged to rear his drooping head and put on an olive crown, —

" For see ! a noble guest appears," etc.

8. Virgil's Tomb, Naples, 1741. Anonymous. Dodsley, Poems (1763), IV, 110-115. A conventional piece, steeped in eighteenth century diction and sentiment. The author can get not a crumb of comfort :

* ' To groaning slaves those fragrant meads belong, Where Tully dictated, and Maro sung.

Alas ! how changed ! — dejected and forlorn ! The mistress of the world become the scorn ! "

1 Chambers, English Poets, xin, 175-180. West was born very early in the eighteenth century and died in 1755. The poem mentioned above contains fifty-eight stanzas of nine lines each.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 435

"Which when the Fairy heard, he sigh'd full dear, And casting round his quick discerning eye, At every deal he dropt a many tear, As he the stately buildings mote descry Baths, theatres, and fanes, in mouldering fragments lie.

" And, oh, imperial city ! " then he said,

" How art thou tumbled from thine Alpine throne ! "

There follows more lament over the "woeful plight" of modern, as compared with ancient, Rome.

Another bit of satire on the grand tour appears in The Modern Fine Gentleman,1 written in the year 1746.

" Just broke from school, pert, impudent, and raw, Expert in Latin, more expert in taw, His honour posts o'er Italy and France, Measures St. Peter's dome, and learns to dance. Thence having quick thro' various countries flown, Glean' d all their follies, and expos' d his own, He back returns, a thing so strange all o'er, As never ages past produc'd before."

We may remark in passing that Joseph Warton in an Ode to a Gentleman on his Travels2 has a few references to "Vir- gil's laurelPd tomb," to " smooth Clitumnus' banks," and to

"ruin'd domes

That their cleft piles on Tyber's plains present."

He illustrates the prevailing temper of the eighteenth century poets in his reflections on the state of ruin in Italy. But his poem on The Enthusiast : or the Lover of Nature* written in 1740, is wholly romantic in spirit and in a line or two reveals Warton's delight in the beauty and grandeur of Italian landscape.

" Yet let me choose some pine-topt precipice, Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy stream, Like Anio, tumbling roars."

1 Dodsley, Poems, in, 167-171. Cf. also Pope, Dundad, iv, 293-321.

* Chambers, English Poets, xvm, 165.

s Dodsley, Poems, in, 99-108. 0

436 WILLIAM EDWAKD MEAD.

It is a matter of regret that, among our poems on Italy, we have practically nothing from Thomas Gray. He was abroad in 1739 and 1740 as the travelling companion of Horace Walpole, and he described Italy accurately and entertainingly in his personal letters. But nothing on Italy, apart from a line here and there, appears in his poems, except in the Fragment of a Latin Poem on the Gaurus and the short Farewell to Florence. Gray was one of the few eighteenth century poets with a genuine feeling for natural scenery, and he was prepared by his intimate knowledge of the country and his keen appreciation of its varied beauty to stand as the principal poetic interpreter of its spirit in the eighteenth century, but in this case, as in so many others, he left his feelings unexpressed. His admirable letters, which doubtless cost him little effort, rank among the best descriptions that we possess of Italian life and scenery. But poetry was for him no spontaneous utterance ; and the time for his poem on Italy never came.

Besides Gray the only notable poet to be here considered is Goldsmith. Goldsmith's Traveller* presents a picture of Italy sketched in broad outlines and following as a model Addison's Letter from Italy. In Goldsmith's own words : " Few poems have done more honour to English genius than this." Naturally enough, he emulates the formal and stilted phrases of his predecessor. He speaks of the " wander- ing Po," of "Arno's shelvy side/' of "those domes where Caesars once bore sway," and the place "where Campania's plain forsaken lies."

A favorable specimen appears in these lines :

' ' Far to the right where Apennine ascends, Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ; While oft some temple's mould 'ring tops between With venerable grandeur mark the scene."

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 437

This sort of description is frigid enough and has for the present-day reader no special attraction. But as eighteenth century descriptive poetry goes it is more than tolerable, and it helped at all events to keep the subject before the minds of budding poets.

Besides these poems of more or less note, we may call attention to two brief poems by William Whitehead (1715- 1785), unimportant in themselves, but full of classical material, the one entitled an Ode to the Tiber,1 and the other, On the Mausoleum of Augustus.2 More important is the passage of fifty-eight lines in The Task, Book II, in which Cowper describes and moralizes upon the recent earthquake in Sicily. Cowper takes occasion also in The Progress of Error to comment upon the fondness of Englishmen for the grand tour and makes particular reference to Italy.

The poems we have enumerated practically exhaust the eighteenth century contribution to this theme. Some of these productions, it may be remarked, are very small poetry, but with that matter we are not at this moment particularly concerned. We are endeavoring chiefly to trace the characteristic tendencies of eighteenth century literature. If the entire century has only this scanty product to exhibit on this theme, so much the more surprising is the poetical output of the nineteenth century.

Before taking leave of the eighteenth century we may note once more that there is in this poetry dealing with Italy a good deal of mild sentimentalism, — a musing regret that Rome is no longer the recognized mistress of the world, that the glory of the land is departed, and that it now offers little but picturesque ruins. This feeling is never violently

1 Chambers, English Poets, xvu, 226. "Ode to the Tiber. On entering the Campania of Rome, at Otricoli, 1755."

2 Idem, xvii, 228. " Written at Rome, 1756."

438 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

expressed, but is of that decorous and well-mannered sort befitting an age that abhorred enthusiasm. Doubtless to some extent the subdued melancholy so patiently nursed is about as real as some of the other poetic fictions of that unpoetic age, but as a fashion it does not entirely disappear even with the close of the eighteenth century.

In passing to the poetry of the nineteenth century we enter a new world. Diction, sentiment, theme, all are different. The early nineteenth century poets in a sense discovered Italy, and they and their successors treated the theme with a range of vision and an intensity of feeling hitherto unknown. To more than one nineteenth century poet Italy has been an object of passionate devotion, and not merely a museum on a grand scale, — a collection of ruins to be coldly described in formal verse.

This deeper interest in Italy is merely one manifestation of the great Romantic movement felt all over Europe. Under the new impulses Italy speedily became a favorite theme, and such it has remained for more than a century.1 I do not wish to imply that all the poems on Italy since the French Revolution are of the Romantic type, but poems of this type are assuredly predominant.

Whatever their character they have been produced in the nineteenth century in far greater volume than ever before. At least two-score of English poets may be named, some of them of the first rank, who have treated this theme. In more than one instance their Italian work is their most notable achievement.

Nor does this take account of American poets, for they are not included in this paper. But I may note in passing

1 We must not lose sight of the novels that drew attention in the eight- eenth and the early nineteenth century to the possibilities of Italy as a theme. Mrs. Radcliffe, for example, had doubtless more or less influence on Byron in this matter.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 439

that Italy has had a peculiar fascination for our poets and has inspired some of their most genuinely poetic verse. Bayard Taylor, Bryant, Lowell, Christopher Pearse Cranch, Longfellow, Thomas W. Parsons, John Bruce Norton, William W. Story, S. Weir Mitchell, Whittier, Edgar Allan Poe, Florence Smith, William Gibson, George E. Wood- berry, Bliss Carman, and other names less widely known, present a body of verse comparing favorably with much that has been produced by English poets on the same theme. In most cases, though not in all, as, for example, Whittier, the inspiration came from a direct personal acquaintance with the scene described.

Within the limits of my remaining space I can obviously do little more than discuss the most important names. A few stand out as easily preeminent. Every one thinks at once of Byron and Shelley, of Wordsworth and Samuel Rogers, of the Brownings and Arthur Hugh Clough, of Tennyson and Swinburne. But there are at least a score of others who, in any other century, would be named among the first. It is enough to mention here the names of Walter Savage Landor, Aubrey de Vere, Bryan Waller Procter, Francis Turner Palgrave, Lord Houghton, Archbishop Trench, Mrs. Hemans, Anna Jameson, and Frances Ann Kemble. For some of these we must spare a few words of comment, though we must reserve most of our space for the more representative names.

We can hardly do better than to begin with Byron.1 To Byron Italy is not some remote land to be viewed and calmly described ! " He was a citizen of the world/' says Nichol, " because he not only painted the environs, but reflected the passions and aspirations of every scene amid which he dwelt."2

1 Anna Benneson McMahon, With Byron in Italy, presents typical scenes in Italy with illustrations of his poems.

2 Byron (English Men of Letters, American ed. ), p. 208.

0

440 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

His Childe Harold was a revelation of untold possibilities. Practically the whole of the fourth canto is on Italy. No such pictures of Italy had ever been drawn. They are in the main sketched in bold outlines and not finished in detail, but they show what might be done. To quote would be easy, but to cite many passages that every reader of poetry knows by heart is scarcely necessary. It is enough to instance the description of the Coliseum in Childe Harold as a specimen of his manner. With this may be compared the wonderful passage in Manfred, for which I cannot afford room.

11 A ruin, — yet what ruin ! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared ; Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. Hath it indeed been plundered, or but cleared ? Alas ! developed, opens the decay, When the colossal fabric's form is neared : It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away.

But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air, The garland forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head ; When the light shines serene, but doth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the dead ; Heroes have trod this spot, 'tis on their dust ye tread.

' While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand ; When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ; And when Rome falls— the World.' " l

Italy appeals in a thousand ways to Byron, but of all the cities of Italy none more profoundly impresses him than Venice and Rome. In Venice is laid the scene of Beppo,

1 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, iv, stanzas cxliiiff.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 441

the scene of Marino Faliero, and of other poems. In the latter piece (Act IV, sc. 1) is an exquisite picture of the city of palaces looking down upon the ever-flowing lagoons. The Two Foseari breathes the very atmosphere of Venice and in brilliant lines here and there, presents boldly well-known buildings or bits of scenery. His Venice, A Fragment, gives a wonderful picture of the Doge's Palace and St. Mark's. But Rome, as we have seen, stirs his imagination even more deeply, as he views the remains of mighty structures and broods over the strange vicissitudes of the city that once ruled the world.

Possibly Byron's most characteristic achievement is Don Juan. This presents numerous passages dealing with Italy that are worthy of quotation, but none more remarkable than that in the third canto, where " Ravenna's immemorial wood" is described. Thousands of visitors, it is safe to say, have taken the fascinating drive out to the Pineta, impelled by the magic of Byron's verse.

" Sweet hour of twilight ! in the solitude

Of the pine forest, and the silent shore Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,

Booted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er To where the last Csesarean fortress stood,

Evergreen forest ; which Boccaccio's lore And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, How have I loved the twilight hour and thee ! "

Byron is never very profound, and in his verse he pre- sents little more than the Italy that he sees. But the theme stirs his turbulent soul to the depths and brings out all the sincerity there is in his nature. Whatever Byron's faults, he longed to see a free, united Italy, and he may claim his share of credit for making familiar that con- ception of liberty and union which had gradually been taking shape in Italy for centuries. Byron is, then, more than the mere painter of landscapes and ruins and the life 8 *

442 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

of the streets. He is also the prophet and the evangelist of the new order, and his message is in these lines :

' * What is there wanting, then, to set thee free, And show thy beauty in its fullest light ? To make the Alps impassable ; and we Her sons, may do this with one deed — Unite ! " l

We cannot linger to discuss Byron's work in detail, and we must pass to another poet who, like Byron, is full of the revolutionary spirit, but who in a multitude of ways is his polar opposite — Percy Bysshe Shelley. The two poets see the same things and breathe the same air, but the one is a vigorous, trenchant declaimer, and the other a subtle, dreamy, somewhat intangible idealist, who gives himself up to day musings and throws upon his conceptions the light of his own gorgeous imagination.

Shelley felt at home in Italy as soon as he took up his abode there, and this is not strange. Italy is in a peculiar sense the poets' land, and it casts a spell upon them. Indeed, even the most prosaic traveller who has drifted in a gondola along the canals of Venice, or looked down from Fiesole upon Florence and the valley of the Arno, or wandered amid the ruins left by mysterious races of the vanished past, can hardly escape the fascination. Little wonder is it, then, that Shelley catches the very spirit of the land.2 He pictures the abysses of blue, the quivering heat of the burning days, the snowy mountains, and

"The waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown."

And all this is for him no mere poetical exercise. He is a part of the scene he describes, and his utterance is sponta-

1 Prophecy of Dante.

2 In Anna Benneson McMahon's With Shelley in Italy are illustrations of many of the scenes pictured in Shelley's poems.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 443

neous, in a sense, inevitable. Mrs. Shelley's Prefaces to Shelley's Poems abound in suggestive remarks on the inti- mate relation between Shelley and his favorite land. I cannot illustrate at length, but I must cite one or two characteristic passages from his poems. Can anything better describe the magic of an Italian night than these lines on Evening, at Ponte a Mare, Pisa ?

" The sun is set ; the swallows are asleep ;

The bats are flitting past in the gray air ; The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep ;

And evening's breath, wandering here and there Over the quivering surface of the stream, Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.

There is no dew upon the dry grass to-night, Nor damp within the shadow of the trees ;

The wind is intermitting, dry and light ; And in the inconstant motion of the breeze

The dust and straws are driven up and down,

And whirled about the pavement of the town."

As a usual thing, however, we do not find in Shelley anything so realistic as this. His plastic imagination takes every object and clothes it with his dreamy idealism. And thus we have such a typical passage as this from the Lines written among the Euganean Hills : *

' ' Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair, Underneath day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves."

JIn comparing this poem with Keats' s Ode to Autumn Mr. Matthew Arnold remarks: "The latter piece [the Ode] renders nature, the ^>rmer tries to render her."

444 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

"Lo, the sun floats up the sky, Like thought-winged Liberty, Till the universal light Seems to level plain and height ; From the sea a mist has spread, And the beams of light lie dead On the towers of Venice now, Like its glory long ago."

Shelley is not of the earth, earthy, and his Italy is always the Italy of a poet, colored by the atmosphere of light and beauty in which he himself has lived and moved. But he knows the land as few poets do, and he brings us to share with him its very spirit.

To a far different category belongs the banker poet •Samuel Rogers. Rogers was a wealthy dilettante, a traveller, a collector of rare curiosities, and a man of discriminating taste. As a poet, he was a belated survivor of the eigh- teenth century. In his Pleasures of Memory (1792) his verse is still saturated with the characteristic poetic diction of Thomson and his school. The subject matter is also con- ventional. Among other things his memory takes pleasure in recalling the Tiber, Virgil's tomb, Tusculum, the Roman Forum, Vespasian's Sabine Farm. But the passing allusions to classical scenes in this poem are scarcely more than a foretaste of the glorified guide-book which appears anony- mously thirty years later under the title Italy.

Rogers' s Italy (1822) is the most ambitious attempt made by any English poet up to his time to exploit systematically the treasures of Italy for poetic purposes. As poetry it cannot rank above the third grade, and perhaps not so high. It is neat and polished, always in good taste, full of remi- niscent phrases from older poets, but it is in the main lifeless. Only on the rarest occasions does the poet let himself go ; and this cold reserve, from what we otherwise know of Rogers, is just what we might expect. Character-

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY.

445

istically enough, when Rogers has his poem written, he supplies it with brief but accurate notes, and his work is done.

The piece made no great stir and would in the natural course of events have been forgotten, but Rogers determined to create his own public, and fourteen years later, in 1836, with the aid of Stothard and Turner, the two most dis- tinguished illustrators of the time, he produced, at the cost of £10,000, a volume that no gentleman's library could afford to be without.

Italy does not stir Rogers to the depths, — nothing ever did for that matter. But it affords material for description and suggests tales, legends and historical anecdotes connected with various localities. He tells, for example, the pathetic story of Ginevra, the lovely young bride of Modena, who in sport hides in an old chest and there finds her grave. He relates the tragedy of the Foscari, a theme already treated by Byron. He recalls the meeting of Milton and Galileo. In a word, he has an eye mainly for literary and historical associations. But Rogers loses no opportunity to paint a picture of scenery, and in his chilly way he does it very well.

In the main the style of this poem is lighter and has less of the formal eighteenth century stiffness than the Pleasures of Memory , but the style is still brocaded. Rogers dreads to call anything by its plain, unadorned name, and hence, notwithstanding close acquaintance with his subject, he often comes short of being vivid.

We have no room for extended quotation, but can note only one or two famous passages :

•> JL O

" O Italy, how beautiful thou art ! Yet I could weep — for thou art lying, alas ! Low in the dust ; and we admire thee now As we admire the beautiful in death. Thine was a dangerous gift, when thou wast born, The gift of Beauty." 0

446 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

And these lines on Venice, which reach a higher level than perhaps any others in the entire poem :

' ' There is a glorious city in the sea. The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing ; and the salt sea-weed Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea, Invisible ; and from the land we went As to a floating City — steering in, And gliding up her streets as in a dream, So smoothly, silently — by many a dome, Mosque-like, and many a stately portico, The statues ranged along an assure sky ; By many a pile in more than Eastern pride, Of old the residence of merchant-kings ; The fronts of some, though Time had shattered them, Still glowing with the richest hues of art, As though the wealth within them had run o'er."

This is assuredly excellent of its kind, and, if not poetry of the loftiest type, it can at all events be admired for what it is. It is plain, however, in general, that Rogers has little poetic insight and no message, and that he sees of Italy nothing but the outside. One cannot deny that there is in Rogers a certain delicacy, an exquisiteness of phrase, at least akin to poetry, but he always lacks the divine touch that marks the genuine poet. He is at best a skilled rhetorician.1 " His verses are poetry/' says Hazlitt, " chiefly because no particle, line, or syllable of them reads like prose."

It is not easy to group comprehensively all of the nine- teenth century poets who have written on Italy; and we can do little better in some cases than to discuss the work of one after another without looking too closely for marks of interrelation. We may begin with Thomas Moore.

1 William Sotheby's Italy (1828) is a poem suggested by the work of Eogers and is the record of a tour on the Continent in 1816-17. For a detailed comparison of the two poems, see London Monthly Review, July, 1828, pp. 396-407.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 447

As a friend of Byron, Moore might, perhaps, have been expected to write freely on Italy, but he really produced very little, and that little is extremely perfunctory. His song to a Venetian air, When through the Piazetta, mentions a gondolier and the " silent Lagoon," but that is about the extent of his use of Italian material.

Of Wordsworth, too, there is not a great deal to be said, though he visited the Italian lakes in his early manhood and made two extensive tours in Italy in 1820 and 1837. In the Prelude l he touches lightly upon "Locarno's Lake" —

"Locarno ! spreading out in width like Heaven, How dost thou cleave to the poetic heart, Bask in the sunshine of the memory ; ' ' and on

"that pair of golden days that shed On Como's Lake, and all that round it lay, Their fairest, softest, happiest influence."

But apart from a few pictures there is little more on Italy in the Prelude.

The Italian tour of 1820 is commemorated in Memorials of a Tour on the Continent. It includes descriptions of Vallombrosa ; of the Church of San Salvador, seen from the Lake of Lugano ; of Leonardo's Last Supper ; and occasional bits of Italian scenery ; but it offers nothing remarkable. Not particularly inspired either is the poetic journal which he called Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837. The best lines are probably those on Pisa, on Pompey's Pillar and on The Pine of Monte Mario, which at least remind one of the Words- worth of an earlier day. But the series of poems on Rome, St. Peter's, Albano, Vallombrosa, Florence, and other places, though good respectable poems of the solid type, are chiefly no- table as authentic memorials of Wordsworth's impressions at certain times and places. There are also three sonnets of

1Book vi, "Cambridge and the Alps."

448 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

his, entitled At Bologna, in Remembrance of the Late Insur- rection, 1837 ^ which contain calm, sensible advice to the revolutionists — but no poetry.

In fact, the one really remarkable poem that Wordsworth produced on an Italian theme is his sonnet On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic, which is one of that great series of " Poems dedicated to national independence and liberty " which he produced while still a comparatively young man. His imagination takes wing as he reflects upon the marvel- lous history of Venice, and he pays worthy tribute to the greatness of the past. But except for this sonnet the larger part of his poems on Italy have no special claim to recognition.

Far better than Wordsworth the poet Landor knew Italy from a long residence there, and he might have been expected to picture Italy frequently in his verse, but his entire poeti- cal output is of moderate extent, and only a small part is on Italy. What there is accords well with the character of the man. Landor had a fiery temper and could endure no restraint. Naturally enough he hated the oppression under which Italy groaned, and more than once he raised his voice against it.

Characteristic is his Ode to Sicily, with his scorn of the

" brood Swamp-fed amid the Suabian wood,"

and so, too, are his lines To the Nobles of Venice On the Recep- tion of the Austrian :

"Lords of the Adriatic, shore and iles, Nobles ! of that name sole inheritors ! Bravely ye acted, worthy of yourselves And ancestors, who shut your palaces

1 In Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty and Order.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 449

When Perjury stalkt along the square Where Doges sat beneath their patron saints,

Keckless of German threat and Gallic fraud."

There are also bits of description that might be cited from his poems, but in comparison with multitudes of descriptions by other poets they are not particularly distinctive. Landor's long residence in Italy seems in a sense to have blunted his vision.

One of the poets linked to Italy in part by natural inheri- tance is Mrs. Hemans. She travelled very little and was never in Italy, and most of her knowledge of the country she got from books. But her mother, though bearing a German name, was Italian ; her husband, a retired army officer in broken health, after separating from his wife spent his time in Italy ; and Mrs. Hemans herself by reading and conversation became familiar with Italian themes. She read Italian easily and quoted it freely. Her conception of Italy is purely conventional. In her poem on The Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy the country figures as the " Land of departed fame," the " Proud wreck of vanished power, .... fallen Italy " — a land that has no future, but only a past, and that a sad one. This poem is full of well-worn imagery and the standard eighteenth century poetic diction.

She writes also of Alaric in Italy ; of The Death of Conradin, beheaded by Charles d'Anjou at Naples; of Imelda and of Constanza, two heroines of love stories ; and half a score of other pieces, none of great merit, but worth noting as indicating tendencies of nineteenth century literature.

To an entirely different class belongs Arthur Hugh Clough. He is, perhaps, less often thought of as a descriptive poet than as a typical representative of the spiritual unrest of the middle of the nineteenth century. Yet he caught with quick eye and described with peculiar vividness the characteristic

450 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

features of Venice and Rome. His Dipsychus is, of course, in the main a poem dealing with profound spiritual prob- lems, but it is full of color and of glimpses of the gay Venetian life before his eyes.

On the Piazza he watches the crowd in the square before St. Mark's and notes

' ' The red flaunting streamers on the staffs, And the barbaric portal of St. Mark's,1

The Campanile

its apex lost in air."

Then,

"We see the Palace and the Place, And the white dome ; beauteous but hot.

The great Alps, rounding grandly o'er Huge arc to the Dalmatian shore." 2

There are exquisite lines on the swift, noiseless movement of the gondola and on the sights to be viewed from it. But from this poem I must not quote further.

His other most characteristic descriptive piece is Amours de Voyage. This is a collection of brief epistles in verse, delightfully unconventional in form, and presenting the impressions made upon travellers of different age, sex and culture by St. Peter's, the Pantheon, the Vatican, the Pincian Hill, by Tivoli, by Florence, Milan, and the lakes. It is full, too, of that strange stirring of the mind and spirit which marked the struggle for Italian freedom and unity. Clough is never stagy, and he never declaims, but he gets very near to the heart. Take these lines, which I cite as merely typical, and which must suffice :

"There is a home on the shore of the Alpine sea, that upswelling High up the mountain-sides spreads in the hollow between ; Wilderness, mountain, and snow from the land of the olive conceal it ;

lDipsychus, Part I, sc. I. 2 Idem, Part I, sc. II.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 451

Under Pilatus's hill low by the river it lies :

Italy, utter the word, and the olive and the vine will allure not,—

Wilderness, forest, and snow will not the passage impede ;

Italy, unto thy cities receding, the clue to recover,

Hither, recovered the clue, shall not the traveller haste?" l

Matthew Arnold, who in his temper, if not in the form of his work, had more than one trait in common with Clough, felt the magic of Italy as few have felt it, and although he has left but scanty poetical record of his impressions, we can see what he might easily have produced. We find bits of description and allusion in the poems on Heine's Grave, in Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse, in Obermann Once More, and in Empedodes on Etna. This last poem contains some perfect descriptions, but I select a few lines from Heine's Grave as perhaps most striking.

"Ah, I knew that I saw Here no sepulchre built In the laurell'd rock, o'er the blue Naples bay, for a sweet, Tender Virgil ! no tomb On Kavenna's sands, in the shade Of Ravenna pines, for a high Austere Dante !

Ah, as of old, from the pomp Of Italian Milan, the fair Flower of marble of white Southern palaces — steps Border* d by statues, and walks Terraced, and orange-bowers Heavy with fragrance."

Lines such as these breathe the very spirit of the South, and make one regret that Arnold so early ceased writing poetry and took up biblical criticism.

I must spare also a word or two for Aubrey deVere,

lAmours de Voyage, Canto iv.

452 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

the friend of Tennyson, and one of the foremost representa- tives of the Celtic revival of the last two generations. De Vere is not a poet of the first rank. He lacks the fire, the movement, the imaginative insight of a great poet, but his beauty of language, his deep feeling, his genuineness, make his group of sonnets and other brief poems notable among the poetic interpretations of the form and spirit of Italy.

We may hesitate in ranging through these poems whether to select one on Genoa, or Venice, or Florence, or Pisa or Rome, but we cannot go far wrong in taking the sonnet on St. Peter's by Moonlight :

"Low hung the moon when first I stood in Home ; Midway she seemed attracted from her sphere, On those twin fountains shining broad and clear Whose floods, not mindless of their mountain home, Rise there in clouds of rainbow mist and foam. That hour fulfilled the dream of many a year : Through that thin mist, with joy akin to fear, The steps I saw, the pillars, last, the dome. A spiritual empire there embodied stood ; The Roman Church there met me face to face : Ages, sealed up, of evil and of good Slept in that circling colonnade's embrace. Alone I stood, a stranger and alone, Changed by that stony miracle to stone."

With less beauty of form, Francis Turner Palgrave, the critic and poet, wrote brief and thoughtful poems, one on Two Graves at Rome, — those of Shelley and Keats, — and another in memory of the battle fought at Mentana. Charac- teristic lines from the latter piece are the following :

"Noble error, if error To make their fatherland one ! — Through her five-and-twenty centuries Rome counts no nobler son Than he who led them to die Where death and triumph were one — Lion-hearts of young Italy."

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 453

We have, moreover, warm appreciation of the varied charms of Italy and close description of striking scenes by Bryan Waller Proctor.

' ' Forever and forever shalt thou be Unto the lover and the poet dear Thou land of sunlit skies and fountains clear, Of temples, and gray columns, and waving woods, And mountains, from whose rifts the bursting floods Bush in bright tumult to the Adrian sea."

But we cannot afford the space for a detailed account.

Buskin is not commonly thought of as a poet, but at the age of fourteen he produced a half dozen brief descriptive poems on Italy as a part of his "Account of a Tour on the Continent in 1833." In them he pictures Lake Como, Milan Cathedral, Lake Maggiore, and other places. Two years later he attempts a description of Venice. These are not remarkable as poems, but they are excellent bits of description. The first stanza of the poem on Venice in particular anticipates his later skill in selecting precise epithets.

It is not surprising that we have from Tennyson some pictures of Italy as perfect as any that we possess. Noth- ing is lacking but a more ample product to assure his place in the very front rank of the poets who have taken Italy as a theme. In his poem on The Daisy, which is full of memories of his first journey to Italy, he touches on what is most characteristic in the region between the Riviera and the Italian lakes. Here we can best let the poet speak for

himself.

' ' Nor knew we well what pleased us most, Not the dipt palm of which they boast ; But distant color, happy hamlet, A moulder' d citadel on the coast,

Or tower, or high hill-convent, seen

A light amid its olives green ;

Or olive-hoary cape in ocean ;

Or rosy blossom in hot ravine, *

454 WILLIAM EDWAED MEAD.

Where oleanders flush' d the bed Of silent torrents, gravel-spread ; And, crossing, oft we saw the glisten Of ice, far up on a mountain head.

We loved that hall, tho' white and cold, Those niched shapes of noble mould, A princely people's awful princes, The grave, severe, Genovese of old.

At Florence too what golden hours, In those long galleries were ours ; What drives about the fresh Oascine, Or walks in Boboli's ducal bowers.

In bright vignettes, and each complete, Of tower or duomo, sunny-sweet, Or palace, how the city glitter' d, Thro' cypress avenues; at our feet.

But when we crost the Lombard plain Remember what a plague of rain ; Of rain at Eeggio, rain at Parma ; At Lodi, rain, Piacenza, rain.

And stern and sad (so rare the smiles Of sunlight) look'd the Lombard piles : Porch-pillars on the lion resting, And sombre, old, colonnaded aisles.

0 Milan, O the chanting quires, The giant windows' blazon' d fires,

The height, the space, the gloom, the glory ! A mount of marble, a hundred spires !

1 climb' d the roofs at break of day ; Sun-smitten Alps before me lay.

I stood among the silent statues,

And statued pinnacles, as mute as they.

How faintly flush' d, how phantom-fair, Was Monte Rose, hanging there A thousand shadowy-pencill'd valleys And snowy dells in a golden air."

And then we have a word on " Como, when the light was

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 455

gray," and on the " Snowy Splugen." This is not precisely the method of Rogers !

Beside these lines we may place those on Sirmio, the long, narrow peninsula in Lake Garda where was the home of Catullus. The poem is perfect in its way.

"Bow us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row ! So they row'd, and there we landed — ' O venusta Sirmio ! ' There to me thro' all the groves of olive in the summer glow, Came that 'Ave atque Vale' of the Poet's hopeless woe, Tenderest of Roman poets nineteen hundred years ago, 'Frater Ave atque Vale' — as we wander' d to and fro Gazing at the Lydian laughter of the Garda Lake below, Sweet Catullus' s all-but-island, olive-silvery Sirmio ! " l

Tennyson makes other passing mention of Italy in Maud, in The Brook, and elsewhere ; but he does not elaborate his thought in any extended poem.

But we cannot comment in detail upon the work of all those who have contributed a brief poem or two or three to the mass of verse upon Italy. We must be content merely to name Henry Taylor, Robert Stephen Hawker, John Sterling, Henry Hart Milman, John Hookham Frere, James Haskins, Arthur Helps, Anna Jameson, Frances Anne Kemble, John Nichol, Richard Chenevix Trench, Gerald Massey, Frederick Locker, Richard Garnett, Herman Charles Merivale, Lord Houghton. These are of course not all upon the same level, but I have not the space to dis- criminate more closely. It is enough to say that almost any of the poems on Italy produced by this group, would, if written in the eighteenth century, have required our close attention. As products of the nineteenth century, they simply illustrate a tendency that has become general.

It remains to discuss somewhat more minutely the work of two or three poets of the second half of the nineteenth

1 'Frater Ave atque Vale.' First printed March, 1883.

456 WILLIAM EDWAKD MEAD.

century who have been with peculiar closeness associated with Italy.

Of all the poets who have written on Italy the Brownings stand easily first, not only in the range and depth of insight of their work, but in the perfect truth of the pictures they present. And this is not strange, for Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning are saturated with the spirit of Italy as few Englishmen have ever been. It is, therefore, more difficult adequately to present the work of the Brown- ings than that of any one else who has written on Italy, not merely because their work is so great in extent, but because in a multitude of cases they do not describe an object outright, but rather assume its existence and describe by implication and allusion.

When Robert Browning married Elizabeth Barrett in 1846 he at once took his bride to Italy, and there they lived, mainly in Florence, till her death in 1861. Mrs. Browning's nature was intense, and she gave herself without reserve to whatever enlisted her sympathy. And in the Italy to which she had come there was enough to stir a heart colder than hers. The whole land was in a ferment. There were plots and arrests and executions. There were revolts and massa- cres and assassinations. There was war, and there was triumph. And although the dream of a united Italy had not been realized when she breathed her last, there was no longer reason to doubt that the day so eagerly awaited was soon to dawn.

In such an atmosphere it is not surprising that Italy and freedom constantly find an advocate in her verse. Her early poem, An August Voice, satirizes the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who was trying to stand well with both Austria and Italy. It is a lyric monologue full of dramatic feeling. In it Italy is something not merely to be viewed and described, but to be felt and loved.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 457

Then in Casa Guidi Windows, one of her best known poems, is a succession of pictures and comments on the stirring events of the time. Christmas Gifts is a scathing satire on the Pope and his ideals. Mrs. Browning loses no opportunity of leading Italy to higher levels. She heaps praise upon Napoleon III and others as long as she is convinced that their part in the work is unselfish, but she is pungent in her Summing up in Italy, where the cold, calculating intrigues of the scheming liberators are brought to light. In all her utterances she has no good word for Austria, and in her First News from Villafranca she is bitter in expressing her disappointment at the rumors of peace.

But her whole attention is by no means absorbed by politics and the struggle for freedom. She cannot help being impressed by the beauty of the land she has made her home, and that beauty she portrays in her verse. Single bits of description can be pointed out in A Child's Grave at Florence, in Bianca Among the Nightingales, and in other poems, but the greatest wealth of descriptive pictures appears in Aurora Leigh. These, moreover, do not seem to be brought in for mere ornament, but they are an essential part of the account of life in Italy.

One is tempted to quote freely, but I can afford space for but a few passages.

"I found a house at Florence on the hill Of Bellosguardo. "Pis a tower which keeps A post of double-observation o'er That valley of Arno (holding as a hand The outspread city, ) straight toward Fiesole And Mount Morello and the setting sun — The Vallombrosan mountains opposite Which sunrise fills as full as crystal cups Turned red to the brim because their wine is red. No sun could die, nor yet be born unseen By dwellers at my villa : morn and eve Were magnified before us in the pure

9 9

458 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

Illimitable space and pause of sky, Intense as angels' garments blanched with God, Less blue than radiant. From the outer wall Of the garden, drops the mystic floating gray Of olive trees (with interruptions green From maize and vine) until 'tis caught and torn On that abrupt black line of cypresses Which signs the way to Florence. Beautiful The city lies along the ample vale, Cathedral, tower and palace, piazza and street ; The river trailing like a silver cord Through all — and curling loosely, both before And after, over the whole stretch of land Sown whitely up and down its opposite slopes, With farms and villas.1

Several other pictures drawn with amazing fidelity appear in this poem. I cite one or two without comment :

"I rode once to the little mountain-house As fast as if to find my father there, But, when in sight of 't, within fifty yards, I dropped my horse's bridle on his neck And paused upon his flank. The house's front Was cased with lingots of ripe Indian corn In tesselated order and device Of golden patterns : not a stone of wall Uncovered — not an inch of room to grow A vine leaf. The old porch had disappeared, And right in the open doorway sate a girl At plaiting straws — her black hair strained away To a scarlet kerchief caught beneath her chin In Tuscan fashion — her full ebon eyes, Which looked too heavy to be lifted so, Still dropt and lifted toward the mulberry-tree On which the lads were busy with their staves In shout and laughter, stripping all the boughs As bare as winter." 2

"The duomo-bell

Strikes ten, as if it struck ten fathoms down, So deep ; and twenty churches answer it

1 Aurora Leigh, Book vn. Tenth ed. , London, 1872.

2 Aurora Leigh, Book vn.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETKY. 459

The same, with twenty various instances. Some gaslights tremble along squares and streets ; The Pitti's palace-front is drawn in fire : And, past the quays, Maria Novella Place, In which the mystic obelisks stand up Triangular, pyramidal, each based Upon its four-square brazen tortoises, To guard that fair church, Buonarroti's Bride, That stares out from her large blind dial-eyes, (Her quadrant and armillary dials, black With rhythms of many suns and moons) in vain Enquiry for so rich a soul as his l — ."

In viewing Mrs. Browning's work as a whole one cannot escape the feeling that Italy is an essential part of her very life. She is no mere antiquarian, no dilettante traveller luxuriously drawn from place to place to view the fairest sights and then to pass on. She is palpitating with emotion for the fate of the land, and she cannot view scenery as mere scenery and forget that she is looking upon Italy, which is her dearest home. It is this feeling of oneness with her adopted country which has vitalized much of her best work, and which has permanently endeared her to the Italian people.

More notable still is the work of Robert Browning, for there is perhaps no English poet who has touched life on so many sides. Architecture, painting, sculpture, history, legend, politics, philosophy, religion, all the activities of man, stir in him a living interest. But by more than all else is his soul kindled at the thought of Italy. In De Gustibus he breaks out :

" Italy, my Italy!

Queen Mary's saying serves for me — (When fortune's malice Lost her, Calais)

1 Aurora Leigh, Book vin.

460 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, ' Italy. ' Such lovers old are I and she : So it always was, so shall ever be."

His more than forty years of intimate acquaintance with Italy enable him to draw upon a wealth of accurate and vivid impressions such as are paralleled in no other poet. So familiar is he with conditions which most readers only vaguely guess at that he often alludes casually to things that none but the visitor to the very spot can fully realize. This might be illustrated by scores of passages, but I select a few lines from the introduction to The Ring and the Book, where he describes the square in Florence in which he bought the Book. These lines are amazingly specific :

"I found this book,

Gave a lira for it, eight pence English just, (Mark the predestination !) when a Hand, Always above my shoulder, pushed me once, One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm, Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths, Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time, Toward Baccio's marble, — ay, the basement- ledge O' the pedestal where sits and menaces John of the Black Bands with the upright spear, 'Twixt palace and church, — Kiccardi where they lived, His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie. This book, — precisely on that palace-step Which, meant for lounging knaves o' the Medici, Now serves re- venders to display their ware, — 'Mongst odds and ends of ravage, picture-frames White through the worn gilt, mirror sconces chipped, Bronze angel-heads once knobs attached to chests (Handled when ancient dames chose forth brocade), Modern chalk drawings, studies from the nude, Samples of stone, jet, breccia, porphyry Polished and rough, sundry amazing busts In baked earth (broken, Providence be praised ! ) A wreck of tapestry, proudly-purposed web When reds and blues were indeed red and blue,

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 461

Now offered as a mat to save bare feet (Since carpets constitute a cruel cost) Treading the chill scagliola bedward ; then A pile of brown-etched prints, two crazie each, Stopped by a conch a-top from fluttering forth — Sowing the Square with works of one and the same Master, the imaginative Sienese Great in the scenic backgrounds — name and fame None of you know, nor does he fare the worse :) From these . . . Oh, with a Lionard going cheap If it should prove, as promised, that Joconde Whereof a copy contents the Louvre ! — these I picked this book from.

That memorable day,

(June was the month, Lorenzo named the Square) , I leaned a little and overlooked my prize By the low railing round the fountain-source Close to the statue where a step descends : While clinked the cans of copper, as stooped and rose Thick-ankled girls who brimmed them, and made place For marketmen glad to pitch basket down, Dip a broad melon-leaf that holds the wet, And whisk their faded fresh."

This description is remarkably detailed, but for the most part Browning does not dwell long upon a scene. He flashes a single hint or two upon the page and passes on. How characteristically Italian is the line, —

' ' Down-stairs again goes fumbling by the rope Violante;"1

Or these, —

" Suddenly I saw

The old tower, and the little whitewalled clump Of buildings and the cypress tree or two, — Already Castelnuovo — Borne ! " 2

Take this picture from Sordello, —

"In Mantua territory half is slough, Half pine-tree forests ; maples, scarlet-oaks

1 The Ring and the Book, iv, Tertium Quid.

2 Idem, vi. 0

462 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

Breed o'er the river-beds ; even Mincio chokes With sand the summer through : but 'tis morass In winter up to Mantua walls ; " l

Or these swift allusive touches in another poem to " crumbled arch, crushed acqueduct," and to

"the grassy sea Under the blinding blue that basks o'er Rome." 2

As one more picture of scenery I select the following stanzas, depicting a valley in the Italian Alps :

VII.

"Look at the ruined chapel again

Half-way up in the Alpine gorge ! Is that a tower, I point you plain,

Or is it a mill, or an iron forge Breaks solitude in vain ?

VIII.

A turn, and we stand in the heart of things ;

The woods are round us, heaped and dim : From slab to slab how it slips and springs,

The thread of water single and slim, Through the ravage some torrent brings !

IX.

Does it feed the little lake below ?

That speck of white just on its marge Is Pella ; see, in the evening glow,

How sharp the silver spear-heads charge When Alp meets heaven in snow !

x.

On our other side is the straight-up rock ;

And a path is kept 'twixt the gorge and it By boulder-stones where lichens mock

The marks on a moth, and small ferns fit Their teeth to the polished block.

1 Book i.

2 Prince Hohenstiel.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 463

XIV.

And yonder, at foot of the fronting ridge That takes the turn to a range beyond,

Is the chapel reached by the one-arched bridge Where the water is stopped in a stagnant pond

Danced over by the midge.

XVI.

Poor little place, where its one priest comes

On a festa day, if he comes at all, To the dozen folk from their scattered homes,

Gathered within that precinct small By the dozen ways one roams —

XVII.

To drop from the charcoal-burners' huts, Or climb from the hemp-dressers' low shed,

Leave the grange where the woodman stores his nuts, Or the wattled cote where the fowlers spread

Their gear on the rock's bare juts.1

Words can scarcely do more, and comment is unnecessary.

Florence, Fiesole, Rome, the Campagna, Venice, Ferrara, Asolo, Faenza, Sorrento, — these are but a part of the places that figure in Browning's verse. To present them all would far transcend the limits of our space. 1 can cite but a few lines from The Englishman in Italy, which gathers together in astonishing vividness the characteristic sights of the Piano di Sorrento.

" So, I guessed, ere I got up this morning,

What change was in store, By the quick rustle-down of the quail-nets

Which woke me before I could open my shutter, made fast

With a bough and a stone, And look through the twisted dead vine-twigs,

Sole lattice that's known.

lBy the Fireside.

464 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

Quick and sharp rang the rings down the net-poles,

While, busy beneath, Your priest and his brother tugged at them,

The rain in their teeth. And out upon all the flat house-roofs

Where split figs lay drying, The girls took the frails under cover ;

Nor use seemed in trying To get out the boats and go fishing,

For, under the cliff, Fierce the black water froth'd o'er the blind rock.

No seeing our skiff Arrive about noon from Amalfi,

Our fisher arrive, And pitch down his basket before us,

All trembling alive With pink and gray jellies, your sea-fruit ;

You touch the strange lumps, And mouths gape there, eyes open, all manner

Of horns and humps, Which only the fisher looks grave at,

While round him like imps Cling screaming the children as naked

And brown as his shrimps : Himself too as bare to the middle — You see round his neck The string and its brass coin suspended,

That saves him from wreck."

This is Italy and nowhere else ; and no poet has pictured it to the life more vividly than Browning. His utterance is no mere sightseer's attempt to describe something that he hurries to see and hurries away from in search of something else. His descriptions are spontaneous and are introduced because they are a part of the life he knows and loves. His Italy is not the mournful ruin of the eighteenth century poets. Nor is it the classic Italy, which so fascinated Byron. It is, rather, the land of moving tragedy and of great achievement in the centuries since modern history began. In his own day Italy is for him the land of hope and prom-

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 465

ise, with face turned toward the light. His is a triumphant Italy, full of the optimism that fills his own verse.

These few words are but a tithe of what might be said on Browning, but this sketch aims at no more than a general outline.

We now turn to the last great poet who has written freely on Italy. In the work of Swinburne we find a burning, passionate love for Italy that cannot be paralleled in the verse of any living English poet. Swinburne is unmeasured in praise or blame, and in his enthusiasm goes now and then farther than most readers can follow him. But all in all his poems on Italy represent perhaps his highest poetic achievement. Whenever he utters the name of Italy his imagination takes fire, as in these lines :

" Beloved above all nations, land adored, Sovereign in spirit and charm, by song and sword, Sovereign whose life is love, whose name is light, Italia, queen that hast the sun for lord ; " l

and so on in the same high strain.

In the long series of his poems on Italy we follow the varying fortunes of the land in the struggle against Austria and the Pope. One of Swinburne's great heroes is the patriot Giuseppe Mazzini, whom he adores and addresses in the language of very idolatry. I refer in particular to the poem, entitled After Nine Years, which I hardly venture to quote. The objects of his hate appear in the series of sonnets entitled Dirce, in which he hurls maledictions against those who are crushing Italy. His burning love finds utter- ance in such lines as these from The Eve of Revolution :

"Ah heaven, bow down, be nearer ! This is she, Italia, the world's wonder, the world's care, Free in her heart ere quite her hands be free, And lovelier than her loveliest robe of air.

1 Poems, VI, 382.

466 WILLIAM EDWAKD MEAD.

The earth hath voice, and speech is in the sea,

Sounds of great joy, too beautiful to bear ; All things are glad because of her, but we

Most glad, who loved her when the worst days were. O sweetest, fairest, first, O flower, when times were worst, Thou hadst no stripe wherein we had no share." *

He realizes, too, the historic place of Rome in the de- velopment of Europe, and he breaks out in The Song of the Standard :

"Banner and beacon thou wast to the centuries of storm-wind and foam, Ages that clashed in the dark with each other, and years without home ; Empress and prophetess wast thou, and what wilt thou now be, O Kome?"

But Swinburne's poems on Italy are not all political. His Spring in Tuscany is a rapture over the beauty of the land he loves best.

' ' Vallombrosa remotely remembers

Perchance, what still to us seems so near

That time not darkens it, change not mars, The foot that she knew when her leaves were September's The face lift up to the star-blind seer, That saw from his prison arisen his stars.

And Pisa broods on her dead, not mourning, For love of her loveliness given them in fee ;

And Prato gleams with the glad monk's gift Whose hand was there as the hand of morning ; And Siena, set in the sand's red sea,

Lifts loftier her head than the red sand's drift.

And far to the fair south-westward lightens,

Girdled and sandalled and plumed with flowers,

At sunset over the love-lit lands, The hill-side's crown where the wild hill brightens, Saint Fina's town of the Beautiful Towers, Hailing the sun with a hundred hands.

Land of us all that have loved thee dearliest, Mother of men that were lords of man,

Whose name in the world's heart works as a spell,

1 Stanza 21.

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETRY. 467

My last song's light, and the star of mine earliest, As we turn from thee, sweet, who wast ours for a span, Fare well we may not who say farewell."

This is exquisite of its kind, but possibly in A Song of Italy1 Swinburne reaches the highest level he has ever attained. The poem is a majestic paean over the dawn of freedom in Italy. One may say that, like most of Swin- burne's work, it is too unrestrained, too luxuriant, but it abounds in magnificent passages. In sustained richness, few English poems can compare with this one where the poet calls the long roll of the cities of Italy and, like a Hebrew prophet, summons them one by one to praise their deliverer. The whole is far too long to quote ; I can admit but a few lines.

' ' From faint illumined fields and starry valleys Wherefrom the hill-wind sallies, From Vallombrosa, from Valdarno raise One Tuscan tune of praise. O lordly city of the field of death, Praise him with equal breath, From sleeping streets and gardens, and the stream That threads them like a dream Threads without light the untravelled ways of sleep With eyes that smile or weep ; From the sweet sombre beauty of wave and wall That fades and does not fall ; From coloured domes and cloisters fair with fame, Praise thou and thine his name."

The whole poem is in fact one wild, surging sea of emotion, with now and then a picture flashed upon the vision, such as,

"Bed hills of flame, white Alps, green Apennines," or,

' ' Ye starry-headed heights And gorges melting sunward from the sun."

1 Along with this should be read his great poem on Siena.

468 WILLIAM EDWARD MEAD.

The effect is magnificent, and yet one is compelled to admit that the average reader wearies a little of this continued exaltation. At all events, no one can go to Swinburne for a picture of Italy as it is. His Italy is glorified, deified, but the image is distorted and magnified by being viewed through golden mist.

Considering the extent of Swinburne's work on Italy there is indeed surprisingly little in the form of exact description, but there is a superfluity of dithyrambic eulogy, heaped up epithet, and overwrought phrase. The result is that amid the torrent of words one is not always sure as to just what it all means.

As we glance in retrospect at the entire body of verse that has Italy as its theme, we may venture a few generali- zations. It is obvious that poetry of this sort is at least liable to various faults. The tendency is to run into poetry of mere description ; and poetry of mere description, with no other purpose than to reproduce a scene with photo- graphic accuracy, has only now and then attained a high level. Vital poetry is more than mere words, and art is more than mere photography.

Poetry of the sort we are considering presupposes as a usual thing that the poet has had opportunity to get a personal acquaintance with the place of which he writes. This fact of itself is enough . to account for the entire omission of any mention of Italy in the work of a multitude of poets, for there are many who never knew Italy except through books. Now and then a poet, as, for example, Pope, may have ventured a little distance without a first- hand knowledge of the country, but the result is in general insignificant in quantity or quality, or both.

The list of poets who make no use of Italy is too long to cite, but a few names are suggestive. We may note

ITALY IN ENGLISH POETEY. 469

Sidney, Raleigh, and the long line of other Elizabethan poets, many of whom, nevertheless, draw their inspiration from Italian sources. In the seventeenth century there are Donne, Quarles, George Herbert, Carew, Suckling, Cowley, Denham,Waller, Herrick, Butler. In the eighteenth century there are Parnell, Gay, Garth, Young, Blair. In the nine- teenth century there are Burns, Campbell, Scott, Kirke White, Jean Ingelow, Tupper, William Morris and scores of others. We have very little from South ey or Coleridge, and many others whom we might reasonably expect to find among those who are drawn to Italy by natural ties. The explanation "is doubtless, in some cases, that the writer had a natural bent toward other things ; but in many instances the neglect of Italian themes may be explained by the mere lack of opportunity to get a sufficient acquaintance with the subject.

Besides these limitations, one cannot help noting that there is a singular narrowness in the range of places in Italy that have attracted the poets. Venice and Florence, Rome and Naples, and their environs, recur again and again. Other cities are indeed mentioned, but so rarely as to be exceptional. Yet this is perhaps what we might expect. These famous places are of universal interest. An allusion to them is immediately understood. But the reader of a poem that pictures some remote corner of the Abruzzi or of Calabria needs a guide-book and a commentary to start with.

It is, therefore, easy to name multitudes of places notable for beauty or even for historic interest — Taormina, Segesta, Selinunte, San Gimignano, Spoleto — that are as good as ignored by English poets. Mere beauty, it may be remarked, is not enough in most cases to stir the poetic emotion to activity. There must be something human that enters into the scene, and though that element is by no means dissoci-

0

470 WILLIAM EDWAED MEAD.

ated with places of the sort just enumerated, they are in general too remote from ordinary thinking to find their way often into poetry. Yet there is no reason to think that with increasing travel and growing familiarity with the land and its history the sources of inspiration will be limited to a narrow round of localities. The poetic possibilities of Italy are too great for that. Beyond question the whole land will, in due time, find in every part its due poetic tribute.

In conclusion, we may note that two sentiments run through practically all the nineteenth century poems on Italy. One is the sense of the strange, haunting, almost unearthly, beauty of the land, a beauty which, once felt, is almost irresistible and calls back the wanderer after years of absence. And along with this there is the delight in the life of the gay and passionate South, in the bright glancing color of Naples and Capri, and the picturesque figures that gleam amid fruits and flowers in the market-places of Rome and Florence.

The other sentiment is the feeling of the well-nigh infinite possibilities of Italy, of what she has achieved in art and science, and literature and philosophy, and of what she might accomplish could she but reach the level of her highest aspirations. The mere endeavor thus to express the innermost heart of Italy has been itself a quickening force. These impulses have never been stronger than in our genera- tion ; and we may confidently expect that the generations to come will embody them in verse of enduring merit.

WILLIAM EDWAED MEAD.

XIX.— AMI ET AMILE.

It is not so very many years ago that students of Folk- Lore who felt that the indebtedness of Europe to the East in the matter of stories had been exaggerated were greatly interested and pleased by Be"dier's work on the French Fabliau. The same scholar is now publishing the re- sults of his investigations in the field of the French epic, results extremely suggestive, not to say exciting. What more startling than to be told that if, because of illness or accident, William of Toulouse had died before he was able to enter the monastery of Aniane and found the monastery of Gellone, not one of the chansons de geste, not one of the legends of the cycle of Orange would exist ; and not one of these chansons nor one of these legends would exist, if by chance, three or more centuries after the death of this man in the Abbey of Gellone, the monks of the abbey had not been anxious to attract to his relics the pilgrims of Saint Gilles de Provence and Santiago of Compostela? Whether such a radical theory meets with general accept- ance or not, it was well that some one, instead of trying to reconstruct the French epic postulated as existing before the documents which we possess, should examine the latter anew and pay especial attention to what is an interesting phenomenon in nearly every mass of epic literature, the relations of the religious bodies to these great narrative works. No one could have done this more brilliantly than Be"dier. No one henceforth will forget how intimate these relations were in France. Nevertheless, it is hard to give up without a struggle what we have fancied were inter- mediate steps in the evolution of the French epic, when we remember what has gone on in other countries participating

4*1

472 M. A. POTTER.

in epic activity, and one may well hesitate to attribute to the church so great a role as does this latest theorist. Doubts become especially insistent when one reads his remarks upon the Ami and Amile legend, in its three forms, the eleventh century Latin poem on friendship by Raoul le Tourtier, the chanson de geste, and the Vita sanctorum Amid et Amelii of the twelfth century. To do Bedier entire justice, his own words will be quoted as far as possible, even his summary of the legend, with which it is well to start.

"Ami et Amile sont deux enfants nobles con9us a la meme heure, ne"s le m6me jour en deux regions de France, eloignees Pune de Pautre ; leurs parents, avertis miracu- leusement qu'ils sont pre* destines & une e'ternelle amitie, les out port4s au pape, pour qu'ils fussent baptises le m&ne jour par le meme parrain ; d£s Penfance, ils se ressemblent a tel point que nul ne peut les distinguer Pun de Pautre. Ils grandissent se"pare"s ; mais, venus a Page d'homme, tous deux se mettent en route le meme jour pour se retrouver. Apr6s s'6tre longtemps cherches, ils se rejoignent en effet, forment un pacte de compagnonnage et servent ensemble avec honneur le m£me roi, jusqu'au jour ou Pun d'eux, Amile, accuse" d'avoir seduit la fille de ce roi, est tenu de s'en justifier par combat judiciaire ; il ne saurait soutenir ce combat, car Paccusation est vraie ; mais les deux compagnons tirent alors profit de leur merveilleuse ressemblance. Ils changent de v£tements et se font passer Pun pour Pautre. Amile se retire dans le chateau d'Ami, et tous le prennent pour le vrai seigneur du lieu, mdme la femme de celui-ci, auprSs de qui il couche, comme s'il e"tait le mari, mais en mettant entre elle et lui une e'pe'e nue, symbole et gardienne de sa chastete". Cependant Ami se faisant passer pour Amile, a pu jurer sans mensonge qu'il n'avait pas se"duit la prin- cesse, a soutenu le combat judiciaire, tu6 Paccusateur, et

AMI ET AMILE. 473

victorieux a Spouse", sous le nom de son compagnon, la fille du roi. II la conduit a son vrai mari; mais, pen apres, Dieu le frappe : il devient lepreux. Chasse par sa femme, il erre par les pays, pendant des anne"es, r6duit a mendier, tant qu'enfin il parvient au chateau ou son compagnon, ignorant ses malheurs, vivait en paix. Amile reconnait le miserable, le recueille, le soigne tendrement. Un jour Dieu lui enseigne comment Ami pourra guerir : il faut qu' Amile Sgorge ses deux enfants et qu'il frotte de leur sang les plaies du ladre. II le fait et guerit Ami, un nouveau miracle res- suscite les enfants. Les deux compagnons meurent le m£me jour : miracle de leurs tornbes qui se rSunissent."

Fairly elaborate as this summary is, it omits one or two details of some importance ; for instance, the manner in which God informs Ami how he can be cured. One night an angel comes to Ami and tells him that on the next Sun- day he must remain at home instead of going to church. Belissant will attend mass, while Amile will come to see how his friend is. He must be told that it is God's will that Ami be healed, provided that Amile decapitate his children and bathe the sick man in their blood. Both Ami and Amile are distressed by the angel's message, and Amile's anguish is increased by the words of one of his little sons when he awakes :

2989 " L'anfes se tome, son pere ravisa,

S'espee voit, moult grant paor en a. Son pere apelle, si Ten arraisonna: ' Biax sire peres, por deu qui tout forma, Que volez faire, nel me celez voz ja. Ainz mais nus peres tel chose ne pensa.' "

When his father explains to him why he has come, the boy gladly consents to die, his last words being :

3011 "Mais nostre mere la bele Belissant

Noz saluez por deu omnipotent." ,

10

474 M. A. POTTER.

The miracle of the healing follows the slaying of the chil- dren. Then the two friends go to the church, where they see Belissant, whose joy is turned to terror and grief when she learns from her husband the price paid for Ami's recovery. Followed by a crowd, she rushes to the room where she left her children, and finds them playing together. This is the second miracle.

What are the most striking features of this legend ? First of all, the friendship of the two men. That is why they figure in the poem of Eaoul le Tourtier, and as the chanson de geste says :

3071 " Moult puet bien croire que il est ses amis Quant ses douz fiuls a si por lui ocis."

The second is the healing by blood, and a third would be, in Bedier's opinion, the hagiographical character of the story.

Now almost invariably when an epic poem is an object of study, one of the first things done is to attempt to discover the source of its plot. Here Bedier is original. He says explicitly :

"II n'entre pas dans mon dessein de rechercher ou et quand cette Iggende s'est d'abord forme'e. Comme elle utilise quelques themes rSpandus dans le folk-lore de maints pays (P6p6e gardienne de continence, le sang inno- cent, qui seul peut gue"rir, etc.), de nombreux critiques y voient un tr£s ancien conte populaire, d'origine orientale naturellement. G. Paris e"crit : ' Malgre* le manque de paralleles orientaux signals jusqu'a present, nous penchons fort a voir dans la le"gende du I6preux que son ami gue"rit en sacrifiant ses enfants pour Poindre de leur sang, un conte d'origine orientale venu en Occident par un intermediaire byzantin et par transmission litteraire.7 ): This, B£dier says, is a gratuitous hypothesis which he neither accepts nor con-

AMI ET AMILE. 475

tradicts. In a footnote, he adds that since Paris made the suggestion in 1885 — " Vingt ans ont passes depuis : je ne sache pas qu'ou ait de"couvert dans I'intervalle le moindre parallele ni dans PInde, ni nulle part en Orient."

But there is a parallel in an Eastern literature, in that of the Turkish races of Southern Siberia with which most stu- dents of the epic are familiar in KadlofFs collection, and this particular case was noted in connection with the Ami and Amile story by Panzer in his study of the Hilde-Gudrun theme.1 No one, of course, expects Be"dier to seek out every parallel of every story in the French epic, but his attitude is not ingratiating, and it is dangerous to make statements like the following :

" Que par des speculations ingenieuses on de"pouille cette histoire de ses elements chevaleresques (le combat judiciaire, etc.) et de ses elements chre"tiens (la rnaladie et la guerison envoyees par Dieu), je ue sais ce qu'il pourra rester du conte ; mais la tentative est permise. On peut imaginer abstraite- ment une forme de la I6gende telle qu'elle se deroule en ci- vilisation indienne, arabe ou byzantine ; en fait, une seule forme nous est connue, primitive ou non ; et Ton ne peut que constater que, sous cette forme, 1' histoire d'Ami et d'Arnile est une le"gende a la fois feodale et chretienne."

The Siberian version is to be found in the second volume of RaJloITfi Pi'ubufrifyr voii&htteratur der tur/dschen titdmme and is the eighth song, entitled Ai Tolysy.2 Ai Tolysy isthe Siberian Ami, Kattandschula the Amile, and the part of the poem which more or less closely corres- ponds to the French legend, may be (briefly) summarized as follows : The youthful hero, Ai Tolysy, rides forth from

1 Panzer, Hilde-Gudrun, 1901, p. 274.

2 P. 176.

476 M. A. POTTEK.

home one day, and in the course of his wanderings comes to a black house which he enters by force. An old woman whom he finds within, tells him that the place belongs to the hero, Kattandschula (her son), who will kill him on his return. Being a resourceful person, however, and pitying the lad, she changes him into a whip, conceals him in a chest, and then with the help of her " siebzig grausamen Manner," whom she has at her beck and call, she forces the fierce Kattandschula to promise that he will not harm Ai Tolysy. This accomplished,

217 " Die im Kasten befindliche goldstielige

Peitsche nahm sie lieraus, Hin warf sie die Peitsche, Der Jiingling stand da.

* Kattandschula, mein Bruder ! ' Da spricht Kattandschula:

* Wir beide sind Bruder geworden, Ja Briiderchen! '"

Here we have the beginning of the friendship of the men. After a number of adventures Kattandschula asks Ai Tolysy to obtain for him the hand of the daughter of Tar- batty Kan, Tarbatty Tana :

469 "'Dies ist das mir bestimmte Madchen,

Dem Helden, der im Guten dorthin kommt, Giebt jener seine Tochter nicht. Der Held, der im Bosen hinkommt, Vermag das Madchen nicht zu nehmen.' "

When a father is so unreasonable, the suitor or his repre- sentative must have recourse to abduction. Ai Tolysy's first attempt falls through, the second is successful, but Tarbatty Tana then causes trouble because she prefers to marry the man who has carried her off. She consents, however, to abide by the decision of her father as to which one shall become her husband. Neither hero has the

AMI ET AMILE. 477

slightest desire to appear before Tarbatty Kan on this quest, but Ai Tolysy yields to Kattandschula7 s urging and makes the journey a third time. Tarbatty Kan, on hearing his daughter's message, expresses the most complete indiffer- ence :

1257 " ' Da sie ohne meine Erlaubniss gegangen,

Mag sie einen Menschen heirathen oder einen Aina, Das ist nicht meine Sache.' "

He sends, however, as wedding presents to his prospective son-in-law a pair of black boots, a silken girdle, and a white hat. Greek gifts, as it proves, for while Ai Tolysy is crossing the Yellow Sea, he hears a little bird, which has alighted on the boat, sing :

1288 "'Schwarze Stiefel bringst du bin,

Der Mensch, der diese Stiefel anzieht,

Wird bis zum Knie zu Stein.

Einen seidenen Gurt bringst du bin,

Der Mensch, der den seidenen Gurt umbindet,

Wird bis zu den Hiiften zu Stein.

Einen weissen Hut bringst du bin,

Der Mensch, der den Hut aufsetzt,

Wird bis zum Kopfe zu Stein.

Der Mensch, der dies weiss und es sagt,

Wird, ohne sie angelegt zu haben, zu Stein/"

On his return, Ai Tolysy prevents Kattandschula from putting on the boots, girdle and hat, and to calm his friend's fury tells him the reason. Immediately he is turned to stone.

1373 "Tarbatty Tana jammert,

Auch Kattandschula's Mutter Weinte.

'Ehe Ai Tolysy zu Stein geworden ware, Wenn Kattandschula zu Stein geworden ware, Wiirde es besser gewesen sein.' Im Hause wohnten sie, Ai Tolysy kam ihnen nicht in den Sinn, Sie vergassen ihn. Die Alte jammert immer noch." *

478 M. A. POTTER.

Tarbatty Tana gives birth to a boy. One night she dreams that she cuts him open :

1389 " Als sie den Leib aufgesclmitten,,

Nahm Kattandschula Herz und Lunge, Die Gedarme nahm Tarbatty Tana, Hinaus gingeii sie, Den zu Stein gewordenen Ai Tolysy Schlagen sie damit dreimal rund umgehend, Da wird Ai Tolysy lebendig."

Kattandschula, when he hears the dream, declares that he has no intention of bringing his friend back to life at such a price, but his old mother, who is especially fond of Ai Tolysy, says :

1442 " ' Des Ai Tolysy wegen

Thut dir eiii kind leid,

Wenn du es nicht thust,

Werde ich schon etwas finden, dicli zu todten.' "

This has some effect upon Kattanschula.

1449 " Das Kind nahm er, legte es hin,

Liess es von der Mutter halten, Das Stahlschwert nahm er in die Hand, Da weinte das Kind: ' Was macht ihr nur mit mir ? Ehe ich sterbe, will ich der Mutter Brust nehmen ! ' '

Ai Tolysy is restored to life ; and sometime after the celebration in honor of the event, he himself brings the dead child to life again.

In this wild, often grotesque poem we have once more the story of two friends, brothers in arms, the penalty that one of them pays for serving the other, and the healing by blood. The tenderness which characterizes the French chanson de geste is almost entirely lacking, but there is something fine about the affection of the old woman for Ai Tolysy ; and if Kattandschula kills his child because of

AMI ET AMILE. 479

fear rather than from devotion to his friend, the self- sacrifice of Ai Tolysy is great. It is the friendship of the Siberian Ami, not of Aniile, that withstands the severe test. Here again, the words of the French poem are true :

" Car au besoing puet li horn esprouver Qui est amis ne qui le vueult amer."

Now not only are the similarities between the two legends of interest, but the divergencies as well : the turning to stone instead of the falling sick with leprosy, the fatal gifts and the .warning. These are features of a well known mdrcJien, Faithful John, which Be"dier must have had in mind when he referred to " quelques themes r6pandus dans le folk-lore de maints pays ( . . . . le sang innocent qui seul peut guerir)." Faithful John is the guardian of a young prince whose father has left orders that his son must never enter a certain room, where hangs the portrait of the daughter of the King of the Golden Palace. Should the boy see the picture, he will wish to obtain the princess as wife, and will undergo great perils. The prince does enter the room, in spite of the pleadings of his guardian, and soon afterwards, disguised as merchants, the two succeed in abducting the princess. On the voyage home Faithful John, overhearing by chance the conversation of three crows, learns of dangers which threaten his master and mistress. When the latter go on shore, " a fox-coloured horse will spring towards them, on which the prince will mount, and as soon as he is on it, it will jump up with him into the air, so that he will never again see his bride. " The second crow asked, "Is there no escape?" "Oh yes, if another mounts behind quickly, and takes out the firearms which are in the holster, and with them shoots the horse dead, then the young king will be saved. And if any one does know it, and tells him, such a one will be turned to

480 M. A. POTTER.

stone from the toe to the knee." When the second crow said, " I know still more : if the horse should be killed, the young king will not then retain his bride ; for when they come into the castle, a beautiful bridal shirt will lie there upon a dish, and seem to be woven of silver and gold, but it is nothing but sulphur and pitch ; and if he puts it on, it will burn him to his marrow and bones." Then the third crow asked, " Is there no escape ? " " Oh, yes," answered the second ; " if some one takes up the shirt with his gloves on, and throws it into the fire so that it is burnt, the young King will be saved. But what does that signify ? Whoever knows it, and tells him, will be turned to stone from his knee to his heart." Then the third crow spoke : " I know still more : even if the bridal shirt be consumed, still the young King will not retain his bride. For if, after the wedding, a dance is held, while the young Queen dances, she will suddenly turn pale, and fall down as if dead ; and if some one does not raise her up, and take three drops of blood from her right breast, and throw them away, she will die. But, whoever knows that, and tells it, will have his whole body turned to stone, from the crown of his head to the toes of his feet."

Faithful John does avert the three catastrophes and as a reward is condemned to the gallows. Before the execution takes place, he explains his reasons and is turned to stone. The King, repenting too late, has the stone statue placed in his room and " often as he looked at it, he wept and said, 'Ah, could I bring you back to life again, my faithful John ! > »

In time the Queen gave birth to two little sons. One day when, like Belissant, she had gone to church and the boys are, playing by the side of their father, the latter again addresses the statue with the usual remark. This time the statue replies, tells him that he can restore him to

AMI ET AMILE. 481

life if he will sacrifice what is dearest to him, cut off the heads of his children and sprinkle the stone with his blood. The King, terrified but mindful of the self-sacrifice of his guardian, follows out the suggestion. The promised result follows, and then Faithful John, " taking the heads of the two children, set them on again, and anointed their wounds with their blood, and thereupon they healed again in a moment, and the children sprang away and played as if nothing had happened/'

Obviously this mdrchen resembles less closely the Ami and Amile than the Siberian song, and the connection is clearer between the first two, since the discovery of the last. Nevertheless, the similarity had been remarked long before, and as it is incredible that B6dier should not have seen the long note on the parallel by Nyrop in his work on the French epic, which appeared in the Italian translation only three years after Paris had suggested an Oriental origin of the tale, it would have been well for him to refer to it rather than say, " Je ne sache pas qu'on ait de*couvert dans Pint<§r- valle le momdre [my own italics] paralMe ni dans PInde ni nulle part en Orient." He may refuse to regard the Sibe- rian song and the mdrchen as real variants of the Ami and Amile, but as long as he simply ignores them, instead of proving, so far as is possible, that this particular point of view is correct, many who are deeply interested in his theo- ries must hesitate and even refuse to accept some of his most vital conclusions. For instance, he says :

"Cette le*gende feodale et chre"tienne, on peut concevoir abstraitement et par unjeu d'hypotheses qu'elle n'a e"te* coulee que sur le tard et par accident dans le moule des chansons de geste : il n'est pas ne"cessaire qu'Ami et Arnile soient des comtes ou des chevaliers ni que leur destinee se noue a la cour d'un roi, ni que ce roi soit Charlemagne. Mais, en

*

482 M. A. POTTER.

fait, et si Ton se garde des hypotheses, on ne pent que con- stater que les trois seals textes anciens dont nous dis- posons s'accordent a faire d'Ami et d'Amile les h6ros d'un roman 6pique." Again :

" Cette ancienne chanson de geste franpaise, on peut imaginer abstraitement, et par un jeu d' hypotheses, que les h6ros n'en sont devenus des saints que sur le tard et par accident. En fait, et si Ton se dispense de toute hypothSse, on ne peut que constater que nos trois textes anciens les donnent pour des saints ; il est bien vrai que, seule, la Vita de"veloppe le recit de leur ' passion ' et de leur ' deposition' ; mais les trois textes s'accordent a les marquer, des Pheure de leur naissance, des signes d'une predestination stirnaturelle ; Dieu les mene tous deux a travers les e"preuves, vers une meme fin, qu'il sait ; n6s le meme jour, lie's par Dieu dans la vie, leur histoire n?a de sens que s'ils meurent le meme jour, lie's dans la mort ; et ce n'est done pas seulement Pac- cord des textes conserves, e'est 1'esprit intime de la legende qui veut que le miracle des tombes soit primitif et que les deux compagnons soient des saints."

That the oldest documentary evidence we possess is fur- nished by the Latin poem, the Vita, and the Chanson de Geste, is probably true. In this respect the marchen and the Siberian songs are younger, but documents do not, of necessity, determine the age of any legend, though they should be taken into account. But, younger or older, cer- tain things are proved. There is no need of accepting the challenge to imagine abstractly some form of the story whose scene is laid in the East, for the version actually exists, and Bedier is incorrect when he says, " en fait, une seule forme nous est connue, primitive ou non." Again, while Ami and Amile are heroes of an epic romance which is both feudal and Christian, it is indeed not necessary that they should

AMI ET AMILE. 483

be counts or knights, that their destiny should be bound up with the court of a king, that that king should be Charle- magne. The story of such a friendship, surviving such tests, is a theme universal in its nature, adaptable to all milieux, and certainly not inherently feudal or Christian. It appears to be a rather wide-spread tale, with Faithful John as one of its forms.1

An incident in the Ami and Amile which has per- plexed some of its readers and which Be"dier has tried to interpret, probably has its explanation in the mdrchen variants. That is, the leprosy of Ami. " Why does God make Ami suffer from this horrible malady ? " Be"dier asks. He calls attention to the fact that the disease is accidental in Kaoul le Tourtier. He mentions Schwieger's theory that it was a punishment for having fought Belissant's traducer Hardre en combat judieiaire. "C'est un contresens que personne n'eut fait au moyen age." According to the Chanson de Geste, it is because Ami, marrying the king's daughter under a false name, committed the crime of bigamy. Quoting B6dier at some length for the last time :

" Cependant, a la reflexion, cette ' bigamie ' parait si inno- cente qu'on s7e"tonne qu'elle soit si cruellement chatie'e. D'autre part, jamais dans la suite de la chanson de geste il n'est rappele" que, si Ami souffre ainsi dans sa chair, c'est

1 In another variant, the Rama and Luxman of Miss Frere's Old Deccan Days, the two heroes, like Ami and Amile, are " nes le mgme jour, lies par Dieu dans la vie," yet one cannot say that " leur his- toire n'a de sens que s'il meurent le meme jour, lie's dans la niort," for the story says nothing about their death, and yet it has enough meaning to make it hold together. (Contemporaneous birth of a hero and men who are destined to be his future companions, or of a hero and his horse, is a far from uncommon motif of mdrchen and epic saga.) Again the esprit intime of the tale does not demand that the two friends become saints. Rama and Luxman are not, though the narrator of this story was a Christian, and neither are Faithful John and the King, nor Ai Tolysy and Kattafcdschula.

484 M. A. POTTEE.

parce qu'il s'est deVoue" pour son compagnon. Celui-ci, de"- nombrant les obligations qu'il lui a, n'y fait nulle allusion. Pourtant le poete avait les meilleures occasions de rappeler que la lepre d'Ami est une consequence de son denouement : par exemple, quand il s'agit de nous faire accepter le meurtre des enfants. Ce sont des indices que le theme de la lepre- chatiment n'est pas primitif. . . . Dans la Vita ce n'est pas un chatiment, mais une 6preuve. Dieu frappe Ami par ce qu'il aime, juxta illud quod scriptum est: Omnem filium quern Deus recipit, corripit, flagellat et castigat. C'est la Pex- plication chre"tienne. Seule elle s'accorde avec le reste de Thistoire ; c'est done tres probablement le theme primitif. II met bien en relief le caract£re hagiographique de la ISgende."

Perhaps, but knowing the mdrchen and Siberian variants, it is impossible to be quite as confident as is B6dier. The theme primitif is, just as probably, the penalty a man pays for breaking a certain taboo, a punishment which also is a test of friendship. In other words, the legend of Ami and Amile was originally a mdrchen. When it donned epic dress (and it is not the only mdrchen to do this), the later author, or authors, found some difficulty in handling this particular incident; for what is perfectly logical in the mdrchen is not clearly so in the Vita or the Chanson de Geste, which certainly are largely hagiographical in char- acter, as Bedier says. What we have, then, in the Ami and Amile is a story which is neither essentially feudal nor Chris- tian, but which has become so at the hands of a jongleur, who either worked over an old narrative poem or created a new one with the mdrchen as its basis, at the request of some churchman who wished to attract the attention of pilgrims to the church of Mortara.

To say that a mdrchen is the ultimate source of the Vita,

AMI ET AMILE. 485

the Latin poem, and the Chanson, to suggest that the two friends, heroes, became saints only " sur le tard et par accident," that is to be guilty, of course, of " speculations ing6nieuses " and "jeux d'hypotheses " ; but indeed anyone must be so who attempts to reason on the matter without possessing every bit of evidence which has ever existed. And Bedier, who makes rather too much of the audacity of others who have theorized on the origins of the French epic, is not blameless himself. It is one thing to point out as convincingly as he has the intimate connection between the chansons de geste and the religious institutions along the great" pilgrimage routes frequented by pilgrims and jongleurs; it is quite another to make the statement quoted further back about the William of Orange Cycle. In this latter case he may be equally correct, and if that turns out to be true, great and deserved will be his credit. But not all his arguments are of equal cogency, even to his hearties! admirers.

M. A. POTTER.

XX.— A SOURCE OF MUNDUS ET INFANS.

The morality of Mundus et Infans exists in a print dated 1522, from Wynkyn de Worde's press, and is styled by him a ' new production.' 1 The word must be taken for what it is worth, but it should be remembered that Wynkyn was not afraid to print old works, and call them such. In his print of Ragmannes Rolle, Wynkyn adds an envoy attributing the faults of the poem to " Kynge Rag- man holly, whiche dyde the make many yeres ago." 2 The printer is therefore entitled to some confidence, especially since certain internal evidence points to the same fact.

1Here begynneth a propre newe Interlude of the worlde and the chylde otherwyse called [Mundus et Infans] & it sheweth of the estate of chyldehode and Manhode." Colophon : " Here endeth the Interlude of Mundus & Iiiians. Imprynted at London in Fletestrete at the sygne of ye Sonne by me Wynkyn de worde. The yere of our Lorde M.CCCCC. and xxij. The xvij daye of July." Ed. Rox- burghe Club, 1877, Collier's Dodsley, vol. XH, 1827; Hazlitt's Dods- ley, vol. i; Manly, Specimens of the Pre-Shaksperean Drama, I, 353-385.

The continual rhyming of words in -y, -ye with words in -e goes to show that the play must have been written later than 1450. Examples (Collier's ed., p. 318, glorye: me: be, p. 319, me: lechery: "be: me: enuy: company; me: Ite: glotonye. Similarly the rhyme (loc. cit., p. 330), recreacyon: saluacyon: Inuersacyon: dampnacion, points to late 15th century work. For in the early part of the century the rhyme is final, not penultimate. On p. 314, wrought: mought (=mote), shows the loss of the guttural, which is rare in the early fifteenth century. There are numerous cases of assonance, and the metre in general is of a rude type. E. K. Chambers, Mediceval Stage, n, 440, refers to Collier and Pollard who "assign the play to the reign of Henry VII," while Brandl thinks that " the use of the Narrenmotiv points to a date of composition not long before that of publication."

2 See Collier's Dodsley, xn, p. 308, where the lines are quoted.

486

A SOURCE OF MUNDUS ET INFANS. 487

Mundus et Infans is written for the most part in rough triplets with a short link-line, aaabcccbdddefffe, etc. In passages of boasting and formality it becomes highly alli- terative 1 in the parts devoted to low comedy it descends to doggerel. Besides this metre is another, which appears only in the opening speech of the Child.2 It is a passage in twenty-seven lines of four accents, rhyming ababcdcd, etc. Its presence in the play is difficult of explanation, except by a theory which I shall shortly present.

The play has not much plot, but what there is is here outlined; Mundus opens the play and announces himself as master of man. Infans, the new-born child, follows, and after a monologue describing the perils of his birth and his poverty, goes to Mundus who gives him food and clothes and names him Wanton or Daliance (1-75). Wan- ton plays about the stage, describes his childish play, and returning to Mundus at fourteen is given the name of Lust and Lykyng (76-117). At twenty-one (155) Mundus calls him Manhood, and counsels him to follow the Seven Kings (168-183), whom he describes, and departs (236). Manhood boasts of his triumphs until Conscience enters and tries to dissuade Manhood from the service of the Seven Kings, whom he groups under the name of Folly, and defines as the seven deadly sins (237-461). Manhood is rather wearied by Conscience's teaching, and when Folly comes to him, he finds him a boon companion, and after a play at quarter staff goes off with him to lead a wild life in London (521-720). Conscience finds Manhood, and

1 This practice, as we may guess from comparing similar lines in Dux Moraud, was a regular dramatic convention in early plays.

2 An alternate rhyme is used elsewhere, it is true, but only as a preliminary to the tail-rhymes in triplets. This is true of the first speeches of Mundus, Conscience, Perseverance, and Age.

\

488 HENEY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

goes out to seek Perseverance to endoctrine Manhood (721- 744). His search is successful ; and when Manhood comes back a broken old man, despairing of life, mocked by his companions (745-810), Perseverance comforts him and teaches him that by repentance shrift, the five bodily and ghostly wits, the ten commandments, and the Creed he may yet enter heaven. Age has been dubbed Shame by Folly but is now to be called Repentance. The play ends with an exhortation to the audience to " take ensaumple " (962-979).

In brief the essence of the story is the strife between Virtue and Vice for the soul of man, his sins in manhood and repentance in age, with the assurance of salvation. The action progresses by description rather than by pres- entation ; at each " age " man describes himself in a long monologue. Similarly Mundus describes the sins, Con- science the virtues, Perseverance the means of salvation. Folly alone introduces us to real life, and seems to have stepped out of another world.

Leaving Folly for the moment out of account, I wish to point out a striking parallel, hitherto, I believe, un- noticed, in the Mirror of the Periods of Man's Life or Bids of the Virtues and Vices for the Soul of Man. The poem exists in a MS. which Dr. Furnivall places at 1430 ; 1 and in others of a later date. It is a highly finished and artistic production, with many good lines, and is a far more poetic work than the morality. Aside from the dates of the MSS. the fact that this poem is a vision-alle-

1 Dr. Furnivall printed the poem from Lambeth MS., 853, in E. E. T. S., 24, Hymns to the Virgin and Christ, pp. 58-78. Other MSS. are Balliol, 354, which lacks the last 21 stanzas at the end, but adds a stanza after 1. 392; and Un. Lib. Camb., Ff. 5. 48. The poem contains 656 lines.

A SOURCE OF MUNDUS ET INFANS. 489

gory of an early type would be sufficient to show that it is the earlier work of the two. The poem closely resembles the Debate between the Body and the Soul, one of the most striking of all mediaeval poems. Like the Debate, it is introduced to us as a winternight's dream, just before the waking.1 Like it again, the seer takes no part in the action, which consists of a debate, and on a theme related to man's life. The phrase " body and soul " occurs haunt- ingly throughout the Mirror, while its terror of death and the assurance of mercy are strikingly like those of the Debate.2 Most striking of all is its metrical form, which

1 Debate : Mirror :

1. As I lay in a wintris nyht 9. In a wintris nyht or I awakid

In a droukening bifor the In my slepe I dremid so

day I sawe a child al niodir nakid

For sob I sawe a sely syht And newe borne the modir fro. A body on a bere that lay.

2 1 need not quote the Debate; those who know it (and ho one that reads it can forget it) will see the similarity of the following lines to the theme of the greater poem:

595 : " My fleissche in ouerhope wolde me faite

And into wanhope it wolde me caste Helle houndis berken and baite

be feendis writib my synnes faste And deeb me waitib with a trippe of dissaite

These sixe maken me soore agaste." Against this picture,

" God hab mercies ynow in stoore For a bousand worldis bat mercie wole crie."

The poet on a winter's night sees a newborn child ready to go out into the world. The world agrees to find it till it grows old. Bodily gifts, God's commandments, the Pleasures, the seven works of mercy, the Creed, Vices and Virtues offer their services to the child. Free- Will offers, and is answered by Conscience (1-64). At seven years the Good and Wicked Angels advise the child (65-80). At fourteen (81-112) and at twenty (113-248) the Seven Virtues and Seven Vices, Reason, Lust and Conscience give their advice to

11

490 HENRY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

is identical with the Debate, being stanzaic, of 8 short lines rhyming dbababdb.

A vision-poem in which the poet overhears a dialogue, and is not himself a partaker in the action, is already half- dramatic. He is the audience, the dream his stage, the shades of his dream the characters of his play. Let us see what a morality-writer could have made of this prom- ising material. His first task would have been to cut the number of characters. Twenty-two characters passed be- fore the poet in a single stanza (5), and disappeared for- ever. The dramatic needs demand compression, and the play will gain by this a centering of interest. The chief debate in the poem is between Virtues and Vices. But on the stage our interest must be centered on man. Thus the Vices are compressed into a single character, the Fool, or Folly. The word folly, as equivalent to the seven sins, is found in the poem, together with a reference to fools.1

the child who is now called Man. At thirty (249-304) Conscience, who has hitherto spoken only in a minor part before the contest of Virtues and Vices, now comes forward and pleads, but is disre- garded by Man. At forty (305-320) Strength and Lust, at fifty (321-336) Covetousness strive for Man against Conscience. At sixty (337-424) Man, now called Age, is mocked by Youth, and as he goes nearer the grave (70 years at 1. 425, 80 at 1. 455, 90 at 1. 486, 100 at 1. 577) turns to Repentance. The Seven Deadly Sins forsake him, and Sickness comes with Despair, reproved by Con- science. Good Hope and Good Faith teach him at the last, and the Man learns that Repentance, the Commandments, the seven works of mercy and the Creed shall let him in at heaven's gate. The poem closes with an exhortation to all to choose wisely and pray to God and His Mother for grace (633-656). ^oem, 11. 438 ff., Youth speaks to Age:

all ]?ese (the gifts of health, etc.), j?ou hast wastide amys From wisdom into folies fele.

]?ine hearynge and ]?ine i3e si}te

J?at J?ou hast wastide in vewnglory

J?i mou]?e to wronge a$en rijte

A SOURCE OF MUNDUS ET INFANS. 491

It is easy with these hints, and the knowledge of such plays as Hyckescorner, to create Folly. Professor Brandl's allusion to the " ISTarrenmotiv " is quite unnecessary. There were plenty of fools in England before Brant's ship set sail.1

In the early part of his play the child may be kept in touch with the world, and his progress in age must be marked by renewed communication. The world will in- troduce the child to the seven sins; Conscience, who is already their opponent in the poem, will take over the task of the Virtues. Finally, at the end of the poem Good Faith and Good Hope can be compressed into a new char- acter to teach age how to die.

It is thus, I believe, possible to conceive how such a morality as The World and the Child could spring out of a poem like the Mirror. But without evidence of more immediate relation than that of plot, it would be unreason-

In fals oobis and foule glotenye bin hondis to robbe and to fi^te bi strengb bou wastid in tyrannye bi feet in derknesse out of li^te hi bewte bou wastidist in lecchery. Again :

243: "He is a foole bat may be wise

In heuene comeb no foolis to jeere God doob richelees foolis refuse bat kunnen no good ne noon wole lere." Again :

81 : " Thus at vn. jeer age childhood bigynnes, And folowith folies many foold.

1 Herford, Literary Relations "between England and Germany in the xvi Century, notes Lydgate's Order of Fools, but omits "The 51 Follies," printed in "Twenty-six Poems," E. E. T. S., E. S., 1903; " Ces sunt xxx folies," Landsdowne MS., 564, " Cinkante et dix folis," MS. Arundel 507 (Brit. Mus.) ; " Les xxxn Folies," Univ. Lib. Camb. MS. Gg. i, 1, the latter by Ralph of Lynham (?); all earlier than 1500.

492 HENRY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

able to claim the poem as source. These direct parallels, however, exist, and in sufficient number. The title of the play lies ready to hand in line 17" of the poem:

"Quod J?e world to ]?e child;"

The child is addressed in the poem as in the play as " Mi fair child " (line 52 ).1 The name Folly, we have already seen, as embodiment of the seven sins, exists in the poem. Other and more striking parallels in names exist. Wan- ton and Daliance are not in the poem, but " Lust and Lykynge," man's name in youth, is there.

Poem : Play :

309. Quod luste and liking, " make 131. Lust and Lykynge is my

good cheere/ name.

35. Lust, liking & iolite. 125. Loue, Lust, Lykyng in fere.

The name " Manhood myghty " is also in the poem, by implication.

Poem: Play (p. 330) :

252. Ful of manhode and of "I was borne manhoode moost

myjt of myght."

160. Manhode myghty shal be thy name.

Age as a name for man is in the poem, and his last title of Repentance is given.

627. And Repentaunce my come schal weede. 643. Bid repentaunce to merci beende.

Conscience is addressed by Manhood as " Sir Friar," 2 and it is probable he was so represented in character. The author might have got this idea from the poem, where Man says :

1 Poem, 52 : Mi fair child what hast Tpou bouit.

Play, 60: But my fayre child what woldest thou haue. a Lines 401, 409, 715.

A SOUECE OF MUNDUS ET INFANS. 493

287. " Now good Conscience & }?ou wolt preche Goo stele an abite & bicome a frere."

The play v at quarter-staff between Folly and Man in the morality might have been suggested by Lust's speech in the poem (Lust here is Man) :

91. "Harpe and giterne bere may y leere *

And pickid staffe & buckelere J?ere-wiJ? to plawe."

Folly says in the play, 1. 540, " A coryous bukler-player I am/7 while the reference to " longe or shorte," 1. 549, shows that staff-play is referred to.

The general parallels in two such works, where the plot is similar, are of course numerous. Two such may be quoted.

Poem, Man says: Play:

249. In J?ritti jeer now y abide 315. Lo syrs I am a prynce peryl- In discrecioun yhaue in-si^t lous yprovyde

Loueli to goo and to ride

Fulof manhode and of myjt. 316. I am worthy and wyght wythy 207. Myn I^en ben cleere & briat and wise

as glas 315. Myne eyen do shyne as Ian- Mi lire as lillye and roose tern bryght

of hewe I am a creature comely out

Of schappe & strengbe alle of care

folke I passe Emperours and kynges they

And euere my uertu wexib knele to my kne

newe.

p. 312. I am as fresshe as flourys

in maye.

Poem : Play :

255. Quod man in scorn "lo con- 719. "I wyll go whyder me lest science looj? chide For thou canst nought elles

For losse of catel he dar not but chide."

fijt." 710. " Conscyence counseylleth me 303. " Goo, Conscience, hou lew- to all sadnes.

ide asse Ye, to muche sadnes myght

I kepe not ]?i maneris to brynge me into madnes.

sue/

*At Oxenforde, whither Reasoun has advised him to go to study law. •

494

HENRY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

Poem:

283. And y dide as ]?ou doist me

teche I schulde neuer make myrie

chere.

Play:

A closer parallel is the answer of Conscience later on in the poem :

Poem:

548. " If a man haue synned

longe bifore And axe mercy and amende

his wys Repente and wilne to synne

no more

Of ]?at man god gladder is J?an of a child synlees y- bore. 541. Of such a man god is moore

gladde

J?an of a child ]?at neuere dide synne.

Play: 862. For

thoughe a man had do

alone

The deedly synnes euerychone And he with contricyon make

his mone

To cryst our heven kynge God is also gladde of hym As of the creature that neuer

dyde syn.

Equally close is the advice to the child in the poem to the child's boast in the play.

Poem:

77. Quod ]?e wickid aungil, "while J?ou art a child with YI tunge on folk J?ou

bleere Course of kynde is for $ou\>e

to be wilde To beete alle children and do

hem deerre." 71. ]?e wickid aungil bad him

be boold

To calle boj?e fadir & modir schrewis

Play:

79. I can with my scorge stycke My felow upon the heed hytte and lyghtly from hym make

a skyppe

And blere on hym my tonge. 88. If fader or mother wyll me

smyte

I wyll wrynge with my lyppe And lyghtly from hym make a

skyppe And call my dame shrewe.

Conscience's opening speech is alike in both.

A SOURCE OF MUNDUS ET INFANS.

495

Poem: Play:

57. For my name is Conscienc3 298. Methynke it is a nessarye To knowe me bou must bi- thynge

gynne Poore Conscyence for to

knowe.

301. For Conscyence clere it is my name.

But by far the closest parallel, and one which argues more strongly for direct borrowing than any other, is the passage in alternate rhyme, of which I have spoken. This is the Child's opening speech, and the verbal identities with the same speech in the poem are too numerous to be passed over as an accidental coincidence in following the same source. I believe that the Mirror is here at least the direct source of the play, and that the alternate rhyme is due to imitation of the alternate rhyme in the poem. The identity of rhyming words deserves particular atten- tion.

Poem: 1. How mankynde doob begynne

3. In game he ys getyn in synne

(Balliol text)

4. be child is be modris deedli

foo Or bei be fulli partide on

tweyne In perelle of deed ben bobe

two. 7. Pore he come be world with-

ynne. 25. Quod be child " I come pore

be world withinne. 11. I saw a child modir nakid. 27. Nakid out of be wyket of

synne

Of be perellis of streite pas- sage

To seke deeb I dide begynne bat ilke dredful pilgrymage

Play:

29. How mankynde doth begynne.

31. Go ten in game and in grete

synne. 42. Full oft of dethe she was

adred Whan that I sholde parte her

from. 34. Whan I was rype from her to

founde In peryll of dethe we stode

bothe two. 44. Now into the worlde she hathe

me sent

Poore and naked as ye may se I am not worthely wrapped

nor went But powerly prycked in pou-

erte.

36. Now to seke dethe I must begyn For to passe that strayte pas- sage;

496 HENEY NOBLE MAcCRACKEN.

Poem : Play :

Mi body & soule to parte a For body and soule that shall

tweyne then twynne

To make a deuourse of bat And make a partyng of that

mariage maryage.

The world speaks :

19. bou schuldist deie for him- 61. Infans: Syr, I you craue meete

ger and colde and clothe my lyfe to saue.

But y lente meete and clobe 65. Mundus : " I wyll the fynde

to bee whyle thou art yinge

I wole bee fynde til bou be So thou wylt be obedyent to

oolde my byddyng."

How wolt bou quyte it me ? "

The Mirror of Man's Life is then to be regarded as a valuable link between the mediseval vision and the early morality, since direct connection appears to be proved between it and Mundus et Infans. The plots of poem and play are not so different but that every variation of the play can be explained as the result of the dramatic needs. The title of the piece, most of the names of the dramatis personce, and numerous passages could have been borrowed from the poem, while a certain passage in alter- nate rhyme is so close to the similar passage of the poem as to justify the theory of direct borrowing. On the other hand, a full consideration of the points in which the play differs from the poem would be most instructive for a knowledge of the stagecraft of the moralities. But such a study is outside the limits of this paper.1

MACCEACKEN.

1 1 should like to call attention to some verses on the seven ages of man, in B. M. Adds. 37049, 28b-29a, as yet, I believe, unprinted. Under a picture of each " act," representing man, his good angel, and the fiend, is given 8 lines of dialogue, somewhat recalling parts of the Mirror.

XXI.— THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF.1

It is a well known fact that long before the day of the modern nature-fakir, animal story played an important part in the history of fiction. In medieval literature there were three sets of works that dealt with animals. There were the bestiaries, in which the medieval symbolists attempted to give a moral interpretation to the habits of beasts ; there were the fables, in which beast tales were told for the sake of the lesson they taught ; and third, there was the distinct- ively medieval set of stories, told because of their own intrinsic power of affording amusement, to which is gener- ally given the name ' beast epic/

Of this last set of beast tales, which possibly had its origin in France, and which is so well represented in the branches of the French Roman de Renard, English offers few speci- mens. If we except Chaucer's Nun's Priest's Tale, we may say that the story of The Vox and the Wolf is the sole2

lrrhe present paper was read at the last meeting of the Modern Language Association. The time allowed was fifteen minutes; hence the condensed nature of the work. The aim of the paper was to present several distinct ideas that came to the writer in the course of a somewhat prolonged study of the story, rather than to support any one thesis. The footnotes, it is hoped, may suffice to support most of the statements that were unsupported in the paper as read.

2 This does not mean that beast stories do not appear at all elsewhere in Middle English literature. Fables appear in the Ayen- lite of Inicyt, Piers Plowman, Gesta Romanorum, and the English translation of Barlaam and Josaphat. Lydgate is the author of a collection of seven fables (Anglia, IX, Iff.). One may mention also the fable of Lion, Wolf and Ass (T. Wright, Pol. Songs, p. 195) and the poem concerning " f als fox " ( T. Wright, Rel. Antiquae, I, 4). N. Bozon, Odo of Sherington, and John of Sheppey certainly derived their fables in part from English popular sources. The

498 G. H. MCKNIGHT.

representative in English literature until the time of Caxton. Because of this solitary prominence, this tale demands special attention.

The story itself is a familiar one. The fox, who would " lever meten one hen than half anoundred wimmen," has just met to the satisfaction of his appetite with two or three of the hens belonging to a monastery. Thirsty after his feast, he gets into a bucket to drink. The bucket descends, carrying the fox with it to the bottom of the well. While the fox is in this plight, his neighbor, Sigrim the wolf, hap- pens along. Reneuard gives to Sigrim so alluring a descrip- tion of the " blisse of paradis " below, that Sigrim is con- sumed with envy and wishes to join him, and after a highly amusing confession of his sins to Reneuard, is shriven and enters the second bucket to come down to the paradise below. The weight of the wolf lifts the bucket with the fox, and the wolf is left in the well to be nearly clubbed to death by the monks in the morning.

This English tale has a real intrinsic interest. The author has not provided an elaborate setting, nor has he introduced any of the " ensamples " that mar the symmetry but at the same time enhance the interest of Chaucer's tale of Chauntic- cleer, but he does enliven with many humorous details a well constructed narrative. To one who has been reading the heavy productions of Old English literature, it is particularly

French fable of Wolf and Sheep, by N. Bozon ends with the English words, " For was hyt neuer myn kynd chese in welle to fynd." Further it should be remembered that fable versions of our story of fox and wolf in the well appear not only in the Middle English translations of the Disciplina Clericalis, but in the just-mentioned fable of sheep and wolf by N. Bozon, where the sheep plays the part usually played by the wolf, and in the Scotch collection of fables by Henryson. In Henryson's version the fable of fox and wolf is told in very spirited style. The fox ("Tod") bears the name "Lowrence" and the wolf that of " Freir Wolf Waitskaith."

THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF. 499

refreshing to come upon a lively tale like this, one of the earliest of humorous productions in English literature.

It is unfortunate that we cannot claim this tale as a native English product. Although neither of the two existing ver- sions L in the French Roman de Renard corresponds exactly with the English story, the striking features in common between the English and the French versions leave no doubt that the English author used as his source some tale belong- ing to the French Roman.

The story as told in our English tale and in the French Roman, has several important features that distinguish it from a pure fable. We may mention the personal relations between fox and wolf, the individual names, Reneuard, or Renard, and Sigrim, or Isengrim, the distinctively human notion of an earthly paradise and the amusing shrift of Sigrim preparatory to entering this paradise, and most dis- tinctive of all, the feature peculiar to the ordinary French version, where Isengrim mistakes the reflection of his face in the water for that of his wife Hersent and suspects her of adulterous relations with Renard.

It is a fact not sufficiently emphasized that there is a close analogy between the tales of the beast epic, of which our tale may be taken as a representative, and another set of dis- tinctively medieval tales, the fabliaux. Both sets of tales are animated by the same spirit, call it I' esprit gaulois, if you will. Both sets of tales result from a similar modification of earlier story types. The fabliaux handle for the most part stories used elsewhere for conveying moral instruction, many of which appear in collections of exempla for the use of the medieval preacher. The difference between the fabliaux

1 Besides the ordinary version of the French Roman de Renart there is a simpler version which is preserved in a unique manuscript ( Bibl. de 1'Arsenal, 3334) and has been printed by Chabaille in a supple- ment to Meon's edition of the Roman.

500 G. H. MCKNIGHT.

and the tales used for conveying instruction consists largely in the emphasis on the distinctively human or individual in- terest at the expense of the moral. The story is told to entertain, not to instruct. A similar transformation of the beast tale appears in the case of the tales of the beast epic, and in this way are to be explained the distinctive features of our English tale and the corresponding versions in the French Roman de Renard. It may be said that this tale is to a fable what a fabliau is to one of the medieval exempla. This tale appears in a great variety of forms. In the English tale and the French Roman, the wolf is enticed by the description of paradise.1 In another set of tales han- dling the theme of fox and wolf in well, the credulous wolf is attracted by the prospect of fish.2 In still another set he is beguiled by Kenard's eloquent account of palatable things

1The notion of attracting the wolf by describing a paradise at the bottom of the well seems to be peculiar to the two versions of Branch iv of the Roman de Renart, the French Renart le Con- trefait, the Middle High German Reinhart Fuchs and the English Vox and Wolf. There are, however, among the French folk many superstitions concerning wells (P. Se"billot, Le Folk-lore de France, II, ch. m), "Le fond des puits ou des citernes est parfois me sorte de purgatoire temporaire " ( p. 307 ) . " Certains puits passaient pour 6tre si profonde qu'ils touchaient a un monde souterain (p. 323). See A. Milieu, " La veille"e dans le puits " (Rev. des trad, pop., I, p. 24). M. R. Basset cites an Arabic story in which a man goes to the well to draw water. The bucket falls to the bottom. The man descends to get the bucket and finds a door opening into a garden of Paradise (Rev. des trad, pop., xv, p. 667).

2 This is the form of the tale as it appears in the second part of the Flemish Reynaert, and in the derived versions; a German volksbuch, Reinecke der Fuchs (Leipzig, 1840), the Reinecke Fuchs of Goethe, and the English version by Caxton. This is the form of the tale also in Odo of Sherington, John of Sheppey, and Nicole Bozon, in the Spanish translation from Odo in the Libro de los Gatos, no. 14, in the fourteenth century Italian version printed by K. McKenzie (Publ. M. L. A., xxi, 226 ff.) and in the apparently cog- nate tale of rabbit and fox told by Uncle Remus.

THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF. 501

to eat,1 lambs or fat hens, or as one German tale has it, simply " sweet things to eat." In still another set of tales he is drawn to the bottom of the well by thirst.2 A more likely representative of the primitive form of the story is the one that was put into medieval circulation by the Disciplines Clericalis of Petrus Alfonsus. In this version of the story the wolf is attracted to the bottom of the well, not by the description of the joys of paradise, but by the reflection of the moon in the water, which the fox leads him to think is a cheese. This is the most widespread form of the tale. It appears in popular tradition in various parts of Europe and in many fable collections, among others in those by Marie de France, by Henryson, by Hans Sachs, and by La Fon- taine.3 It is not only widespread, but it is the earliest

1 Things to eat, " manger siissen spise," attract the wolf in the version appearing in Lassberg's Lieder Saal, though this version in some respects is closely related to the version in the French Roman and the eleventh century German Reinhart Fuchs; a hen is the bait in the tale as told by J. Regnier and by San Bernardino.

2 In certain modern French versions of the tale, the wolf is at- tracted by the prospect of a girl, or girls, bathing in the well, whom the wolf wishes to embrace ( cf . Breton tale printed by L. F. Sauve", Rev. des trad, pop., I, 363-4 and a tale of La Bresse, "Le Renard de Bassieu et le loup D'Hotonnes," printed by P. Se"billot in Contes des Provinces de France. In a French popular tale of Bas Langue- doc (P. Redonnel, Rev. des trad, pop., in, 611, 612) and in a German tale (J. Haltrich, Deutsche Volksm&rchen, no. 100, Wien, 1877) the wolf is impelled solely by thirst, and in a Walloon tale (A. Gitte"e and J. Lemoine, Contes des pays wallon, pp. 159-169), he descends to the bottom of the well in angry pursuit of the fox. In a fifteenth century German version (printed by J. Baechtold, Germania, xxxm, 257) the fox merely tells the wolf " dz mir all min tag nie so wol wz.

8K. Krohn (Bar (Wolf) und Fuchs, p. 41) expresses the belief that the reflection of the moon mistaken for cheese, enters not only beast-epic, but fable literature, through the story in the Disciplina Clericalis and its translations. Besides the versions mentioned above, and the direct translations from Petrus Alfonsus, may be named

502 G. H. MCKNIGHT.

known form of the story, having been told in the eleventh century by the Jewish Eabbi Raschi. That this form of the story was extant before the composition of the Roman de Renard is proved by the fact that the story in this form is alluded to in Branch l I. of the Roman. Further- more, the moon illusion as a means of attracting the stupid wolf seems most in keeping with the spirit of the story. The moon illusion appears frequently in the world's noodle2 literature to express Boeotian stupidity, surviving

the German version by B. Waldis (ed. H. Kurz, Book 3, Fab. 27), the French related story by N. Bozon (Contes Moralises, 64, 65, the Latin version by Desbillons (Fabulce JEsopice, Book 3, Fab. 10), the Spanish version (El libro de los Enxemplos, no. 307), and a late English text-book version (G. Wright, The Principles of Gram- mar . . . . , London, 1794).

aThe allusion in Branch I is, perhaps, to another story com- bination ;

Jel fis pecher en la fonteine

Par nuit, quant la lune estoit pleine,

De 1'ombre de la blance image

Quida de voir, ce fust fromage.

Branch I, 1057-60.

2 Among other such tales might be mentioned : the Servian tale where the fox leads the wolf to believe the moon reflection in the water is a cheese and the wolf bursts in the attempt to drink up the water to get at the cheese (F. S. Krauss, Sagen und Marchen der Sudslaven, I, 31) ; the Zulu tale of the hyena that drops the bone to go after the moon reflection in the water (Nursery tales .... of the Zulus, transl. by the Rev. Canon Callaway) ; the Gascon tale of the peasant watering his ass on a moonlight night. A cloud obscures the moon, and the peasant, thinking the ass has drunk the moon, kills the beast to recover the moon (E. K. Blumml, Schnurren und Schwanke) ; the Turkish tale of the Khoja Nasru-'d-Din who thinks the moon has fallen into the well and gets a rope and chain with which to pull it out. In his efforts the rope breaks, and he falls back, but seeing the moon in the sky, praises Allah that the moon is safe ( W. A. Clouston, Book of Noodles, p. 92 ); the Scotch tale of the wolf fishing with his tail for the moon reflection (Camp- bell, Tales of the West Highlands, I, 272). See also N. Bozon, Contes Moralises, no. 96; Pantschatantra, n, 226 ff. ; H. Oesterley, Romulus, App., 43; J. C. Harris, Nights with Uncle Remus, xix.

THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF. 503

to this day in the expression, ( think the moon is made of green cheese.' Of the different forms of the story this one seems best to represent the primitive form.

M. Sudre,1 the French authority on the Roman de Renard, emphasizes the fact that the story of fox and wolf in the well does not appear in the earlier Aesopian or Phedrian fable collections. Weber,2 too, the German orientalist, says that " For the two buckets in the well I know nothing analogous in Indian literature." Professor Fleischer3 of Leipzig, is authority for the statement that in Arabic there is no version of this story. Certain features of the story do find parallels in Indian4 and Greek fable literature, but the story as a whole cannot be derived from any Greek or Arabic or Indian source. Both the German orientalists, Ben fey, and the more modern Russian student of fables, Kolmatschewsky, hold that the story of wolf and moon reflection is a com- posite story made up of Indian and of Greek elements. The story may well be of composite nature, for its component elements did circulate separately in the popular story of medieval Europe, but we do not need to assume that these elements were necessarily derived from antique sources.

1 L. Sudre, Les Sources du Roman de Renart, p. 226, Paris, 1893.

2H. Weber, Indische Studien, ill, 369 (1855).

8 Gelbhaus, Ueler Stoffe Altdeutscher Poesie, p. 39, Berlin, 1887. R. Basset (Rev. des trad, pop., xxi, 300) cites an analogous Arabic tale, " Le renard et la hyene," Meidani, Proverles (6), t. II, p. 7, but I have been unable to find the story.

4K. Krohn, Bar (Wolf) und Fuchs, pp. 41, 42, Helsingfors, 1888. See the fable of fox and goat well known in fable literature, ancient and modern, the Indian tale of hare and lion and the lion's shadow in the well (Pantsch., I, 8, Hitapodesa, n, 11), and the analogous modern Indian version where jackals take the place of the hare (Old Deccan Days), the Indian tale of the elephant whom the hare leads to mistake his own shadow in the well (Pantsch., II, 226), and the Arabic tale, cited in the note above, where the man finds a door opening into a subterranean paradise. Cf. also the Greek and Indian versions of the fable of Dog and Shadow.

9

504 G. H. MCKNIGHT.

The only other hypothesis that presents itself is one that assumes Hebrew origin. As we have seen, Petrus Alfonsus, the author of the Disoiplina Clericalis, can claim the honor of having put into general literary circulation the story of fox and wolf and moon reflection, but he cannot claim that of being the first to tell the tale. Another Jew, the Rabbi Raschi, who lived in the eleventh century, is responsible for the earliest version of which we have record. This earliest version of the story, since it may give a clew to the origin, deserves consideration at some length.

Fables are of infrequent occurrence in early Hebrew lit- erature. In the Bible l there are said to be but two exam- ples. In later literature they appear more frequently, and Rabbi Meir, who lived in the second century A. D., is cele- brated among the Jews as the chief of fable writers. Meir is said to have known three hundred fox fables. These three hundred fables have been entirely lost except in the few instances where they have been retold by later Jewish writers. Of these few twice-told tales from Rabbi Meir, one is closely related to our subject. Hai Gaon,2 who lived between 969 and 1038 A. D., tells from Rabbi Meir the fable of " The children eat sour grapes." A lion is about to devour a fox. The fox says he is too small to be worth while and offers to show the lion a fat man instead. He conducts the lion to a covered pit, on the other side of which a man is kneeling in prayer. The lion is afraid to leap at the man because the man is praying, but the fox tells the lion his sins will not be atoned for by him or his sons, but by his grandsons. Thus reassured, the lion leaps and falls into the pit. The fox mocks the lion. The lion asks for an explanation. The fox explains that the lion's grandfather

*A. Blumenthal, RcibU Meir, p. 98, Frankfort, 1888. 2 A. Blumenthal, op. cit., p. 100.

THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF. 505

has sinned. The lion exclaims, ' The father eats sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge.'

This same tale, still attributed to Rabbi Meir, is told in extended fashion by Rabbi Raschi,1 who was born at Troyes about 1040 A. D. According to Raschi, the story runs as follows : — The fox induces the wolf to accompany him in a visit to a Jewish house to prepare food for the Sabbath. Men with clubs drive the wolf away. The wolf asks an explanation of the fox. The fox replies, 'This has hap- pened not on thy account, but on account of thy father who helped prepare the food and swallowed every fat bit. The fathers eat sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge.' The fox offers, however, to conduct the wolf to where there is plenty to eat and drink. He conducts the wolf to a well, and the adventure that follows is the familiar one of fox and wolf and moon reflection. The moral drawn by the fox in this case is, ' The just man is rescued from difficulty and the sinner takes his place,' to which he adds, ' The just balance gives just weight.'

In this version of Rabbi Raschi we have the earliest extant version of our story, and it is probable that the con- verted Jew, Petrus Alfonsus, who by the version in his Dis- ciplina Clericalis put the story into general circulation, de- rived the story either from Raschi or from the same Hebrew sources from which Raschi drew. Perhaps there is some relation between the fact that there are few surviving Hebrew fables and the fact that the story of the fox and wolf is the only pure 2 animal fable in the collection of thirty stories in the Disciplina Clericalis. It is worthy of note, however, that Petrus Alfonsus draws quite a different moral, 1) Take advice only from a tried friend, 2) A certain present is better than an uncertain prospect.

*A. Blumenthal, op. cit., p. 101. Gelbhaus, op. cit., p. 39.

2 See, however, no. 4, Man and serpent ; no. 20, churl and bird.

12

506 G. H. MCKNIGHT.

Was Raschi the author of this tale ? It hardly seems probable. The version by Hai Gaon of the fox fable by Rabbi Meir illustrating the sins of the fathers' idea, is earlier and probably more near the original. The fact that Raschi was born at Troyes 1 at the time and in the place where the beast epic seems to have had its origin, renders it more prob- able that Raschi drew from the same stock of popular stories that was used in the composition of the beast epic. If we take this view, we see another reason for believing in the western origin of the fox and wolf story.

The history of this story in later times is interesting. If, in medieval beast epic tales the human element was empha- sized and the moral to be drawn was all but lost sight of, in later times the situation was reversed, and the moral ele- ment regained its dominant position. The later history of our tale illustrates this reactionary change. In later fable literature the story of fox and wolf often appears in a very much emasculated form. A fox has fallen into a well. A wolf happens along, and the fox implores assistance. The wolf commiserates with him and asks how he comes to be there. The fox sharply replies to the effect that this is no time for explanations, " For pity is but cold comfort when one is up to his chin in water." This form of the tale appears as early as 1500 in the Hecatomythion 2 secundum of the Italian Abstemius, and later in the Italian fable collec- tion of Gabriele Faerno3 and in a collection of Turkish fables translated by Decourdemanche.4 In French, Le- noble,5 a contemporary of La Fontaine, tells a similar story

aCf. G. Paris, Le roman de Renard . . . Repr. from Journal des Savants, 1895,

2 L' Abstemius, Hecatomythion secundum, no. 15, Venice, 1499.

3 G. Faerno, Centum Fabulce . . . , p. 49, London, 1672. * Fables Turques, trad, par J. — A. Decourdemanche.

8 Lenoble, Oeuvres, t. xiv, p. 515.

THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF. 507

but with the parts reversed, the wolf being in the well and the fox ironically commiserating him from above. In English it is this form of the story that appears in the fable collections of 1'Estrange l and of Croxall 2 and in most of the later English fable collections when it appears at all. The universal significance of the incident as told in this form 3 is apparent, but as a story what interest is left?

The story of fox and wolf has been handled by several of the greatest literary artists. Goethe, in his Reinecke Fuchs, tells in brief but pleasing manner the form of the tale derived ultimately from the second part of the Flemish Reynaert. La Fontaine, with the addition of several highly amusing circumstantial details, retells the version dealing with fox and wolf and moon reflection. But perhaps the most inter- esting of these artistic handlings of this tale is the one in Italian, recently printed by Professor McKenzie in the Pub- lications 4 of this Association. This version, which has been attributed to Boccaccio, but more probably is by Antonio Pucci, has a distinctively Italian character. It is a recog- nized fact that the Italian writers, such as Boccaccio, Ser- cambi, and Bandello, introduced the tragic element into, ' stained 5 with blood/ the medieval popular story. This peculiar Italian characteristic is imparted to our story in a sequel. The fox is hurrying away, leaving the wolf in the well, when he meets a dog. He tells the dog that he has

1 Fables of sEsop, and other Eminent Mythologists ... by Sir Roger L'Estrange, Kt., Fab. 410, London, 1692.

3 S. Croxall, Fables of JEsop and others, no. 166, Boston, 1803.

3 Cf . the somewhat similar fable of Hare and Fox in the Syriac Fabeln des Bophos, no. 10 (ed. by J. Landsberger, Posen, 1859), and

the one in the Fables of T. Bewick, p. 311, , 1818, and in the

French-German Esope-Esopus (ed. by Carl Mouton, Hamburg, 1750), and in the Fables of JEsop, no. 8, New York, 1865.

4 K. McKenzie, Publ M. L. A., xxi, 226 ff.

5 J. Bgdier, Les Fabliaux, 2d ed., p. 240, Paris, 1895.

508 G. H. MCKNIGHT.

killed his enemy, the wolf, and left him in the well. The dog, instead of being pleased, expresses his intention of res- cuing the wolf, and ( he seized the fox by the throat and killed her with much torture. He wished to be the avenger of the wolf and to do justice.7 A truly tragic ending to a comic tale !

The adventure of the fox and wolf in the well continues to amuse people of the present generation. The tale exists still in popular story l in Sweden, in Germany, in France, in Spain, in Portugal, in Russia; and a story in which the rabbit plays a similar trick on the fox, is told among Amer- ican negroes. In the popular story of France 2 and of Ger- many,3 it appears in a cycle of connected tales of the adven- tures of fox and wolf quite analogous to the cycle of tales in the Roman de Renard. Especially popular are the stories dealing with the reflection of the moon in the water. This story element appears most often connected with the tale of the buckets, but in many instances the wolf is represented as drinking 4 until he bursts in an attempt to reach the sup- posed cheese, and in other instances at the suggestion of the fox, he fishes 5 for the cheese with his tail, an obviously far from happy combination of two independent stories. We

1 K. Krohn, op. cit., pp. 41 ff.

3 P. Redonnel, Rev. des trad, pop., m, 61 Iff.; A. Gitte"e et J. Lemoine, op. cit.

8 J. Haltrich, Zur volkskunde der Sieberiburger, ed. by Wolf, Wien, 1885. Numbers 1-9 deal with the exploits of fox and wolf. Most of the well known stories are grouped so as to form a kind of popular beast epic.

4 Cf . Servian tale cited above, p. 502 ; Arnaudin, Contes populaires recueillis dans la Grande-Lande, etc., p. 116, 1887; Hervieux, Les fabulistes latins, 2d ed., n, 598; Exortce Romuli anglici cunctis fabulce.

5 N. Bozon, op. cit., pp. 64, 65, Zulu tale of hyena and bone; A. Seidel, Geschichten der Afrikaner, p. 267, Berlin, 1896, etc.

THE MIDDLE ENGLISH VOX AND WOLF. 509

are told that the expression ' moon-fishers ' l is at the present time applied to the Boeotians of certain parts of France.

This story of the fox and the wolf has not the moral sig- nificance that has given vitality to many 2 fables. It requires some little ingenuity to make any moral application of the tale. For this reason among others,3 in many modern fable collections, it fails to appear or appears in the mutilated form that we have considered. The story is simply that of a very practical joke played by the guileful fox on his Boeotian friend the wolf. It makes its entrance into literature in company with the tales of humans in the Discipline, Cleri- calis • in Middle English it is told merely as an entertaining tale, and in general it may be said that its associations more than in the case of most other beast stories 4 are with tales designed solely to amuse.

G. H. MCKNIGHT.

1 Of. P. Se"billot, Le folk-lore de France, I, 27, Paris, 1904.

2 Such as the fables of dog in manger, tortoise and hare, and the like.

8 Another very important reason is that this tale is not included in the mediaeval Phaedrus which served as the nucleus around which most of the later collections gathered.

4 For example notice the German version in the Lieder Saal of J. von Lassberg, where the story of fox and wolf appears in company with love debates, lovers' complaints and the like, also the version in the appendix to Boner's Fabeln ( Germania, xxxm, 257 ff . ) where the author remarks,

" Sid dis buch ein ende hat so wil ich ouch ein torren tat

in dis buch schriben.

doch wenn es nit geualle wol dem ratt ich dz er sol vnderwegen lassen sin lesen."

XXII.— A LITERARY MOSAIC.

Nearly forty years ago Robert Browning issued The Ring and the Book, his longest and most important poem. It has suffered varied fortunes at the hands of the critics. Brooke, Dowden, Chesterton, and Herford, however, devote long and important chapters to its discussion, and acknowledge the poet's mastery in his subject. Amid critics friendly and hostile alike, the lawyers' monologues have perhaps suffered more than any other portion of the poem. They have been skipped by the ordinary reader as unmeaning and dull. Few open and intelligent words of defense have been uttered in their behalf. Chesterton puts the matter well (p. 160), " One of the ablest and most sympathetic of all the critics of Browning, Mr. Augustine Birrell, has said in one place that the speeches of the two advocates in The Ring and the Book will scarcely be very interesting to the ordinary reader. There can be little doubt that the great number of readers of Browning think them beside the mark and adventitious. But it is exceedingly dangerous to say that anything in Browning is irrelevant or unnecessary The introduc- tion of them is one of the finest strokes in The Ring and the Booh"

Why, then, did 'the poet create them ? He certainly must have felt he had reason. The architecture of this poem was deliberately wrought, and Browning assures us that he saw the whole plan from the beginning. Did he blunder, then, in this portion of his work ? These questions find a new reply in the light of the poet's source-book, which has been issued recently from the press of the Carnegie Insti- tution. The poet's purpose and method in them become quite clear.

510

A LITERARY MOSAIC. 511

Browning's unique source-book, the treasure-trove of one of his days of wandering through the streets of Florence, is a collection of the original pamphlets of argument and evi- dence in the Franceschini murder trial in Rome, 1698. The volume was probably collected and bound by a lawyer, who regarded it as a technical legal precedent — a case. The machinery of the law and the lawyer's attitude of mind are therefore present on every page. In creating his poem from the old book, Browning has been conscientiously accurate to an unusual degree. Hence it is not strange that this ever- present fact of the law found place in the poem.

Browning has been called " subtlest assertor of the soul in song." The oft-quoted words from the Introduction to Sordello hardly need to be repeated in this connection. He was essentially a student of the human heart. In poem after poem this interest manifested itself, as in his wide readings he has caught glimpses of man. Not infrequently he has turned to strange and even monstrous personality, as in Sludge and Caliban. Hence when he read the pages of the old book, he probably felt an immediate, but ironic, in- terest in the men of the " patent truth-extracting process." They were the official representatives of law, and law is the colossal institution founded by man for sifting human right and truth. But Browning was always skeptical of institu- tions as against men, and he had no admiration for the cus- tom- or institution-ridden man. The attitude of these lawyers, therefore, excited his strong dissent. He did not believe in their version of truth in spite of their profession. For he saw in their treatment of the facts of this sad page of human history abundance of cunning sophistry, of respect for authority and precedent, of insistent and minutely argu- mentative setting forth of certain technical aspects of the crime ; but the real lawyers of the book showed no genuine love of truth nor any human concern for the rights and

512 CHARLES W. HODELL.

wrongs of victim and criminal alike. In his purpose to present in turn the various aspects of the story, the poet could hardly have omitted the most characteristic attitude displayed in the volume before him without abandoning the conscientiousness of which we have spoken above. He therefore put forth the full power of his art to reproduce in his poem the legal bias as he had found it in his book.

There were four lawyers in the Franceschini murder trial, but these are necessarily reduced to two, one for each side of the case. Their professional type of mind is every- where evident in the original arguments ; their personal traits are but meagerly present. The poet accordingly takes over the former, but he must invent the latter outright.

The personal traits of the two lawyers thus invented may be regarded as representing the dual aspect of the legal mind as it revealed itself to Robert Browning, the comic and tragic aspects respectively. He laughs heartily at the grotesquerie of the logic, at the forced eloquence, at the pomp of precedent. This begets a Chaucerian mood of satire, which sees Arcangeli not merely as a pompous pleader, but as the devoted father to the eight-year-old curly pate and as the gourmand ising prophet of the birth- day feast. The fun of the invention is contagious. It lightens and humanizes the whole borrowed technical ma- chinery of the " speech in the egg " which forms the body of the monologue. The poet shows no small skill in giving this interest of concrete personality to the dry, harsh profes- sionalism with which he had grown familiar. It was the true creative breath upon a very dry valley of bones.

But when Browning stopped to think, he saw also the cruelty of this unsympathetic professionalism which had felt no pity for the dying Pompilia, whom he loved. His indig- nation was aroused. His irony was no longer playful, it became almost fierce ; he scorned Bottini, he caricatured

A LITERARY MOSAIC. 513

i

him almost passionately. This was probably due to the actual Bottini's habit of making damaging admissions con- cerning Pompilia and then explaining them away by his sophistries. Browning was so thoroughly convinced of the innocence of Pompilia that he resented this, and grew unfair in his indignation. Hence he has invented the arrogant self-conceit of bachelor Bottini, trying his written speech " amorously o'er." This makes by no means as pleasing a monologue situation as the one invented for Arcangeli. Moreover, the fair reproduction of legal fact which is seen throughout Arcangeli' s speech, gives way to scornful caric- ature in the second lawyer's monologue. Browning's anger with Bottini all but spoils his art in recreating him.

When Browning had decided to make the legal mind one of the psychological biases of his story, he must straightway have seen the impossibility of following any one of the eleven arguments given in the book. His creation must be eclectic, choosing salient features here and there. To forward this plan, he imagined Arcangeli uttering no completed speech, but sitting at his office desk getting up notes for one of his pleas for the defense. This gave opportunity for the desul- tory and incomplete statement of one point after another, and admitted the occasional introduction of

The jolly learned man of middle age, Cheek and jowl all in laps with fat and law

A-bubble in the larynx while he laughs, As he had fritters deep down frying there.

The speech in the making on Arcangeli' s desk that cold January day is a remarkable composite, a skilful mosaic, made up of scores of fragments assembled from all parts of the old yellow book. Each of these is reproduced with painstaking exactitude. But the final design in which they are set is the poet's, and does not follow any connected line

514 CHARLES W. HODELL.

of thought in the book. The ease and precision with which these parts fall into their places in the new design show how fully the poet had made the book his own. Nor will the unconscious memory explain all this treasuring of fragments ; they were evidently sought out and copied from the book.

The facts of the Franceschini story used by Arcangeli, even the many minute and trivial facts, are taken from the book. Such are the swooning of Baldeschi, one of the ac- complices, under torture (line 349) ; Guido7 s arrival in Rome on Christmas eve with his cutthroats (line 1071), and the confession of an after-plot to murder Guido (line 1598). The fact of the ridicule which Abate Paolo suffered, as told by Arcangeli (lines 764-74), reads as follows in the legal argument : a While he was prosecuting Guidons cause in the courts, it befell him that he excited the ridicule and the guffaws of nearly all sensible and honorable men, not to say of the very judges themselves." Notice that the word cac- chinos, translated guffaws, is given as " cacchinations " by Browning. Such use of fact is the rule throughout much of the poem.

Still further, every point of law made in Arcangeli's monologue is drawn from the book. The main plea of honoris causa, so much emphasized in recent newspaper reports of sensational murders, is the chief plea in defense of the real Guido. This is turned in many ways in the monologue, but all of them are found in the actual record before the poet. In supporting this plea, Advocate Spreti says : " The aforesaid authorities unanimously assert that husbands are considered vile and horned (cornuti) if they do not take vengeance with their own hands, but wait for the judges to do this, who laugh at them scornfully." The word, "horned" from the original cornuti, Browning trans- lates humorously " fronts branching forth a florid infamy." The poet in a spirit of waggery parodies rather than para-

A LITERARY MOSAIC. 515

phrases this part of the argument. Then follows the further discussion as to whether murder is justifiable only when done in immediate anger (lines 983-1056), all borrowed from the actual book. The discussion of the aggravating circumstances (lines 1108-1381) is taken entirely from the original arguments. These points of law transferred to the poem have first been condensed and are not infrequently steeped in humor. Thus in the argument concerning illegal arms, the real Arcangeli says, " it would have been the very same if they had been slain with the longest of swords, or with sticks or stones.7' Browning puts it (lines 1176—7),

" Then, if killed, what matter how? By stick or stone, by sword or dagger ? "

In his description of the Book, the poet ridicules the masses of precedent (I, 217-232) :

" there heaped themselves From earth's four corners, all authority And precedent for putting wives to death,

Solon and his Athenians ? Quote the code Of Komulus and Rome ! Justinian speak ! Nor modern Baldo, Bartolo be dumb !

Cornelia de Sicariis hurried to help Pompeia de Parricidiis : Julia de Something-or- other jostled Lex this-and-that ; King Solomon confirmed Apostle Paul : That nice decision of Dolabella, eh ? That pregnant instance of Theodoric, oh ! Down to that choice example Aelian gives,"

Not only is every one of these precedents taken from the book, but every precedent mentioned in Arcangeli's mono- logue is drawn from the same source. Such are the " fruc- tuous sample " from the Dutch Jurist, Matthaeus (lines 824- 30), Sicily's decisions, 61 (lines 813-21), the case from Caesar Panimolle (lines 1228-47), from Cyriacus (lines 951-

516 CHARLES W. HODELL.

61), from Castrensis (lines 1541-7), and that of the Smyr- nean woman before Proconsul Dolabella as quoted from Valerius Maximus. The book, too, was put under requi- sition for the " choice example" (lines 512-18) :

" Aelian cites, the noble elephant, (Or if not Aelian, somebody as sage), Who seeing, much offense beneath his nose, His master's friend exceed in courtesy The due allowance to his master's wife, Taught them good manners and killed both at once, Making his master and the world admire."

Its original statement is as follows : " JElian, in his Natural History, tells of an elephant which avenged the adultery of the wife and the adulterer found together in the act of adultery." The citation from Farinacci concerning the torture of the vigil, which is closely paraphrased in lines 328-43, was referred to in the book, but the poet had to follow the reference to get the above text. This is the more interesting, as it shows the poet found here in Farinacci his knowledge of Guide's torture. Browning's humor plays with another of these citations in the lines 680-3 :

"Saint Ambrose makes a comment with much fruit, Doubtless my Judges long since laid to heart, So I desist from bringing forward here. (I can't quite recollect,)"

Arcangeli's numerous quotations from unusual authors are drawn from the same convenient treasury, — the Theodoric (lines 482-7), St. Jerome (lines 585-95), Gregory (lines 597-600), St. Bernard (lines 625-36), even including the pseudo-saying of Christ : honorem meum nemini dabo. The poet follows these even to the grotesque literality of lines 613-15 :

" quia, — says Solomon, (The Holy Spirit speaking by his mouth In Proverbs, the sixth chapter near the end) "

A LITERARY MOSAIC. 517

taken from come parla in questo proposto lo Spirito Santo per bocca di Salomone nei Proverbi al 6 in fine. Only one quo- tation (aside from half a dozen fragments of the classics) seems to have been found outside the book, that from Scali- ger's Table Talk, concerning the words castae apes.

To the casual reader, perhaps no feature of the monologue is more obvious than its abundance of law-Latin. Ninety- five per cent, of this Latin, in fifty-six quotations, varying from two to one hundred and ninety-eight words long, are taken directly from the source-book. Six mere scraps of Latin are drawn from classic sources, one from Aquinas, and two from unknown medieval sources. The fifty-six passages are drawn at random from all parts of the book, and must have been thoughtfully and precisely extracted from their context, and are not at all to be explained as mere chance feats of memory. The longest of these, the peroration (lines 1638-1737) is transferred from the close of the last and most important of the real Arcangeli's arguments. The poet has edited the book-Latin but slightly, supplying occasional antecedents for pronouns, exchanging synonyms for the sake of metrical convenience, excising useless portions, and occa- sionally changing grammatical forms, but on the whole, fol- lowing the text before him with surprising closeness.

His running translation of these passages is worthy of attention. In general, it is a free, brilliant paraphrase, giving the sense but not the syntax of the original. Thus he translates Ultra quod hie non agitur de probatione adulierii " It is not anyway our business here to prove what we thought crime was crime indeed." The expressiveness of Browning's idiomatic English style far transcends his original. There are parts of this translation, however, where the poet's sense of humor rather than his good Latinity guides him, and many a characteristic thrust is made in this way. We have already cited his translation of the word cornuti above. The

518 CHAELES W. HODELL.

opening words of Arcangeli's first argument, nupserat sinis- tris avibus, he renders

"He wedded, — ah, with owls for augury."

And the common expression, ignea arma for fire-arms, he renders "igneous engine." Or, as he adds,

"Might one sty lea pistol — popping-piece."

This is suggested by the word of Laniparelli, sdopulo. Still further, excogitari potest becomes

"From out the cogitative brain of thee."

The irony and humor of the poet play effectively through all his task of producing an English version of the book- Latin. No one can read the monologue with a full percep- tion of its value without giving thought to these masterful niceties of translation.

Enough has been said to show the poet's painstaking accuracy in the use of the materials assembled for this monologue, yet his pains have not entirely freed him from error. He speaks of Panicollus for Panimollus (1228) and of Butringarius for Butrigarius (1542). The technical phrase ineontinenti he makes ex incontinenti, probably in confusion with the contrasting phrase ex intervallo. Quia becomes qui at line 1241. The most evident error of all is his reading ex iusta via, which he translates "on ground enough," instead of ex iusta ira. These errors are, of course, acci- dental, and the poet avoided them as far as lay in his power.

It becomes quite evident, therefore, that Browning's impulse to create the lawyers grew from the very legal nature of his source-book, and that the poet who became interested in the strangely sophisticated type of mind showrn there, turned to the book itself for the material of his fic- titious legal arguments in the poem. For the first, he

A LITERARY MOSAIC. 519

assembled perhaps a hundred fragments from various parts of the book. These details seem so unvital and technical as to be apparently impossible material for the creative artist. But under his touch, they were wrought into a strange new device, just as the fragments of a mosaic lose their shapeless individuality in the larger unity of the whole. The wit, the humor, the satire of the poet serve as a cement to bind them all together. Browning's creative vitality has used the mate- rials with an ease and precision which other artists show with purely fictitious material. He has thus produced one of his most entertaining studies of grotesque psychology. But still further he has made the legal mind as he found it in his book an integral part of the carefully wrought design of this, his master poem.

CHARLES W. HODELL.

XXIII.— CHRISTIAN WERNICKE, A PREDECESSOR OF LESSING.

In the history of the development of good literary taste in Germany, Christian Wernicke has long held an honor- able position. The praise of Johann Ulrich Konig,1 of Bodmer,2 of Hagedorn,3 and Ramler ; 4 the commendation, the more impressive for being qualified with criticisms, of Lessing 5 and Herder ; 6 and the tendency of historians of literature to maintain groups and relationships once established, have all contributed to secure to Wernicke the title of a redoubtable opponent of the so-called second Sile- sian school of poets. Until recently, however, little more

lUntersuchung von dem guten Geschmack in der Dicht- und JRede-Kunst, supplement to Des Freyherrn von Canitz Gedichte, Berlin, 1727 ; pp. 373- 476 of the edition of 1765. Konig writes of Wernicke: " Er selbst war ein Mann von ausbiindigem Geschmack, und der erste, welch er das Herz gehabt, sich der Lohensteinischen schwiilstigen Schreibart in offentlichem Drucke zu widersetzen" (p. 383).

2 Nachrichten von dem Ursprung und Wachsthum der Critik bey den Deut- schen, 1741, and an edition of Wernicke entitled Herrn Wemikens . . . Poetische Versuche in tlberschriften ; me auch in Helden- und Schafergedichten, Zurich, 1749 ; neue verbesserte Auflage, 1763. Bodmer's edition, which is a tolerably faithful reproduction of Wernicke' s definitive edition of 1704, has been the basis of all subsequent studies in Wernicke. My references are to Bodmer's reprint of 1763. I am indebted to the Colum- bia University Library for the opportunity to use this volume.

3 Moralische Gedichte, Hamburg, 1752, p. 242.

4 Critische Nachrichten aus dem Reiche der Gelehrsamkeit, 1750 ; Einleitung in die schb'nenWissenschaften nach dem Franzb'sischen des Herrn Batteux, 1756- 58; a "modernized" edition of Christian Wemikens tjberschriften. Nebst Opitzens u. a. epigrammatischen Gedichten, 1780.

5 Zerstreute Anmerkungen uber das Epigramm, 1771, L-M xi, 214-295, passim.

^Anmerkungen uber die Anthologie der Griechenj besonders uber das grie- chische Epigramm, Werke, Hempel, VII, 179, and Adrastea, Werke, Hempel, xiv, 735.

520

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 521

has been known about his personal character and career than what he himself incidentally disclosed in his verses and in his unusually frank and circumstantial foot-notes. Ko- ber stein,1 with accustomed succinctness, summarized Wer- nicke's critical opinions; Gervinus,2 in one of his famous parallels, contrasted Wernicke unfavorably as a man and as a poet with Logau ; Scherer 3 barely mentioned him ; Francke 4 did not mention him at all ; Ludwig Fulda,5 without adding much to our knowledge, set forth in an excellent brief essay the proper bearing of the facts that were then known, and corrected thereby the somewhat dis- torted presentation of Gervinus; but not until the inves- tigations and fortunate discoveries of Julius Elias 6 and Leonhard RTeubaur 7 had brought a host of new facts to light was an adequate estimate of either the personal or the literary character of Wernicke possible. We now have such an estimate by Erich Schmidt.8 Looking eagerly forward to the reprint of Wernicke's epigrams promised by Elias, E. Schmidt says of the epigrammatist, " philo- sophisch reichgebildet, in alter und moderner Literatur ungemein belesen, huldigt er, mit Boileau vom Dichter vollstandige Kenntnis der Welt, zumal des Hofes for- dernd, einer vornehmen Poetik ; " and adds, " wir ken- nen vor Liscow, ja vor Lessing keinen klareren, geschei- teren Kopf." The question, therefore, how far Wernicke

1 Gesch. d. d. Nationalliteratur, n, § 207.

2 Gesch. d. d. Dichlungf in, pp. 658 ff.

3 Gesch. d. d. Lit., Berlin, 1883, pp. 367, 395.

4 Social Forces in German Literature, New York, 1896. 5DNL, 39, n, pp. 507 ff.

6 Cftristian Wernicke, 1. Such, Munchen, 1888.

7 Jugendgedichte von Christian Wernigke, Altpreussische Monatsschrift, 25 (1888), pp. 124-165. Keviewed by J. Elias in Anzeiger fur deuisches Altertum, 15. Juli, 1889, pp. 341-347.

8 Allgemeine deutsche Biographic, XLII (1897), pp. 90-92.

13

522 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

is to be regarded as a predecessor of Lessing in the devel- opment of a critical theory of poetry appears to deserve serious attention.1

If we should have regard only to fundamentals, and should compress into a single sentence the substance of Lessing' s service to esthetics, we might well follow Goethe's example 2 and describe Lessing as the critic who once for all destroyed the prestige of the shibboleth so long mis- understood, Ut pictura poesis. The first thing to be said of Wernicke as an esthetic philosopher is that for him this formula was no shibboleth at all. On the contrary, he enjoys the distinction, unique so far as my observation of contemporary and subsequent German critical docu- ments extends, of quoting 3 Horace's sentence in its en- tirety and applying it in Horace's sense. This fact alone invites an examination of Wernicke' s attitude towards the usual equation of the arts of painting and poetry ; and though as a critic he cannot be expected so far to have outstripped his coevals as to condemn all descriptive writ- ing, he seems in his practice as a poet, and in his theori- zing about poetry, to have held to a distinction which Goethe formulated 4 after Lessing as follows : " Der bild- ende Kiinstler sollte sich innerhalb der Grenze des Schonen halten, wenn dem redenden, der die Bedeutung jeder Art nicht entbehren kann, auch dariiber hinauszuschweifen

*Dr. Elias was kind enough to inform me, after this paragraph was written, that the critical edition of Wernicke announced as in preparation by him for the DLD has recently been intrusted to Dr. Pechel ; and that some months ago Dr. Pechel printed as a Berlin dissertation certain pre- liminary portions of his investigations on Weruicke. At the time of going to press I had not received the copy of this work which Dr. Elias generously volunteered to procure for me ; accordingly, I am at present unable to give any account of its title or contents.

2D. «. W. 8. Buck. 3P. 134.

CHRISTIAN WEKNICKE. 523

vergonnt ware/' We could not better epitomize the total impression of Wernicke's work than in Goethe's phrase die Bedeutung jeder Art; and, mutatis mutandis, that might be affirmed of Wernicke which Lessing l affirmed of Homer : " Er sagt Sirens war schon, Achilles war noch schoner, Helena besass eine gottliche Schonheit. Aber nir- gends lasst er sich in die umstandlichere Schilderungdieser Schonheiten ein." It is, to be sure, in the nature of an epigram that it should more often deal with spiritual than with physical traits; satirical epigrams, like the majority of Wernicke's, are aimed rather at ugliness than at beauty ; the very brevity of all epigrams precludes circumstantial descriptions of the relatively insignificant, such as pecu- liarities of personal appearance. In choosing to represent characters, and ihe manifestations of character in action, instead of describing bodies, Wernicke was, however, a practical Lessingian before Lessing; while both in his attacks upon the Silesians and in his insistence upon the primary importance of subjective elements in all poetic expression he was, no less than Lessing, an enemy of the SchilderungssucJit in der Poesie.

The representative of progressive ideas in a time of transition is apt, unless he be a conscious, iconoclastic revolutionist, to stand with one foot on the old ground and one on the new. He cannot quite get clear of entangling alliances; he has the habit of traditional respect even for those whom he assails; he surmises that something is wrong without always knowing exactly what it is; and instead of forging new weapons, he uses the old ones in a new way. Wernicke has even been accused of incon- sistency in the judgments that he passed upon Hofmanns-

1 Laokoon, xx, ed. Bliimner,2 Berlin, 1880, p. 282.

524 WILLIAM GUILD HOWABD.

waldau and Lohenstein. His valuation of some of his contemporaries is certainly widely at variance with the verdict of posterity. His very terminology seems based upon the notorious identification by Opitz in the verses,1 Uber des l>eruhmten Malilers Herrn BartJiolomei Strobels Kunstbuch :

11 Es weis fast auch ein Kind,

Dass Dein' und meine Kunst Geschwisterkinder sind : Wir schreiben auf Papier, Ihr auf Papier und Leder, Auf Holtz, Metall und Grund ; der Pinsel macht der Feder, Die Feder wiederum dem Pinsel Alles nach."

Nevertheless, Wernicke, though on principle a staunch Opitzian,2 is no champion of such childish philosophy, however much his use of words may seem to imply it. A conspectus of these uses would indeed show him con- stantly employing the vocabulary of the painter to describe the means, processes, and products of the poet. Fully half of his epigrams are literary portraits ; and eight 3 of these are expressly denominated Gemahlde. The poet paints,4

1 Quoted by Bliimner, I c., p. 19.

2 " Den deutschen Pegasus setzt Opitz erst in Lauf,

Und Gryph verbesserte, was an ihm ward getadelt " (p. 184) .

Cf. "bey der reinen und natiirlichen Schreibart des Opitz und Griphs " (p. 121 ) ; " bis endlich der schlesische Attila, Opitz, mit der grausamen Kein- lichkeit seiner Sprache, die von Alters hergebrachte lobliche Freyheit der Deutschen ungeschickt und albern zu schreiben zernichtiget ; und ihnen nicht allein die unertragliche Sclaverey, sinnlich und verstandlich in ihren Schriften zu seyn, sondern auch Masse und Gewicht als eine tyrannische Schatzung auferleget " (p. 306).

8 To wit : Gemdhld des Aracemus, p. 74 ; der Corilis, p. 85 ; des Celsus, p. 159 ; der zweyen Gebriider Kastor und Pollux, p. 161 ; des Leodorus, p. 211 ; des nordischen Mdcenas, p. 214 ; des Valleons, p. 227 ; der Gloriuna, p. 239. This use of the word Gemdlde is not noted in Grimm's T76., iv, i, 3162.

4 " Wolan, ich mahl ihn selbst itzt schoner und doch gleich : Hier stehts, Menalkas ist ein Affe" (p. 160).

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 525

with a brush ; 1 he makes strokes ; 2 he produces pictures ; 3 and Wernicke's collection of depictions of character is a veritable gallery : " Wie man nun aber in den satyrischen Uberschriften selten eine eigentliche Person in Augen ge- habt, und durchgehends niemandem an seine Ehre und guten Namen gegrrffen; also hat man auch die kleinen Lobgedichte, welche meistentheils in Gemahlden bestehen, mit solcher Sittsamkeit geschrieben, dass man sich nicht einmal unterstanden, dieselben mit den vortrefflichen Na- men derer, auf die sie.gemachet sind, zu beehren. So dass, wo dieselben bios aus ihren Gemahlden erkennet werden, dieses ein gewisses Zeichen 1st, dass man ihnen keine f al- schen Farben angestrichen ; und wo man dieselben daraus nicht erkennet, sich keiner von ihnen zu beschweren haben wird, dass man sie mit einem ungeschickten Pinsel verun- ehret habe." 4 In spite of all this apparatus, however, from which only palette and easel appear to be missing, Wernicke was a writer and not a painter ; and he had little

" Mein Pinsel ist zu schwach, zu mahlen

Zwey Sterne, die am Pol des nordschen Himmels stralen " (p. 161). 2 "Avidus alieni, sui profusus, ist einer der merkwiirdigsten Striche in des Katilina Gemahld " (p. 196).

u 'An den Leser.

1 ' Wo man mich nicht allein bey meinem Pinsel kennt ; So hab ich wol gethan, dass ich mich nicht genennt :

Denn was fur Kuhm hab ich zu hoffen, Wo ich mit einem Strich nicht zwey zugleich getroffen ; So dass von jedem wird in jedem Stuck erkannt Dein Angesicht, und meineHand" (p. 187). 8 " Bern Thoren geb ich hier das, was des Thoren ist,

Ist gleich das Bild nur dein, und mein die Uberschrift"

(p. 26); cf. Matt. 22, 20.

' ' Driick hier in jeden Vers von Stelpo einen Kiss " (p. 302) . " Abriss eines Weltmanns, unter dem Gemahld von Pomponius

Atticus" (p. 22). 4 Preface, p. [xxvi].

526 WILLIAM GUILD HOWAED.

patience with those writers who conceived their art to consist in representing only the visible aspect of things.

With respect to theoretical, critical opinions, Wernicke's most conspicuous traits are a somewhat ostentatious l but none the less real independence of judgment,2 strength of conviction,3 and the habit of exacting from himself as well as from others a high degree of correctness.4 His point of view is essentially that of Boileau ; and like Boi- leau, he is a firm believer in the authority of Virgil, Hor- ace, Longinus, and Quintilian. Opitz advocated study of

1 "Der ich von Jugend auf gewohnet bin, nullius in verbajurare Magis- tri" (p. 18).

2 "Ich war damals in einen Emanuel Thesaurus, Juglaris und Mase- nius verliebt ; anitzo kan ich kaum einen Seneka und Plinius mit Ver- gnugenlesen" (p. 126).

3 " Wir haben Witz genug, aber wir lassen uns nicht Zeit genug etwas dauerhaftes zu schreiben . . . Weise und Francisci, vieler anderer anitzo zu geschweigen, hatten sich mit Recht einen Namen in Deutschland gemachet, wenn sie weniger geschrieben hatten . . . Weise insonderheit hatte wegen seines geschickten Kopfs und seiner artigen Einfalle viel gutes in der deutschen Sprache stiften konnen, wenn er sich auf was gewisses geleget, und dasselbe auszuarbeiten sich Zeit genug genommen hatte'* (p. 112 f.).

*Cf. the epigram, An den Leser (p. 213) :

" Wer gegen diese itzt die vorig Auflag halt, Der findet, wo ihm nur die Miihe nicht missfallt, Dass fast kein Verse nicht, den ich zuvor geschrieben, 1st, was er vormals war, und ohne Strich, geblieben." Likewise the detailed criticism of a series of Hofmannswaldau's verses (pp. 121-125), and this denunciation of German translations (p. 113) :

' ' Und woher kommt es, dass unsere Ubersetzungen so verachtlich, der Franzosen ihre hergegen in solcher Achtung sind, als dass wir so wenig Zeit auf die unsrigen, diese hergegen fast ihre ganze Lebenszeit auf die ihrige anwenden. Es ist bekannt, dass der beriihmte Vaugelas liber dreyssig Jahre an der Ubersetzung der kleinen Geschichte des Alexanders von Quintus Curtius beschrieben, gearbeitet ; und dieselbe hiedurch in solche Vollkommenheit gesetzet, dass Balzac von derselben gesaget hat : Que V Alexandre de Quinte Curce etoit invincible ; et celui de Vaugelas inimi- table."

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 527

the ancients as an indispensable preparation for the poet who wished to profit by his rules ; l he cited Aristotle, Cicero, Virgil, Horace, Quintilian and others — but not Longinus — in his Buch von der deutschen Poeterey; his immediate guides were, however, Scaliger and Ronsard. The situation is reversed in Wernicke. The title page of the UberscJiriften bears a motto from Horace. Each of its ten books has a motto from Yirgil ; 2 and Virgil likewise furnishes the mottoes for the Schdfergedichte and for the Heldengedicht, Hans Sachs genannt. In the notes to the Uberschriften Horace is quoted some thirty-five times, a considerably larger number than that by which any other author is represented. Quintilian is cited a dozen times in cases involving questions of rhetoric. Longinus' s treatise on the sublime is described as " einer der grossten Schatze, die uns das Altertum hinterlassen," 3 and is ad- duced several times. To Boileau, Wernicke pays the re- spect due to one of the best French poets and critics ; 4 but he does not stand in awe of him ; 5 and I suspect that

lBuch von der deutschen Poeterey, Neudr. I, p. 19. 2 "Des zweyten Vaters aller Poeten" (p. 90). »P. [xx].

4 " Boileau wird ohnstreitig von den Franzosen fur einen ihrer besten Poeten gehalten" (p. 71); cf. "die beriihmten Regnier und Boileau" (p. [xii]).

5 " Diese Worte sind dem Juvenalis abgelehnet. . . . Boileau nennet dieses eine verschmitzte Nachfolge der Alten . . . und verschweiget ganze Orter, die er haufenweise in seinen Gedichten den alten Poeten abgestohlen. Wir Deutschen aber sind hierinnen mit den Franzosen nicht einer Meinung ; und das ist vielleicht die Ursach, dass er unsre deutsche Musen vor ein- faltig halt" (p. 88). Wernicke invites comparison of his work with Boileau's in a note (sufficiently interesting to be quoted entire) to his epigram, Alexander vor des Diogenes JFass. The epigram runs as follows (p. 127):

"Der mit der ganzen Welt sich urn die Herrschaft schlug, Der wiinschte, nach sich selbst, Diogenes zu seyn ;

528 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

he valued Boileau as the translator of Longinus and the imitator of Horace rather than for any original merits in the legislator of the French Parnassus. His good opinion of Buckingham and Roscommon x is evidently based in part at least upon the fact that they drew from Horace much of the material in their respective Arts of Poetry.2 In short, Wernicke, for all his emulation of

Ein Fass war diesem nicht zu klein, Der hatt an einer Welt nicht gnug : O hatte seinen Wunsch das Schicksal ihm gewiihret, Ich wett, er hatte denn mehr als ein Fass begehret."

Wernicke annotates the last line : " Die Thorheit des Alexanders, der an einer Welt nicht genug hatte, ist von vielen verlachet worden. Juvenalis in seiner 10. Salyra sagt :

Unus Pellaeo Juveni non sufficit orbis, Aestuat infelix angusto limite mundi.

Boileau in seiner 8. Satyre giebt ihm den Namen eines beriihmten Hof- narren, welchen der Prinz von Cond6 aus Flandern nach Hofe gebracht : Ce fougueux I'Angely, qui de sang altere Maitre du monde entier, s'y trouvoit trop serre.

Ob nun gleich dieser letzte Vers dem lateinischen Poeten abgestolen wor- den, und den ersten, worinn er einen der grossten Helden der Welt einem Trompin, damit ich so dunkel als er selbst rede, vergleichetj ihm so leicht keiner abzustehlen sich geliisten lassen wird ; so hat ihn dennoch Bouhours als etwas sonderliches in seiner Manitre de bien penser angezogen. Allein ich zweifle nicht, dass die, welche dieses franzosischen Poeten Gedanken gegen meinen halten, so gleich darunter einen grossen Unterscheid in Ansehn beydes der Sittsamkeit und der Sinnlichkeit finden werden. Mehr will ich nicht sagen, damit man mich nicht unter die Zahl derjenigen rechne, von welchen Horatius sagt :

Oaudent scribentes; et se venerantur ; et ultro

Si taceas, laudant, quicquid scripsere, beati. Ep. 2, lib. 2."

1 " Und unter den englischen Poeten wird der erste Preis den Grafen von Rochester und Roscommon, und dem heutigen Herzog von Bu[c] king- ham und Normanby gegeben ; als welcher letztere, nebst andern sinnreichen Gedichten, eine schone Anweisung zur Dichtkunst, so wol als der Graf von Roscommon vor ihm, in Versen geschrieben hat" (p. [xvii]).

2 Buckingham's Essay on Poetry, 1682; Roscommon, Translation into blank verse of Horace's Ars Poetica, 1680 ; Essay On Translat ed Verse, 1684.

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 529

Martial in the form of his epigrams ; for all his indebted- ness to Boileau as an interpreter and codifier of laws ; and for all his discipleship to Opitz, was a Horatian and a classicist,1 not a pseudo-classicist.

It is well known that no one of Wernicke's authorities contributed anything to the proper differentiation of the arts of painting and poetry. Horace is not to be held accountable for the abuse of his phrase Ut pictura poesis; but his Ars Poetica starts, and for a hundred lines con- tinues intermittently, with analogies as between the two arts; and the verses (86 f.) chosen as a motto by Opitz,

Descriptor servare vices operumque colores Cur ego si nequeo ignoroque poeta salutor ?

put a question which, taken figuratively, may be answered in only one way, but, taken literally, need not be answered at all. Longinus's sublimity is a high style of expression in images and pictures ; 2 Quintilian refers to painting 3 only for purposes of illustration; and Boileau's Art Po- etique swarms with such words as peindre., peinture, image.,

1 Speaking of Lohenstein, Wernicke says: " Denn ich gestehe es mit Freuden, dass wenn dieser scharfsinnige Mann in die welschen Poeten nicht so sehr verliebt gewesen ware ; sondern sich hergegen die lateini- schen, die zu des Augustus Zeiten geschrieben, allein zur Folge gesetzet hatte ; so wiirden wir vielleicht etwas mehr als einen deutschen Ovidius an ihin gehabt haben " (p. 125).

2Cf. Cap. xv : "Images (Qavrafftai), moreover, contribute greatly, my young friend, to dignity, elevation, and power as a pleader. In this sense some call them mental representations (et'SwXoTroifas). In a general way the name of image or imagination is applied to every idea of the mind, in whatever form it presents itself, which gives birth to speech. But at the present day the word is predominantly used in cases where, carried away by enthusiasm and passion, you think you see what you describe, and you place it before the eyes of your hearers." Trans. W. K. Roberts, Longi- nus On the Sublime, Cambridge, Engl., 1899, p. 83.

SE. g., Inst. Oral, n, xiii, 8 ; xii, i, 1.

530 WILLIAM GUILD HOWAKD.

portrait, tableau for the poetic process and its products. Neither by inheritance nor by disposition would Wernicke be inclined to avoid this kind of terminology. He was given to the use of rather strikingly sensuous language, and thus predisposed to the adoption of such metaphors, so long current that nobody questioned their propriety in his day, or indeed can get along without them in ours. It is therefore more important to determine the manner of their use by Wernicke and their meaning in the light of his creative work than to note the fact that in using them he simply conformed to precedent.

Like Lessing, Wernicke was not a poet Dei gratia; he was a philosophical spirit who owed to critical insight the capacity to express himself in forms that come very near to being those of genius.1 In his hands, the epigram is the objectivation of a demonstrable idea. If his subject is an individual character, this character becomes typical of certain qualities inherent in human nature; so that it is not too much to say that Friedrich HebbePs " first and only rule of art," an der singulairen Erscheinung das Unendliche veranschaulichen,2 defines at least the inten- tion of Wernicke's compositions. The bombast of the Si- lesians consisted in the inflation of the symbols of ex- pression; their method was rather the contrivance of high- flown metaphors and similes for the sublimation of com- monplace objects than the excogitation of things to express that were not commonplace. Wernicke, on the contrary, starts with a cogitation, as is evident from this criticism of his predecessors : " Man halt daf iir, dass wir bisher in unsern Versen mit eiteln und falschen Wortern zu viel gespielet, und sehr wenig auf das bedacht gewesen, was die

1 Hamb. Dramaturgic, 101-4. Stuck. *Tgb., 5. Jan., 1836, ed. Werner, I, p. 29.

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 531

Welschen Concetti, die Eranzosen Pensees, die Engellander Thou[g^hts, und wir fiiglich Einfalle nennen konnen; da doch dieselben die Seele eines Gedichtes sind." 1 When he says, " Die hochste Vollkommenheit der Poesie aber be- stehet hierin, dass man erstlich die Anstandigkeit in alien Dingen genau beobachte; und hernach durch edle und grossmiithige Meynungen die Seele seines Lesers entziicke, und auf solche Weise aus der Poesie etwas gottliches mache," 2 he seems conventional, and would be negligible if he stopped there. " Noble sentiments " are, however, by no means the qualities that he most insists upon; and though he does not underestimate emotional elements in poetry,3 the quality that he represents, demands, and ad- vocates is not nobility, nor feeling, nor charm, nor beauty, but intellectuality. The poet, according to Wernicke, is a man not of nerves, but of brains ; and the prime requisite of a poetic style is what he calls Sinnliclikeit.

Wernicke uses the word SinnlicJikeit in a significance so different from the modern " sensuousness " and the like, and the conception is so characteristic of his way of looking at poetry, that it is worth while to collect all of the passages in which the word occurs. They follow in order : " Sintemal sich an demselben 4 einige vornehme Hofleute hervor gethan, welche Ordnung zu der Erfindung; Yer- stand und Absicht zur Sinnlichkeit ; und Nachdruck zur Reinlichkeit der Sprache, in ihren Gedichten zu setzen

XP. [xiv]. 2R [xvi].

3"Niemand schreibet wol, der nicht fiihlet, was er schreibet. Die Sinnlichkeit der Schule bestehet gemeiniglich in Dingen, die entweder wider, oder iiber die Natur zu seyn scheinen. Wer aber den Weltleuten gefallen will, derselbe muss mehr seinen Verstand als seinen Witz, mehr sein Herz als sein Gehirne zu Bath ziehen ; und sich festiglich einbilden, dass dieselben nichts fur schon halten, was nicht natiirlich ist" (p. 263 f. ).

4 1. e., dem preussischen Hofe.

532 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

gewusst " (p. [xv]). " Wolfliessende Verse zu schreiben, 1st die geringste obgleich nothige Tugend eines Poeten; und verdienet niemand diesen Namen, der nicht zugleich die Eigenschaft der Sprache, in der er schreibet, und derselben Starke zierlich auszudriicken, und dabey mit grosser Sinnlichkeit l zu schreiben weiss " (p. [xvi]). " Allein diese Metapher ist ohne Zweifel von denjenigen, von welchen Longinus in seinem Tmctatu de sublimi. Cap. 2 saget, dass sie wegen gar zu viel Sinnlichkeit ein- faltig sind " (p. 14). " Ich muss hier nochmals wieder- holen . . . dass in solchen Gleichnissen mehr Sinnlich- keit bestehe, als wenn man nach weit hergesuchten Griin- den schwarz aus weiss, oder weiss aus schwarz am Ende einer tiberschrift machet " (p. 55). " Ealsche Sinnlich- keit in den Uberschriften " (p. 73) — the title of the epigram which ends with the lines : —

"Wo man kein reissend Lamm beym bloden Wolf antrift. So halt Corvinus nichts auf einer Uberschrift. Er denkt, die Wahrheit sey der Sinnlichkeit Verbrechen, Und dieses Witz allein, was die Vernunft verkehrt ; Schatzt eine Missgeburt allein verwunderns werth, Und findt kein Schauspiel schon, als wo die Poppen sprechen."

" Die Eranzosen . . . sind diejenige, welche seit der Grie- chen und Romer Zeiten uns am besten gewiesen haben, worinnen eine mannliche Sinnlichkeit bestehe " (p. 103). " Eine jede Reihe,2 ein jedes Wort, zeigten durch eine gezwungene Sinnlichkeit nur gar zu viel die Jahre an,

1 Fulda, in quoting this sentence (p. 519) from Wernicke's third edition (1704) , prints Sinnbildlichkeit. This seems to be either a modernization or an error, or both.

2 Reihe = verse ; cf. " fast in jeder Keihe etwas nachzudenken " (p. 39). Grimm, TT6., vm, 638, has " Keihe fur geschriebene oder gedruckte Zeilen, mehr indessen mundartlich [nd.] als schriftdeutsch," with no citation from Wernicke.

CHRISTIAN WEBNICKE. 533

darin sie geschrieben. Der Welsche sagt von dergleichen Einf alien: Questo e bizarmente pensato. Und Demetrius Phalerius in seinem Buch de Elocutione nennt es malam affectationem, und fiihret desswegen einen an, der wunder gedachte, was er vor einen schonen Einfall gehabt hatte, als er von einem Centaurus sagte, dass er auf sich selber ritte: Centaurus equitans se ipsum " (p. 114). " Sieg in der Fluent gefunden. Die Sinnlichkeit dieser zwey sonst widerwartigen Worter . . . stimmt mit der Wahrheit so wol iiberein; dass dieselbe mehr von der Sache selbst, als des Verf assers Witz geflossen zu seyn scheinet ... so bin ich doch gewiss, dass er [der Gedanke] den andern nicht anstehen werde, welche keine Regeln der Sinnlichkeit vor richtig halten, als welche ihnen Cicero, Virgilius und Horatius 1 vorgeschrieben haben " (p. 118). " In Ansehn beydes der Sittsamkeit und der Sinnlichkeit" (p. 128); cf. supra, p. 527, note 5. " Eine ins Aug scheinende Sinn- lichkeit " (p. 129). " Sintemal derselbe [Gedanke] nicht allein in einer ungewungenen Sinnlichkeit bestehet; son- dern auch noch diese Sittenlehre mit sich fiihret : u. s. w." (p. 158). " Und giebt ihm denn auch noch, wenn er schon schweigt, Gehor. Dieweil man demjenigen, was er gesagt, nachdenket; Und wenn man die Sinnlichkeit der Sache begriffen, hernach eben so viel Yergniigung dariiber empfindet, als wenn man sie selbst erfunden hatte. Audi- toribus grata sunt haec, quae cum intellexerint, acumine suo delectantur; et gaudent non quasi audiverint, sed quasi invenerint. Idem [Quintil.] lib. 8., cap. 2." (p. 182). "Dass ich durch Sinnlichkeit nicht den Yerstand verstelle" (p. 186). "Durch den Schwung den Werth einer eignen Erfmdung, und durch die Zueignung eine spitze Sinnlichkeit gegeben " (p. 198). "Ob nun gleich

1 Cf. supra, p. 526 f.

534 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

dieser Spruch gemein 1st, so hat man doch demselben durcli den Schwung und die Yeranderung eine Sinnlichkeit nach dieser des Horaz Regel gegeben,

In verbis etiam tennis, cautusque serendis

Dixeris egregie: etc. De arte Poet. [46-48] " (p. 207).

" Nun stimmen hierin alle, so wol alte als neue, die uns eine Anweisung sinnreich zu schreiben gegeben haben, iiberein; dass es eine der grossten Sinnlichkeiten sey also zu schreiben, dass man allezeit einem geschickten Leser etwas nachzudenken lasse " (p. 230). "Die Sinnlichkeit der Schule u. s. w." (p. 263) ; cf. supra, p. 531, note 3.

" Macht, dass ich eilend zwar, doch nicht ohn Absicht schreibe ; Auf Sinnlichkeit gedenk, und doch verstandlich bleibe " (p. 279).

" Da steht, nicht weit von dem, ein stark und gross Gebaude,1 Der Fremden Zeitvertreib, der Eingesessnen Freude, Das ein beriihmter Mann, zu Nutz und Zier der Stadt, Der Kunst und Sinnlichkeit zugleich gewidmet hat "(p. 298).

The adjective sinnlich is likewise used by Wernicke in the sense of intellectual, ingenious, witty, clever, spirituel: " Nichts ergetzet den Yerstand eines sinnlichen Leser s mehr, als wenn man ihm ein Ding in dem andern; und in einem gemeinen Bilde eine nachdenkliche Sache vor- stellet. Ein gemeiner Leser halt sich an die eigentliche Worte; ein sinnlicher aber siehet im ersten Augenblick so weit als der Yerfasser, und weiss ihm Dank, dass, indem er geschrieben, er nicht alle seine Leser vor Dudentopfe gehalten habe " (p. 188). " Zehntes Buch. In sinnlichen und lustigen Begebenheiten bestehend " (p. 241). Cf. " verstand- und sinnlich " (p. 228) ; " sinnlich und ver- standlich " (p. 306). Wernicke also has sinnreich in this sense a number of times ; 2 SinnspriicJi (p. 34) in the

1 Theater.

2 Pp. [xv, xvii, xviii], 12, 50, 83, 122, 137, 181, 205, 214, 223, 224, 230.

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 535

sense of epigrammatic sayings; SinnsMuss in the sense of witty conclusion to an epigram ; l and unsinnig (pp. 52, 96), eigensinnig (pp. 96, 100), Scharfsinnigkeit (pp. 121, 122) in the usual meanings. He rejects Sinngedicht as a translation of Epigramma — " gleich als ob alle andern [poetischen Sachen] von einem Klotz ohne Sinn und Verstand konnten geschrieben werden " (p. 230).

Sinn und Verstand — mind and understanding, intellect, wit — these constitute the equipment of the poet; ideas (Einfdlle) furnish the impulse to write and the substance of poetic expression; concise, masculine, vigorous, sugges- tive and symbolical, but above all rational language is the appropriate poetic form. In an epigram Auf die schle- sische Poeten,2 Wernicke by implication defines a poet as one " Der jedes Dings Natur versteht, und sinnlich die vorstellt." The passage quoted above 3 in which " Ein- falle " are described as " die Seele eines Gedichtes " con- tinues, " Ja [man halt dafiir] dass auch eben die, welche sinnreich zu seyn gewusst, dennoch nicht eine nachdriick- liche und mannliche Art zu schreiben gehabt haben. In wolfliessenden Versen iibertreffen wir unstreitig die mei- sten Auslander . . . Aber eben diese Lieblichkeit kitzelt nur alien das Ohr, ohne ins Herze zu dringen ; und betriiget den Leser, welcher, durch die glatten Worte entziicket, der Sache gemeiniglich eben so wenig, als der Poet selbst, nach- denkt. Es sind Baume, welche aufs beste nur schone Bluthe, aber keine Eruchte tragen." 4 It is a truism when Wernicke says : 5

" Denn lasst die Uberschrift kein Leser aus der Acht, Wenn in der Kiirz ihr Leib, die Seel in Witz bestehet."

1 Pp. 6, 35 bis, 45, 78, 80, 99, 156, 157, 219.

2 P. 120 f. 3P. 531. *P. [xv].

5 P. 1 ; cf. p. 78 : "Denn dieselbe [i. e. eine Uberschrift] bestehet in der Kiirze, und ihr Witz gemeiniglich in widerwiirtigen Dingen."

536 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

His apology for length is more significant in itself and in what it implies : " Man will auch hoffen, dass der Leser aus dieser Uberschrift und einigen andern gleicher Art gar leicht ersehen wird, dass die Lange denenselben nicht allezeit nachtheilig ist, sintemal er darinnen nicht durch weitlauftige und nichts bedeutende Umstande von dem allein klingenden Ende aufgehalten, sondern weil er fast in jeder Reihe etwas nachzudenken findet, gemeiniglich unvermerkt, und unterweilen, eh er es verlanget, zu dem Schluss gefiihret wird." 1 This statement implies con- conciseness, pregnancy of meaning, and a proper balance of suspense and satisfaction, as general principles in poetry. Violation of these principles is one of the misde- meanors charged against the Silesians and the Italians: " Man findet in der That in den Trauerspielen des letz- tern 2 unterschiedliche vortreffliche Orter ; und unter de- nen einige, welche es in Ausdriickung einer Sache den besten alten Poeten gleich thun. Wenn man aber die Wahrheit gestehen darf, so hat er sich auch hierin unter- weilen durch seine Hitze so weit verfiihren lassen, dass er schone Sachen zur Unzeit angebracht, und prachtige Worte seinem Yerstande zum Nachtheil, und gleichsam in einer poetischen Raserey geschrieben hat." 3 " Weise und Francisci . . . sind zwey Fliisse, welche wegen ihres schnellen und ungewissen Laufs so viel Schlamm und Unflath mit sich fiihren, dass man den goldnen Sand derselben nicht erkennen kan." 4 As to the Italians : " Nun ist es unstreitig, dass dieselben am wenigsten unter alien andern zu folgen, weil in ihren Schriften mehr f al- scher als wahrer Witz, und vor eine reine Redensart hundert rauhe Metaphoren anzutreffen sind. Es gibt nur

XP. 39; cf. p. [ziii]. 2Lohenstein.

3 P. [xviii]. 4P. 113.

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 537

einen Guarini,1 und folgends nur einen getreuen Schafer unter denselben. Tasso selber hat in seinem Jerusalem mehr Sachen, die den Leser verfiihren als die demselben zur IJnterrichtung dienen kb'nnen."2 Instead of the " hun- dert rauhe Metaphoren" characteristic of an exuberant de- scriptive style, Wernicke's maxim, " In einem gemeinen Bilde eine nachdenkliche Sache vorstellen," 3 leads to the production of little pieces, sometimes obscure, sometimes over-intellectual, but nevertheless as truly representative of poetic style as the works of Goethe, or Kleist, or Uhland, or Hebbel, or any other manly man who gives us things and not merely words.

" Ein mannlicher Verstand im Schreiben iiberwegt Weit kergesuchten Witz, der jedes Blat aufschwellet : Denn jener gleicht der Frucht, die reif vom Baum abfallet, Und dieser der, die man vom Baum zu schiitteln pflegt." 4

Coming back now to the question with which we started, we are prepared by Wernicke's insistence upon the quality of SinnlichJceit to find him, in spite of his pictorial vocabu- lary, distinguishing to a certain extent between painting and poetry, and painting pictures in words that could not by any possibility be transferred to canvas. Goethe's Bedeutung and Schonheit 5 are paralleled in these sen- tences : " Ja es kostet weniger Miihe, einen Oedipus wie Seneka, als einen Davus wie Terentius gethan hat, aufzu- fiihren. Gemeine Mahler konnen das vom Wetter ge- hartete Gesicht eines Helden; aber die zarte Schonheit einer Yenus kan nur ein Apelles treffen." 6 Beauty is

*A somewhat surprising exception. Cf. "Guarini hat nicht weniger K-uhm unter den Welschen, als Boileau unter den Franzosen " (p. 71). 2 P. 121. 3 P. 188 ; cf. supra, p. 534.

4 P. 78. * Supra, p. 522.

6 P. [xix].

14

538 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

the end sought by the artist ; and Wernicke is aware how imitation, in the Aristotelian sense, leads to the creation of beautiful forms. Witness his epigram,1

11 An einen gewissen beruhmten Mahler. u Kein Wunder, dass du nicht die andern Mahler achtst, Die schon genug gelernt, wenn sie nur iihnlich mahlen, Indem du kiinstlich weisst die Gleichheit zu bestrahlen, Und Schonheit, wo du sie nicht vor dir findest, machst : Dein Pinsel der vermehrt der Liebe weites Keich, Du mahlst ein jedes Ding viel schoner, und doch gleich ; 2 Die andre geben nur der Schonheit die Gebiihr, Sie folgen der Natur : Du aber gehst ihr fur."

Beauty of form and color, quite apart from merits of expression, is also extolled as the ideal of the painter in the following clear and incisive passage : 3 " Mancher Hudler wird fur einen Kiinstler gehalten, weil er wol zu treffen weiss. Die Farben aber so zu mischen, und durch eine geschickliche Eintheilung der Schatten der Gestalt eine solche Rundigkeit zu geben wissen, dass ein Gemahld ohne andere Umstande an sich selber schatzbar ist, das ist das Werk eines Meisters." Furthermore, Wernicke is familiar with the use of objective symbols — " wozu aber den Kiinstler die Noth treibet " 4 — in the representation of personified abstractions. See the epigram,5

1 P. 28.

2 The epigram Auf Menalkas (p. 160) is a witty satire showing how painting furnishes symbols for expression in words without thereby pre- venting a different sort of depiction appropriate to words :

11 Menalkas kommt in meinen Saal,

Und ob gleich manch Gemahld hierinnen ihm behaget ; Doch schiittelt er den Kopf, und saget :

Dass ich ein Bild zwar gleich, doch ungestalter mahl.

Dass in der Einbildung ich manche Warzen schaffe, Und die auf fremde Wangen streich ;

Wolan, ich mahl ihn selbst itzt schoner und doch gleich : Hier stehts, Menalkas ist ein Affe."

3 P. 263. 4 Lessing, Laokoon, Kap. x, p. 225. 5P. 93.

CHKISTIAN WERNICKE. 539

"Auf die Schamhaftigkeit.

" An einen Mahler.

11 Mahl uns die Grossmuth ab an einer Marmorsaul ; Der Unverdrossenheit gehort des Herkuls Keul ; Der Tapferkeit ein blosses Schwert ; Der Massigkeit ein kleiner Hert ; l Die Wagschal der Gerechtigkeit ; Ein Spiegel der Verschwiegenheit ; Der Klugheit ein Entfernungsglass ; Und der Geduld ein Seekompass ; Wie aber bildet man die Scham, fragst du mich, ab ? O Einfalt ! mahle die mit einem Bettelstab."

Finally, in a note to the epigram, An den Leser,2 Wer- nicke shows perfect appreciation of the worth of artistic style : " Wo ein Mahler nicht allein ein Bild wol zu treffen, sondern auch in demselben eine gewisse vortreff- liche Eigenschaft entweder in der Zeichnung, in Ver- mischung der Farben, oder in der Schattirung also vor Augen zu stellen weiss, dass man ihn so gleich daraus im ersten Anblick wie einen Angelo, Raphael, Titian, Ru- bens oder Korreggio, von alien andern unterscheiden ; und folgends aus einem Bilde den Kiinstler so wol als die vorgesetzte Person erkennen kan, so kan er sich keines Meisterstiicks riihmen, und thut wol, dass er hinter der Decke verborgen bleibt."

Wernicke nowhere contrasts the poet and the painter with a view to expounding the difference in their modus operandi. Better than this, however, he illustrates the difference by an indubitable example, the epigram,3

1 Hert = Herd?

2 P. 187 ; quoted above, p. 525, note 2.

3 P. 68. M. le Clerc paid Wernicke the compliment of printing this epigram with cordial comments in the Mercure historique et politique for October, 1699, as a refutation of the notorious allegation of Father Bou- hours that a German could not be a bel esprit. Wernicke takes a pardon- able pride in calling attention to this fact. He appends the following

540 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

"Uhtcrricht an des Konigs von Grossbrittannien Mahler. "Gnug, dass du Irrland mahlst, und dass man Flandern sieht,

Wenn Wilhelm seinen Degen zieht ; Gnug, dass du England mahlst, und in erhobnem Licht

Das Parlament, wenn Wilhelm spricht ; Zeig uns die ganze Welt, und was ihr Wolseyn misst, Wenn Wilhelm in Gedanken ist."

Notwithstanding a certain fulsorneness, this eulogy is exceedingly well composed; it sustains itself at a high level and mounts to a still higher climax. It consists of a series of conceptions that approach sublimity when ex- pressed in words, and are utterly unpaintable on canvas. So far as the method is concerned, this is as genuine a specimen of effective verbal description as Homer's lines

translations of his own — highly interesting evidence of his command of

" Concilium Gulielmi Regis Pictori impertitum. "Hibernos pingas domitos, Belgasque quietos,

Cum Gulielmus agit victor in arma viros. Anglorum laeta praedarum fronte Senatum

Pingas, cum placido pectore verbafacit. Pande age sed lotum variis virtutibus orbem

Pacatum, ut, volvens plurima mente, tacet."

" Avis au Peintre du Roy. " Peins VHibernois soumis, le Flamand rasseure

Lors que tu vois Guillaume arme. Parle-t-il ? Peins alors attentif et content

Tout son auguste Parlement.

Mains peins le monde entier, ses interests, son bien, Lors que Guillaume ne dit rien."

"Advice to His Majesties Painter. "Ireland reduc'd, an[d] Flanders paint restor'd, When, call'd to succour, William draws his Sword. When William speaks, then represent With England its wise Parliament. But paint the World entire, and of it's happiness The different measures all, when William silent is."

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 541

on Helen of Troy ; l for if Homer conveys the impression of beauty by describing its effects,2 Wernicke also conveys an impression of valor, eloquence, and benevolent wisdom by setting forth the objects upon which these qualities are exercised.3 That he recommends these ideas to a painter is immaterial. He knows the difference between pictorial and verbal symbols. Specifically referring to his advice to a painter in the epigram Auf die Scham- haftigkeit,4 he thus " depicts " impudence : 5

" Gliick der Unverschdmten. 1 ' In einem Wirthshaus die geehrtsten, Und in der Schule die gelehrtsten ; Die kliigsten nach misslungnem Rath, Die tapfersten nach einer That. Die grossten Helden im Erdulden,

Ul. m, 156-158.

2Cf. Lessing, Laokoon, xxi, xxn, pp. 292 f., 295 ff., and these Publica- tions, xxu, 617.

8 If it be objected that this is not quite the same thing ; that the de- scription of beauty, a quality of form, presents a different problem from the description of valor, eloquence, and wisdom, qualities of character or accomplishment, better evidence that Wernicke' s method is Homeric may perhaps be found in the epigram (p. 26),

"An ArnariUis.

"Die Tugend wird zwar meist verlachet, Doch deine theure Schonheit machet, Dass jene man auch in dir preist ; Die Schonheit fallt zwar oft ins Netze, Doch deiner Tugend streng Gesetze Beschiitzet das, was jene weist. Die Welt fallt dem Gezeugniss bey, Das dir mein schwacher Mund itzt giebet ; Man lobt dich ohne Heucheley, Wie man dich ohne Hoffnung liebet."

The contrast between this sort of exposition, whether of beauty, or virtue, or valor, and, e. g., Lohenstein's, is manifest.

4 P. 93 ; quoted above, p. 539. Bodmer neglected to change Wernicke' s reference from "pag. 129" to p. 93. 6 P. 207.

542 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

Die besten Schlafer mit viel Schulden ; Die weitsten Wandrer in der Welt, Als scharfsten Spieler, ohne Geld. Die Giinstling unversuchter Weiber, Und der Lukrezen Zeitvertreiber ; Am fremden Tisch die ersten satt, Und reich, wo niemand sonst was hat. Die besten Heuchler, Liigner, Wascher, Wahrsager, Arzt und Zungendrescher ; Die erst im Welt- und Kirchenstand : Propheten all im Vaterland."

These are Einfalle, and are unpaintable. Here is a trans- lation 1 of the symbols of painting into words :

"Auslegung des Bilds der Gerechtigkeit. u 1st die Gerechtigkeit gleich blind, Doch fiihlt sie die, die nach ihr fragen ; Die gleiche Wagschal muss ihr sagen, Ob die Dukaten wichtig sind, Die man ihr zusteckt ; und sie halt Ein blankes Schwert in ihren Handen, Dass ihr die Diebe nicht das Geld, Das ihr geschenket wird, entwenden."

We should be led too far afield if we undertook to examine any considerable number of Wernicke's Gemahlde — whether so called or not — and we should find nothing inconsistent with the foregoing exposition. These " pic- tures " are characterizations ; consisting sometimes in the enumeration of qualities of mind or heart,2 but more often in the recounting of particular or habitual actions; that is, the exhibitions of character in conduct. Many of them are little narratives; some of the longer ones the poet ac- tually describes as comedies.3 I quote the shortest : 4

1 P. 102.

2 The compliment is of course not complete unless it includes a reference to distinguished personal appearance also.

3 " Es sind gleichsam kleineLustspiele,-in welchem nach einer iangen Ver- wirrung in dem letztern Auftrit alles in eine richtige Ordnung gebracht wird" (p. [xiv]).

*P. 211.

CHRISTIAN WERNICKE. 543

" Gemdhld des Leodorus.

" Des Reiches Zier zu Hof ; im Streit des Heeres Kraft ; Freygebig von Natur, doch mehr durch Wissenschaft ; Ansehnlich von Gestalt ; und als er jung noch war, Verwegen in der Lust, und kiihn in der Gefahr. Nie stammt ein Unterthan aus einem hohern Blut ; Kein Fiirst hat, der sein Keich erobert, grossern Muth ; Ain meisten dar geliebt, wo man ihn meistens kannt, Und, Vater von dem Volk, dem Konig gleich, genannt ; So gross, dass ich auch noch ihra nichts zu wiinschen find, Als dass er, und sein Kuhm, auf gleichen Fiissen stiind."

This is certainly no masterpiece ; nor can it be denied that in the eight Gemdhlde taken as a whole, Wernicke strikes us rather as a courtier than as a poet, though even in these he is no painter. We shall be more just to Wernicke the poet — denn da, wo er hofiert, ist er kein Dichter 1 — if we let him speak his last word in a characterization which is really representative, and was famous in its time, but has nevertheless not been included in Fulda's selec- tion:

" Ein jedes Ding hat seine Zeit. *

"Auf Alcestes. "Theilt seine Stunden nicht Alcestes richtig aus?

Bis eilf im Bett, hernach im Coffeehaus, Um zwolfe vor der Bors, um ein Uhr in der Schiissel, Bald in dem Kaisershof , bald in dem Bremerschliissel ; Von drey bis sechs da gilt es ihm gleich viel, Ob er im Brett, Truck, oder Kartell spiel ; Er stellet sich bis acht, nachdem die Tage seyn, Im Singspiel, oder auch in der Gesellschaft ein ; Von acht bis zehn da geht er in den Keller, Trinkt und verspielt gar oft den letzten Heller : Was aber folgt hernach ? Das weiss ich nicht gewiss, Weils Werke sind der Nacht und Finsterniss."

1Sit venia verbis. Lessing wrote of the didactic poet (Laokoon, xvn, p. 263), "denn da wo er dogmatisiret, ist er kein Dichter." 2 P. 116.

544 WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

So much for Wernicke as a predecessor of Lessing in the theory and practice of poetry. He was no more than a pioneer in either; but in both he represents a notable advance beyond the point reached by those who had gone before him. Along with the agreeable sensation always produced by a phrase neatly turned and a point well made, one gets from Wernicke's verses the impression that he had a firm grasp of fundamental truths; and from his critical remarks the same impression, however much his terminology may fail to keep pace with his thought. Not a philosopher, not even a poet, but a diplomat by profes- sion, he contented himself with obiter dicta in the tech- nical language then current, and did not feel called upon to prosecute systematic speculations, nor to attempt the improvement of definitions. Discriminating good sense, disciplined by the best masters of antiquity, and encour- aged by the example of the most exacting of contem- porary critics, enabled him to detect and to avoid the errors that were fashionable in his time. Instinct, per- haps, more than reason, but after all, rational instinct led him on the one hand to observe, and on the other hand at least to imply, a distinction which Lessing method- ically established. Wernicke ought not to have been so soon forgotten by his fellow-countrymen. Had he ex- erted an influence commensurate with his latent power to instruct, it is hard to see how Brockes's IrdiscJies Ver- gnilgen in Gott and translation of Thomson's Seasons, Haller's Alpen, and Kleist's Fruhling could have attained their prodigious popularity; and but for these, Lessing might never have been impelled to write his Laokoon.

WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD.

XXIV.— A CLASSIFICATION OF THE MANUSCRIPTS OF "OGIER LE DANOIS." l

The sole edition of the chanson de geste " Ogier le Danois," generally attributed to Raimbert de Paris, is that of J. Barrois, Paris, 1842, and bears the title : " La Chevalerie Ogier de Danemarche." This edition makes no pretence to critical accuracy.

II.

The known MSS. containing this poem are:

B: now in the library of Tours (No. 938); cf. Barrois, edition, pp. liii-liv. P. Meyer (Documents Manuscrits de Vancienne Lit- terature de la France conserve's dans les Bibliotheques de la Grande-Bretagne, Paris, 1871, p. 86, N. 3) dates this MS. in the thirteenth century. B forms the basis of Barrois's edition.

A: Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, No. 24403 (La Valliere, 78); dated by P. Meyer (op. cit., p. 86) in the last years of the thirteenth century. This MS. was used by Barrois along with B; cf. edition, pp. liv-lv.

M: Montpellier, Bibliotheque de PEcole de MeMecme, No. 247. See Catalogue des MSS. des Billiotheques des Dtpartements, I, pp. 377-9. This MS. is dated by P. Meyer (op. cit., p. 86) in the fourteenth century.

D: Durham, Library of Bishop Cosin, V. II, 17; dated by P. Meyer (op. cit., p. 86) at about the same time as B.

P: Paris, Bibliotheque Nationale, No. 1583 (anc. 7608-3) ; written

1 The material for this paper is drawn from a dissertation pre- sented in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at Harvard University (1908). The writer, who is preparing a critical edition of Ogier le Danois, desires to thank Professor Sheldon and Professor Grandgent of Harvard for their sympathetic encouragement.

5^45

546 BARRY CERF.

in the fifteenth century (P. Meyer, op. cit., p. 86). This MS. really contains two poems: the song attributed to Raimbert and a con- tinuation. The scribe of P had in mind the continuation while copying the older song, as may be seen from certain verses introduced in anticipation of the continuation: f. 25 verso, first col., w. 11-13 (interpolated after the verse corresponding to v. 3073 of the edition), f. 77 verso, second col., vv. 3-16 (after the verse corresponding to v. 9911 of the edition).

A MS. of the British Museum (Royal 15 E VI) is wrongly added by Groeber (Grundriss, n, p. 547, N. 7), to the MSS. containing our poem (see Ward, Catalogue of Romances, etc., I, 604 ff.; Barrois, edition, pp. Ixiiff.).

In referring to the MSS. I give folio, column (a, b = recto ; c, d = verso) and verse. In the case of B, for the convenience of the reader I usually give only the corre- sponding verse of the edition, correcting wherever necessary.

III.

It has been found that the MSS. are to be grouped as follows :

o

I quote a few of the many passages which show this classification to be exact:

For vv. 762-776 of the edition, M (91 c 12-21) reads as follows:

"... De chele ensengne me vois trop merveillant : Hui matinet Ten vi tourner fuiant; Or la nous as raportee ens u camp. Fet nous i as .i. damage si grant,

OGIER LE DANOIS. 547

Les vos resqueus et des nos ochis tant, Ni a cheli qui du gaaing se vant." Kespont Ogier: " Je vons en dirai tant Que faus seres se m'en queres avant: Prison sui Kail. 1'empereor puissant; .De Danemarche fu amene 1'autre an ..."

For these verses, D (60 a 28-37) reads:

"... De cele ensegne me vois molt mervellant : Hui matinet Ten vi tourner fuiant; Or le nous a reportee ens el camp. Mors a nos homes et desconfis el camp, Ni a celui qui de gaaing s'en vant. Comment as non? Ne me celes noient." " Voir," dist Ogier, " Jou t'en dirai itant Que pour noient m'en querroies avant: Non ai Ogier, par Dieu le Raiemant, Fieus sui Gauf roi ou Danemarche apent ..."

Unhappily P is here in very bad condition, but what remains shows that P agrees with D wherever D differs from M. P contained the verses in D beginning with " Comment " and " Voir," and the last two verses of P, 8 d 15-16 (cf. D), are:

"... J'ay nom Ogier, saiches certainement ;

Filz sui Gauf. qui Danemarche apent ..."

A has practically the same reading as B. After v. 1488, M (94 c 4-5) reads:

"... Poy priseroie en moi le vasselage S'a tel garchon avoie pris bataille."

DP have these two verses, and between them introduce this third verse:

"... Jamais honor n'avroie en mon cage ..." D 64 a 39, cf.

P 14 a 3.

548 BAKRY CERF.

After v. 2790, MDP add:

"... Par Mahommet molt es biau chevaliers :

De toi ochirre me prent grant pities." M 100 a 12-13.

DP add to these two the following verse:

"... Quant t'arai mort si en serai iries." D 72 c 9, cf .

P 23 c. 26.

The beginning of the second canto (vv. 3103 ff.) is quite different in the two versions X and Y. A offers only slight variations from B as printed in the edition. DP, with the exception of a few words, agree with M. M (101 a 42 ff., cf. D 73 + a 28 ff., P 25 d 1 ff.) reads as follows :

Oes, segnors, que Dex vous puist aidier,

Le glorieus qui tout a a jugier.

Oi aves des enfanches Ogier,

Le fix Gaufroi qui tant fist a proisier:

Onques son pere ne le pot avoir chier,

Quar chen feisoit sa desloial moullier;

Envers Kallon le fist forsostagier

Si que le roi li vout le chief trenchier,

Ardoir en fu ou en iaue noier

Quant Ten proia la roine au vis fier,

Maint due, maint conte, maint baron chevalier,

Ensorquetout Dunaimez de Bavier:

Kail, alerent le cordouen baisier;

Tant li proierent pour Dieu le droiturier

Que de la mort respiterent Ogier

Et a Kallon le firent apaier.

Molt Pama puis Kallm. au vis fier

Et 1'adouba et le fist chevalier

Et en bataille en fist gonf anonier ;

Puis li aida maint castel a bruisier.

Molt fu Ogier et preudons et entier

Et quant venoit a sez armez baillier

II n'estoit homme qui le feist plessier.

Ainc veve fame ne vout-il plaidoier,

Lor escu fu quant en orent mestier;

OGIEB LE DANOIS. 549

As orphelins vouloit tous jours aidier.

Que vous diroie? Trop fu preudons Ogier,

Molt ama Dieu qui tout a a jugier,

Bien servi Kail, o fer et a 1'achier.

Au desraain en ot mauvez louier

De son servise si com m'orrez nunchier

Se vous voulez entendre sans noisier,

Quar huimez well ma canchon commenchier.

Vv. 4318-4428 (BA) are condensed to 24 verses in MDP (M 104 d 34 ff., D 79 a 1 ff., P 32 d 24 ff.).

Instead of w. 5661-3 (BA), MDP introduce an epi- sode of 31 verses (M 109 b 3 fF., D 85 d llff., P 41 a 21 ff.).

For v. 6439 (BA), M (112 b 58 ff.) reads as follows:

" . . . Et au .s. temple dedens Jerlm.

Servirai, Sire, pour le vostre quemant: Guerrierai la sarrasine gent."

DP read these two verses and add a third (D 90 d 13, P 47 c 13).

MDP read several hundred verses not found in BA and omit many verses printed in the edition from BA. Some of these verses omitted in MDP are: 1422-3, 1438, 1442, 1548, 1585, 1810-1, 1906, 2057, 2424, 2427, 2452-9, 2559, 2561, 2602, 2604, 2685, 2721, etc.

The variation of Y from X grows more and more marked from the beginning to the end of the poem. We have in X and Y two decidedly different versions of the original poem. I cite a few errors in X (BA) and a few in Y (MDP) which show the independence of the two versions: neither one is a copy of the other.

Errors in X corrected from Y :

In v. 512 change vees to ou est.

In v. 905 change cent (BA) to rens.

550 BARRY CERF.

In v. 1055 change caoir (BA) to seoir. Before v. 1974 supply this verse from Y:

Et Kallot point, fiert s'en 1'eaue courant.

Vv. 3064-5 are absurd. They are to be corrected from the text of Y:

"... Lui et s'amie qui tant a le vis cler

Donnasse ilomme et la terre a garder."

V. 4074 should read:

Car c'est li horn que il plus avoit chier.

After v. 6692 supply this verse from Y: S'ara Ogier fet traire a mal destin

(cf. vv. 7233-4, 7559-60, 8115-6, etc.). In v. 8285 change estables to entailles.

Errors in Y:

Vv. 2452-9 are omitted in MD (P has a variant for this tirade). V. 2460, coming abruptly after v. 2451, is sense- less, and the passage following has no meaning,

V. 4117 reads as follows in MDP :

"... Si fu ton pere," dist-il au due Ogier.

The verses following are accordingly addressed to Ogier instead of to Desiderius, and confusion results.

V. 4275, necessary for the sense of the passage, is omitted in MDP.

In v. 7954, MDP wrongly read Kallon for Eaimbaut. Charles comes up at v. 7970.

In v. 10281, AMD (A is in this part of the poem a Y MS., see § iv; P. has a variant for this passage) read

OGIER LE DANOIS. 551

naie for obscure. Naie is doubtless a corruption (asso- nance in -u-e) for mue. MD read for v. 10362 :

Ou il cachoit aval la chartre mue.

Ko one of the existing MSS. is a copy of any other. Fundamental differences throughout the poem or date of execution preclude all possibilities except that A may be a copy of B and P of D. That these possibilities are not facts is shown by errors in B not shared by A and by errors in D not found in P.

Errors in B not found in A :

In v. 853 change Rosne to Toivre (AY).

In v. 1344 change I'Ardenois to le Danois (AY).

In v. 2730 the name of Brunamont's sword is given: Nabugodonosor (AY) ; the name is not mentioned else- where in the poem.

Many verses omitted in B are found in AY: vv. 230-2, 335, 1195, 2851-2, 2866, 3091, 3112, 3188-3217 (30 verses: probably one column of B's original), 3282, 3916, etc.

Errors in D not found in P:

In v. 7, D has Paris instead of Saint-Omer (BMP).

The mother of Baudouin, according to D (55 b 20), is Beuseline. P has correctly Beatris in this passage (1 c 12) and again at 1 d 25. In v. 8817, all MSS., in- cluding D, have Beatris.

In v. 1894, D reads :

"... Faus fu ses peres quant 1'envoia de cha ..."

P has the reading of AM.

D ends v. 5541 with: " si est revigoures." P has the

reading of BM.

*

552 BAKKY OERF.

For v. 9817 P Las the reading of AM. D stupidly reads :

Icil avoit .iii. nes et .iii. dromons.

Many verses omitted in D are found in BAMP : vv. 1791, 2077, 2219, 2229, 2245, 2627, 3251, 5492, 6465- 6, etc.

IV.

The classification studied above is exact for all parts of the poem with two exceptions: from v. 9276 to the end A belongs to the Y group; in vv. 12185-12952, M has shifted to the X group. The grouping is to be altered as follows :

(For vv. 9276-12184 :) (For vv. 12185-12952 :)

With the omission of v. 9276 by AMDP begins the agreement of A with MDP. Barrois has printed almost all the variants of A. With trifling exceptions, MDP offer in all these cases the readings of A, while B stands alone. For a few of the longer variants of AMDP from B, see the following foot-notes in the edition: p. 389 1ST. 1 (19 vv.), p. 392, K 1 (32 vv.), p. 400, K 1 (128 vv.), p. 411, K 3 (11 vv.), p. 432, K 3 (19 vv.), p. 440, K 1 (35 vv.), p. 456, ST. 1 (33 vv.), p. 465, 1ST. 1 (86 vv.).

OGIEE LE DANOIS. 553

The scribe of M has changed MSS. at v. 12184 ; v. 12183, omitted in B, is read in AMDP ; v. 12185, read in ADP, is omitted in BM. From this point to v. 12952 all the verses which Barrois has printed from A are lacking in M. Wherever Barrois has indicated a variation of A from B, M stands with B. At v. 12952 the accord of B and M ceases, and the scribe of M continues the poem after his own fancy. That he does not return to a MS. of the Y group can be ascertained by a comparison with P, the only remaining MS. of this group, A and D being acaudate.

Against the almost absolute identity of M and B in w. 12185-12952 stand about a dozen cases in which M agrees with ADP in opposition to B. These few cases suffice to prove that M was not copied from B but goes back independently to X. The following almost exhaust the list of variations of M from B in these verses:

The following verses, omitted in B, are found in MADP: p. 515, K 6, p. 518, ST. 1-v. 2, p. 518, K 6, p. 527, N. 2-v. 2, p. 543, K 1.

Yv. 12353, 12710 are omitted in MADP.

M has the reading of ADP in the following verses : vv. 12473 (B has un for quatre), 12532, 12693, 12711.

Y.

Raimbert de Paris, to whom the poem here studied has been generally attributed, was probably the author of Z. Throughout the entire poem D and P stand more or less apart from the other MSS. But the beginning (about 1370 verses) represents what the author of Z .certainly in- tended to make an entirely new version of the story. The variation of DP from BAM in this part of the poem is so considerable that if the author had continued his work,

15 0

554 BAKKY CEEF.

D and P would probably never have been considered to contain the same version of the poem as BAM. But at v. 1370, approximately, the author of Z tired of his task and was content with simply copying the rest of the poem. The gradual approach of DP to the other MSS. is proof that there was not a change of MSS. : the scribe of Z did not copy the beginning from one MS. and the rest of the poem from another. The author of Z names himself " Raimbert de Paris " in the fourth line of his version : Barrois prints the first few verses of D (p. xliv). That the author of Z used a Y MS. as the basis of his uncom- pleted " remaniement " has already been shown (§ III).

VI.

In the preparation of a critical text, the version of X is to be preferred to that of Y. Could two versions be placed side by side, it would be immediately manifest that in numberless passages X preserves the simplicity of the old poem, whereas Y amplifies the text beyond reason. Y has also an unhappy propensity to tamper with the asso- nances, sometimes substituting rimes in whole tirades. A striking example of Y's treatment of the assonance vowels is found in vv. 11381-11404. In this tirade B has a feminine assonance in -a. Y, unable to accept such asso- nances as armes-faire (i. e., -a-e, -ai-e), has altered the text so as to suppress all words in -a-e and has, further- more, by suppressing such words as laische reduced the tirade to a rime in -ere.

B has been recognized by all who have discussed the relative value of our MSS. as the one which retains most traces of the original song (e. g., P. Meyer, op. c%t., pp. 85- 86). To control B, we must use A for vv. 1-9275 and M

OGIER LE DANOIS. 555

for vv. 12185-12952. The agreement of A, in vv. 1- 9275, or M, in vv. 12185-12952, with Y will be sufficient to overbalance the authority of B. For these verses we can arrive at a fairly satisfactory text. But in vv. 9276- 12184 B unhappily stands alone. In vv. 12952 to the end, P affords very little help, M is practically useless, AD show lacunae.

BARKY CERF.

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

Modern Language Association of America,

19O8.

VOL. XXIII, 4. NEW SERIES, VOL. XVI, 4.

XXV.— THE CLEOMADfiS AND RELATED FOLK-TALES.

I.

Among the many baffling problems of Chaucerian schol- arship are those connected with the Squire's Tale. To undertake a satisfactory solution of these is to court dis- aster. The attempt confounds us. One may, however, with all modesty endeavor to fix one's bearings in the area of story-land to which this poem belongs. To know where we are is almost as gratifying as to discover a source, and it is sometimes more instructive. If, then, I can do any- thing to further a survey of the narrative neighborhood of the Squire's Tale and its nearest analogue, the Cleomades, my work may be serviceable. Perhaps, too, this paper may put in a clearer light the probabilities in regard to Chaucer's method and inspiration while at work upon one of his best known Tales of Canterbury.1

1 It will be noticed throughout that I have found Mr. Clouston's Magic Elements in the Squire's Tale very serviceable. Professor Kittredge, too, has given me very great aid and comfort in the course of this investigation.

557*

558 H. S. V. JONES.

The story of the Cleomades is as follows : — Ynabele, daughter of the King of Spain, is married to Marcadigas, son of Caldus, King of Sardinia. They have one son, Cleomades, and three daughters, Elyador, Feni- adisse, and Marine. Marcadigas, in the absence of his son, is, with great difficulty, defending his land against five kings, one of whom he has challenged to single combat. In the meantime, Cleomades, hearing of his father's hard case, returns from France, is knighted at a festival, and enables Marcadigas to overcome the champions of the op- posing side, — Garsianis, King of Portugal; Bondart le Gris, King of Gascony; Galdas des Mons, sire of Tou- louse; Agambart le Long, King of Aragon; and Sormant le Rous, King of Galicia.

At this time there are in Africa three kings who have great riches; their kingdoms are adjacent; greatly they love one another. Each of them knows a great deal of " clergie," necromancy, and " astronomic." Two of them are seemly enough, but the third, named Crompart, is " lais, petis et bogus." These three kings, having heard of the radiant beauty of the three Spanish princesses, hold a council, at which they decide to proceed in state to King Marcadigas and ask him for his daughters. Crompart, thinking uneasily of his ugliness, suggests that each of them should give the king " un jouel de tres grant richece," in order to predispose him in their favor.

" Quant il se furent arr66 Aprfes ce ont pou sejorn6. Tant ont li uns 1'autre atendu Que ensamble sont revenu." 1

The African kings bring their gifts to Marcadigas on 1 Cleomad&s, ed. van Hasselt, 1843 ff.

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 559

his birthday. Melocandis brings a man of gold with a golden trumpet ; Baldigant, a hen with six chickens, all of gold and able to walk and sing; Crompart, a horse of ebony that can travel as swiftly as an arrow shot from a bow. Marcadigas, well pleased with these gifts, offers his visitors anything they desire. They at once ask for the three princesses. The two older sisters are satisfied with their handsome suitors, Melocandis and Baldigant, but Marine is deeply distressed by the request of Crom- part. The unhappy girl takes her trouble to her brother, Cleomades, who promises to protect her from the displeas- ing suitor. In the meanwhile all the gifts are to be tested, and Cleomades is to try the horse.

When Cleomades mounts the magic steed, the man of gold vigorously sounds his trumpet, but it is to no purpose. Crompart goes in front of the horse, turns a little pin, and horse and rider are presently lost to sight. Crompart is then placed in confinement, and the nuptials of his brother kings are indefinitely postponed.

Cleomades, borne quickly through the air, learns in time the mechanism of his wonderful horse. He descends upon the roof of a tower, passes through a trap-door, and enters an apartment in which he finds a table well supplied. After partaking of the food, he comes upon a " grant vilain," and later, having crossed a corridor, enters a chamber where four maidens are asleep. The castle is Castle Noble, the apartments are those of the. princess Clar- mondine, and the maidens are the princess herself and her "^hree"attendants, Florete, Gaitie, and Lyades. Cleomades makes bold to kiss the princess ; she awakens and asks him whether he is not Bleopatris, to whom her father has promised her. He says that he is, and she then asks him to withdraw while she dresses. Later, when the lovers are

560 H. S. V. JONES.

surprised by the girl's angry father, our resourceful hero is not found wanting. Every three years, he says, the persecuting fairy folk have him carried away on a wooden horse that takes him rapidly over the world, exposing him to serious dangers. Carmant, Clarmondine's father, sends to the roof of the tower for the strange device. Cleomades, when he is condemned to death, asks for the privilege of dying upon his horse. The request is granted and the hero makes good his escape.

After Cleomades returns to Seville, the nuptials of his two older sisters are celebrated. Crompart, who has been banished the court, remains in the neighborhood attending the sick. He could not go home because he had committed certain crimes, which, according to the custom of his coun- try, must be expiated by a seven years' exile.

Cleomades, after an impatient stay at Seville, sets out once more on his magic horse for Castle Noble. Arriving there in the daytime, he hides until nightfall in a grove adjacent to Clarmondine's apartments. He then enters her chamber, awakes her with two kisses, and tells her that he is Cleomades, son of the King of Spain. When the sun is rising, Cleomades and Clarmondine effect their escape, Cleomades shouting to King Carmant that he is Marcadigas' son.

When the travellers reach Seville, Cleomades leaves his amie in a garden just outside the city, while he goes to prepare a suitable reception for her. Crompart then meets with Clarmondine and, noticing his ebony horse, takes in the situation at a glance. Having persuaded the girl that he is her lover's emissary, sent to escort her to the court, he soars away with her. Clarmondine, who finds herself in a perilous situation, tells Crompart that she is a silk- weaver of Lombardy, engaged by Cleomades to work for

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 561

his sisters. While the two are resting in a meadow, Crom- part is overcome by the hot sun, and Clarmondine, op- pressed by sorrow and fatigue, falls asleep.

In this condition, the beautiful princess and her ugly abductor are found by Meniadus,King of Salerno, and his followers, while they are out hunting. That was a good flight of the hawk, exclaims the poet, that brought Menia- dus to Clarmondine. Meniadus commands that Clarmon- dine shall be escorted to his palace with the greatest consideration, but that Crompart shall be thrown into prison. During the night the wicked Crompart expires and next morning Meniadus sues Clarmondine for her love. She obtains a respite of three months. When this period is almost at an end, she decides to feign madness, in order to escape his importunity.

In the meantime there is an unsuccessful search for Clarmondine at Seville. Cleoniades finds one of her gloves but no other trace of his losj: -miat-pppg He will search for her throughout the world. After traversing many coun- tries, he comes to Greece, where there is a war in progress with Primonus, King of Chaldea. Our hero first helps the Greeks to conquer the Eastern king and then presses on through Sicily to Venice. Thence he travels by wild and unfrequented ways, while at home his mother and sisters are distracted with sorrow and his father has died of grief. One night Cleomades reaches the castle of Mount Estrais. After he has been well received, he is told that a strange custom prevails at that castle: every man entertained there must on the following morning either leave his arms and horse behind or singly engage two knights. Cleomades, having chosen the latter alter- native, fights the two knights and is victorious. Notwith- standing the ungenerous custom that they strive to main-

562 H. S. V. JONES.

tain, his vanquished opponents appear to be courteous chevaliers. One of them, who has been badly wounded, is sorrowful because he shall now be unable to go to the rescue of a damsel wrongfully accused. The maiden in the case is Lyades, one of Clarmondine's attendants. She, together with her companions, has been charged with treason by Bleopatris, the disappointed suitor of the prin- cess. Durbant and Sartant, the two knights against whom Cleomades has contended, are in love with two of the accused damsels. Cleomades promises to take the place of Sartant, the wounded knight.

With Durbant and the minstrel Pinchonnet, Cleomades, disguised, sets out for the court of King Carmant. The party is first lodged at an inn, near Castle Noble, a loca- tion from which Cleomades wishes to move because he cannot look with composure upon Clarmondine's home. Durbant accordingly finds new lodgings in Verde Coste, the house of Lyades' father. In the tournament that fol- lows, Cleomades and Durbant successfully defend the dam- sels charged with treason, and then return with them to Verde Coste. There the girls discover the identity of Cleomades. The hero, still accompanied by Pinchonnet, now takes the road to Rome, searching for his beloved through many countries until he reaches Salerno, the king- dom of Meniadus. Instead of asking toll, this ruler re- quires all comers to tell him news of the strange lands through which they have travelled.

When Cleomades has reached Salerno, he goes to an inn. There he learns of Clarmondine^madness. Sus- pecting the true nature of her malady, he obtains a false beard and the habit of a physician. Tims attired, he secufes^an interview witH the king, as a result of which he is conducted to Clarmondine's apartment. Cleomades,

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 563

who has brought Clarmondine's glove filled with herbs, easily makes himself known to his beloved. She speedily shows marked symptoms of improvement and calls for her ebony horse. The new physician advises that this harm- less whim of his patient should be indulged ; the horse is accordingly produced and the lovers make good their escape. As they soar away, Cleomades calls out that he is the Prince of Spain and that his companion is Clar- mondine, daughter of the King of Tuscany.

Piiichonnet now tells Meniadus the whole story of the adventures of Cleomades and the fair Clarmondine. He then goes to Verde Coste and recounts to Lyades all that had happened. Finally he takes his story to Carmant, who learns with joy' that his daughter is safe, and to Dur- bant, to whom he makes known the strange knight's iden- tity.

After stopping several times to rest by the way, Cle- omades and Clarmondine reach Seville in safety. There follows a magnificent feast to which almost everybody in the story is bidden, even the five kings conquered by Cle- omades and his father. Besides the weddings of Cleo- mades, Melocandis, and Baldigant, the following nuptials are celebrated: — Meniadus marries Marine; Carmant marries Inabele. Further, Pinchonnet is knighted and Durbant and Sartant are made dukes.

II.

The theme of winning or rescuing a girl by means of an aerial journey, specifically with the aid of a wonderful horse, is widely current in folk-tales. In a number of these the hero serves a magician, either kindly or malig- nant, and as a return for his services or through trickery

564 H, s. v. JONES.

obtains an extraordinary horse, which helps him to win a girl in some competitive contest. In other stories the ho;v. having left his magician-master, resides as a menial at the king's court. There he wins a princess by the prodigious deeds of valour which his helpful steed enables him to perform. In many of these tales, called Goldcncr- m-archen, he obtains golden hair early in the story : in many of them, called sometimes Glasberg march en, he scales a glass mountain. But inasmuch as these classes are by no means well defined, their designations are not very useful.

The Goldencrmarchen cycle is well represented by a story in Leskien-Brugmann's Litauische Volkslieder und Mdrchen (No. 9) : — A king's three sons go hunting. One of them, wandering away from the others, conies in time to a palace. He enters and finds upon a table as much meat and drink as his heart could desire. Soon an old man appears and asks the hero why he is in the palaee. After he has explained his presence, he is employed by the old man to look after the fire and a horse. Following the advice of the horse, he anoints his hair with an oint- ment that makes it glitter like diamonds. He then pro- cures various magic articles, mounts his helpful animal, and runs away from his master. He is pursued, but with the aid of his magic objects he makes good his escape.

The hero now learns from his horse the comforting news that the old man is dead. He is told, too, that if he should strike the ground with a certain stick, the earth would open and reveal a subterranean castle. As soon as the castle appears, the horse is led into it and left there, while the hero, still following the advice of his horse, goes to the palace of a king nearby and asks to be taken into his service. He is appointed royal gardener, having taken care in the meantime to conceal his diamond hair.

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 565

The omniscient horse contrives to inform his master that many suitors are coming to urge their claims for the king's three daughters. The awards are to be made as f ollows : each princess will set rolling a diamond apple and he at whose feet it stops will be her chosen one. The apple of the youngest and most beautiful daughter, says the prophetic horse, will come to the gardener of the diamond locks. And so it all came to pass. But the king, ashamed of his son-in-law, compels the garden-boy and his beautiful wife to live apart from the court.

The hero, however, soon comes into his own. When a war breaks out between the king and his enemies, the king's disgraced son-in-law is vouchsafed only a sorry steed for the combat. At this juncture, the wonderful horse appears, permits the hero to mount him, and furnishes the most resplendent armor and the most powerful sword. Thus accoutered, the garden-boy goes forth to conquer miraculously the enemies of the king. At the close of the battle he modestly withdraws before he is recognized. All this happens a second time; but in the third battle the hero is wounded and the king binds the wound with his own handkerchief. While the wounded man is lying ill in bed, his diamond hair and the king's handkerchief are noticed by his wife. The identity of the valorous knight is then discovered, and upon this discovery the horse, who is king of the underground palace, becomes a man.

A familiar story in Hahn's Griechische und Albane- sische Mdrchen has much in common with the tale just summarized. A variation in the introduction and the employment of the Forbidden Chamber motive make it of special interest. A disguised demon promises children to a childless king on condition of being repaid with the eldest. The demon gives the king an apple, which he

566 H. S. V. JONES.

shares with his wife. Not long after this three sons are born. His progeny once assured, the king tries to foil the demon by guarding his children in a tower of glass. One day, when the children have escaped from confine- ment, the eldest is seized by the demon and taken to his underground palace. Here are forty rooms, of which the hero is allowed to enter thirty-nine. He is also given a book to learn. But this does not satisfy his curiosity. He contrives to get the key to the forbidden chamber, opens that mysterious apartment, and there finds a maiden suspended by the hair. When he has taken her down, she tells him to feign inability to learn his lessons and then requests that -she may be suspended once more. With the help of his book the hero secures magic articles, changes the girl into a mare, and then rides away on her back. He is pursued, but by throwing his magic articles behind him he creates obstacles between his pursuer and himself. By means, too, of changing his form he gets away from his master in safety and is in good time united to the heroine.1

1 Johann G. von Hahn, Griechische und Albanesische Mdrchen, Leipzig, 1864, No. 68. On p. 286 Hahn quotes an interesting vari- ant from Epirus, which has much in common with the Bluebeard type. The motive of the pursuit and wonderful objects obstructing the pursuer is wide-spread. See Radloff, Proben der Volkslittera- tur der Twrkischen Stamme Sud-Sibiriens, m, 383; Frere, Old Dec- can Days, pp. 62 and 63; Captain T. H. Lewin, Progressive Collo- quial Exercises in the Lushai Dialect of the Dzo or Kuki Language, with vocabularies and popular tales, Calcutta, 1874, p. 85; G. McCall Theal, Kaffir Folklore, 1882, p. 82; Folk-Lore Journal, 1883, I, 234; Jones and Kropf, Folk-Tales of the Magyars, p. 157; Folk- Lore Journal, 1883, p. 286. For other parallels see the voluminous note in Jones-Kropf, The Folk-Tales of the Magyars, London, 1889, 393 ff. — A story very similar to the one summarized from Hahn appears in Guillaume Spitta-Bey, Contes Arabes Modernes, Paris, 1883, 1 ff. The story of Hasan of Bassorah in the Thousand and One Nights is very similar to the Slavic tale but it lacks the magic horse.

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 567

For tales of the kind now being considered Cosquin distinguishes four main types of Introduction: — (1) the simple Teacher-Scholar type; (2) the hero before birth is promised by his father to the magician, the father either failing to understand the import of the contract or mak- ing the contract with open eyes; (3) the hero, having re- leased a wild man held captive by his father, is exposed, taken to the wild man's castle, and in various ways assisted by him; (4) a queen who has been childless, eats of an apple given her by a Jew while a mare eats the peelings ; — the woman and the mare are delivered at the same time, the colt later saving the young prince from the machina- tions of the queen and her lover the Jew.1

A group of stories which have much in common with the type under discussion is represented by Grimm's Ferdi- nand True and Ferdinand Untrue.2 This tale contains the kindly magician, the helpful horse and other helpful animals, and the hero as a servant to the king. The hero, however, marries the queen, who has previously put her husband to death. Another familiar story belonging in the same general class is Robert the Devil.3 Here again appear the helpful horses that assist the hero in over- coming the enemies of his master the king. Besides, Robert marries the princess.

The Forbidden Chamber appears in many mdrchen

1 Cosquin, Contes Populaires de Lorraine, I, 139 ff.

3 See Panzer, Hilde-Gudrun, 259 ff. Cosquin, Contes, I, 44 ff.; n, 294 ff. The story of Ferdinand has been hospitable to magic articles of all kinds. See Cosquin, I, 32 ff.

1 A convenient summary is in Ashton, Romances of Chivalry, 305 ff. See Histoire litteraire de la France, xxn, 879. Cf. Emil Benze", Orendel, Wilhelm von Orenze und Robert der Teufel, eine Studie zur Dcutschen und Franzosischen Sagengeschichte, Halle, 1897. Lie- brecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 107.

0

568 H. S. V. JONES.

of the kinds so far considered. As in the story from Hahn, the room sometimes contains a girl, who gives the hero advice, is magically transformed into a mule, and carries the hero away upon her back. In Leskien-Brug- mann, No. 9, the horse is an enchanted human being at the beginning of the story and is disenchanted at the end. In Hahn 45, the horse is not the result of enchantment at all and the Forbidden Chamber contains no other evidence of the cruelty of the draJcos except the perversity of placing bones before a horse and hay before a dog.

The association of animals with the Forbidden Chamber is, of course, not limited to the group of stories now being considered. It appears, for instance, in the more familiar Bluebeard type. The animal is sometimes on the side of the malignant monster, sometimes with the heroine. In Imbriani, La Novellaja Fiorentina, ~No. 23, the monster threatens that his bitch will reveal his wife's guilt. In two Celtic stories a cat helps the heroine. In one of these the animal takes the form of a woman on drinking milk; in another it offers to remove the tell-tale blood on the heroine's foot in return for a drop of milk, and, having received this, it gives instructions for restoring the sisters by means of a magic club. In certain tales of the The Third Royal Mendicant type an animal of some kind, found behind the forbidden door, either takes the hero to his happiness or causes him to lose it. Many of these stories involve not merely the motive of the grateful or helpful beasts but the widespread and significant super- stition that animals can help or hinder mortals who are under the influence of otherworld creatures and that they can transport mortals to the otherworld.1

1 For further information upon the Goldenermarchen cycle, see

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 569

In many stories the hero's wonderful horse is employed in some kind of competitive contest. The magic steed or steeds in these tales is sometimes obtained as a reward for a faithful grave-watch. Both of these features appear in ~No. 4 in Leskien-Brugmann, ISTo. 4 in Schiefner, and No. 13 in Kreutzwald-Lowe. The competition in such stories often consists in high- jumping, sometimes in scaling on horseback a glass mountain. A tale in Zingerle's collec- tion tells of a young shepherd who carelessly lets his sheep go into a forbidden meadow. There he overcomes three dragons. The first has one head, the second two, the third three. From these he secures keys of iron, silver, and gold respectively, by which he is admitted into the subter- ranean halls. In the first of these he finds a black horse and a suit of iron armor, in the second a red horse and a suit of silver armor, in the third a white horse and a suit of gold armor. Mounted on these horses he takes three

Grimm, Kinder- und Hausmarchen, in, 218 ff.; Kb'hler, Jahrbuch f. rom. u. engl. Lit., vin, 256 ff. (Kleinere Schriften, I, 330 ff.) ; Leskien und Brugmann, Litauische Volkslieder und Marchen, 537 ff. — A note of Grimm's about the service of the hero and his golden hair is interesting : " Das marchen mag eine alte Grundlage haben und von einem hoheren halbgottlichen Wesen erzahlen, das in die Gewalt eines Unterirdischen gerieth und niedrige Arbeiten verrichten musste bis es wieder zu seiner hoheren Stellung gelangte; die goldenen leuch- tenden Haare weisen darauf hin." KHM., in, p. 219. Compare with the tales summarized in the text: — Miillenhoff, Sagen, Marchen, u. s. w., No. 12; Wolf, Hausmarchen, p. 269; Sommer, Sagen, Mar- chen, und Gebrauche aus Sachsen und Thuringen, pp. 88, 133, 135; Zingerle, Tiroler Kinder- und Hausmarchen, No. 28; Vernaleken, Osterreichische Kinder- und Hausmarchen, No. 8. The references might easily be multiplied. Liebrecht has shown that the type is widespread: — VolksJcunde, pp. 106 and 107; Gottingische Gelehrte Anzeigen, 1868, p. 1656, and 1870, p. 1417; Heidelb. Jahrl., 1869, p. 115.

570 H. S. V. JONES.

times a flower from the hand of a princess seated on a column.1

It is clear that the stories which have been so far summarized cannot be brought into any close relation with the Cleomades. They remind us, however, that there are many otherworld creatures who are in a class with Crompart and who possess wonderful horses ; furthermore, that there are many tales in which these horses come into the possession of mortals who employ them in affairs of love. So much of the Cleomades, then, — the winning of a woman by the aid of a wonderful horse obtained from an otherworld creature — is widespread in folk-tales. The other main portion of the French romance — the rescue of a woman by the aid of a wonderful horse — is also of wide currency.

A story similar in many respects to those already sum- marized and of special interest on account of the abduc- tion and rescue of the heroine is found in Wenzig's Westslavische Mdrchen : —

A widow's son takes service with a monster magician of kindly nature who dwells in a forest. As a reward for fidelity the magician gives his servant gold and a dove. The dove is an enchanted maiden who will be restored to human form as soon as three golden feathers are plucked from her plumage. The widow's son takes the dove-maiden home, weds her, and builds a palace. In the walls of this palace he conceals the precious feathers, letting only his mother into the secret. The mother proves

1 For stories of this kind see, further, Cosquin, Contes populaires de Lorraine, II, 89 ff.; Kohler, Kl. Schr., I, 432 ff.; Wollner, in Leskien-Brugmann, 524 ff.; Panzer, Hilde-Gudrun, 254-5 (Panzer furnishes a valuable list of tales) ; Garrett, Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology, v, 162, No. 3.

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 571

to be unreliable, the enchantment is renewed, and the heroine flies away. The hero now has recourse to his friendly magician, who transports him to the bird-girl's palace, warning him at the same time not to set free her enemy. This reunion is imperfect because the heroine has to pass several hours of every day as a dove. There is, too, a forbidden chamber. One day the unfortunate widow's son enters this room and gives water-of-life to a dragon. The dragon thus strengthened breaks forth and carries off the heroine. The hero twice recovers her from the dragon but loses her again each time. Finally with the aid 01 his wife's brother enchanted in the form of a horse he recovers his beloved for good.1

This, in part, is clearly a swan-maiden story. It will be observed that the hero loses the heroine twice. In the first case their separation is due to the heroine's recovery of her plumage; in the second, to her abduction by an evil spirit or monster. We can see how the tale has grown. In some swan-maiden stories, the narrative con- cludes with the departure of the fairy- woman; in others, it includes a search and a recovery. But in Wenzig's tale and in many others we have in addition to both of these elements the abduction of the fairy-mistress and her rescue. Such mdrchen seem to show a contamination between the swan-maiden type and stories of the rescue of mortal women from supernatural abductors.

Contamination between swan-maiden or fairy-mistress and these demon-abductor stories is not hard to under- stand. The separation and reunion motives are behind both groups. The cumulative tendency, which is one of

1Wenzig, Westslavische Mdrchen, p. 69. For some interesting observations upon this tale, see E. Sidney Hartland, The Folk- Lore Journal, HI, 193 ff.

572 H. S. V. JONES.

the most obvious characteristics of folk-tales, goes far to explain such a product as we find in Wenzig's mdrchen. When the resources of one cycle of tales had been ex- hausted, the popular imagination turned to a similar cycle in order to spin out the story. At times there must have been a desire in some story-teller's too sophisticated mind to explain the strange commands and strange behaviour of the fairy-mistress. Why should her name remain un- known? Why should her lover not see her at certain times of day? Why should not Psyche reveal everything to her Cupid? The Forbidden Chamber with its dragon occupant gives reason enough for the heroine's command. Compared with the usual prohibitions of the fairy-mistress, this is rational.1

If there is a natural attraction of fairy-mistress for demon-abductor stories, we should not be surprised to find in tales of abduction by creatures more or less demonic, stock characteristics of the fairy-mistress cycle. I shall need, however, to look at this cycle more closely before noting possible traces of it in the Cleomades.

III.

The most distinctive feature of the Cleomades and many related stories is the aerial journey. This motive abounds in Oriental tales. The Katlia-sarit-sagara, the cele- brated Sanskrit collection, contains innumerable examples.

Compare "The Golden Apple Tree and the Nine Peahens," Mijatovichs-Denton, Serbian F oik-Lore, 43 ff . See, too, " Mary a Mo- revna," Ralston, Russian Folk-Tales, 85 ff. ; Hartland, Folk-Lore Journal, ill, 200, cites a story from Arnason's Icelandic Legends, in which the heroine escapes from her giant-captor " disguised with soot and ashes and riding on a poker witch-fashion."

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 573

Sometimes it is of the nature of the man or woman — ^7'idyadhara or Vetala — to move through the air; some- times the power is acquired by performing austerities. The trip is made now on the back of a man, now in a vehicle or on the back of an animal, horse or other. The occasions for such journeys are many: to satisfy a mere whim or, as very often, to further an affair of love. For instance, we learn of Vasavadatta that she " felt a longing for stories of great magicians, provided with incantations by means of spells, introduced appropriately into conver- sations. Vidyadhara ladies, beginning melodious songs, waited upon her when in her dream she rose high up in the sky, and when she woke up she desired to enjoy in reality the amusement of sporting in the air, which would give the pleasure of looking down upon the earth. And Yangandharayana gratified that longing of the queen's by employing spells, machines, juggling and such like con- trivances. So she roamed through the air by means of these various contrivances, which furnished a wonderful spectacle to the up-turned eyes of the citizens' wives." 1

From the Katha-sarit-sagara we learn that the power of making aerial excursions was acquired in various ways. It was obtained by the sacrifice of a rascally mendicant ("i, 350) ; again by eating human flesh (i, 157) ; sometimes by the recitation of spells (i, 159). In several cases the magic power of a sword makes an aerial journey possi- ble : — " And once on a time he made a chariot that would fly through the air, produced by thought through the virtue of his sword" (i, 386); and "You must come there quickly by virtue of the magic power of your sword " (i, 558). Sometimes a person becomes a vehicle as the

1 Tawney, Katha-sarit-sagara, I, 173. 2

574 ii. s. v. JONES.

result of a curse : " Since you cursed in your folly my destined husband, you shall be a vehicle for him to ride on in his human condition, possessing the property of going with a wish and changing your shape at will " (n, 537; see n, 540).

The vehicles of transportation are various.1 The trans- portation sometimes made with the aid of a person en- chanted or accursed, sometimes through the agency of a creature whose nature it is to fly through the air. For instance, in K. S. S.f n, 361, an aerial excursion is made on the back of a Yetala : " Then at the request of the Yakshini he mounted on her back and being carried by her through the air, he went to find his beloved" (i, 338). In i, 343, there is a similar situation. Among the means of aerial locomotion mentioned by Chauvin are : ring, cap, boots, branch, chair, chariot, hair, chest, pitcher, ele- phant, platform, arrow, garter, mantel, cloud, bird, skin of fish, sofa, carpet. Obviously, any object could be charged with this power. One can easily understand, however, the selection for such a purpose of the swiftly flying arrow or the light cloud, and one remembers how varied is the magic virtue of ring, cap, hair, and mantel. In the use of the sofa is seemingly consulted only the comfort of the traveller. The flight of a cow-house in K. S. S., i, 159, gives us burlesque: " Then Kalaratri with her friends recited the spells that enable witches to fly and they flew up into the air, cow-house and all." Comical, too, is the story of a man who is carried through the air

1For a careful investigation of this aspect of our subject, see Cosquin, Contes popul. de Lorraine, I, 123 ff., and especially, Chauvin, Bibliographic des Outrages Arabes ou relatifs aux AraJbes publiees dans I'Europe Chre'tienne de 1810 a 1885, Liege and Leipzig, v, 229-230.

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 575

clinging to the tail of a bull (K. 8. 8.f n, 111). Magic shoes1 and mantels 2 are, of course, very familiar. The flying chariot, also, is not uncommon. For example, " Then Kalingasena went on enjoying herself in the city of Takshesila in the society of Somaprabha, who went every night to her own house and came back every morn- ing to her friend, in her chariot that travelled through the air (K. S. S.f i, 268).3

The aerial journey, as has been said, was often a part of Oriental love-stories : — " And flying with him through the air, she introduced that lover secretly into the private apartments of Usha, who was awaiting him " (K. S. S.t i, 277). " Then at the request of the Yakshimi he mounted on her back, and being carried by her through the air, he went to find his beloved'7 (K. 8. 8., i, 338). " !N~aravahanatta, trying to reach the city of his beloved, is helped by a flying chariot made by Rajyadhara " (K. 8. S.f i, 396). Very often we have the familiar story of love between mortal and immortal. Indra, for instance, is said to have been enamoured of Malna, Parmal's wife,

1 See the important article on " Seven-League Boots " by Paul Sartori, Zeitschrift des Vereins fur Volkskunde, iv, 284 ff.

2 Dunlop-Liebrecht, 491; Jahrbuch fur rom. u. engl. Lit., in, 147- 148.

3 For other examples of the flying chariot see K. S. 8., I, pp. 276, 278, 386, 396, 401, 440, 476, 494; n, pp. 82, 146; Oesterley, Baital Pachisi, 69; Rev. d. Trad, pop., iv, 438; Chauvin, Bibliographic, v, 229. Macculloch thinks that " the general belief in swift, bodily passage through the air was strengthened by the alleged phenomena of levitation, of which the Acta Sanctorum are so full." " Buddhist saints and neo-Platonist ecstatics, savage medicine-men and Euro- pean witches, join hand in hand with mediaeval saints, Covenanters, and Irvingites, in this business of levitation." The Childhood of Fiction, 222 ff.

576 H. S. V. JONES.

and often to have come down from heaven on a flying horse to visit her.1

Such stories as that of Indra easily involve an aerial journey. The land of immortals, whether above the clouds or beyond the sunset, seems to require extraordinary means of communication with the land of men. Biblical and classical illustrations will occur to all. Such stories as that 'of Indra must have been early fixed in popular consciousness, and Indra's means of reaching his loved one must have formed a part of many love stories. The merry or popular versions of the type go far to establish the contention that it was early current. Of these ver- sions the best known is the fifth tale in the first book of the Pancatantra, — " The Weaver as Vishnu."

One day at a festival a weaver and a carpenter, who have been friends from childhood, notice a girl of wonder- ful beauty riding upon an elephant. The weaver is over- come by love and in an unconscious condition is carried to the carpenter's house. As soon as his consciousness returns the weaver asks that his funeral pyre may be prepared. His friend will not listen to such a proposal. Having learned the cause of the weaver's suffering, the carpenter promises relief. He constructs a Garuda mov- ing on a pivot, and furnishes two pairs of arms, and the shell, discus, club, lotus, diadem, and breast-jewel asso- ciated with Vishnu. He then teaches his friend how to govern the bird and directs him to proceed on its back at midnight to the princess' palace.

The weaver does as he is told and completely deceives the maiden. His adventure is often repeated until one

*G. A. Grierson, Indian Antiquary, 1885, p. 256; Clouston, Magic Elements in the Squire's Tale, p. 452.

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 577

day the servants of the harem think the princess shows signs of being loved by a man. The king and queen hear the rumor with great sorrow and the girl's mother goes to her chamber and reviles her in unmeasured language. Wrath is turned to pleasure, however, when the girl says that she is loved by the mighty husband of Lakshmi. That night the king and queen witness with great delight the appearance of their son-in-law.

About this time the king's country is overrun by his enemies. Thinking that his son-in-law might be of ser- vice to -him he appeals to his daughter for aid, and she in turn to the spurious Vishnu. In the meantime the real Vishnu, having heard of the weaver's project and fearing lest the tradesman's undoing should be to his own dis- advantage, sends his spirit into the body of the mortal and the spirit of his Garuda into the wooden bird. In this way the enemies of the king are slaughtered.

When this feat has been accomplished, the weaver de- scends from the sky and tells the whole story to the king, who graciously receives him as his son-in-law. And thus the tradesman passes his life in enjoyment of the five kinds of sensual pleasures.1

Mr. Clouston has cited an interesting Persian variant of the " Weaver as Vishnu." It is worth reproducing inasmuch as its introduction bears an obvious likeness to a portion of the Cleomades. — A weaver and a carpenter in Nishapur are both in love with the same girl. For her sake each makes a masterpiece of his craft : the weaver,

1Benfey, Pantsohatantra, I, No. 5. See Benfey's important dis- cussion of the story in his Introduction, § 56. For the hero's dis- guise, see Chauvin, Bibliographic, v, 233. Among the titles there given may be particularly mentioned Dunlop-Liebrecht, 231-232, 489, 497.

578 H. S. V. JONES.

a seamless shirt; the carpenter, a magic coffer. Induced to try the coffer, the weaver enters it and on turning a peg finds himself flying up to the sky. Having bethought himself to turn the peg the other way, he rapidly descends and alights in view of a castle in which the daughter of the king of Oman is jealously kept under seven locks. Coming down upon the roof at night, he enters the chamber of the princess and declares that he is the angel Gabriel, to whom she has been given by God. She accepts him as her suitor and he visits her in the same way every night. The king, having learned of these wonderful visits, believes that his son-in-law is an angel. He is confirmed in this belief by further evidence of the lover's divine power. " Gabriel " crushes the head of an incredulous courtier, and puts to flight a king who is a suitor for the hand of the princess, first by bombarding his army with stones and then by throwing fire down on the camp. On the latter occasion the coffer is accidently burnt and " Gabriel " is reduced to the necessity of earning bread by his old trade. In this humble situation he is recog- nized by the princess. He says, in explanation, that he has incurred the displeasure of the Almighty and that the gates of heaven are for a time closed to him. At this crisis the king is attacked by another enemy. The un- willing Gabriel is clad in armor and set upon a horse. The steed is a fiery one. It rushes into the enemy's camp, knocks down a tree, which crushes the hostile king, and finally horse and rider fall into a pit. There " Gabriel " is later discovered half-dead. In the end the pseudo- Gabriel confesses his deceit to the king, who, grateful for past services, condones the offence and keeps the secret to himself.1

1 1 follow Mr. Clouston's summary : Magic Elements, 426 ff. Clous-

THE CLEOMADES AND EELATED FOLK-TALES. 579

To bring the " Weaver as Vishnu " group of stories into connection with a group already described, it may be well to call attention not only to the aerial locomotion by means of which a lover reaches his mistress, but also to the lover's disguise and the assistance which in some of our stories he renders his father-in-law. One should compare, too, the Salvation of Rome in the Seven Wise Masters.1 There it will be remembered the enemy is put to flight by the sight of a man who is so disguised that he is taken for the Christian's god. Particularly interesting for our pur- pose is a tale cited by Benfey which tells, " comment lem- pereris devise a lempereour de jenus que il fist par son enging une beste si merveilleuse quil en chaca les saris qui estoient venus assir romme." 2

The " Weaver as Vishnu " stories,3 founded upon the

ton says, " The story occurs in a collection of an author of whom nothing seems to be known, except that he was 70 years of age when he made it, and that his name was Muhammed Kazim bin Mirak Husain Muzaffari Sajavandi, poetically surnamed Hubbi. This collection which is described in Dr. Rien's Catalogue of Persian Manuscripts in the British Museum, vol. n, pp. 759-760, 237, has no specific title, but is merely called Hikayat-i-Ajib u Gharib, Won- derful and Strange Tales, and it may have served as a model of the Turkish story-book, Al-Faraj ba'd al-Shiddab, Joy after Distress, many of the tales in both being identical, and the story in question being No. 13 of the Turkish MS. 375, in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris." Magic Elements, p. 426. — It is hardly necessary to call attention to the striking similarity between the first part of this story and the earlier portions of the Cleomades.

1 Keller, Li Roumans des Sept Sages, ccxx ff .

2 Benfey, Pantschatantra, I, 163.

3 For further illustrations of this very well-known group see, Katha- Sarit-Sagara, n, 117 ff.; Histoire de Malik et de la Princesse Schirine, Les Mille et un Jours: Contes Persans, translated by Petis de la Croix, Paris, 1710-12; Clouston, Magic Elements, p. 421; Jonathan Scott, Tales, Anecdotes, etc., 1 ff . ; Morlini, 69 ; Decamerone, rv, 2. For similar cases of disguise see Chauvin, Bibliographic, v, 232-233.

580 H. S. V. JONES.

widespread idea of sexual love between a mortal and an immortal, suggest, in general, tales of the otherworld. The hero of these tales goes to the otherworld, sometimes to visit his fairy-mistress, sometimes to rescue a mortal woman held captive by a malignant spirit. In certain stories, as has already been seen, both the winning and rescuing motives are employed. But what is of special interest here is that many stories make something of the journey between this and the other world and at least mention the means of conveyance. One should not be sur- prised to find traces of otherworld stories in a tale that comprehends an aerial journey.

The familiar story of the " Third Koyal Mendicant " 1 furnishes a good example of the fairy-mistress group of stories: — A king and the son of a king, after various ad-

Sometimes, as is well known, the lover gains access to his mistress disguised as a woman ; see, Oertel, " Contributions from the Jaiminiya Brahmana to the history of the Brahmana literature," Journal of the American Oriental Society, xxvi, First Half, 176 ff. — The lover disguised as a god appears in the story of Alexander's parents. See E. Talbot, Legende d'Alexandre le Grand, Paris, 1850, pp. 73-74; E. A. Wallis Budge, The Life and Exploits of Alexander the Great, London, 1896, 10 ff. Compare Vincent of Beauvais, Speculum Histo- riale, iv. Stories similar to this tale of Alexander are cited by Del Rio, Disquisitiones Magicae, u, Q. xxvn, Sec. 1, p. 249 ff. Wright, No. 80, of "A Selection of Latin Stories," vol. vm of the Percy Society Publications, tells of a lover who announces that the Messiah will be born of the young Jewess with whom he has been passing his nights. The child is, however, a daughter. The story comes from Caesarius of Heisterbach and Wright cites the following parallels: — Masuceio, Novellino, I, 2; Malespini, Ducento Novelle, nov. 80; Gent Nouvelles Nouvelles, nouv. xiv; Facetiae Bebelianae, II; Lafontaine, II, No. 15.

xLane, I, 160 ff. Compare, K. S. S., I, 194 ff.; Scott, Tales, p. 117; Bytal Pachisi, p. 76; von Hammer, Geschichte der Schdnen Rede- kilnste Persiens, p. 115; Wilkins, Hitopadesa, p. 129 (Clouston, Book of Sindibad, p. 309 ) ; Benfey, Pantschatantra, I, § 52.

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 581

ventures, comes to a palace where there are one-eyed men lamenting their fate. When he insists upon knowing the cause of their grief, they kill a ram and sew him up in its skin. A rukJi then comes down and hears him off to a palace where he finds forty young damsels beautiful as so many moons. From time to time they absent them- selves for a period of forty days and on their return indulge in feasting and drinking. During their absence the prince is free to enter ninety-nine closets but he must not open the one-hundredth. Disobeying this command he goes into the forbidden chamber and there finds a black horse. He mounts; but, at first, in spite of all his urg- ing, his steed will not move. When, however, the prince has struck him with a milcra'ah, the horse makes a great noise, becomes possessed of wings and soars away. The prince has an eye struck out by the horse's tail and is rudely dumped upon the roof of that palace in which the one-eyed men are lamenting their fate. He descends into the interior of the palace and joins the sad company.

As in the story just summarized, both the attainment and the loss of the joys of the otherworld are often caused by disobedience of an arbitrary command. But at least as often a separation is caused by a longing of the mortal for his earthly home. In the very familiar Tannhauser story Christian influence has given homesickness the more sombre coloring of remorse. Originally the tale was only one of many in which the hero in weariness of the other- world yearns for mother earth. The following story con- tains the homesickness motive and is of further interest on account of its wooden horse.

An Indian king had a son named Benazir. One night the fairy Mahrukh carried the boy away on a flying throne to fairy-land. Benazir, however, longs so much for his

582 H. S. V. JONES.

home that she gives him a flying horse of wood upon which to visit the earth. This privilege is granted under the condition that he will return to her every day. On one of his flying visits the boy falls in love with Badr-i-Manir and, after that, he visits her daily. He is finally freed from the spell of his fairy-mistress and is unconditionally restored to his parents and his mortal love.1

" The Story of Ciaban " is an interesting Celtic form of the otherworld stories : — Ciaban with two strangers put to sea in a boat. The travellers were in danger of perishing in a dreadful storm when they saw riding over the waves a horseman on a dark green steed with a golden bridle. This person took the three companions on the back of his horse, while the boat floated along beside, and in this way they all came to the " Land of Promise." There they dismounted and proceeded to Manannan's cath- air (stone-fort), in which an end had just been made of ordering a banquet hall for them. All four were served there; their horns and their cups were raised; comely dark-eyed gillies went around with smooth polished horns ; sweet-stringed timpans were played by them and most melodious dulcet-chorded harps, until the whole house was flooded with music. Now in the " Land of Promise " Ma- nannan possessed an arch-ollave who had three daughters. With these the three travellers eloped, Ciaban reaching Ireland with one named Clidna.

Dr. Brown's comments on this Celtic tale are worth quoting. " The incident," he tells us, " of meeting Ma- nannan on the sea is found in the oldest tales. In the Serglige and the Bran, however, Manannan drives a char-

1The Bibliography of Folk-Lore, Capt. R. C. Temple, Folk-Lore Journal, 1886, iv, p. 301; see, too, p. 306. Compare Clouston, Magic Elements, p. 282.

THE CLEOMADES AND RELATED FOLK-TALES. 583

lot. Horseback riding is probably a later feature, though not necessarily very late. Loegaire, according to the Book of Leinster, returned from the otherworld on horseback. In Celtic story the otherworld is reached either in a mar- vellous ship, which is presumably the earlier motive, or by means of a horse that travels on the sea as well as on the land. The tale of Ciaban is interesting as showing one motive as it were in process of transformation into the other. The travellers start in a boat but finish their journey on the back of a horse." 1

In the " Weaver as Vishnu " cycle the lover, it should be noted, visits his mistress in disguise and by means of aerial locomotion. In the fairy-mistress group, which offers the converse of this situation, we find also the pas- sage through the air, sometimes by means of a wonderful horse. In certain stories this horse is a horse of wood. One should note, too, the homesickness of the lover and the feast all ready for his coming. Of these various characteristics there seem to be more or less certain traces in one version or another of the Cleomades group of stories.

When Cleomades enters Clarmondine's chamber he is taken for Bleopatris, the man to whom Clarmondine had been plighted. Seeing his advantage in deceit, the hero confirms the girl's opinion, and it is not until her father appears that the fraud is discovered. The suggestion of the " Weaver as Vishnu " is stronger when we turn to the Arabian story of the " Enchanted Horse." Here the eunuch and the courtiers in general believe that the hero is some otherworld being. One might note, too, Cleo- mades' " yarn " that the fairies compel him every three

*A. C. L. Brown, Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology, vm, 96 ff.

584 H. S. V. JONES.

years to wander over the world on a niagic horse. It would not do to be very positive about the meaning of such passages, but they apparently show an association in the Oriental mind between the magic horse and other- world stories.

The Cleomades group of stories shows signs of the fairy-mistress as well as of the fairy-lover group. In the Galland version of the Arabian story, for instance, the hero is described as being impatient to get home and the heroine as desirous of retaining him. At first the hero, to all appearances, simply thinks of leaving his mistress for a time; then he persuades her to accompany him. Add to this the lavish entertainment of the hero and one easily thinks of the typical home and behavior of the fairy-mistress. In the Cleomades and in the other Ara- bian versions the hero's sojourn is not long. Speedily captured by the irate father, he escapes only through strat- agem. It is not improbable that we have here a later form of the story. The change provides for another trip of the magic horse, who doubtless became a more and more important figure as the story grew.

It should further be noted that Cleomades upon his arrival at Clarmondine's castle finds a feast all prepared for him: —

" Une table y avoit drecie" D'yvoire a pierres de cristal. Tout si fait furent li liestal. Trfes blanche nape ot desus mise Ouvre"e de diverse guise. Sor 1'un cor de la table avoit A mengier kan k'il convenoit, Et sor 1'autre coron a destre Ot vin si bon que vins pot estre, En pos d'or et hanas aute"s. Viande et vin i ot asse"s."

THE CL^OMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 585

We may probably go behind Adenet's explanation of this feast. The poet tells us only that it was the custom in this castle to spread a feast for two months in every year.1

IV.

The set of otherworld stories most interesting for my purpose, is the Skilful Companion cycle. Here the rescue motive is often combined with aerial locomotion. The tale is found in a simple form in the Tuti-Nameh. Benfey supposes that it goes back at least to the eleventh century in the oldest Tuti-Nameh,, that it reached the redaction of ISTachshebi — the extant Persian Tuti-Nameh — in the beginning of the fourteenth century and from that passed into the Turkish Parrot-Book.2

The Skilful Companion stories are of value in this in- vestigation on account of the rescue of the heroine from an otherworld abductor by means of aerial locomotion and on account of the skilful companions themselves and their gifts. It will appear that in these matters there are significant points of contact between the mdrchen cycle and the French romance.

The version of the Skilful Companion story in the extant Persian Tuti-Nameh is as follows: — There once lived a merchant who had a beautiful daughter named Zohra. Many came to ask her in marriage but Zohra told her father that she would marry no one who was not either very wise or very skilful. One day three merchants ap- peared as suitors, affirming that they were men of great

2821 ff.

2 For Benf ey's celebrated article, see Kleinere Schriften, 94 ff. Con- venient records of the following versions will be found there.

586 H. S. V. JONES.

skill. One said that he could discover whatever was lost ; another, that he could make a horse that would ascend in the air like Solomon's throne; a third, that he could pierce with an arrow whatever he shot at. When the merchant told his daughter of the three gifted suitors, she asked that she might be given until the next morn- ing for her decision. During the night she disappeared and in the morning all search for her was fruitless. But the suitors were equal to the occasion. The first one said : " A fairy has carried your daughter to the top of a moun- tain which is inaccessible to men " ; the second suitor made a magic horse of wood ; the third mounted it, ascended the mountain, killed the fairy, and restored the girl. There was now a dispute as to who should be considered the successful suitor. She was awarded to the crack shot, because he was not only skilful but willing to risk danger for his beloved.

The earliest version of this story according to Benfey is that which we find in the Vetalapancavimgati. It is as follows: — Once upon a time there was a king named Mahabala. His minister Haridasa had a beautiful daugh- ter named Mahadevi. To her father, who wished to see her married, she said : " Father ! you shall give me only to a man who has extraordinary gifts." About this time Haridasa was sent to the Dekhan. While he was there someone asked him for his daughter in marriage. He re- plied that he should give her to no man who did not have extraordinary accomplishments. The suitor then exhibited a chariot which could take one through the air wherever one wished to go. Haridasa bade him appear the next morning with his chariot. He did so and took the king's minister home in the wonderful vehicle. Here they found another suitor, who had made his request to Mahadevi's

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 587

eldest brother, and who had obtained his suit on the score of marvellous knowledge. In the meantime the mother had promised her daughter to a third suitor, who was an unfailing shot. During the night the maiden was carried off by an evil spirit to the mountain Vindhya. The suitor who had made the chariot brought her home and married her.

The version of our story in the Turkish Tuti-Nameh makes the important substitution of an island for the mountain-top, as the place to which the girl is abducted. With the island, in later versions of the story, enters a magic ship that can travel over sea and land. More im- portant variations from the earlier forms of the story are found in a Mongolian version 1 cited by Benf ey. Here

1The Mongolian variant is as follows: — Once upon a time there were in a great kingdom a rich young man, an arithmetician, a car- penter, a painter, a physician, and a smith, who all left their parents and went into foreign lands. When they reached the mouth of a certain river, each of the companions planted a life-tree, and then went up one of the tributaries of the river to seek his fortune. Before parting, they agreed to meet each other again on the same spot. If the life-tree of any one of them had withered, then the others were to seek him in that country to which he had gone. With this agreement they separated. The rich young man, having reached the source of his river, found there a house at the door of which sat an old man and an old woman. When they asked whence he had come and whither he was going, he said that he came from a far land to seek his fortune. Then the aged couple gave him their daughter in marriage.

In this land there ruled a great khan. Having heard of the young man's beautiful wife, he commanded that she should be brought before him. When he saw her he exclaimed : " This is a Tangari maiden; compared with her my wives are as bitches and sows." Later the khan had the young husband slain and buried by the river, and a stone placed upon his body. When the rich man's brothers return to the appointed place, they find his tree withered. Promptly the mathematician calculates where the body

588 H. S. V. JONES.

the skilful companions separate near the beginning of the tale with the understanding that they will meet again at an appointed place. This portion of the narrative, Benfey supposes, resulted from contamination with a dis- tinct set of stories, called " The True Brothers." It is a regular part of the European forms of the Skilful Com- panion cycle, and these might have been influenced by the Mongolian version. But the assumption, as Benfey ob- serves, is not necessary. If the companions were brothers in the early European versions, this in itself would account for contamination with the well-known and widespread " True Brothers " group.

It must be noted in connection with the resurrection of one of the brothers in the Mongolian version that restora- tion of the dead was part and parcel of the " True Brothers " group. In later versions we shall see that the person restored is the heroine. In some cases she is only sick. Her condition is miraculously discovered, the com- panions are miraculously transported to her, and she is miraculously cured. In other cases we find a com- bination of the abduction and sickness motives more or less skilfully combined. The plot, then, of the Skilful Companion stories after amalgamation with the " True

is; the smith breaks the stone and takes it out; the physician re- stores the dead man to life. The resurrected youth then tells what had happened to him. At this the carpenter makes a wooden Garu- da, operated by pins; and the painter adorns it with mock plumage. The rich man then flies through the air until he comes to the khan's palace. There he alights on the roof. Naturally the khan's court is greatly astonished. The khan bids his wife go feed the bird. She goes and is carried away, overjoyed at her escape, by the rich man. But no sooner has the rich man returned to his brothers than they all lay claim to his wife, on account of the sendee they have rendered in restoring her. The conclusion of the whole matter is that they draw their knives and kill one another. Sagas from the Far East, 105 ff.; Kletke, Mdrchensaal, ill, 4ff.

THE CL£OMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 589

Brothers " cycle is somewhat as follows : — A number of brothers go forth into the world and acquire accomplish- ments. After a specified time they return to a rendezvous. In some way they learn that a girl has been carried away by an otherworld creature. With the aid of their accomplishments they discover where she is and bring her back to the land of mortals.

Benfey thinks that the seventy-ninth novella of Morlini represents the oldest European version of the Skilful Com- panion cycle. The story is as follows: —

A poor man has three sons. In order to lighten their father's burdens the boys go out into the world to seek their fortunes, promising to return in ten years. After travelling together for a time they separate. The oldest becomes a soldier of such skill that he can climb the highest towers with the aid of two daggers; the second becomes a wonderful shipbuilder; the third, having long wandered through a wood and having become a wild man, learns the language of birds. After ten years the brothers meet once more at the appointed place. The wild man gets clothes from his brothers and the three proceed to an inn. There they see a bird who makes known to the wild man that a great treasure is hard by. Later another bird communicates the intelligence that in the island of Chios Apollo's daughter has built a tower, the entrance to which is guarded by a frightful snake and a terrible basilisk. Within the tower are very great treasures and a most beautiful princess, and he who can climb the tower may win them both. The skilful soldier achieves this feat and lets the princess down to his brothers. Then follows the usual dispute. In this case the claims of each brother were so good that no decision could be reached.

Another Italian story has much in common with the

.590 H. S. V. JONES.

one just summarized. It is ~No. 45 in Basile's Penta- merone. There are here five suitors: one of them has learned the language of birds ; a second, the craft of ship- building; a third knows about an herb that will make a dead man live again; a fourth is a dead shot; a fifth is a skilful pickpocket. The maiden, while being rescued from " the wild man," is killed ; but the companion who knows of the wonderful herbs restores her to life. We should notice once more the suitor whose knowledge of bird-language enables him to learn the whereabouts of the maiden.

The skilful physician appears rather frequently in the Skilful Companion cycle. We meet with him, for in- stance, in two interesting tales cited by Mr. Clouston. One of these is contained in a unique Persian manuscript in the India Office Library ; the other is from von Hahn's " Contes Populaires Grecs." x In the former we are simply told that the girl when rescued from the demon, was very ill. Von Hahn's story contains no demon, and the physician has to bring back to life a girl who has died. In the Persian tale and in others similar to it, the sick- ness motive seems to have entered the story in accordance with a tendency to multiply the number of skilful com- panions. It sometimes leads the story-teller into awkward situations.2

The Skilful Companion cycle is, of course, closely re- lated to a large group of stories in which interest centers in wonderful objects rather than wonderful accomplish- ments. Benfey has recognized the strong attraction that

1 Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, 283 ff .

3 For further information upon the Skilful Companion cycle see, Kohler-Bolte, Ztschr. des Ver. f. Volkskunde, vi, 77, and Kohler, Kleinere Schriften, I, 192 ff., 298 ff., 389-90, 431, 544.

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 591

must have existed between these two groups and the con- sequent influence exerted by one upon the other. The wonderful-objects stories of interest in this paper are well represented by the " Tale of Jonathan " in the Gesta Romanorum 1 and may as a class be entitled the Fortunatus group. The " Tale of Jonathan " follows :

King Darius had three sons. On his death-bed he bequeathed to the first his kingdom; to the second, all his personal acquisitions, exclusive of a gold ring, a neck- lace, and a piece of cloth. These three he gave to the youngest; they were of great virtue. The ring made its wearer universally beloved and enabled him to obtain whatever he sought; the necklace insured the realization of his heart's desire ; the cloth could transport him where- ever he wished to go. One day after the youngest son had come into possession of the wonderful ring, he met a beautiful woman, immediately fell in love with her, and later took her to him. By virtue of his ring he was liked by everyone and obtained whatsoever he desired.

Misfortune was, however, very near Jonathan in the person of his beautiful wife. Curious about the source of all the wealth that came so easily to her husband, she coaxed from him both his secret and his ring. Later she got the necklace. Then Jonathan, having obtained from his mother the magic cloth, transports himself and his wife to the very boundaries of the world. The lady weeps bitterly and Jonathan declares that he will leave her to the mercy of wild beasts, unless she surrenders his ring and necklace. Once more, however, the wily woman pre- vails. She flies away from Jonathan while he sleeps.

1Swan, Gesta Romanorum, n, 441-443. See further, Spitta-Bey, Contes Arabes Hodernes, No. 9; Cosquin, Contes, I, 123-124; Busk, p. 129; Zingerle, n, p. 142.

592 H. S. V. JONES.

Jonathan wanders about in great misery. In the course of these wanderings he procures wonderful waters and wonderful fruits. One kind of water will take the flesh from the bones; another kind will restore the flesh. One kind of fruit will cause leprosy; another kind will cure the terrible disease. Well supplied with these waters and fruits Jonathan manages to get back to his native land. He there poses as a physician and in a physician's habit visits his mistress who is very ill. Having learned from her where his treasures are, he gives her of the baleful water and fruit. She shortly after dies in great agony.

In the Fortunatus story proper, Andelosia, after he has persuaded his mistress to eat some of the baleful fruit, takes her once more on his magic cloth to the desert. In the three trips through the air we have here in general outline something similar to what we find in the Cleomades and the Arabian tale of the " Enchanted Horse.'7 It should be noted, too, that the dominant interest of the Fortunatus stories is similar to that which characterizes the Skilful Companion cycle. The wonderful objects en- gage the attention in one group of tales as the wonderful accomplishments do in the other.

The story of Putraka in the Katha-sarit-sagara shows an approach toward the Cleomades from the side of For- tunatus. It is as follows: —

Putraka meets the two sons of the Asura Maya, who were fighting over a magic shoe, a magic staff, and a magic vessel. Through treachery Putraka gets possession of these wonderful objects and with their aid goes to seek a wife. An old woman with whom he had been staying had told him of the beautiful Patali, the daughter of a king, who was preserved like a jewel in the upper story of a seraglio. Patali flies thither by the help of his shoes

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 593

and enters a window as high above the ground as the peak of a mountain. Putraka successfully visits the prin- cess several nights. Then the intrigue is detected by the guards of the seraglio and the king appoints an old woman to watch his daughter. The spy contrives to mark the prince's garment and in the morning he is captured and brought before the king with clear evidence of guilt. Finding himself in a tight place, Putraka contrives to fly away with his magic shoes and enter again the apartments of Patali. The two escape. Descending near the bank of the Ganges, they get food from the magic vessel and build a city with the aid of the staff. Putraka becomes king of the surrounding country and later subdues his father-in-law.1

V.

Four groups of stories have been treated in the last two chapters:— (1) "Weaver as Vishnu;" (2) " Fairy-Mis- tress;" (3) " Skilful Companions;" (4) " Fortunatus." In 2 the purpose of the aerial journey is to reach the otherworld, and this group of tales sometimes recounts, as we have seen, the rescue as well as the winning of a maiden. 3, too, in its earlier forms contains a trip through the air for the purpose of rescuing a girl from an otherworld creature. Other forms of 3 contain, in place of the rescue of the maiden, her restoration from sickness or her revival after death. In many of these, however, the aerial journey is retained. As a means of aerial locomotion, in all of these stories, a horse not infrequently appears, and in several notable instances a horse of wood. One should note, too, that the trip through the air is made, especially in

1K. 8. 8., i, 13 ff.

594 H. S. V. JONES.

the " Weaver as Vishnu " group, by means of a wonder- ful mechanical contrivance. This cycle may be regarded, moreover, as a replica of 2. In 1 a man disguised as a god visits a girl; in 2 a mortal visits a fairy-mistress. Furthermore, the striking motive of aerial locomotion and the dominant interest in wonderful objects and accom- plishments must have served to associate all of the above groups in the minds of story-tellers.

An important analogue of the Cleomades and the Squire's Tale illustrates possibly a combination of 2 and 3. It is the tale of " Anangavarti and her Four Suitors : " — Anangavarti will marry no man who is not brave, handsome, and possessed of some splendid accom- plishment. Four suitors pay her court. One of these can perform an extraordinary amount of weaving every day; one knows the language of all birds and beasts; a third is surpassed by none in fighting with the sword; a fourth named Jivadatta is an ugly Brahman addicted to forbidden practices, but he can revive a dead woman. An astrologer tells the company of suitors that Ananga- varti is for none of them because she is a Yidyadhari fallen by a curse and destined in three months to return to the otherworld. When this time has elapsed Anan- gavarti is as one dead. Jivadatta, after vainly trying to revive her, has decided to kill himself. At this critical moment he hears a voice that says : " O Jivadatta, do not act rashly, listen now. This noble Vidyadhara maiden, named Anangaprabha, has been for so long a time a mortal owing to the curse of her parents. She has now quitted this human body, and has gone to her own world, and taken her own body. So go and propitiate again the god- dess that dwells in the Vindhya hills, and by her favor you shall recover this noble Vidyadhara maiden. But as she is enjoying heavenly bliss, neither you nor the king

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 595

ought to mourn for her." Jivadatta does as the voice has directed him and in time wins his beloved. He receives from the dweller in the Vindhya hills a sword which will make him. invincible and enable him to travel through the air.

After Jivadatta has won Anangaprabha, he remains with her in the otherworld for some time. Then he pro- poses that they should go to the world of men. She con- sents to the plan and they travel through the air until they come to a pleasant mountain. There Jivadatta, by the power of various sciences, produces food and drink. Later the lover falls asleep while his mistress sings to him. Then a king, named Harivara, wearied out with hunting and attracted by the girl's singing, approaches the pair. He carries off Anangaprabha. But, since she is destined to marry many times, because as a Vidyadhari she had abstained from a suitable match, her abduction by Harivara is only one of a series that spins out the tale to a tedious length.1

Coming back now to the Cleomades we find that the poem readily resolves itself into two main divisions cor- responding in a general way with groups 2 and 3. First there is the winning of Clarmondine, then her recovery. Moreover certain features of the two portions serve to connect them respectively with the two groups of mdrchen. Crompart, for instance, is virtually some outlandish creature : —

" Et li tiers avoit non Crompars ; Oil sot presque tous les vn ars. Lais et petis fu et bogus. Tex enfossez et lie's camus Avoit, et si ot courbe eschine Et le menton sor la poitrine. Moult fu sages et bien lettrfcs." 2

1Tawney, i, 498 ff.

*CUomadts, 1499 ff. *

596 H. S. V. JONES.

We should, further, compare the gifts in the CUomades with the accomplishments of the skilful companions. The magic horse of wood is in both mdrchen and romance. Then the mathematician or astrologer is like the man with the trumpet in that each of them can reveal what is hidden, — limited in the case of the golden man to hidden treason. It will be remembered, however, that it became the duty of the astrologer in the Slavic story to make this kind of revelation. One might note, too, that the as- trologer in Grimm's story l is furnished with a mirror.

Besides these agreements between the Skilful Com- panion stories and the CUomades there are other corres- pondences which are worthy of note. At line 1509 fL of the French romance we learn that the three kings hold a council in order to talk about the three beautiful prin- cesses of Spain, whom they have never seen. The event of their conference is a decision to go in state to Marca- digas and ask him for his daughter. Crompart, thinking uneasily of his ugliness, suggests that they should each give the king " i jouel de tres grant richece." 2 Then follows an important passage: —

" Quant il se furent arre"e Apres ce ont pou sejorne". Tant ont li uns 1'autre atendu Que ensamble sont revenu. Lors dist Crompars qu'il lograit Le chascun d'aus s'i acordoit, Que il meiissent si a point Qu'il venissent IS. a ce point. Que rois Marcadigas fu ne"s."

As in the Skilful Companion stories, then, the suitors separate, acquire their wonderful objects, and meet again

1 Grimm, K. und H., No. 129. 1843ff.

THE CLEOMADES AND BELATED FOLK-TALES. 597

before proceeding with their courtship. Furthermore, as we sometimes find in the mdrchen a test of the accomplishments, so in the romance is there a test of the gifts.

In the means employed for the rescue of the heroine of the French romance we may find, perhaps, suggestions of the marvellous accomplishments or objects of the Skilful Companion cycle. The importance of the horse in mdr- chen and romance should be once more noted. Then the heroine's pretended madness and the hero's gaining access to her disguised as a physician suggests the Skilful Com- panion stories in which the heroine is miraculously cured. In the related Forlunalus group the hero actually as- sumes the disguise of a physician and thus enters his mistress' chamber. For the madness motive we need not seek far. The idea that a mad person was sacred might easily have occurred to the first person who told the story of the fair Clarmondine and her unwelcome suitor. It was better, moreover, for the sake of the story in general and of the heroine in particular that Clar- mondine, like Hamlet, should not be actually mad.

So much, then, we find that the Cleomades and the Skilful Companion stories have in common: — (1) simi- larity of the wonderful objects; (2) the sojourn of the companions and their later meeting before proceeding with the courtship and after having procured wonderful objects or acquired wonderful accomplishments; (3) the test of the objects or accomplishments; (4) the abduction of the heroine by a more or less unearthly creature; (5) the re- covery of the heroine by means of a wonderful journey through the air, and a wonderful — in the Cleomades ap- parently wonderful — cure. In addition, it is of interest

598 H. S. V. JONES.

to note that in the Fortunatus group of stories, as in the Cleomades, the hero gains access to his mistress disguised as a physician.1

H. S. V. JONES.

\\

1 In considering the question of special folk-lore influence upon the Squire's Tale, one should note carefully the nature of Chaucer's wonderful horse. It differs from Crompart's. For instance: —

" Or if yow liste bidde him thennes gon, Trille this pin, and he wol vanishe anon Out of the syghte of every maner wyght, And come agayn, be it by day or nyght, When that yow list to clepen him ageyn In swich a gyse as I shal to yow seyn Bitwixe yow and me, and that ful sone. Hyde when yow list, ther is namore to done."

And again:

" The brydel is unto the tour yborn, And kept among his Jewels leve and dere The hors vanisshed, I noot in what manere, Out of her syghte; ye gete namore of me."

If we put the two passages together, it becomes reasonably clear that the bridle may be used in summoning the horse. This detail, not found in the Cleomades, suggests the wonderful horse of flesh and blood rather than the cheval de fust. May not the confusion mean that Chaucer was following no one source but working freely, with a knowledge of the Cleomades and related folk- tales? If this be true, one may venture the guess that Chaucer's birds, like those in certain variants of the Skilful Companion cycle, are helpful ani- mals, whether or no metamorphosized human beings. And just here would be the connection between the main plot and the sub-plot of the Squire's Tale.

XXVI.— THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU

WALUUANII AND THE HISTORIA

MERIADOCL

It is now ten years since a Latin romance dealing with the history of Gawain was published for the first time by Professor Bruce from the Cottonian MS. Faustina B. VI.1 Two years later 2 he printed a second romance 3 from the same manuscript,4 which he believed, no doubt correctly, to be the work of the same author. As to who this author was, Professor Bruce hazarded no opinion, but he dated

*Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass., xin (1898), p. 365 ff.

2 Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass., xv (1900), p. 326 ff.

3 In the catalogue of the Cottonian MSS. of the British Museum, the full titles of these two romances are as follows: —

" 1. Historia sive vita Meriadoci regis Cambriae. 2. De ortu Valuuanii (sic) nepotis Arturi."

Cott. Faust. B. vi, according to the description given by Ward (Catalogue of Romances, I, 374), is a vellum MS. written in a hand of the early XlVth century.

* There is also preserved in Rawlinson MS., B. 149, a second copy of the Meriadoc romance, which Professor Bruce does not seem to have noticed and to which Professor Kittredge refers in his edition of Arthur and Gorlagon (Harvard Studies and Notes, 1903, vol. 8, p. 149 ) . This copy is in the same manuscript as the Arthur and Gorlagon, which is by an unknown author, although clearly he is not the author of the Meriadoc romance (Kittredge, Arthur and Gorlagon, p. 150).

According to Mr. Madan of the Bodleian Library, this manu- script is in a hand of the first quarter of the 15th century. The earliest recorded owner is Nicholas Wyntur, whose name is written on the first leaf. Inside the cover is a list of contents by Dr. Gerard Langbaine and a note: " Suum cuique. Tho. Hearne, Dec. 29, 1722, at wch time I bought this MS." The manuscript then passed into the Rawlinson collection, which was bequeathed to the Bodleian in 1756.

600 MARGAEET SHOVE MOEBISS.

the romances, on grounds which will be discussed later in this article, in the second quarter of the 13th century. Professor Carleton F. Brown has recently called my attention to the fact that Bale, in his Index. Britanniae Scriptorum,1 does assign these two romances to a defi- nite author. I shall quote Bale's references to them and to their author in full, as these will show also the sources to which Bale owed his information : —

"Robertus sancti Michaelis de monte, inter cetera scripsit Chronicorum opus, li. i.

Gesta Walwani, li. i. ' Vterpendragon rex pater.'

Gesta Maradoci, li. i. ' Memoratu dignam.'

Ex Nordouicensi scriptorum catalogo."

The preceding entry in the Index is also concerned with Robert de Monte.

" Robertus abbas de monte sancti Michaelis in Normannia, scripsit Chronicorum opus, li. i.

Ex Bostoni Buriensis catalogo"

This Robert de Monte (or " Robert de Torigny," as he is often called from the place of his birth) was the well known abbot of Mont St. Michel in Normandy during the reign of Henry II of England, and was also a famous chronicler.

If this statement made by Bale may be trusted, then, the romances must have been written in the 12th and not in the 13th century, a fact which will greatly increase their interest and importance. It is with this problem, whether Bale's ascription of the authorship of the two romances can be considered trustworthy, that this paper, written under the direction of Professor Brown, is to deal.

1 Edited by Poole and Bateson (Anecdota Oxoniensia, Oxford, 1902), p. 384.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE OETU WALUUANII. 601

I.

It is true, in the first place, that one might feel some doubt whether the testimony of a 16th century writer in re- gard to these romances is early enough to possess authority. Bale, too, is notoriously unreliable in his larger work, the Scriptores. The character of the Index,, however, as a simple record of data which have been gathered from older authorities, makes it differ widely from the author's more formal work, and makes an entry in it form a re- liable basis for further investigation.

A good" illustration of the difference between the two books is furnished in this very case of Robert de Monte. When Bale proceeded 1f> build up his biographical account on the basis of the two references to the chronicler which he found in different sources, he came to the mistaken con- clusion that there must have been two Robert de Montes. These two paragraphs from the Scriptores will indicate the error into which he fell : —

"Robertus de Monte Michaelis. XXII.

" Robertus de monte Michaelis, famigerati illius coenobij mona- chus & abbas, patria Normanus, circiter Stephani Anglorum regis tempora, ob multarum rerum scientiam, in precio fuit. Qui sui nominis memoriam literarijs aliquot monumentis perpetuare sata- gens, ueterum quorundam historiographorum moribus ac uestigijs inherescens, historias & ipse in quorundam authoritate ualentium hominum gratiam, congessit. Placuere eius opera per earn aetatem multis, uidebanturqwe eis tarn utilia quam docta. Sed quod de nominis fama ex ipsis sperauit, difficulter in posterum obtinebat, quum puluere obsita, in paucis deliterent monachorum bibliothecis. Bostonus tamen Buriensis, in talibus exquirendis uir diligentissimus, hos eius operum in suo Catalogo signauit titulos

Chronicorum opus, Lib. 1

Gesta Vualuuani, Lib. 1 Vter Pendragon rex pater Arth.

Gesta Marodoci, Lib. 1 Memoratu dignam historiam.

602 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

Et alia ipsis similia. Superest ut lector intelligat, perduxisse illti sua Chronica usqwe ad annu a Christ! seruatoris incarnations 1158, Thoma Rudburno atqwe Lelando testibus, quo anno uixit, Henrico secudo in Anglia regnante."

"Robertus Montensis Abbas. XXIII.

"Robertas Montensis abbas, alius & praedicto Roberto, patria quoque Normannus (nam & ea terra sub Anglorum regis ditione tune erat) non ultimus inter sui temporis scriptores & ipse agnosce- batur. Is primum fuit famosi illius Beccensis rnonasterij, quod tot Anglorum ecclesijs archiprsesules, episcopos, abbates, priores & doc- tores pepererat, sub Benedictinorum institute monachus. Postea mon- tis Naualis, a quo cognomen accepit, in Abrincensi dioecesi prases seu abbas constitutus, & Anglorum regi Henrico secudo familiariter notus, ad ilium in Angliam anno Domino 1176, confidenter uenit, chartamqwe & sigillum magnarum eleemosynaru pro asdificando sui coenobij templo, ab ipso demum obtinuit. Annales iste centum fere annorum, Sigeberti Gemblacensis ccenc&itse chronico addidit: in quibus loannem Anglorum regem, contra monachorum eius temporis more, a multis commendat, prsesertim ab insigni quadam de Gallis uictoria, et liberatione suae matris Aleonorse. Quod opus aptissime dici poterit

Appendix ad Sigebertum, Lib. 1. Vualdrico Laudunensi a suse urbis.

Bella Christianorumprincipum, Lib. 8. Inter omnes historiographos, illi.

Ad Guilandum monachum, Lib. 2. Sanctorum patriarcharum benedictio.

Acta conciliorum, Lib. 1.

De suis temporibus, Lib. 1.

Vitam Henrici primi, Lib. 1.

Aliaqwe composuit multa. Interfuit iste comitijs prselatorum tarn Romse quam Tholosse, ubi omnia scriptis commendauit. Suam uerd appendice ab anno Seruatoris Christi 1112, porrexit usqwe ad annum 1210, in quo claruit, Anglorum regi loanni admodum gratus." 1

It is obvious that Bale was mistaken in his statement that there were two Roberts in Mont St. Michel during the 12th century. It is impossible on the face of it that there should have been two abbots of the same monastery at almost the same time, both deriving their names from

1 Scriptorum illustriu maioris Brytannie Catalogue, 1557, n, p. 131-2.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE OKTU WALUUANII. 603

this monastery, and both famous chroniclers. If we turn now to the notes recorded by Bale in his Index, it is easy to understand how he came to fall into this error. The extant manuscripts of Robert de Monte's Chronicle do not all stop at the same year. Several of them l break off before 1160, while others have been brought down by continuators (still writing under Robert's name) into the reign of John.2 In all probability the two Catalogues, upon which Bale based his biographical statements con- cerning Robert, gave accounts of different manuscripts of his Chronicle, one of which stopped in the reign of Ste- phen, while the other continued down to the time of King John. From this discrepancy Bale, who in all likelihood had never himself seen either manuscript, naturally con- cluded that the Chronicles referred to by his authorities could not have been written by the same person. In this way he was led to suppose that there were two chroniclers of the same name. It is clear, however, that both of Bale's sources in their account of Robert's Chronicle were refer- ring to the work of the same author.

This blunder into which Bale fell in the Scriptores well illustrates the far greater historical value possessed by the Index, for the reason that here Bale set down without addition or inference the information which he found in

1Cf. for example the following MSS.: Bayeux MS. (ends at 1157). Brit. Mus., Royal MS. 13 C, xi (ends at 1160). Bibl. Nat. Paris. Fonds Latin 4862 (ends at 1156).

Descriptions of the different MSS. of the Chronicle of Robert de Monte may be found in Hewlett's edition of the Chronicle in the Rolls Series, 1889. Introduction, p. xxxviii.

2 That the first part of the second chronicle mentioned by Bale was really the one written by Robert de Monte is certain from the fact that it is described as a continuation of Sigebert of Gemblours.

604 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

his sources. It is, therefore, not Bale but Bale's authori- ties whose reliability we must now examine. These two authorities which he cites in the Index are, respectively, the Bostoni Buriensis catalogus for the Robert who wrote only the chronicle, and the Nordovicensi scriptorum cata- logus 1 for the Robert to whom the romances are also ascribed.

Of the Catalogue of Boston of Bury considerable is known. Tanner in the BMiotheca Britannia Hibernica 2 has given an account of the author and his work. Boston of Bury was a monk of Bury St. Edmunds who was living in the year 1410. Moved by a desire to preserve the memory of the books in the great monastic libraries, this monk travelled through England, making a catalogue of the authors and works to be found in these different col- lections. He arranged his catalogue alphabetically and prefixed to it a list of the monasteries he had visited. The value of the catalogue was increased by the fact that it included foreign as well as English authors.3 Tanner in his preface has printed a part of this catalogue of

1 Index, p. 384.

2 Tanner, Bibliotheca Britannica-Hibernica, London, 1748, p. 114: " Bostunus Buriensis, in monasterio S. Edmundi in comit. Suffolc. monachus. Vir magni ingenii, nee minoris industriae; qui, ut veterum librorum et auctorum conservaret memoriam, omnium ecclesiarum cathedralium, abbatiarum, prioratuum, collegiorum, etc. bibliothecas rimavit. Librorum collegit titulos, et auctorum eorum nomina; quae omnia alphabetico disposuit ordine, et quasi unam omnium bibliothecam fecit. Ipsorum etiam aetates et vitas cum operum initiis curiose adjunxit et in quibus essent ea opera inveni- enda coenobiis, calendarii vice, per numeros demonstravit. Hoc opus vocabat Catalogum Scriptorum ecclesiae. Claruit Bostonus A. D. MCCCCX." . . .

8 Tanner, p. xv. "In hoc Catalogo non auctores solummodo Britan- nos non ecclesiasticos tantum, sed profanos quoque sine discrimine, Aristotelem, Terentium, Ciceronem, Avicenuam, aque ac Ambrosium, Originem, Chrysostonum, Athanasium recitat."

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE OBTU WALUUANII. 605

Boston of Bury,1 in the case of foreign authors, however, omitting all but the names.

His mention of Robert de Monte, therefore, stands as follows : — " Robertas abbas de Monte S. Michaelis in Nor- mandia," the entries under his name being omitted, since he was not an Englishman.2

The catalogue of the writers of Norwich — Bale's other source — was evidently an ecclesiastical collection similar to that of Boston of Bury, because in the Index books are several times cited as given in both of these catalogues.3 This catalogue, however, I have been unable to trace.4

1 There is also an imprinted fragment of Boston's Catalogue in the British Museum, Add. MSS. 4787, fol. 133-135, but in this frag- ment the name of Robert de Monte does not occur.

2 After this article had been written Professor Brown called my attention to the existence, in the library of Cambridge University, of a complete transcript of Boston of Bury's Catalogue, made by Tanner himself (Camb. MS. Add. 3470). In this transcript the entry concerning Robert de Monte reads as follows:

"Robertus Abbas de Monte S. Michaelis in Normannia floruit et scrip sit

Cronicorum, lib. 1." (p. 129).

The recovery of the full text of Boston of Bury's Catalogue is of importance for it assures us that Bale, in his statement concerning the authorship of the romances, must have been following his other source, namely, the Catalogus Nordomcensi Seriptorum. Moreover, now that we are able to compare the entry in the Index with Boston of Bury's own words, it will be seen that Bale has set down with entire fidelity the information which he found in his source. May we not reasonably assume equal fidelity in the case of the entry taken from the Catalogue of Norwich writers?

8 Index, pp. 1, 12, 16, 25.

*Mr. Poole, in his edition of Bale's Index (p. xxxiii) refers us for the Catalogue of the writers of Norwich to Leland (Collectanea, m, 25). It could not have been from the Collectanea, however, that Bale derived his Norivich Catalogue, because the books contained in Leland's list and those cited by Bale throughout the Index as coming from the Catalogue correspond in but few instances. Bale's Cata- logue was evidently a larger collection than that of

4

606 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

Nevertheless it is reasonable to suppose that, as the source of the first entry in the Index is a well known and reliable catalogue, the other may also have been well known at the time when Bale was writing.1

In the case of at least one of the two romances we have other evidence also that a manuscript was preserved at Norwich. We have this on the authority of Leland, who in the Collectanea mentions the Historia Meriadoci as one of the books in the possession of the library of the Priory of Norwich.

" In bibliotheca Christicolarum 2 Nordovici.

Ex historia de Meriadoco scripta per R. Arglud sylva in Wallia Sylva fleuantana ibidem

Snowdune mons munitus circa tempora, Arturi a Griphino, fratri Caradoci." 8

It is clear that Bale's information concerning the Meri- adoc and the De Ortu is quite independent of this notice in the Collectanea for, whereas Leland mentions only

1 Another instance of the difference between the Scriptores and the Index must be noticed here. In Bale's more formal book it is the romances which are ascribed to Robert de Monte on the authority of Boston's catalogue, thus practically reversing the statement of the Index. But as it has already been shown that the Index is in every case the more reliable authority, here too I have followed its statement that the ascription of the romances came from the mysterious Catalogue of the writers of 'Norwich. The wording of the entry of Robert's name in Tanner's reprint of Boston, and of that of the first Robert in Bale, to whom the chronicle alone is ascribed, are almost exactly alike.

a We have it on the authority of Dugdale that Leland meant the Priory Library by his Christicolarum Nordovici : " Of the Library of the Priory of Norwich we have but little information. Leland, Collect., torn, in, p. 27, mentions the following works belonging to it as 'in bibliotheca Christicolarum Nordovici." (Dugdale, Monasti- con, IV, p. 11).

8 Leland, Collectanea, in, p. 25.

f

THE AUTHOKSHIP OF THE DE OETU WALUTJANII. 607

the single romance, Bale's source referred to both of them, and in addition ascribed them to a definite author. More- over, Bale when borrowing information from Leland in his Index refers to him explicitly.1

It would be interesting to know whether the copy of the Historia Meriadoci which Leland saw in the library of the Norwich Priory might be identified with either of the extant MSS. of this romance, but on this point evidence is lacMng. The early possessors of the Cotton MS. cannot be traced 2 and the earliest known owner of the Rawlinson MS. is one Nicholas Wyntur 3 concerning whom I can learn nothing. But, though neither of the extant MSS. of this romance can be traced back to Norwich, it is at least worth noting that both in Leland's record of the Meriadoc among the books in the Norwich Library, and in the testi- mony of the Catalogue of Norwich Writers quoted by Bale, this romance is brought into connection with Norwich.

But beyond the statement that the Meriadoc was written by a certain " R," Leland' s testimony gives us no assis- tance in identifying the author as Robert. For the ascrip- tion of the two Latin romances to the 12th century chronicler we are thrown back again upon the authority of the sources consulted by Bale. Nevertheless, Bale had access, as we have seen, to mediaeval library catalogues which are no longer extant, and in his Index he has jotted down in good faith the information which* he gathered from these early records. Clearly, then, in the absence

1 Index, pp. 2, 39, 61, 62, 248, 281, 295, 310, 327, 328, 418, 425, 468, 469, 484.

2 For this information, or rather lack of information, I am in- debted to Miss Katherine Martin, of London, who found out for me that nothing was known of this particular MS. in the Department of Manuscripts at the British Museum.

8 See p. 599, note 4.

608 MAEGAEET SHOVE MOEEISS.

of other external evidence, the positive ascription of these romances to Kobert de Monte by these earlier authorities ought not to be set aside unless it should appear from the study of the romances themselves that they must have been written later than the 12th century. Accordingly, let us proceed to examine such evidence of date of composition as is to be found in the documents themselves.

Professor Bruce would assign their composition to the first quarter of the 13th century on the basis of a bit of internal evidence. He points out a reference to costume, which in his opinion gives a clue to the earliest date at which the romance could have been written. Gawain in the De Ortu l goes into his first tournament with his tunic or surcoat worn over his coat of mail and from this circumstance receives the nickname of the Knight of the Surcoat, " Miles cum tunica armature." On this point Professor Bruce appeals to Schultz, who says : 2 " This use of the surcoat over the armour became general about the first decade of the 13th century," basing his evidence for this statement on contemporary seals. From this, then, Professor Bruce concludes that the ro- mance could not have been written before the first quarter of the 13th century, when this custom was coming into general use. We shall see, however, that as early as the 12th century there are a number of sporadic cases of the use of the surcoat over the armour, and in the first ten years of the 13th century it becomes a general custom. So it may well be possible that the romance, of which this peculiarity of costume forms a part, should have been written when but a few instances of this usage are on record and before it has become a common one. The

1De Ortu, p. 396.

2 Das Hofische Leben zur Zeit der Minnesinger, n, p. 58; cf. also p. 40.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 609

author's comment on his hero's attire, " neque enim antea huiusmodi tunica armis septus aliquis usus fuerat," al- though indicating that the fashion must certainly have been known, does not necessarily imply that at the time he was writing such a style of costume had become uni- versal.

Planche,1 in a history of British costume, states that the military surcoat " appears first in the twelfth century, descending in folds to the knees or a little below it." King John (1199-1216) was the first English sovereign to wear a surcoat ^over his hauberk. It is conjectured that the custom, originated with the Crusaders, in order to distin- guish the many leaders serving under the Cross,2 as well as to veil the iron armour so apt to heat excessively when exposed to the rays of the Syrian sun. According to Hewitt,3 " the surcoat though found in some rare in- stances in the twelfth century does not become a charac- teristic part of the knightly equipment until the 13th century ; " and later he says, " About the beginning of the 13th century arose the use of the military surcoat. The first English monarch who, on his Great Seal, appears in this garment, is King John: 1199-1216. The seal of the dauphin Louis, the rival of John (Harl. Charter B. 37, 1216) has it also. The earliest Scottish king who wears the surcoat is Alexander the Second: 1214-1249." Mey- rick in the Critical Enquiry into Antient Armour,* gives an interesting illustration of a knight performing homage

1 Cyclopedia of Costume and Dictionary of Dress, London, 1876, I, p. 490.

3 See also in addition to Planche", Meyrick, Critical Enquiry into Antient Armour. London, i, 100; and Hewitt, Ancient Armour and Weapons, Oxford and London, 1855, i, 271.

3 Ancient Armour and Weapons, I, 126 and 271.

4 Critical Enquiry into Antient Armour, I, p. 27.

610 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

to King Henry I. This picture is presumably dated 1100, and the surcoat is in this case worn over the hauberk. Meyrick's comment is that this use of the surcoat would place the illustration later than Henry I, but that other early examples of such use are known, and in a footnote he adds two other instances of its early use. He remarks, however, farther on in his book, that surcoats were not generally introduced in the reign of King Stephen (1135- 1154),1 Finally there is an effigy in Gloucester Cathe- dral 2 which is supposed to represent Kobert, Duke of Normandy, the son of William I. His figure lies in the attitude of a Crusader with his surcoat over his coat of mail. Robert of Normandy died in the reign of Henry I, but this effigy has been dated by Meyrick in the reign of Henry II (1154-1189).

To this historical evidence that the surcoat was some- times worn over the hauberk in the 12th century, and that it came into general use very early in the 13th, we may add two sentences from romances of the time, one written at the end of the 12th and the other at the beginning of the 13th century.

In King Sverrer's Saga, written towards the close of the 12th century,3 by the abbot of Thingore in Iceland and others, from the narrative of the king himself, we have the following curious passage : 4 " Konungr sat a brunum hesti, hann hafSi g6"Sa brynju ok styrkan, panzara um

1IUd.} p. 39.

2 Stothard, Monumental Effigies of Great Britain, London, 1817, p. 24.

3 Hewitt, Ancient Armour, i, 111.

4 C. R. linger, Konunga Sogur, Christiania, 1873, p. 181. Hewitt (Ancient Armor, I, 111) translates this passage: — " Sverrer was habited in a good byrnie, above it a strong gambeson (panzara), and over all a red surcoat (raudan hiup)."

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 611

utan, ok yztan rauftan hjup." The other reference is to be found in Parzival : — *

" lat si riten, swer da geste sin : den gap urlCup der Anschevin. dez pantel, daz sin vater truoc, von zobele uf si'nen schilt man sluoc. al kleine wi'z si'din ein hemede der kiinegin, als ez ruorte ir blozen lip, diu nu worden was sin wip, daz was sins halspe"rges dach." 2

This evidence shows conclusively that the surcoat, al- though infrequently, was nevertheless sometimes worn over the armour at the end of the 12th century and that it be- came the ordinary costsume of kings and barons in the early part of the 13th century. Now inasmuch as the author of the De Ortu himself remarks on the peculiarity of the surcoat, it is reasonable to suppose that he was writing before this usage had become common. On that ground alone, then, one would hardly be justified in insisting that the romance could not have been written before the 13th century.

1Bartsch, Wolfram's von EscTieribach Parzival und Titurel. Deut- sche Classiker des Mittelalters. Leipzig, 1875, Bk. n, 11. 1269 ff. Compare also Bk. v, 11. 1057-1060 and 1113-1164.

2 Miss Weston's translation of these lines is as follows: —

" Let them ride whom he there had feasted, from the Angevin

leave they prayed Then the panther the badge of his father on his shield they

in sable laid; And a small white silken garment, a shift that the queen

did wear, That had touched her naked body, who now was his wife

so fair, This should be his corselet's cover."

J. Weston, Parzival, Wolfram von Eschenbach, I, p. 56, Bk. II, 1. 675 ff.

612 MAKGARET SHOVE MOREISS.

Moreover, in the matter of costume, the De Ortu supplies us with another bit of evidence which points to a date earlier than the 13th century. Twice in this romance, the author mentions a particular feature of the armour, namely, the nosepiece worn on the helmet. In the course of his adventures the knight of the sur- coat fights on a certain island in the ^Egean Sea. In the narrative of his campaign we find the following passages : — " Ac Miles cum tunica armature, dum suos cedere uideret postibus, stricto gladio in eorum ducem irruens humo prostrauit, apprehensoque naso cassidis eum ad socios traxit ac uita cum armis destituit." l Again, " Aduenientem igitur Militem cum tunica armature ipse prior impetit, gladio eiusque qua galea inmunita erat fronti uulnus inflixit, nique nasus qui a casside deorsum prominet fuisset presidio una mortem intulisset cum uul- nere." 2 This use of the nasal, that is, a nosepiece project- ing downwards from the front of the helmet, was almost universal in the llth and part of the 12th centuries. "The nasal appears to have been given to the helmet about the end of the tenth century. By the middle of the next century, its adoption has become general, and in the Bay- eux tapestry it is worn equally by Norman and Saxon." 3 " The characteristic helmet of this time [the twelfth cen- tury] is the conical nasal helmet, of which we have seen examples in the close of the former period. Eound and flat topped helmets of the twelfth century have also the nasal." 4 Fairholt 5 shows a figure (ca. 1140) with a nasal helmet, and Planche 6 describes a number of helmets with

*De Ortu, p. 400. 2 De Ortu, p. 409.

8 Hewitt, i, 72. 4 Ibid., p. 138.

5 Costume in England, London, 1846, p. 88. " Cyclopedia of Costume, i, p. 2.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALTJUANII. 613

nosepieces which were used in the 12th century, one of which may have belonged to King Stephen himself. Meyrick I also gives several instances of the use of the nasal helmet, such as that of Alexander I of Scotland, 1107, and of the Earl of Chester, standard bearer to the king in the reign of Stephen, 1141.

Although Hewitt, it is true, comments on the fact that occasional uses of the nasal are to be found later than this, the greatest importance in the mention of this type of helmet in our romance lies in the well-attested fact that the use of such helmets was generally discontinued in the reign of Henry II.2 " The cylindrical or flat- topped helmet (without the nasal) appears to have come into fashion towards the close of the twelfth century." 3 One reason for the discontinuance of its use was the in- convenient hold which the nosepiece afforded to the enemy in battle. Stephen, at the siege of Lincoln, was seized by his helmet and detained a prisoner,4 an incident similar to that in the romance where the hero drags the keeper of the forest over to his own side by the nosepiece of his helmet. Because of the unfortunate accident to Stephen the nasal went out of use and the consequent unprotected state of the face led later to the invention of close face guards. As early as 1148 Henry of Scotland appears on his seal in a conical helmet without the nasal.5 The seal of Henry II depicts the monarch in a helmet without a nose- piece.6 Eairholt 7 describes a figure in the reign of King Stephen attired in a tall conical helmet without the nasal.

1 Critical Enquiry, i, pp. 34 and 35. 2 Ibid., p. 36.

3 Hewitt, Ancient Armour, i, p. 141.

4 Fairholt, Costume in England, p. 89.

5 Critical Enquiry, i, p. 36.

6 Ibid., p. 54. 7 Costume in England, p. 89.

614 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

It may, therefore, be safely asserted that the custom of wearing a helmet with a nasal went out of use as early as the reign of Henry II. ~Now the inference may fairly he drawn that the author of the De Ortu would describe such a helmet only at a time when its use was still some- what frequent. Consequently the only date which will fit both pieces of evidence from costume, that is, which will be early enough for the use of the nosepiece and at the same time late enough for the surcoat fashion, is obviously the second half of the 12th century.

Moreover, Gawain's journey to Jerusalem at a time when it was still a kingdom of the Christians, affords another slight clue to the date. Professor Bruce thinks that the incident is merely reminiscent of the former possession of that city by the Crusaders, but surely the story would more naturally have been written when this possession was still a present fact to the mind of the author.

So far, then, there is nothing in the date of the ro- mances which would forbid the authorship of Kobert de Monte. When we come next to compare these romances themselves with the character and life of Eobert, it will be seen that here too they fit remarkably well.

It will be convenient at this point to recount briefly the facts of the life of Robert de Monte which may be found at greater length in the Dictionary of National Biography.** Robert de Monte, or de Torigny, lived dur- ing the greater part of the 12th century. The first men- tion of his name occurs in the Matriculation List of the

1See also for the life of Robert de Monte, Delisle, Edition of the Supplement to Sigebert of Gemllours and of the Opuscula for the Societe de I'Histoire de Normandie, 1872, vol. II, Introduction; and Hewlett, Chronicles of the Reigns of Stephen, Henry II and Rich- ard I. Vols. l-iv, Rolls Series, 1889, vol. iv. Chronicle of Robert of Torigni. Introduction.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUTJANII. 615

monks of Bee in 1128. The year of his birth was about 1110, as Mr. Howlett conjectures.1 In 1139 Henry of Huntingdon 2 passed a short time with Robert at the mon- astery of Bee on his way to Rome. Robert probably be- came prior of Bee in 1149, when the former prior was made abbot, as in 1154 he was certainly the claustral prior of Bee. The same year, 1154, he was elected to the abbacy of the famous monastery of Mont St. Michel, which office he held until the time of his death. He travelled considerably in connection with his duties as abbot, visit- ing England twice, the first time in 1157.3 When he was in the island he visited a number of the possessions of his abbey there, some of which were in the diocese of Exeter, including the Cornish St. Michael's Mount. The death of Robert de Monte in 1186 has been confidently affirmed by Dom Huynes, an early author of a history of the great abbey. A list of the abbots in Avranches MS. 213, confirms this date, and there is also a document in the chartulary of the abbey, which under the date of 1187 refers to Robert's successor Martin. So Mr. Howlett, too, concludes on these grounds that Robert de Monte died in 1186.

As abbot of Mont St. Michel, one of the four great goals for pilgrimage in the Middle Ages, Robert had many

1 Mr. Howlett bases his conjecture on a bit of internal evidence in the chronicle, taken in connection with the fact that Robert would probably not have been a monk at Bee until he was at least 18 years of age; while the date of his death, in 1186, argues for the earliest possible age limit for his entering the monastery.

3 See letter of Henry of Huntingdon to Warinus. Delisle, Chronicle, I, 98-111. Also see Chronicle of Henry of Huntingdon, Rolls Series, pp. xxi-xxiii.

3 Bale gives 1176 as the date of Robert's journey to England, but the date 1157, given by Mr. Howlett, is based on an examination of various charters and other documents.

616 MAEGARET SHOVE MOKRISS.

opportunities for meeting the most celebrated personages of his day. Henry II and Louis VII are both known to have visited the monastery while he was the abbot. M. Delisle 1 says that Robert de Monte knew the principal members of civil and religious society in England, Nor- mandy and Brittany. Pilgrims of all ranks flocked to the great abbey. Mr. Howlett 2 remarks that the chroni- cler's own means of obtaining crusading news from re- turning knights was so good that even when he was borrowing from Fulcher of Chartres he could add details which his authority had omitted; and his knowledge of later events in the Holy Land, though not always accurate, leads Michaud to rank him for certain facts among the original authorities on the Crusades. This detailed knowl- edge of crusading history and geography, shown on the part of the chronicler, becomes significant when we re- member the description of Gawain's journey to Jerusalem in the De Ortu with its unusual comprehension of geo- graphical localities. The voyage to the Holy Land was, however, one of which Robert must have heard every detail, just as he had heard of the actual crusade against the Saracens, and what could be more natural than that he should represent in his romance the length and dangers of the journey.

Does not this close relationship with the men and events of his age make it possible that Eobert de Monte, the abbot of the great monastery, should have acquired not only the knowledge necessary for his chronicle, but also a keener appreciation of all kinds of literature? In fact, it is known that he was famous for just such literary tastes

1 Delisle, II, p. xii.

2 Howlett, p. xviii.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 617

and interests. The Dictionary of Larousse,1 in the article under Mont St. Michel, attributes part of the great repu- tation of the abbey in the 12th century to Robert de Torigny, who gathered there one of the best collections of manuscripts then known, from which the monastery re- ceived the name of the City of Books. It was during his abbacy too, and partly due to his literary zeal, accord- ing to the same authority, that the Roman du Mont Saint Michel by William de Saint-Pair was written.2 This man with his love of books and learning was certainly well qualified to be the author of romances which, as Pro- fessor Bruce says,3 must have been written by a man of culture and learning and probably by an ecclesiastic. Testimony to the breadth of his knowledge is found in his classical allusions to the Cyclops and the battle of the Lapithse and Centaurs.4

A direct knowledge of Arthurian material and especially of the story of Arthur as told by Geoffrey of Monmouth may also be attributed to Robert de Monte as early as 1139. In this year Henry of Huntingdon on his way to Rome stayed a few days at Bee and there met the young monk. He records the incident in his letter to Warinus. " Robertum de Torrinneio, ejusdem loci monachum veruin tarn divinorurn quam secularium librorum inquisitorem et conservatorem studiossimum ibidem conveni. Qui cum de ordine hystorise de regibus Anglorum a me editse me

1 Larousse, Dictionnaire universel du XI Xe siecle.

2 For a discussion of this 13th century romance, see the preface of M. Beaurepaire to the edition of the romance by Michel, Caen, 1856. In this preface high tribute is paid to the abbot, Robert de Monte, due to whose efforts the monastery became a famous school of learning. Guillaume de Saint-Pair, Roman du Mont-Saint-Michel. Ed. by Francisque-Michel, Caen, 1856.

*De Ortu, p. 386. 4 Ibid., p. 421.

618 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

interrogaret, et id quod a me quserebat libens audisset, obtulit michi libram ad legendum de regibus Britorum, qui ante Anglos nostram insulam temierunt; quorum ex- cerpta ut in epistola decet, brevissime scilicet, tibi, dilec- tissime, mitto." * That Henry meant the Historia of Geoffrey by this book, a sentence at the end of his letter shows : " Hsec sunt quse tibi, Warine Brito karissime, brevibus promisi ; quorum si prolixitatim desideras, librum grandem Gauf ridi Arturi, quern apud Beccense coenobium inveni, diligenter requiras, ubi prsedicta satis prolixe et eluculenter tract at a reperies. Vale.'7 2

This epistle of Henry of Huntingdon to Warinus was inserted by Robert in his own chronicle to explain the early history of the Britons more easily than he himself could have recapitulated it. He refers also again to Geoffrey in the body of his chronicle.3 So it is evident that Robert de Monte had an intimate knowledge of Geof- frey of Monmouth's book, with its important body of Arthurian tradition, no more than three years after it was written. This fact alone would seem to indicate that his interest in such subjects was unusually keen. The definite linking of Robert with Geoffrey at such an early date also serves well to connect him with that small circle of men who in the 12th century were developing the Arthurian tradition into romance.4

1Delisle, i, p. 98. 2 Ibid., p. 111.

8 " Gauf ridus Artur, qui transtulerat historiam de regibus Bri- tonum de britannico in latinum, fit episcopus Sancti Asaph in Norgualis." Delisle, i, p. 265.

A catalogue of Bee library in the 12th century also includes the history of Geoffrey of Monmouth among the titles of books given in it. " Item historiarum de regibus majoris Britannie usque ad adventum Anglorum in insulam libri XII, in quorum septimo con- tinentur prophet! Merlini, non Silvestris, sed alterius, id est Merlini Ambrosii." Migne, Patrologia, Cwrsus Latince, vol. 150, 770-782.

'Vita Meriadoci, p. 339.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 619

The bearing of this fact of Robert's interest in Geoffrey on our question of authorship is, of course, obvious, since we know that the author of our two romances made fre- quent and exact use of the Historia, as a source not only for situations, but for turns of phraseology as well.

All the facts, then, of Robert's career and interests and of his knowledge of Arthurian material fit remarkably with the evidences of the character and training of the author and of his direct use of Geoffrey to be found in the romances.

Finally, it may be pointed out that the identification of Robert as the author of these romances at once clears up the mysterious " R " which stands in the text of the Historia Meriadoci. Both the Cotton and the Rawlin- son MSS. of this romance begin with the words, " Incipit prologus R." * Professor Bruce, in a note on this phrase, remarks cautiously enough : "I confess I do not under- stand the meaning of this R. Probably it was the initial of the author or scribe." From this tentative suggestion, however, M. Paul Meyer has dissented, asserting posi- tively, though without argument, that this " R " stands for " Rubrica," and adding somewhat ungraciously: " II y

1 Bale, it is true, notes the Meriadoe story as beginning " Meno- ratu dignam." This seems to indicate, however, not that the "R," prologue was omitted in the manuscript to which Bale's authority was referring, but that all which was written up to that point was to be regarded merely as an introductory sentence. If the sentence " Incipit prologus R in Historia Meriadoci, regis Kambrie," be read as an introduction to the author's short prologue, it will closely parallel the sentence on the next page which introduces the body of the narrative: — "Incipit historia Meriadoci, regis Kambrie." It looks, therefore, as if this were the proper reading, that is, as if the first two lines of the Meriadoe should be punctuated as follows : " Incipit prologus R in Historia Meriadoci, regis Kambrie. Memoratu dignam dignum duxi exarare historiam," etc.

620 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

a d'autres traces d' inexperience, ou meme d'une connais- sance insufSsante du latin." 1 But Professor Bruce, at all events, was not the first to draw the inference that in " R " we have the initial of the author's name. Mr. Macray, the editor of the Bodleian Catalogue, describes the Rawlinson copy as follows : " Historia Meriadoci Re- gis Cambriae cum prologo brevi cujusdam R." 2 And long before, Leland, it will be remembered, had written with even greater positiveness, " Ex historia de Meriadoco script a per R." 3 The fact that each of these authori- ties, writing independently, understood " K " to be the initial of a name seems to show that this is the most natural interpretation of it.

We have then, to sum up the case in a word, the mediae- val tradition preserved in Bale's Index that these two romances were written by Robert de Monte. We have seen, further, that what is known of Robert's life and literary interests makes the ascription of these romances to him extremely plausible. Finally, we find in the extant manuscripts of the Historia Meriadoci the letter " R " which may most reasonably be explained as the initial of the author's name. The occurrence of this letter in the text must be regarded, therefore, either as an ex- traordinary coincidence, or, as I prefer to believe, as a confirmation of the statement in the Index that these ro- mances came from the pen of the Abbot of Mont St. Michel.

1 Romania, xxxiv, p. 144.

2 Catalogi Codicum Manuscriptorum Bibliothecce Bodleiance. Par- tis Quintse Fasciculus Primus .... confecit, Guilelmus D(unn) Macray .... Oxonii. E typographeo Academico, MDCCCLXII, col. 501, No. 149. 4.

Historia Meriadoci Regis Cainbriae eum prologo brevi cujusdam R., p. 91.

3 Collectanea, HI, 25.

THE AUTHOKSHIP OF THE DE OKTU WALTJUANII. 621

II.

Asssuming now that Eobert de Monte was the author of the De Ortu and the Historia Meriadoci, let us proceed to inquire as to their relationship to other romances. Pro- fessor Bruce has already pointed out a number of similar incidents and situations in other romances, though in most cases the parallels are not sufficiently direct to warrant any positive conclusion as to their relationship to the De Ortu and the Meriadoc. Moreover, now that we place the composition of these Latin romances in the 12th century instead of the 13th, the whole question of their sources must again be opened.

In the first place, there are in both romances frequent borrowings from Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia, a fact which causes no surprise when we recognize them as the work of the man who first brought Geoffrey's treatise to the attention of Henry of Huntingdon. Indeed, the estab- lishment of Robert de Monte's authorship of these ro- mances makes it certain that these borrowings from Geoffrey were at first hand and not through an interme- diary. This relationship to the Historia is particularly distinct and fundamental in the case of the De Ortu.

Professor Bruce, in his Introduction to the De Ortu* called attention to the likeness between the beginning of the island adventure of Gawain and the landing of Brutus on the island of Loegecia (Historia, Bk. 1, ch. xi). Another incident in the Brutus expedition, described in Chapter xn, still more closely approximates the story found in the De Ortu. Brutus on coming to Aquitania delayed there seven days, exploring the region. When the

lDe Ortu, p. 385. 5

622 MAEGAEET SHOVE MOEEISS.

king of that country heard of his arrival, he sent out legates to ask what he was doing there, and whether his men brought peace or war. The legates on the way met Corineius (Brutus's lieutenant) with two hundred men hunting in the woods. The king's messengers asked Cori- neius by whose leave they were hunting there, and added that one could hunt in those woods only by the permission of their lord. Corineius upon this made a bold reply, and rushing upon one of the legates, killed him. The others, taking to flight, returned with the news to their king, who thereupon collected an army, went back to fight Brutus, and was eventually defeated. This incident com- bined with that of the first landing of Brutus was evi- dently the suggestion on which was based the story of Gawain's adventures on the island in the .ZEgean Sea.1

Again, the narrow escape of Gawain from King Milo- crates may have been a reminiscence of the situation of King Arthur in his fight with Flollo. " Denique Flollo invento aditu, percussit Arturum in frontem, et nisi col- lisione cassidis mucronem hehetasset, mortiferum vulnus forsitan intulisset." 2 The similar passage in De Ortu reads : " Aduenientem igitur Militem cum tunica arma- ture ipse prior impetit, gladio eiusque qua galea inmunita erat fronti uulnus inflixit, nique nasus qui a casside de- orsum prominet fuisset presidio una mortem intulisset cum uulnere." 3

1 In connection with this incident, Professor Bruce has also called my attention to a passage in Garin de Loherain (ed. P. Paris, p. 242) describing the fight of Begon de Belin with the foresters, which results in his death. There is, however, little similarity between the two stories. The incident in the Historia furnishes a far more probable source, as well as a much closer parallel; so there is no need to look further.

2 Historia, Bk. ix, ch. xi. * De Ortu, p. 409.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALTJUANII. 623

But by far the most important obligation which the author of the De Ortu owes to Geoffrey is the account of Gawain at Eome (Bk. ix, Ch. xi) : " Erat tune Wal- vanus nlius praedicti Lot duodecim annorum juvenis, obsequo Sulpicii Papse ab avunculo traditus; a quo arma recepit." This brief statement in the Historia appears to have supplied the initial suggestion for the romance.

It is interesting in this connection to note a passage in Robert of Brunne's Chronicle which seems to indicate that he was acquainted with a romance dealing with Ga- wain's education at Rome. The passage runs as follows:

" Sire Loth J7at weddede Anne, Wawayn her sone at Rome was banne To norise, als he romaunce seys, & he highte Wawayn be curteys." *

What romance Robert of Brunne had in mind in the phrase " als ]?e romaunce seys " no one can tell, but his words certainly seem to refer to a romantic treatment of the story rather than to Geoffrey's brief sentence.

In the prose Perlesvaus,2 which is a great composite romance of the 13th century, we find, as in the De Ortu, that Gawain is mentioned at Rome. In both the De Ortu and the Perlesvaus the story of Gawain at Rome has been connected with the tale of the foundling child also related

1 Chronicles of Robert of Brunne, ed. by F. J. Furnivall, Rolls Series, London, 1887, I, 363 ff. The last two lines in this quotation were added by Robert of Brunne to the information he had gained from Wace concerning Gawain's infancy, showing that although he probably used Wace for the statement, he was familiar also with another source for the story. In line 10,667 he refers again to Gawain at Rome in a passage taken directly from Wace.

2 Perceval le Gallois ou le Conte du Graal publie d'apr&s les manuscrits originaux par Ch. Potvin. Premiere partie, Le Roman en Prose, Mons, 1866, pp. 252 ff.

624 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

of him. In their account of Gawain's birth and education these romances then have so many points in common that direct relationship of some sort must be supposed. Fur- thermore, in the Huth Merlin 1 the foundling child story again appears, though in this case it is attached to Modred instead of to Gawain. Nevertheless, the story presents such close parallels in incident that it must be regarded as definitely related to the De Ortu and the Perlesvaus.2 This foundling child story in the three romances, it is needless to say, is not to be found in Geoffrey, but it has been incorporated, in strikingly similar form, into the 12th century Vie du Pape Gregoire. Indeed, Professor Bruce was so much impressed by the similarity between this part of the Gregory story and the three Arthurian romances, that he did not hesitate to assume that the three were derived from the French Gregory. He points out likenesses in detail between the stories of Gawain' s birth, as found in the De Ortu and the Perlesvaus, and that of the infancy of Gregory, emphasizing especially certain slight correspondences, — the discovery of the child by the sea shore, the fact that in the Perlesvaus the guardian gives his name to the hero, that in the Latin romance the person who brings him up is a fisherman, and that in the Perlesvaus the person who gives his name to the child is not the one who actually rears him. The Huth Merlin, he thinks, approaches the De Ortu more closely than it does the other tale, as it retains the original feature of the discovery of the child by a fisherman, although many other details are lacking. All these likenesses, then,

1 Soci6t6 des anciens textes francaise, Paris, 1875. S. Paris, Merlin, roman en prose du XIII siecle, 2 v.

a Professor Bruce has already recognized the close relationship between these two stories and the De Ortu romance.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 625

Professor Bruce explains by supposing a common deriva- tion of the De Ortu, the Perlesvaus, and the HutJi Merlin, from a French prose tale, itself directly derived from the Vie du Gregoire.

In proposing this derivation, Professor Bruce was, of course, thinking of the De Ortu as a 13th century ro- mance. Now that we have reason to believe that it is of the 12th century, it becomes possible to explain these relationships in a different way. Indeed, it is difficult to suppose that the story as found in the Vie du Pape Gregoire in the 12th century could have had time to pass through a French prose intermediary into the De Ortu, which was also written in the same century. Moreover, quite apart from the question of the date of the De Ortu, M. Gaston Paris found evidence which made him believe that there existed already in the 12th century some romance dealing with Gawain at Rome. For M. Paris, in his review of the De Ortu,1 announced several years ago that he was prepared to demonstrate beyond doubt that such a romance must have been in existence at that time.2 Before proceeding, however, to draw definite conclusions as to the relation of the De Ortu to this Gregory story, it will be necessary to examine the development of the tale of the foundling child.3

1 Romania, xxvm, pp. 165, 166.

2 Unfortunately, Paris' edition of the Ider in which he intended to present his evidence, was not completed at the time of his death. It cannot be known, therefore, on what grounds he was basing his statement nor in what form he thought this 12th century Gawain romance had existed. It is clear, however, that at the time he wrote he considered the De Ortu as a 13th century romance. Is it not now possible, since we know that the De Ortu was written in the 12th century, that this very romance itself supplies the early version of the story which Gaston Paris postulated?

3 It is no longer believed that the Gregory legend was modelled

0

626 MARGAEET SHOVE MORRISS.

The key to the development of this story is, I believe, to be found in two Eastern versions, one Servian and the other Bulgarian, outlines of which are printed by Lip- pold * and Kohler 2 respectively, although neither of these scholars seems to have recognized the full importance of these late popular versions as preserving comparatively primitive forms of the story.3

The Servian version is the story of Simon the Found- ling, found in a Servian manuscript of the 15th or 16th century (Talvj, i, 139, and Gerhard's Wila, i, 226), the outline of which follows: —

A monk from a cloister finds on Donau strand a little chest. When he opens it at the cloister, a child laughs up at him. He calls the child Foundling Simon and trains him in the cloister. One day when the scholars are playing together one of them tells Simon that he is a homeless child. He goes weeping to the abbot of the monastery, who is finally forced to let him go out into the world to seek his fortune. He provides the boy with clothing and a horse and exacts from him a promise that he will return to the monastery in ten years. As the boy rides forth he comes to a royal feast in Buda. The queen sees him at the feast and, attracted by

directly upon the (Edipus story, as Luzarche seems to have supposed in the Introduction to his edition of the Vie du Pape Gregoire, Tours, 1857. The connection between the two stories must have been at best but a vague one transmitted through many intermediate sources. Lippold in his dissertation, fiber die Quelle des Gregorius Eartmann's von Aue, Leipzig, 1869, p. 50, insists that although ultimately derived from the (Edipus story, the Gregory legend was not based directly on the Greek (Edipus.

1 fiber die Quelle des Gregorius Hartmann's von Aue, pp. 55-56.

2 Germania, xv, 284.

'Lippold (p. 58) does not think the Servian tale represents an old version of the story and does not believe in the theory that the story was an eastern one which came west through Servia. The presence of a Bulgarian MS. of a similar tale would seem, however. to confirm the theory of an eastern original for the foundling child story.

THE AUTHOESHIP OF THE DE OKTU WALUUANII. 627

his beauty, sends him a message. Simon hastens to her, greets her, and finally spends the night with her. In the morning he sees, ashamed, what has happened. Heavy of heart he springs up to leave, and the queen seeks in vain to keep him. On the way, how- ever, he misses his copy of the Evangelists and returns to get it. He finds the lady weeping, for she has recognized the book and through it the fact that he is her son. When the young man knows who she is, he returns straightway to the cloister. He tells the abbot what has happened, and the latter imprisons him in a loath- some cell to expiate his sin, throwing away the key that the door might not be unlocked unless the key return to him again. In the tenth year of Simon's imprisonment, a fish is found in the sea and in it the key. The abbot hears of this event, and remembering the sinner in prison, opens the door of the cell. He finds Simon sitting in a refulgence of glory, which abundantly testifies to the fact that his sin has been forgiven.

The second of these versions is preserved in a Bulgarian manuscript of the 17th century 1 in a Gymnasialbibliothek at Laibach. Its outline is given in the article in Germa- nia, by Mr. Kohler: —

A certain king named Anthony, in the city of Csesarea, had a son and daughter. After his death and that of the queen, the two children ruled the country. After a time another king wished to marry the sister and so to gain half the inheritance. The brother and sister prevented this by an incestuous union, the fruit of which was a son. But the two could not keep the child because of the nature of its birth. So they made a chest and wrote a letter telling of the child's parentage which they laid in the chest with the child. Finally the brother died and the sister ruled the kingdom.

A wind, meantime, had blown the chest to the land of Herod. There a monk, Hermolaus, found it and, keeping the letter secret, reared the child, who finally inherited the land of Herod. Word came to his mother that there was a wise young king in that land, but she did not know that it was her son. So she wrote to him and asked him to become her husband. He took his mother as his queen and became king of Ccesarea. He (and the name is given here as Paul) then went to the monk and asked him for his bless- ing. Hermolaus answered sadly that he was unfit to rule and gave

1 Germania, xv, 288 : R. Kohler, Zur Legende von Gregorius auf dem Bteine. 0

628 M AEG ABET SHOVE MORBISS.

him the letter to read. Paul did not read it until he reached home, but when he knew its contents, that he was a child of incestuous parents, he became very sad. From this time he would not lie with the queen. She wondered at this, made a servant tell her the reason for her husband's sadness, and in her turn read the letter. From it she found out with horror that she had committed incest with her own son as well as with her brother. She then told Paul that she who was his wife was also his guilty mother who had written the letter. Afterwards she repented her double wrong doing with many severe penances. But Paul went to John Chrysostem and told him of his sin. John was much horrified at the enormity of the evil deed, but, remembering a small island on the sea on which there was a marble column, he conceived the idea of confining Paul there. This he did, fastening him hand and foot and locking him into the column with an iron key which he threw into the sea, crying " When these keys come forth out of the sea, then I shall come to you." Twelve years later John found the key in a fish brought before him on Annunciation Day. At first he wondered about it, but finally he remembered Paul, and the next morning he went out to the rock on which he had left the guilty man bound. When he opened the column, he saw Paul shining with glory like the sun. John called out to him and Paul blessed him, and then gave his own soul into the hands of God. Finally, his mother came to him and she, too, found rest to her soul, because she had done penance with all her heart.

Now, inasmuch as both of these versions are late in date, may it not be objected that it is unnecessary to intro- duce them into a discussion of the sources of the 12th century French Gregory? This might be the case, were it not for several important points in connection with the versions. Their essential similarity to the Gregory story makes it impossible to suppose that the stories had an independent origin. On the other hand, it is hard to see how the two versions could have been derived from the French Gregory. For the general course of romance material was from East to West and not from West to East, and these are both eastern forms of the tale. Even if it were possible that in this case the course of the story was

THE AUTHOKSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALTJUANII. 629

from West to East, it would still be necessary to explain the somewhat complicated change in language. It is diffi- cult to see by what path the French metrical text of the Gregory romance could have travelled to Servia and Bul- garia. There is, besides, a suggestion in Mr. Kohler's comment on the Paul of Ccesarea which will indicate the probable path which the story did take. He quotes the opinion of the Russian scholar Lamansky that the Bulga- rian manuscript is undoubtedly the translation of a Greek text. Although there is no indication of the source of the Simon story, it, too, may have come from this Greek version.1 Finally, the most important reason for rely- ing on these tales as representing earlier versions of the foundling child story than the Gregory, is to be found in the character of the stories themselves. Their compara-

1 The relationship between the Paul of Ccesarea and the Simon would not in any way forbid this theory of a common source for the two. Both stories contain the essential parts of the legend: — the finding of the child in a chest on the shore by a monk, the education of the child by the man who finds him, the incest between mother and son, the discovery of this first by the mother, the penance performed by both, the imprisonment of the son and the throwing away of the keys which are found again in the body of a fish. Where the two stories differ, as in the omission from the Simon of the first incestuous connection, and in the imprisonment of the sinner in a cell instead of on a rock in the sea, the variation was probably made by the author of the Simon, as the version found in the Gregory agrees more closely with the Paul. The latter version, therefore, evidently represents the original story.

The foundling child features of the story may have become attached to the incest motive because it was necessary for the development of the incestuous union between mother and son, that they should be separated and should come together again in ignor- ance of their true relationship. Another incestuous connection is made the reason for the abandonment of the child, perhaps to heighten the awfulness of the position of the man who is to expiate his terrible sin.

630 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

tive simplicity and their lack of any of the features of romantic adventure so conspicuous in the French Gregory, testify strongly to their early origin.

In view of the late date of these two versions as they have been preserved, it is hardly necessary to say that the French Gregory could not have been derived directly from either of them. How then could this foundling child story have been incorporated into all three of these ver- sions except through the medium of a common source, which was a story doubtless written, as Mr. Lamansky suggests, in the Greek language?

This postulated Greek version must have been, more- over, marked by a distinct flavor of piety, its fundamental purpose being to teach the efficacy of penance for the expiation of the greatest of sins. We may suppose, then, that the Greek parent version of all the others was from the first distinctly a Christian legend.1

It is easy to conceive that this pious Christian story, similar in most respects to the Paul of Ccesarea, should have passed over into a Latin version, likewise pious, irom which in turn would come the different stories of the western group. This postulated western story, which we may for convenience call W, must have been in Latin and was altogether probably in prose. As the Greek was an ecclesiastical tale, W, too, may well have kept the essentially pious character of the story and may natur- ally have become connected with the Latin church. It was, therefore, probably already attached to the name

1 The nature of the connection between the CEdipus and the Greek Christian tale cannot be made clear. It is possible that the story was first taken over from the Greek CEdipus by a Christian writer who changed the story to make it serve his pious purpose.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE OKTU WALUUANII. 631

Gregory, which is that of several of the greatest of the Popes.1

This W then went over, perhaps through intermediate steps, to a French romantic poem, from which in turn came the German and English versions of the legend. But the character of the story in this French form must have been considerably changed by its incorporation into romance literature. Its somewhat bare outlines were soft- ened and were filled in at much greater length. It was also for the first time told in a vernacular tongue and put into literary metrical form. Moreover, the story is told with such relish that its original pious purpose is almost overshadowed by the interest excited in the exploits of the hero.

Now the question still remains as to the way in which the foundling child story, as so far developed, was related to the Arthurian cycle of romance. The fact that in the De Ortu, the Perlesvaus, and the Huth Merlin alike, this story is connected with King Arthur's court, cannot be a mere coincidence. It is necessary to suppose, therefore, that the transition was made in some one

1Kaufmann (Trentalle Sancti Gregorii, Erlangen, 1889, p. 5) supposes the romance of the Trental of St. Gregory to have had some connection with the Gregorius legend. He points out the similarity of name, the fact that the theme of both stories is the expiation of great sin by penance, and that in both stories it , is a mother and a son, who afterwards becomes Pope, that are con- cerned. It is easier to suppose that the connection of the Trental with the Gregory story came through W, an essentially eccle- siastical tale, rather than through the French romance. If this connection between the Trental and the Gregory legend is then through W, it furnishes an additional reason for thinking that the name Gregory was already attached to the foundling child story in the W version.

632 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

romance from which the others are directly or indirectly derived.1 This common source of the three versions we may for convenience designate as Z.

Can this hypothetical version Z have been, as Professor Bruce thinks, a French prose tale deriving from the metri- cal French Vie du Gregoire? Even if we leave out of account the chronological objection which the early date of the De Ortu raises against this hypothesis, several other difficulties in this derivation from a lost French source remain to be considered.

The principal ones are those of language and form. It has already been demonstrated that the romance Vie du Pape Gregoire must have derived from a Latin source W. It would hardly be expected, then, that the French poem should in its turn have been the source of another Latin tale such as the De Ortu. ISTor would the romance changed from prose into verse, be likely to return again to a prose form, in which form, however, all three of the Arthurian romances are written. In addition to these reasons, the romantic elaboration of the incident and of the motive for the exposure of the child as found in the French Gregory differentiates it clearly from the somewhat simpler form in the De Ortu. It is far more reasonable, therefore, to suppose that Z came directly from W and did not pass through the medium of the Vie du Gregoire.

The development of the foundling child story up to this point may, perhaps, therefore, be indicated by the follow- ing diagram:

1 Professor Bruce (De Ortu, p. 375) has already pointed out the necessity of a common source for these three romances.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE OBTU WALUTJANII. 633

CEdirjus (?)

Greek Christian Legend

Simon

Paul of C

Fr. Greg.

Assuming, then, the existence of a version Z as the com- mon original of the three Arthurian stories l it is easy to define its general outlines.

Z in all probability was written in prose, as all its de- rivatives are in prose, and in Latin, because the De Ortu is a Latin romance. It must have contained all the characteristic features of the foundling child story as it appears in the extant Gregory legend. These are, — the concealment motive, the placing of the child in a cradle or chest with clothes and money and a letter ex-

1 Z, the source of the romance of the De Ortu, could have been neither the Perlesvaus nor the Huth Merlin, as Professor Bruce has already demonstrated (De Ortu, pp. 375-376). To the reasons which he gives, still others may be added at this point. Because, in Perlesvaus, the child apparently was carried away by land and not by sea, while in the other two stories the feature of the sea voyage is prominent. The incident in the Huth Merlin differs from the others in many details, especially in the absence of the concealment motive for the exposure of the child, and is clearly but a weaker reflection of the other tale. Moreover, if either the Perlesvaus or the Merlin was the source of the De Ortu, that is, was Z, the difficulty of the change of language would again arise.

634 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

plaining its parentage, the cradle put into a ship or boat, the stranding of the boat and the subsequent finding of the child by a stranger, and finally, its education by the man who found it. At the same time Z must have differed from the source of the Gregory in its omission of the incest feature, in its loss of a pious purpose, and in its attachment to the Arthurian cycle.

Thus, by comparing on the one hand the early forms of the foundling child story, and on the other the deriva- tive Arthurian versions, we have been able to define with considerable precision this Z which supplies a necessary link in the development of the story. And now that we have the outlines of this hypothetical version clearly before us, it is to be observed that it coincides point by point with the De Ortu itself. That the De Ortu was actually Z cannot, of course, be proved, nor is the estab- lishment of this in the slightest degree necessary to our argument. But, on the other hand, there is nothing to be urged against the identity of the two versions, and it certainly becomes most difficult to differentiate the hypothetical Z from the extant De Ortu. If Z, then, may be identified with the De Ortu, it follows that it must have been the source of the Perlesvaus and the Huth Merlin, although in the case of the latter this derivation may not have been direct.

Against this derivation of the Perlesvaus directly from the De Ortu, Professor Bruce discovers only two slight difficulties, that is, two details in which he finds that the Perlesvaus is more like the Gregory than is the De Ortu. These difficulties are: first, the naming of the hero after the person who takes charge of him, and secondly, the additional feature that the guardian and the person who brings up the child are not identical. It is true that in the Perlesvaus the name is given to the child by its guar-

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE OKTU WALTJUANII. 635

dian; but at the same time, in this very question of the name, the story told in the Perlesvaus is on the whole closer to the De Ortu than to the Gregory. The child is given the same name, Gawain, in both the Perlesvaus and the Latin romance. It is also named by its mother before the exposure incident, and not, as in the Gregory, by the guardian after the voyage is over. In view of these close likenesses with the De Ortu, may not the mere fact of the child being called after the guardian in the Perlesvaus and the Gregory be a coincidence ? In the other instance also the greater similarity of the Perlesvaus to the Gregory is not clearly established. While the abbot who has given his name to the child in the Gregory romance does not, perhaps, actually rear him, it is within the mon- astery precincts that the boy is educated, and it is to the abbot he turns when he is in trouble. This differentiates the story strongly from the Perlesvaus, where the guardian does not appear again after he leaves the child in the peasant's hut. The likeness of the Perlesvaus to the French Gregory does not appear to be close enough to justify the supposition that it could not have been derived from the Gregory legend through the De Ortu.

On the other hand, the Huth Merlin is, as Professor Bruce recognizes, closer to the De Ortu than to the Perlesvaus, and consequently could well have derived from the Latin romance.1

Moreover, the character of this hypothetical Z reveals an author of sufficient ingenuity and power of con- struction to weave together into one story many different

1 One need not assume that the extant Latin text was the identical source used by the author of the Huth Merlin. There may have been intermediary versions; but at least it is true that the line of descent of the Merlin must have been through the De Ortu and not through the Perlesvaus.

636 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

elements. He evidently took this incident bodily from its former setting and inserted it into a story of King Arthur's court, for which the general suggestion had been taken from Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia. Was not Robert de Monte a man eminently capable of making these considerable alterations in the form of the tale that it must have had in Z? As an ecclesiastic, too, Robert would have had access to such a version of the foundling child story as W, the pious Latin source of the French Gregory. Though it is not, I repeat, necessary to insist on the De Ortu as the very source of the Perlesvaus and the Huth Merlin, it certainly satisfies all the conditions required of this common source. Z, if another version, must have been similar to the De Ortu in language, form, and incident.

In any case it has been shown that the De Ortu must have derived, not through a French prose tale from the French metrical romance, but rather, either directly or through a lost version Z, from the Latin story W, which was also the ultimate source of the Vie du Pape Gregoire. Also, since it is clear that the De Ortu comes from this version W, any chronological difficulty on the score of the early date of the Latin romance is at once obviated.

The sources for most of the other incidents in the romance need not detain us here, as they have already been pointed out by Professor Bruce in his Introduction to the De Ortu. He has since been kind enough to send me one or two further references in connection with minor points in the romance.

The most important of these is a parallel in expression between the De Ortu and two passages in the prose Lancelot du Lac, where it is pretended that the hero in- troduces for the first time some well-known portion of the armour or dress.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 637

1 — " — ils s'arm£rent, Galehaut des armes du Roi des cent che- valiers, Lancelot de ses armes ordinaires, sauf la bande blanche a travers le champ noir de l'e"cu et le pennon flottant sur le heaume. Pour la premiere fois e*tait porte ce signe de reconnaissance." 1

2 — " Celui-ci pour la premiere fois parut monte sur un cheval barde de fer, et non, comme c'e"tait jusqu'alors 1'usage, de cuir vermeil ou de drap. On fut d'abord tente" de le blarner, on finit en I'imitant par montrer qu'on 1'approuvait. II fit encore une autre chose nou- velle, ce fut d'arborer une banniere de ses armes, en jurant d'avancer toujours au dela de toutes les autres bannifcres, et de ne pas reculer d'un pas."2

The passage in the De Ortu referring to the tunic worn by the hero above his armour has been quoted in another connection : " neque enim antea huius modi tunica armis septus aliquis usus fuerat." 3

The parallels, however, between these two passages and that in the De Ortu are not close. In neither instance taken from the Lancelot is it a tunic which is thus worn for the first time, nor is the matter there one on which much emphasis is laid, as is the case in the De Ortu, where the incident gives a nickname to the hero. It is not necessary, therefore, that the De Ortu should have been derived from the Lancelot romance. It is not impossible, on the other hand, that the writer of the Lancelot may have appropriated the expression from the Latin romance, but it is more probable that the two stories had a common original. This may indeed have been a stock device for glorifying the hero of a tale.

The description of the island people who live only until they are fifty years old may be compared to two passages in the English Alexander romances, where a fixed limit of life is indicated.

1P. Paris, Romans de la Table Ronde, rv, p. 50. 3 Hid., iv, p. 62. sDe Ortu, p. 396.

6 *

638 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

" Wymmen there ben mychel and belde ; Whenne hy habbeth ben of fiftene wyntre elde, Children hy beren verrayment, That ben of body fair and gent: Ac no womman of that countrey Ne lyveth no lenger, par ma, fey, Then she be of twenty wyntres age, For then she gooth to dethes cage." l

" Oure lord has lemett vs elike J?e lenthe of oure days, For j?ar leues na lede in oure lande langire ]?an othire. If he be sexti ^ere of sowme ]?at a segge lastis, His successoure has bot J?e same & J?an J?e saule ^eldis."2

It may be inferred from these quotations that the des- cription of the De Ortu was suggested indirectly by some such Eastern tradition as this, but the parallel is so vague that no direct connection can be assumed.3

Turning now to the Historia Meriadoci, we may briefly consider its sources. As in the case of the De Ortu, here also there are distinct traces of the use of Geoffrey of Monmouth, although Geoffrey's Historia does not form, as in the Gawain romance, the starting point for the story. Almost all the places where Geoffrey has been used have already been noted. My attention has recently been called by Professor Bruce to the fact that the author of the Meriadoc also received from Geoffrey his suggestion for the island alike on all four sides, the description of which is developed from a sentence or two found in the Historia (Bk. ix, Ch. vn).

1 Weber, Metrical Romances, Edinburgh, 1810. Kyng Alisaunder, I, p. 208.

2 Wars of Alexander, E. E. T. S., Extra Series, 47, p. 232.

3 Mr. Bruce adds also to the two references given above another instance in which the name Nabor is used, that is in the Grand St. Graal, Hucher, in, p. 106. As he had already pointed out the name in the Huth Merlin this additional instance of its use indicates that it was not uncommon in romance literature.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALTJUANII. 639

" Cumque ad mirum contulisset, accessit Arturus, dixit que illi : aliud stagnum magis esse mirandum in eadem provincia. Erat quippe baud longe illinc, latitudinem habens viginti pedum, eademque mensura longitudinem, cum quinque pedum altitudine."

The Meriadoc description is as follows:

" Est autem ei quedam insula, quindecim ex omni parte patens miliariis .... Eiusdem latitudinis cuius et longitudinis est."1

An attempt has recently been made by Deutschbein 2 to trace in the first part of the Latin Meriadoc a Welsh version of the Havelok romance.3 The Meriadoc, he thinks, was derived directly from a Celtic story of northern England, from which also came a Danish version of the Havelok found in the east of England, and so ultimately the other forms of the Havelok story. But the Meriadoc although clearly Welsh in origin,4 can scarcely have been derived from the story of Havelok. The likeness between the two romances consists only in the situation of the dispossessed heir, while the differences between them are great. There are a boy and a girl in both tales, but in the Meriadoc they are sister and brother, and the story of their disinheritance forms but a single incident, not, as in the Havelok, two separate ones. In the Havelok the father of the hero is not slain by the treacherous re-

1 Meriadoc, p. 386.

2 Studien zur Sagengeschichte Englands, 1906, i, pp. 134-137.

8 The parallel between the Meriadoc and the Havelok was suggested by Professor Bruce in the Introduction to his edition of the Meri- adoc. Deutschbein has done little more than expand to a somewhat greater length Professor Bruce's suggestions.

4 In connection with the Welch origin of the Meriadoc romance, which Professor Bruce has already demonstrated, it is perhaps signi- ficant to remember Robert de Monte's visit to England in 1157. As he is known to have been both in Devonshire and Cornwall, it is certainly not impossible that he also visited Wales.

640 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

gent. The Meriadoc, moreover, does not contain any hint of a sea voyage nor of the humble youth of the hero and his ignominious position at the king's court. The occurr- ence of the Welsh name Orwen or Orwain in both the HaveloJc and the Meriadoc appears to be but a natural coincidence as the two stories were both drawn from Cymric sources. Had there been any direct connection between the Meriadoc and the HaveloJc story it is hardly possible to suppose that other more important names would not also have been carried over to the Meriadoc. It is, moreover, not probable that the name would have been transferred from the mother of the girl to the girl her- self. On the whole, then, the two stories are so different that it is difficult to see in what their similarity consists. In view of the great divergences between them, the one or two slight likenesses, such as the pity of the cruel regent for the child, which leads him to postpone its death, may be regarded as merely fortuitous. There is certainly no adequate reason for assuming the depend- ence of the Meriadoc on the Havelofc story.1

Indeed, although there are in the Meriadoc many slight resemblances to scattered incidents found in other roman- ces, I have been unable to discover a possible direct source for any part of the story. A few additional references may be mentioned 2 which are of the same general char- acter as those to which attention is called in the Intro- duction to the Meriadoc. That is to say, the passages

1 The Havelok story itself clearly passed through a Welsh medium. If, then, the Meriadoc too is to represent a Welsh version of the Havelok, there would have been in Wales at the same time two versions of the same story under different names, a situation which is highly improbable.

2 1 am indebted to Professor Bruce for these references.

THE AUTHOKSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 641

present parallels of the vaguest description and cannot in any case be supposed to have furnished sources for the story.

Gundebald's test for applicants for military service in the Meriadoc (p. 387) may be compared in a general way with the description found in Lancelot du Lac: l

"Le mer le bornait d'un c6te, de Pautre une riviere nominee Asurne, large, rapide et profonde, qui aboutissait a la mer. On y trouvait des chateaux, des cite"s, des forests, des montagnes. Pour y pene"trer, il fallait passer par deux chausse"es qui n'avaient que trois conde'es de large et plus de sept mille et cinquante conde"es de long. A 1'entre'e et a la sortie se dressait une forte tour de"fendue par un chevalier de prouesse e'prouvee, et par dix sergents arme"s de haches, de lances et d'e"pe"es. Quiconque demandait 9. passer e"tait tenu de combattre le chevalier et les dix sergents. S'il for- cait le passage, on inscrivait son nom a Fentr€e de la tour, et d&s- lors il devait faire ie service de celui qu'il avait vaincu, jusqu'a ce qu'il plut a Galehant d'envoyer un de ses chevaliers pour le rem- placer. S'il e"tait vaincu, le chevalier le retenait prissonier."

The three knights whom Meriadoc meets and over- comes in succession, Niger Miles de Negro Saltu, etc., are not unlike the three whom Gareth defeats in the Morte d' Arthur,2 but the circumstances under which the fight- ing is done are very different.

There is a dwarf, who will not answer questions put to him, in the romance of Sir Degree.3

The name Dolphin occurs as a man's name in the Anglo- Saxon chronicle (Laud MS.) under the year 1092, and in King Lear.4"

These references are, however, as has already been said, far too late to have furnished sources for the Meriadoc. The minor parallels which they present to the Latin

*P. Paris, Romans de la Table Ronde, in, p. 279.

s Morte d' Arthur, Bk. vn, ch. vn.

8 Percy Folio MS., in, p. 39. « Act III, Scene iv, 1. 93.

642 MAKGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

romance, as well as the other resemblances of the same kind already noted by Professor Bruce, indicate not direct sources, therefore, but mere fleeting resemblances, the very elusiveness of which points to the origin of the Latin story before the formation of definite romance cycles.

Finally, there are still other features in the two ro- mances, such as the unusual names, the fight at sea with the long description of Greek fire, and part of the island adventures of Gawain, which cannot be even remotely paralleled with incidents found in other romance material. Does not an explanation of these features become possible when we remember that Robert de Monte, the author of the Latin stories, was a chronicler as well as a writer of romance? The comparative geographical accuracy in the account of Gawain's travels and the clear description of military and naval warfare suggest strongly a chroni- cle source for these parts of the romances. This idea, unfortunately, remains but a suggestion, because I have been unable to find any passages, in the chronicles to which Robert must have had access, which would serve as a direct source for any of the incidents in the romances. The only piece of evidence which shows distinctly some use of the chronicles is to be found in several of the names in the Meriadoc, those of Gundebaldus, Guntram- nus, and Meroveus, all of which, as Professor Bruce points out, are taken from the names of French or Bur- gundian kings.1

There is besides, however, a general similarity between the names and situations in the romances and those found in the various chronicles, which is very tantalizing in its suggestiveness. The names found in the De Oriu,

1 See the Chronicles of Gregory of Tours, Bruno, and Paul the Deacon.

THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE DE ORTU WALUUANII. 643

e. g., Milocrates, Buzafarnan, Egesaurius, and Odabal, are not unlike those of the Persians in the war of Justin- ian with Chosroes II described in Procopius,1 e. g., Gubazes, Isdiguna, Odonathus, Buzes, Nabedes, etc., but in no case is there exact similarity. Procopius 2 and Fulcher of Chartres 3 both describe an animated sea-fight but there is no incident in either story which can be directly compared with the fight in the De Ortu. Such, too, is the case in the description in Baudri of Bour- gueil 4 of the capture of Antioch through the treachery of a man within the walls of the city. The situation is similar to one in the Latin romance, but there is no likeness in the actual phrasing of the incidents. Many of the chronicles also mention the use of Greek fire, but I have found no such description of its preparation as in the De Ortu. The parallel with chronicle material so far, therefore, remains one of general character rather than of specific phrase or incident; but it is very possible that a wider search among the chronicles would reveal material actually incorporated into the romances.

This study of the sources of the De Ortu and the M er- iadoc, I am fully aware, has not been exhaustive. But so far as it has gone, it has not brought out any relation- ships which are inconsistent with the conclusions reached in the first part of this paper ; and the general impression gained from the romances themselves that they were writ- ten before the development of the Arthurian cycle, war- rants us in accepting, on the authority of Bale's Index, Robert de Monte as their author. Changing the date thus

1 De Bello Gothico.

3 Ibid., iv, 23, p. 577.

8Migne, Patrologia Lat., vol. 155, col. 1273.

4Migne, Patrologia Lat., vol. 166, col. 1102.

644 MARGARET SHOVE MORRISS.

from the 13th to the 12th century brings the two Latin stories into a different circle of romance connections and thereby increases their importance. They must at least have been composed while Chretien de Troyes was writing, and possibly even before the date of his first romance. The earliest time at which the two romances could have been written was after 1139, when Robert called the attention of Henry of Huntingdon to the existence of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia', while the date of Robert's death was 1186. The first romances of Chretien de Troyes were written between the years 1164-1174. The two sets of dates, therefore, are parallel only in the later years of Robert de Monte' s life. It might easily be expected, however, that the abbot of Mont St. Michel would have been inspired to write Arthurian romances, showing so clearly the influences of the Historia, at a time when the Geoffrey material was still comparatively fresh in his mind. In any case it would certainly be necessary for one who questions the assumption that our author did not borrow from Chretien, to prove that he knew and availed himself of the works of the French romance writer. If he had used Chretien, one would expect to find in the Latin romances parallels to the French poems which would approach the definiteness of their parallels to Geoffrey. Such parallels, however, are not to be found. If Robert's independence of Chretien seems probable, then the im- portance of his romances increases greatly, for there are matters of characterization and episodes in the two Latin stories thereby shown not to be the work of Chretien. Such incidents are those of the encounter at the ford, the conversation of Arthur and the queen in bed, and other typically Arthurian material.

One general result of this whole study must be to supply

THE AUTHOKSHIP OF THE DE OBTU WALUUANII. 645

another interesting example of this early type of Latin literature. Professor Warren, in the course of a discussion of the French romances of the Thebes and Eneas 1 throws out the suggestion that there was already a considerable body of romantic literature in Latin in the first half of the 12th century. The results reached in this paper give additional force to this suggestion.

MAEGAEET SHOVE MOEEISS.

*Pub. Mod. Lang. Ass., xvi, p. 375.

XXVII.— SPENSER'S DAPHNAIDA, AND CHAUCER'S BOOK OF THE DUCHESS.

No editor of Spenser has failed to remark on certain poems and passages which reflect the influence of Chaucer. Attention has not hitherto been called, however, to what not only seems to be the most marked example of this influence, but to what is also an unusually clear case of literary borrowing. The purpose of this study is to show that in Daphndida, Spenser has followed Chaucer's Book of the Duchess, in general form and outline, in manner of treatment, and in style and subject matter ; that he has taken from the Duchess certain stanzas almost entire, has borrowed from it whole sections of eulogistic ideas and elegiac conceits, and has adopted Chaucer's phraseology itself, with a freedom at once both striking and con- vincing.

Before proceeding to the main discussion, it will be interesting to note the similarity of the circumstances which gave rise to these two elegies. Spenser's friend, Arthur Gorges, has lost his wife, Lady Douglas Howard. Spenser composes Daphna/ida, he tells us in the dedication, on account of the " great good fame " he has heard of Lady Howard, as well as " the particular goodwill " which he bears " unto her husband Master Arthur Gorges." The circumstances attending the composition of the Duchess will be at once recalled. Chaucer's friend, John of Gaunt, had lost his wife, the Lady Blaunche. Chaucer wrote his poem in memory of the Duchess, and we may readily

646

DAPHNAIDA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS. 647

believe that he, too, was moved to write, not only by the " great good fame " of the Lady, but as well by " the particular goodwill " he bore " unto her husband." Thus Spenser could hardly have found an elegiac model more admirably adapted to his purpose. The fact that he was already familiar with the Duchess 1 would make it alto- gether natural that his mind should revert to it when casting about for a form in which to compose an elegy, the occasion of which was so strikingly similar to that of Chaucer's poem. This, of course, is not evidence. It does, nevertheless, reveal a noteworthy coincidence in situ- ation, and has value for this discussion in establishing a fairly strong antecedent probability. Conclusive argu- ment, however, must be found, if at all, in the poems themselves. In the discussion which follows, I shall first point out the resemblances in the general form and outline of the two poems, and shall then compare them in detail. The poems agree in the following points :

1. The poet describes himself at the outset as sorely troubled in mind.

2. The exact cause of this trouble is left unexplained.2

3. The poet goes forth3 and meets, by accident, a man in sorrow, clothed all in ~black.

4. The poet hears this man in black uttering a sorrow- ful moan, whereupon he approaches, and greets him gently.

5. The man in black at first ignores the greeting and

JThat Spenser knew Chaucer's Book of the Duchess, can be established on grounds quite independent of Daphnaida. (Cf. Faerie Queene, I, 1, 39-43.)

2 In Chaucer's case it may be explained as a purely poetic convention. Keasons will later appear for believing that Spenser has followed Chaucer in this, and that his lines, also, have no autobiographical significance.

3 Chaucer, of course, in his dream (see below, p. 648).

648 THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

refuses to be comforted. He finally discloses his secret only on persuasion of the poet.

6. He describes his sorrow in the form of a riddle,1 which the poet asks to have explained.

7. The bereaved man not only tells of the death of his wife, but also rehearses the story of his early love.

8. He rails against Fortune,2 who has played false with him and robbed him of his love.

9. He pours forth a formal plaint,3 " a maner song," which in each case the poet quotes verbatim.

10. The ending in both poems is similarly abrupt and dramatic.

The two poems will now be considered in detail. In this comparison I shall follow the narrative as given in Daphnaida, noting at the same time corresponding lines and passages in the Duchess. For the sake of brevity and clearness, I shall refer to Spenser's " man in black " as Alcyon, — the poet's own name for him, — and to Chaucer's nameless " man in black " simply as the Knight. Re- membering that Spenser does not adopt the dream con- vention, and passing over the hunt, which forms no essential part of the story in the Duchess, let us follow the two narratives from what is really the starting point in both, — the point at which the poet comes upon the " sory wight," the death of whose wife the poem in each case is written to celebrate.

After three stanzas of a very general introduction,

*It is worth while to observe, also, that in both poems, the "man in black" gives to his lady a pseudonym which has a very definite connection with her real name.

8 See below, p. 657.

3 In the Duchess, this plaint comes at the beginning of the narrative. In Daphnaida, it comes at the end.

DAPHNAIDA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS. 649

Spenser proceeds at once to his story. He tells us that one " gloomie evening " as he " walkt abroade to breath the freshing ayre in open fields," there came into his mind a

* ' troublous thought, Which dayly dooth my weaker wit possesse."

He describes himself as " most miserable man " of all men miserable, in language which at once suggests the opening lines of the Duchess. It was while thus musing on his misery, that he came upon the sorrowing shepherd. From this point the two poems continue as follows:

DAPHNATDA.

1 did espie Where towards me a sory wight did

cost, Clad all in black (38-40). l

Downe to the earth his heavie eyes were throwne

He sighed soft, and inly deepe did

grone. As if his heart in peeces would have

rent, (46 ff.). [And breaking forth at last, thus

dearnelie plained ( 196) . ]

DUCHESS.

. . . . so at the last I was war of a man in blak (444-5). And he was clothed al in blakke, (457).

For-why he heng his heed adoune. And with a deedly sorwful soune He made of ryme ten vers or twelve, Of a compleynt to him-selve, The moste pite, the moste rowthe,

Hit was gret wonder that nature Might suffre[n~\ any creature To have swich sorwe, and be not deed (461).

Approaching the " sory wight," the poet addresses him, but meets with no response. He speaks again, and asks to know the cause of his sorrow. The request is at first refused.

1 1 find that Skeat has observed the imitation in this line and in line 184 (Cf. Skeat' s Chaucer, I, 476 and 494). He notes no further resemblance between the two poems.

650

THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

DAPHNAIDA.

Approaching nigh, his face I vewed nere (50).

I softlie sayd, 'Alcyon ! ' Therewith- all

He lookt aside as in disdainef ull wise,

Yet stayed not : till I againe did call.

Then turning back, he saide with hollow sound (58ff.).

' Chief e findes some ease by him that

like does beare, Then stay, Alcyon, gentle shep-

heard, stay,' Quoth I, 'till thou have to my

trustie eare Committed what thee dooth so ill apay '

(673.).

1 Cease, foolish man,' saide he halfe

wrothfully, ' To seeke to heare that which cannot

be told' (71 f.).

DUCHESS. Anoon-right Iwente nere (450).

I wente and stood right at his fete, And grette him, but he spak noght,

(502). [With that he loked on me asyde

(558).]

But at the laste, to sayn right sooth, He was war of me (514 f. ).

' And telleth me of your sorwes smerte, Paraventure hit may ese your herte ' (556 f.).

' But certes [good] sir, yif that ye Wolde ought discure me your wo I wolde, as wis god helpe me so, Amende hit, yif I can or may (548 ff.).

With that he loked on me asyde, As who sayth, ' nay, that wol not be,' (558 f.).

Finally the poet wins Alcyon's confidence.

DAPHNAIDA.

1 1 will to thee this heavie case relate. Then hearken well till it to ende be brought' (96f.).

DUCHESS.

' Alias ! and I wol telle the why : My song is turned to pleyning,' etc. (598 ff.).

'Do thyn entent to herkene hit (752).

And just here occurs a significant parallel. Before speaking of the death of Daphne, the immediate cause of his sorrow, Alcyon goes back in memory and rehearses the story of his early love. He tells how he had one day come by chance upon his " f aire young Lionesse," 1 and

1 "So called from the white lion in the arms of the Duke of Norfolk, the head of the family to which Lady Douglas Howard belonged." Child's Spenser, v, 219, note.

DAPHNAl'DA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS. 651

how lie was at once " much moved at so goodly sight." Up to this time he had been but a free and careless youth, whose whole life was his " little flocke on westerne downes to keepe." In exactly the same way,1 Chaucer's Knight goes back in the history of his love, tells of his first chance meeting with his " swete," and how she, too, " ful sone, in my thoght was y-caught so sodenly." He likewise says that before this event in his life, " youthe " had been his " maistresse." The lines run as follows :

DAPHNAIDA.

'Nought carde I then for worldly

change or chaunce, For all my joy was on my gentle

sheepe, And to my pype to caroll and to

daunce' (103 ff.).

DUCHESS.

'For that tyme Youthe, my mais- tresse, Governed me in ydelnesse ;

For al my werkes were flittinge ; And al my thoghtes varyinge.' (797 ff.).

Then immediately following in both poems:

DAPHNAIDA.

llt there befell, as I the fields did

range Feareless and free, a faire young

Lionesse,

/ spied playing on the grassie playne

That did aU other beasts in beawtie staine,

Whose like before mine eye had sel- dome seene' (106 ff.).

DUCHESS.

* Hit happed that I came a day Into a place, ....

Soth to seyn, I saw [ther\ oon That was lyk noon of [dl] the route ;

so had she

Surmounted hem alle of beaute' (805 ff.).

1 The knight relates the early story of his love only after he has told how fortune had robbed him. Alcyon gives his chronologically. Barring this unimportant change in order the two accounts are close parallels.

652

THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

Alcyon then tells how he won his Lionesse, and after describing the beauty of their wedded life, adds the line below. The corresponding line from the Duchess, it will be interesting to remember, immediately follows the Knight's ideal picture of his married life.

DAPHNAIDA.

'Long thus I joyed in my happiness ' (148).

DUCHESS.

' And thus we lived ful many a yere So wel, I can nat telle how' (12961).

But, as in the case of the Knight, false Fortune, who " daylie doth her changefull counsels bend," has robbed Alcyon of his beloved. A " cruell Satyre with his mur- drous dart " has given his Lionesse " the f atall wound of deadly smart." In the Duchess, Fortune stole upon the Knight and took his " fers " in a game of chess. In both poems Dame Fortune is blamed for the loss of the mourn- er's wife, in both, her death is told in the form of a riddle which is not understood, and in both, the narrative of the sad event is directly succeeded by the following expression of pity on the part of the poet:

DAPHNAIDA.

Therewith he gan afresh to waile

and weepe,

That I for pittie of his hcavie plight Gould not abstains mine eyes with

teares to steepe (169ff.).

DUCHESS.

And whan I herde him telle this

tale

Thus pitously, as I yow telle, Unnethe mighte I lenger dwelle, Hit dide myn herte so moche wo

(7102.).

The order of the two narratives is the same here, and we come at once upon the lines in which the poet asks for an explanation of the story he has just heard. Spenser stumbles at the " riddle of thy loved Lionesse." Chaucer accepts literally the story of the game of chess.

DAPHNAIDA. AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS.

653

DAPHNALDA.

1 Yet doth not my dull wit well under- stand

The riddle of thy loved Lionesse ;

For rare it seemes in reason to be skand,

That man, who doth the whole worlds rule possesse,

Should to a beast his noble hart em- base,

Therefore more plaine aread this doubtf ull case ' (1763.).

DUCHESS.

'Lo sir, how may that bef quod I (745).

' But there is noon a-ly ve here Wolde for a fers make[n] this wo/} (740 f.).

1 Good sir, tel me al hoolly

In what wyse, how, why and wher-

fore

That ye have thus your blisse lore ' (746 f.).

The words of Alcyon in reply are almost identical with the words of the Knight near the end of the Duchess.

DAPHNAIDA.

Then sighing sore, 'Daphne thou

knewest,' quoth he; 'She now is dead' (183 f.).

DUCHESS.

Therwith he wex as deed as stoon, And seyde, 'alias! that I was bore f

She is deed' (1300 ff.).

It is at this point that Spenser introduces the formal plaint which in the Duchess, as elsewhere observed, comes at the beginning of the narrative. Spenser has not only put into this plaint most of what is found in the short, formal plaint of the original, but he has expanded it to include several succeeding sections of informal plaints, which Chaucer's Knight pours forth at various intervals throughout the poem. Illustration of this is found in the lines which follow.

DAPHNAIDA.

'She/cuVe, shee pure most f air e, most pure she was' (208).

'In purenesse and in all celestiall

grace That men admire in goodlie woman-

kinde, She did excell' (211f.).

7

DUCHESS.

That was so fayr, so fresh, so free' (484).

So good, that men may wel [y] see

Of al goodnesse she had no mete ' (485 f.).

654

THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

Into this one stanza Spenser has condensed, with the loss of scarcely a single idea, what in Chaucer is an elaborate and detailed description of all the virtues belonging to the Knight's lady.

An equally marked example of condensation is seen in the two following lines, the idea of which Chaucer makes the subject of two separate and complete sections of his poem.

DAPHNAIDA.

'No age hath bred (since fay re

Astraea left The sinfull world) more vertue in a

wight' (218 f.).

The plaint continues,

DAPHNAIDA.

( What hart so stony hard, but that would weepe,

And poure foorth fountaines of in- cessant teares ?' (246f.).

' To carelesse heavens 1 doo daylie

call: But heavens refuse to heare a

wretches cry : And cruell Death doth scorne to come

at call, Or graunt his boone that most desires

to die' (354 ff.). ' My bread shall be the anguish of

my mind, My drink the tears which fro mine

eyesdoraine' (375 f.).

DUCHESS.

' To speke of goodnesse : trewly she Had as moche debonairte As ever had Hester in the bible, And more, if more were possible' (985 ff.).

' She was as good, so have I reste,

As ever was Penelope of Grece,

Or as the noble wyfLucrcce' (10805.).

DUCHESS.

'And who so wiste al, by my trouthe, My sorwe, but he hadde routhe And pite of my sorwes smerte, That man hath a feendly herte ' (591 ff.).

1 Alias, deeth ! what ayleth thee, That thou noldest have taken me, Whan that thou toke my lady swete' (481 ff.).

* The pure deeth is so my fo, Thogh Iwolde deye, hit wolde not so ' (583 f.).

' For who so seeth me first on morwe May seyn, he hath [y] met with

sorwe ; For I am sorwe and sorwe is I '

(597 ff.).

DAPHNAl'DA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS. 655

In what follows Spenser has made a very clever adap- tation of the passage in the Duchess where the Knight tells how completely sorrow has changed his mental and moral perspective. The operations of natural law have been entirely reversed for him. His world is quite upside down. He says, " my wele is wo," " my good is harme," " mv wit is foly," " my day is night," " my love is hate," " my sleep waking," " my meles fasting," " my pees in werre." He prefaces this series of epigrammatic sen- tences by saying that death is his foe, that he loathes life, and that he hates his days and nights. Spenser's passage is too long to be given in full, but a sufficient number of lines will be quoted to make clear the adaptation. Alcyon begins, like the Knight, by hating life and the world in general. Then he particularizes, as the Knight does, expressing his hate for practically everything in the catalogue of desirable objects on earth. The lines speak of the same reversal of the natural order of things, the same mental and moral chaos, that we find in the Duchess.1 Spencer's Alcyon not only hates life and death, his days and his nights, as in Chaucer, but he also hates them in a series of remarkably similar lines, and with very much the same vocabulary.

DAPHNAIDA.

' Hencefoorth I hate what ever Nature made' (393).

*J hate the day, because it lendeth light

(580). I hate the darknesse and the drery

night1 (407 ff.).

1 It is true, as Prof. W. A. Neilson has pointed out to me, that Spenser's lines are after the fashion of the conventional paradoxes and contrarieties of the sorrowing lover. Elizabethan literature abounds in such, (cf. Wat-

DUCHESS.

That hate my dayes and my nightes

656

THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

DAPHNAIDA. 'I hate all times' (411).

' I hate to speake, my voyce is spent with crying ' (414 ).

1 1 hate to tost, for food witholds my

dying' (416). 1 1 hate to see, mine eyes are dimd

withteares' (417).

1 And life I hate, because it will not

last, And death I hate, because it life doth

marre' (425f.).

1 To live I finde it deadly dolorous ' (449).

* And pitie me that living thus do die' (383).

' That dying lives, and living still

does dye.1

So doo I live, so doo I daylie die, And pine away in self-consuming

paint1 (434 ff.).

DUCHESS.

1 My song is turned to pleyning

And al my laughter to weeping '

(5991). * My mirthe and meles is fasting '

(612). 'To derke is turned al my light'

(609).

1 The pure deelh is so my fo ' (583).

'Me is wo that I live houres twelve ' (573).

' Alway deying, and be not deed* (588).

' This is my peyne withoute reed * (587).

It is here that Alcyon devotes a stanza to the changeable world, which he likens to a mill-wheel that " round about doth goe." 2 It is at this same point in the story of the

son's Passionate Centurie of Love, xvm and xx ; Romeo and Juliet, I, 1, 168), and their mere presence in Spenser need argue no dependence on Chaucer. There is an additional contextual significance here, however, which clearly does argue such dependence.

1 The idea of these passages is found in I Cor. 15 : 31. It is not hard to believe, however, that on this occasion Spenser's Chaucer was probably as near at hand as his Bible.

3 It is true that Alcyon does not here use the word " fortune." But the fact that he has already twice before (11. 151, 153), applied the feminine pronoun to the "worlds ficklenesse," indicates clearly that he has "Dame Fortune" in mind.

DAPHNA1DA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS.

657

Duchess, likewise, that the Knight tells of false Fortune and her wheel. The figure of Fortune and her wheel is, of course, quite too common in literature for its presence in each of two poems under comparison to argue even a probable dependence. It will certainly be admitted, how- ever, as an accident of unusual interest, that, having already obviously followed Chaucer in the preceding stanzas, Spenser should have only happened to follow him in the stanzas immediately succeeding. The coincidence gains in interest from a comparison of the following lines :

DUCHESS.

'Now by thefyre, now at table' (646). ' . . for it is no-thing stable' (645).

; So turneth she (Fortune) Mr false whele' (644).

DAPHNAIDA.

'So all the world, and all in it I

hate,

Because it changeth ever to and fro, And never standeth in one certaine

state, But stitt unstedfast round about doth

goe, Like a mill whcele, in midst of mis-

erie' (428ff.).

[And later in Spenser]

DAPHNAIDA.

' For all I see is vaine and transi-

torie, Ne will be helde in anie stcdfast

plight1 (495 f.).

'And ye, fond men, on Fortunes wheele that ride' (498).

' For all mens states alike unstedfast be' (518).

Again it seems pretty clear that Spenser had the lines from the Duchess in mind in the following :

658

THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

DAPHNAIDA.

1 And ever as I see the starres to fall, And under ground to goe . . . ... I to minde mil call How my faire starre (that shinde on

me so bright) Fell sodainly and faded under

ground' (477ff.).

DUCHESS.

' Ther nis planete in firmament, Ne in air, ne in erthe, noon element, That they ne yive me a yift echoon Of weeping, whan I am aloon ' (693ff.).

But nowhere has Spenser come so near taking a whole stanza, bodily, from the Duchess, as in the closing lines. It must not be forgotten, also, that these parallel lines follow in regular order the same incidents in both poems. They come at the conclusion of the formal plaint.

DAPHNAIDA.

Thus when he ended had his heavie

plaint, The heaviest plaint that ever I heard

sound (540f.).

His cheekes wext pale, and sprights began to faint (542).

Which when I saw, I (stepping to him

light) Amoved him out of his stonie swound

(544 f.).

DUCHESS.

When he had mad thus his com- playnte (487).

... a compleynt . . . The moste pite, the most rowthe, That ever 1 herde' (465 ff.).

His sorowful herte gan faste faynte, And his spirites wexen dede (488f. ).

His hewe change and wexe grene

Anon therwith whan I saw this,

I wente and stood right at his fete Andgrettehim (500ff.).

Sufficient evidence has already been adduced to estab- lish my thesis, that in Daphndida, Spenser has fol- lowed Chaucer's Book of the Duchess. But there is still another very interesting bit of testimony. Where did Spenser get the name Alcyon for Ms shepherd ? Neither in mythology nor in literature does it have any associa-

DAPHNAIDA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS. 659

tions whatever with shepherd life,1 and it certainly is far from frequent occurrence anywhere as the name of a man.2 The question naturally arises as to what suggested this particular name to Spenser, and suggested it so strongly that, without any literary or historical justification, he adopts it for his shepherd. The answer is, I believe, no less conclusive than interesting. In the proem of the Duchess, Chaucer relates the story of Ceys and Alcyone, which, he tells us, he has just been reading in Ovid. The name Alcyone occurs six times in the proem, and again near the close of the elegy.3 Is not this, then, Spenser's most natural and most obvious source? Does it not seem more than probable that the name Alcyone, met with so frequently in the pages of the Duchess, has suggested to Spenser the name Alcyon for his mourning shepherd? The results of this study may be briefly stated as follows :

1. It gives us clear and unmistakable evidence, in one instance at least, of Spenser's indebtedness to Chaucer for something more definite than poetic inspiration, subtle tricks of style, unconscious absorption, and occasional borrowings of isolated lines and phrases.

2. It contributes, though in a small and somewhat negative way, to the facts of Spenser's life. It helps to account for at least one year which has not given some of his critics deep concern. Palgrave is not a little disturbed over the autobiographical significance of the

1 Professor J. B. Fletcher tells me that he has never met with this name in pastoral literature, and adds, "One may safely call it uncommon."

2 Spenser so uses it once afterwards (Colin Clout, 1. 384), where he refers to this same Arthur Gorges as "sad Alcyon."

3 Alcyone occurs but five times in the proem of Skeat's edition. In Thynne's edition of 1532, however (the edition which Spenser most likely used) it occurs six times, appearing also in line 76.

660 THOMAS WILLIAM NADAL.

opening lines of Daphndida, where Spenser speaks of himself as

"of many most, Most miserable man."

Palgrave says 1 that Daphna/ida was written " in a year which was apparently one of his most prosperous " ; and the " like wofulness," he thinks, can hardly be interpreted as biographical, for " little as we know of Spenser's life, we cannot believe that he was at this time a desponding widower." Palgrave finally throws up his hands at the autobiographical anomaly, and concludes by wondering whether the poet's " long iteration of grief " may not be — " how far, who should say ? — a poetical convention." Of course, that is exactly what it is. It is not necessary to make a " desponding widower " out of Spenser, — who was not married till three years later,2 — or to fill the year of 1591 with any other hypothetical calamities, in order to account for the lines in Daplinaida. Spenser simply followed the convention of Chaucer. We need go no fur- ther than that. Indeed, we cannot go further, and a bio- graphical interpretation is not only unnecessary, but quite impossible.

3. Finally, and second only in importance to the fact of the indebtedness itself, it shows Spenser leaning hard on his master at a comparatively late period in his poetic career. We naturally look to find Chaucer's influence most strongly marked in the earlier years of the poet's life ; at the time when he is first trying his hand at verse- making and is still new to his art. Then it is the dis- ciple shows a beginner's dependence on the models of his

*Cf. Grosart's Spenser, iv, p. Ixivii.

J June 11, 1594, is the date generally accepted.

DAPHNAIDA, AND BOOK OF THE DUCHESS. 661

master. And scholars have not failed to detect a strong Chaucerian flavor in Spenser's earliest works, such as the Calender and Mother Hubberds Tale.1 But here, twelve years after the Calender, " long sithens " the Mother Hubberds Tale} at least two years after the first three books of The Faerie Queene, — where the poet had certainly quite come into his own, — appears a poem 2 which, in general subject matter and form, as well as in specific incidents, words and phrases, shows a far greater indebtedness to Chaucer, than do any of the poems of Spenser's apprenticeship days. To find Spenser, past the middle of his poetic career, thus going back to " Tityrus," who first taught him "to make," not only reveals his continued dependence on Chaucer, but also throws addi- tional light on his methods of work.

THOMAS WILLIAM

1 " In two prominent characteristics, more or less external, Chaucer's influence upon the Calender, is, of course, generally admitted." Professor Dodge (Spenser, Cambridge edition, p. 4).

" The Mother Hubberds Tale is a satire in the manner of Chaucer." Professor Child (Spenser, I, p. xxiiv).

3 A poem, too, of which Professor Dodge says, "few of Spenser's poems are more thoroughly characteristic." Todd and Craik both refer to it as very beautiful, and Palgrave sees in it "the sustained ideal loftiness of dic- tion and manner" which marks all of Spenser's "maturer poetry."

APPENDIX.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNUAL

MEETING OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE

ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA,

HELD AT THE

OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY, COLUMBUS, OHIO, DECEMBER 26, 27, 28, 1907.

THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA.

The twenty-fifth annual meeting of the MODERN LAN- GUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA, which was also the thirteenth annual meeting of the CENTRAL DIVISION of the Association, was held at the Ohio State University, Columbus, O., December 26, 27, 28, in accordance with the following invitation :

THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY, COLUMBUS.

November 28, 1906.

On behalf of the Trustees and Faculty of the Ohio State University, I have pleasure in extending a most cordial invitation to the Modern Lan- guage Association of America to hold its meeting in December, nineteen hundred and seven, at the Ohio State University.

The University will extend every possible facility and courtesy to the Association. I am assured by the Secretary of the Board of Trade of Columbus that any facilities they can offer will be at the disposal of the Association.

W. O. THOMPSON,

President.

All the sessions were held in Page Hall. Professor F. N. Scott, President of the Association, presided at all. The railways refused to grant reduced rates.

FIRST SESSION, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26.

The Association met at 2.45 p. m. The session was opened by an address of welcome from President W. O. Thompson.

The Secretary of the Association, Professor C. H. Grandgent, submitted as his report the published Pro-

IV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

ceedings of the last annual meeting and the complete vol- ume of the Publications of the Association for 1907. He called attention to the growth of the Association — an increase of over fifty per cent. — in the last five years, and to the geographical distribution of membership. The report was approved.

The Treasurer of the Association, Mr. W. G. Howard, submitted the following report :

EXPENDITURES.

To Treasurer for Salary, . . , . $ 100 00

" " " Printing and Stationery, 7214

" " " Postage, ... 8 20

" " Clerical Assistance, . 16 00

$ 196 34

To Secretary for Salary, . . . . $ 200 00 " " " Printing and Stationery, 51 18

" " " Postage and Expressage, 4705

" " " Typewriting, ... 9 25 " " " Proof-reading, : . 3 75

$ 311 23

To Secretary, Central Division,

for Postage, Expressage and

Telegrams, .... 2 48

Guarantee to K. R, Central Division, . 7 00

Subscription returned, K. I. News Co., . 2 70

$ 9 70

For Printing Publications,

Vol. XXII, No. 1, . . . $ 529 49 " XXII, " 2, . . . 447 19 " XXII, " 3, . . . 558 46 " XXII, " 4, . . . 557 83

$2,092 97

For Printing Program 25th Annual Meet-

ing, 77 60

Exchange, 9 10

2,699 42

Balance on hand } Eutaw SavinSs Bank> • • • *M40 10

Dec 24 1907 f Cambrid§e Savings Bank, . . 830 98

' J Cambridge Trust Co., . . . 575 18

2,846 26 $5,545 68

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907.

KECEIPTS.

Balance on hand,	December 27, 1906,	$2,479 82
From Members, Life ....	$ 160 00
" for 1903,	3 00
" 1904,	6 00
" " " 1905,	15 00
" " " 1906,	105 00
" 1907,	2,126 25
" " " 1908,	81 00
	: $2,496 25
From Libraries for Vols. III-X1II,	18 90
« « « « XX	90
11 " " " XXI,' .	8 70
" ' " " XXII, .	143 51
" " XXIII, •	59 40
	0* 001 A]
For Publications, Vols. IX-XVI, .	$ 33 60
" XVII, .	1 80
" " " XVIII, .	12 00
" " " XIX, .	19 40
« « it ~Y"Y" AA,	14 00
XXI, .	15 80
" " " XXII, .	38 80
	$ 135 40
For Reprints, Vol. XXII,	3 50
" Engraving, Vol. XXII, No. 1, .	15 00
" Postage Stamps, ....	3 00
" Eeport, Committee of Twelve, .	2 60
	$ 24 10
From Advertisers, Vol. XXI, .	60 00
11 " XXII,	24 00
	84 00
Interest, Eutaw Savings Bank,	48 65
" Cambridge Savings Bank, .	22 23
" Cambridge Trust Co.,	23 82
	Q4. 7ft i/^r / \J
		3,065 86
		$5,545 68

The President of the Association, Professor F. N. Scott, appointed the following committees :

0

V MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

(1) To audit the Treasurer's report: Professors G. E. Karsten and S. H. Bush.

(2) To nominate officers : Professors G. Gruener, R. Weeks, and H. A. Smith.

The Chairman of the Central Division, Professor G. E. Karsten, announced the following committees :

(1) To nominate officers : Professors J. T. Hatfield, F. G. Hubbard, K. F. R. Hochdorfer, E. E. Brandon.

(2) To recommend a place for the next annual meeting : Professors T. E. Oliver, O. F. Emerson, L. A. Rhoades, H. A. Smith, S. H. Bush.

The reading of papers was then begun.

1. "The Middle English Vox and Wolf." By Professor G. H. McKnight, of the Ohio State University. [See Pub- lications, xxiii, 3.]

[This work demands attention because, aside from the Nonne Preestes Tale, it is the sole representative in English of the Roman de Renart before the time of Caxton. The history of this tale illustrates the whole subject of animal story in the Middle Ages. This story has no certain prototype in classical or oriental fable collections. The theory of its Hebrew origin has not been established. The story combines in an interesting way with several independent tales. It is often associated with fabliaux in story collections. In later fable collections this tale often appears in a mutilated and deteriorated form. — Fifteen minutes.']

In the absence of the writer the paper was read by Professor W. T. Pierce. It was discust by Professor J. D. Bruner.

2. " La Nouvelle Atala : A Bit of French Literature in Louisiana." By Mr. E. J. Fortier, of the University of Illinois.

[Louisiana possesses two distinct literatures. The most important writers of French literature in Louisiana. A little resume of the novel in

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. vii

Louisiana. Biography of Adrien Kouquette, author of the Nouvdle Atala. Comparison of the Nouvelk Atala and the Atala of Chateaubriand. The influence of the latter upon Bouquette. Extracts from the two works showing the treatment of Nature in each. — Twenty minutes.]

This paper was discust by Professors J. Geddes, Jr., F. N. Scott, H. P. Thieme, W. H. Hulme, and others.

3. "Notes on Luther's Language." By Professor W. W. Florer, of the University of Michigan. [To appear in the Journal of English and Germanic Philology.]

[The paper consisted of an investigation, based on the Zerbster Hand- schrift, treating of the declension of nouns. A comparison with the 1545 edition was made. The problems of the regularity of Luther's language and of his influence on the printed form were discust. — Ten minutes.]

This paper was discust by Professor W. T. Hatfield.

4. "The Use of Prose in the Serious English Drama (1675-1800)." By Professor Raymond Macdonald Alden, of Leland Stanford Jr. University. [To appear in Modern Philology.]

[The purpose of this paper was to trace something of the history of the movement which resulted in the partial substitution of prose for verse in the serious English drama, particularly in the latter part of the seventeenth and the early part of the eighteenth centuries ; further, to attempt to explain the movement as due in large measure to a change in the prevalent conception of the nature of comedy, later carried over into tragedy ; and finally, to present certain reasons why the serious prose drama may be regarded as an illegitimate literary form. — Twenty minutes.']

This paper was discust by Professor F. N. Scott, J. D. Bruner, and the author.

5. "Coordination and the Comma." By Dr. Raymond D. Miller, of Syracuse University. [See Publications, xxin, 2.]

[The use of the comma alone between coordinate clauses which should without question be pointed as independent sentences, or of the comma and

*

Vlll MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

a purely " logical" connective (such as therefore) when usage demands at least a semi-colon, is generally considered the mark of an illiterate or slovenly style. Yet the distinction between right and wrong usage in this respect is sometimes so subtile that even the careful writer may occasionally be at fault. It was the purpose of this paper to determine more definitely ; (a) under what conditions the comma alone is sufficient ; and (b) what distinction is to be made between ' ' structural, ' ' or grammatical, and non- structural, or " logical," connectives. — Twenty minutes.]

This paper was discust by Professor F. N. Scott.

6. "Some Analogues of Maistre Pierre Pathelin." By Professor Thomas Edward Oliver, of the University of Illinois.

[A Danish folk-almanac story called Old Rasmus resembles in many features a portion of the farce of Maistre Pierre Pathelin, but has this one curious difference ; namely, the change from the use of the sheep's cry 1 ' bee ' ' in the court scene to that of a prolonged whistle. A similar whistle or hiss occurs in the so-called Lucerne New Year's Play, in a scene of Grazzini's IS Arzigogolo, in a tale by Domenichi, in a novella of Para- bosco, and in a rabbinical proverb by Jacob of Dubno, whereas in the clearly proven descendants of the Pathelin farce itself, the sheep's cry is retained. Now, inasmuch as one of the episodes of the Pathelin farce shows marked resemblances with the Mak the Thief interlude of the Townelay Plays, which are of much earlier date than the complete Pathelin as we know it, may not the " bee" episode also go back to an earlier version in which the whistle was the method of deception used? Altho as yet only general reasons may safely be adduced, this view seems fairly prob- able. — Fifteen, minutes. ]

This paper was discust by Professor E. C. Roedder.

The Auditing Committee reported that the Treasurer's report was found correct, and recommended its acceptance. The recommendation was adopted.

At & p. m. the Association met in the chapel of Univer- sity Hall to hear an address by Professor Fred Newton Scott, President of the Association, on "The Genesis of Speech.**

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. ix

After the address, the members and guests of the Associa- tion were received by President and Mrs. Thompson at their residence.

SECOND SESSION, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2T.

The session began at 9.55 a. m.

7. " A Middle English Version of Peter Alfunsi's Disci- plina Clericalist By Professor William H. Hulme, of the College for Women, Western Reserve University.

[A brief account of the principal facts of Peter Alfunsi's life. The importance of the Disciplina Clericalis in other medieval literatures than that of England. The influence of the Disciplina in Middle English, and an account of the Worcester MS. version of the same. Peculiarities of the Middle English Version. — Twenty-five minutes.']

This paper was discust by Professor H. A. Todd.

8. "A neglected Passage on the Three Unities of the French Classic Drama. By Dr. H. Carrington Lancaster, of Amherst College. [See Publications, xxui, 2.]

[The passage in question is of some interest to students of dramatic his- tory, as it is the earliest known mention of the three unities in seventeenth century France and one of the clearest statements concerning them before d' Aubignac and Boileau. It seems to have been absolutely unmentioned since a passing note by de Beauchamp in 1735. — Fifteen minutes.']

This paper was discust by Professors J. W. Cunliffe, J. D. Bruner, and M. F. Liberma.

9. " Early Conceptions of America in European Litera- tures." By Professor Thomas Stockham Baker, of the Jacob Tome Institute.

[The New World and the idea of a return to nature. America the seat of a series of Utopias. The Conquest of Peru and the Conquest of Mexico as themes for literary treatment. Virginia and New England in English literature. Nature poetry. The Indians. The American Revolution and European literatures. — Twenty minutes*]

X MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

10. " Ben Jonson's Influence on the Non-Dramatic Poetry of the Seventeenth Century — Illustrated by one of his most Prominent < Sons.7 " By Dr. A. G. Reed, of the University of Missouri.

[External and internal evidence show Jonson's influence upon his contemporaries and immediate successors to have been considerable. An illustration of this influence is seen in Herrick. — External evidence shows that Herrick knew Jonson personally, had an exalted opinion of his poetry, calls himself his "son," and acknowledges his indebtedness to him. The dates of their respective publications make Jonson's influence possible and highly probable. — Internal evidence shows (1) similarities in style — choice of subjects, treatment, diction, and versification ; and (2) similarities in thought and phraseology. — Twenty minutes.']

11. "An alleged Travesty of Ossian and other Notes on Heine." By Professor B. J. Vos, of the Johns Hopkins University. [See Modern Language Notes, xxm, 2 5 and 3 9 . ]

[1. The passage Elster 3, 64, 11. 20-40, was shown to be a literal trans- lation of the opening lines of Ossian' s Dar-thula, according to the text of 1762. A comparison was made with other German translations of Dar- thula previous to 1824. Elster 3, 65, 11. 13-19, was similarly shown to be taken from Ossian' s Berrathon, Heine here following Goethe's rendering in Die Leiden des jungen Werther, Weimar Edition 19, 175-6.— 2. On the basis of a variant in F1 and an examination of Heine's other works, an attempt was made to show that the reference in Elster 3, 22, 11. 20-24, is not to Napoleon, and that Prometheus as a typical figure in Heine serves in two clearly distinct functions. — 3. The identity of "einer unserer bekanntesten Dichter," Elster 3, 73, was established. — 4. It was shown that in "Theophrast," Elster 3, 69, Heine had in mind not the Greek Theo- phrastus, but Theophrastus Paracelsus of Hohenheim. — Twenty minutes.]

12. "JBocJcspiel Martini Luthers, darinnen fast alle Staende der mennschen begriifen. Ynd wie sich ein yeder beklaget der ytzleuffigen schwaeren Zeyt. Gantz kurtzweilig vnd lustig zuo lesen. — Gehalten zu Rammbach vff dem Schlosz. Am xxv. Tag Junij. Des M. D. xxxj. Jars." By Profes- sor E. K. J. H. Voss, of the University of Wisconsin.

[Otto Kaufmann's Dissertation, Bockspiel Martin Luthers und Martini Luthers Clagred, Halle, 1905, brings up anew the question of the author-

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. xi

ship of the Bockspid. He arrives at no definite results in his investigation. New light was thrown upon this question and it was shown that Flogel's remark in his Geschichte der komischen Literatur, vol. in, 255, is worthy of consideration and that Thomas Murner is the probable author of the Bockspiel. — A five-minute summary. ]

In the absence of the writer this paper was presented by Professor E. C. Roedder.

Professor J. W. Cunliffe offered the following motion :

That the President of the Association be authorized to nominate at each Union Meeting a Committee of Five for the promotion of the following aims : — (1) The acquisition of photographic reproductions of earlier Eng- lish texts by American University Libraries ; (2) the circulation of index cards of reproductions so acquired ; (3) the cataloguing of original English texts prior to 1660 in public and private libraries in the United States and Canada.

That the Committee so appointed shall report yearly to each division of the Association, and shall furnish to the Secretary lists of reproductions acquired, which shall be printed in the Publications.

The President of the Association, for the time being, shall fill by nomi- nation any vacancy arising on the Committee.

Attractive photographic specimens, illustrating different styles of reproduction, were exhibited. The motion was discust by Professors H. A. Todd and H. A. Smith.

Professor Todd moved as an amendment :

That the Committee consider the possibility of an extension of its functions to include the acquisition of photographic reproductions of texts in other languages than English.

The amendment was accepted by Professor Cunliffe, and the motion was then past unanimously.

The President appointed as members of the Committee : Professors J. W. Cunliffe, C. M. Gayley, J. M. Manly, H. A. Todd, G. L. Kittredge.

Xll MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

In accordance with action taken last year by the Central Division, Professor E. C. Roedder moved :

That it is desirable to adopt some plan of obviating, as far as possible, the duplication of work in doctoral theses intended for publication.

That any graduate student certified by the professor in charge of his department to- have done one year's work on a subject be allowed to register that subject in the next issue of the Publications, with the under- standing that no other graduate student shall be encouraged to take up the same line of investigation within two years of the date of registration.

The motion was discust by Professors J. W. Cunliffe, C. H. Grandgent, L. F. Mott, H. A. Todd, and E. C. Ford. After several tentative suggestions by various members, Professor Grandgent offered as a substitute for the original motion :

That it is desirable to adopt some plan of obviating, as far as possible, the duplication of work in doctoral theses intended for publication.

That Professor W. H. Carpenter be asked to lay the views of our Asso- ciation before the Association of American Universities and to urge the adoption of some remedy.

The substitute was accepted by Professor Roedder, and was then past by a unanimous vote.

[The subject was brought before the Association of American Universi- ties by Professor Carpenter, and was referred, on Jan. 10, after considerable discussion, to the Executive Committee with power. At a meeting of this Committee, on May 7, it was : " Eesolved that, in view of the attitude of the delegates at the last meeting of the Association of American Universi- ties that it would be unwise to take up this question, no action be taken thereon."]

The Secretary announced that no report had been received from the Committee of Fifteen appointed to revise the lists of recommended books and to prepare a uniform system of grammatical terminology.

At one o'clock the members of the Association were the guests of the Ohio State University at luncheon in Hayes Hall.

PKOCEEDINGS FOE 1907. xiii

THIRD SESSION, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 2f. The session began at 2.55 p. m.

13. "Some New Facts about a Manuscript of Godefroi de Bouillon." By Professor Hugh A. Smith, of the Uni- versity of "Wisconsin.

[In the Romania, 1894, A. G. Kriiger gives an account of a manuscript at Berne, hitherto unnoticed, of the Swan-knight and Godfrey of Bouillon. He offers evidence to show that it contains the oldest known form of these poems. Where passages in the Paris manuscripts are different the one at Berne is said to offer the original version. The object of this paper was to prove that the passages mentioned by Kriiger are mistakes and changes made by the Berne manuscript, and that this manuscript is in reality the same version as one of those at Paris. Also thru these mistakes one can obtain some interesting information about the model on which the Berne manuscript was copied and the methods of the scribe. — Twenty minutes.]

14. "Non-dramatic Blank Verse |between Milton and Young." By Professor Edward Payson Morton, of Indiana University.

[This paper consisted of some account of the many poems in blank verse between Milton and Young ; a discussion of their length, derivation, popu- larity, and importance ; citation of various contemporary critical com- ments ; and an attempt to show that the blank verse of the Augustan Age filled a considerable and recognized place. The paper did not try to push farther back the beginnings of English Romanticism, but merely to enlarge and define our somewhat misleading conceptions of Augustan poetry. — Twenty minutes.']

15. "The Schildburger." By Professor John Morris, University of Georgia.

[Stylistic mannerisms. Detailed comparison with Fischart's Qargantua: (a) the heaping up of verbs, adverbs, nouns, -adjectives, etc. ; (6) other marked peculiarities of style. — Further resemblances to Fischart. Woman with the eggs. Kabelais' Isle of Ennasin and the Schildbiirgers' drinking bout. — Distinctive qualities of the author's original creative faculty illustrated in detail. Nevertheless, barring evidence of the dates, — Fischart died in 1591, Schildburger appeared in 1597, — we should unhes- itatingly declare for Fischart's authorship. — Tiventy minutes.']

XIV MODEKN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

16. "The German Romantic Marchen." By Professor Robert H. Fife, Jr., of Wesleyan University.

[The Marchen was the most popular and successful narrative form among the authors of the German Romantic epoch. They differ widely in their use of the term, but regard it as a distinct literary type. The various theories of the Marchen were reviewed, and the practice of Tieck, Novalis, Brentano, and Hoffmann was examined in their treatment of the Volks- mdrchen and the so-called Kunstmarchen. It was shown that the term does represent a literary genus, which is covered by none of the current definitions. — Twenty minutes.]

17. " The Plea of Poetic Licence." By Professor George Philip Krapp, of Columbia University. [Printed in The Forum, Nov., 1908.]

[The writer of verse has two sets of conventions to keep in mind. He has the conventions of the normal idiom of the language to satisfy and, at the same time, the special conventions of versification and the poetical style. The two conventions often clash, the conventions of grammar yield- ing to the conventions of verse. Frequent illustrations are to be found in the writings of the standard poets. — Twenty minutes.]

This paper called forth an interesting discussion from Professors J. W. Cunliffe, J. D. Bruner, F. G. Hubbard, L. F. Mott, H. A. Todd, F. E. Bryant, F. N. Scott, and others.

18. "The French Nouvelle in England, 1660-1700." By Professor John M. Clapp, of Lake Forest College.

[Examination of Arber's reprint of the Term Catalogues, 1668-1696, shows that the fiction then current in England was more abundant than has been supposed, and that the leading form was the translation of the French Nouvelle. This was not without merit : the tone was serious and the action swift ; the plotting crude but not without good scenes ; the characterization also crude but often with good analysis of feeling and motive. Its relations to the later English Novel deserve study. — Twenty minutes. ]

[The annual meeting of the American Dialect Society was held immediately after this session.]

PKOCEEDINGS FOB 1907. XV

In the evening the gentlemen of the Association were entertained at the Columbus Club. A smoke talk was given by Professor Josiah Eenick Smith, of the Ohio State University.

FOURTH SESSION, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28.

The fourth and last session began at 10 a. m.

O

The Central Division Committee on Nominations recom- mended the election of the following officers : —

Chairman: Oliver Farrar Emerson, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio.

Secretary: Charles Bundy Wilson, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa.

Executive Committee.

Laurence Fossler, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Nebraska.

J. W. Cunliffe, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis- consin.

Karl Pietsch, University of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois.

The report was adopted.

The Central Division Committee on Place of meeting recommended :

That we accept the kind invitation of Northwestern University to meet in Chicago.

The report was adopted.

The Nominating Committee of the Association reported the following nominations :

XVI MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

President: Frederick M. Warren, Yale University, New Haven, Conn.

First Vice-President : John A. Walz, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

Second Vice-President : Benjamin L. Bowen, Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio.

Third Vice-President: J. Douglas Bruce, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.

Secretary: C. H. Grandgent, Harvard University, Cam- bridge, Mass.

Treasurer : William Guild Howard, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

Executive Council.

Alce"e Fortier, Tulane University, New Orleans, La.

Charles Harris, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio.

George Hempl, Leland Stanford University, Palo Alto, Cal.

John M. Manly, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Lewis F. Mott, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.

C. Alphonso Smith, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Henry A. Todd, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Editorial Committee.

James W. Bright, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Calvin Thomas, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. xvii

The candidates nominated were unanimously elected officers of the Association, the President and Vice-Presi- dents to serve during 1908, the others to serve until the next Union Meeting. The Secretary of the Association and the Secretary of the Central Division are members of the Editorial Committee ex-officio.

On motion of Professor H. A. Smith, it was unanimously

Voted, That in view of the great increase in the duties of the Secretary and Treasurer, the sum of $200 be added to the annual salary of the Secretary of the Association, and the sum of $100 to the annual salary of the Treasurer.

On motion of Professor H. A. Todd, it was unanimously

Resolved, That the thanks and cordial appreciation of the members of the Modern Language Association of America, for many delightful hospitali- ties and courtesies received at the annual meeting of the Association held at Columbus, be expressed to the authorities of the Ohio State University, to President and Mrs. Thompson, to the Ladies' Committee, to the officers and members of the Columbus Club and of the Ohio Club, to Professor Josiah Kenick Smith, to Mrs. Powell, to Miss Mary Thomas, and to the chairman and members of the local Committee of Arrangements ; that a copy of this resolution be sent to President Thompson, to the secretary of the Columbus Club, to the secretary of the Ohio Club, to Professor Josiah Renick Smith and to Professor B. L. Bowen ; and that the resolution be printed in the Publications of the Association.

[Copies of the resolution were subsequently sent, as directed.]

The reading of papers was resumed.

19. "Speech-Melody and Alliteration in West Germanic Poetry." By Mr. Bayard Quincy Morgan, of the Univer- sity of Wisconsin. [See Paul and Braune's Beitrage zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Liter atur, xxxin, 95.]

[The increasing application of the theory of speech-melody. That theory characterized. Its application to the problems of alliteration. —

2 *

XV111 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Previous treatment of crossed alliteration. — The formulation of a melodic law to cover both crossed and double alliteration. — Fifteen minutes.']

This paper provoked a lively debate, in which Professors J. T. Hatfield, R. H. Fife, Jr., J. Morris, O. F. Emerson, and F. N. Scott participated. General distrust was exprest in Sievers's theory of speech-melody.

20. "Elizabeth Barrett's Influence on Browning's Poetry." By Professor J. W. Cunliffe, of the University of Wisconsin. [See Publications, xxin, 1.]

[The paper aimed at establishing the view that Elizabeth Barrett's influence was the paramount factor in Browning's poetical career. The arguments advanced depend, in the first place, upon an examination of the chronology of the poet's works ; and in the second, upon internal evidence. The character of the influence was defined and illustrated. — Thirty min- utes.']

This paper was discust by Professor O. F. Emerson, Dr. A. G. Reed, and others.

21. "The Sensationalism of Richard Wagner." By Professor Samuel P. Capen, of Clark College.

[Naturalism is the artistic expression of a commercial age. Wagner's productive years coincided with the beginning of the movement. His works, altho Romantic in content, reflect the Naturalistic spirit. It appears as sensationalism. His popularity is not due to the public endorse- ment of the "music-drama" as a form of dramatic art. — Twenty minutes.']

This paper was discust by Professor T. S. Baker, who described Nietzsche's treatment of Wagner.

22. "The Syntactical Development of the Spanish 2d Imperfect Subjunctive (-ra form) and its Functional Differ- entiation from the 1st Imperfect Subjunctive (-se form)." By Dr. Arthur R. Seymour, of the University of Illinois.

[Preservation of the original value of the -ra form up to the present time. The -ra form shows the subjective appreciation of the speaker and

PEOCEEDINGS FOE 1907.

may be designated opinional form. The -se form is objectively used in dependent clauses of uncertainty. — The -ra form in optative expressions shows the impossibility of the realization of the desire. The -se form Implies that the desire may be realized. — Great preference for the -se form in substantive clauses. — Conclusion : the -ra form is an opinional one and the -se form non-opinional. — Twenty minutes.]

This paper was discust by Professors H. A. Smith and C. H. Grandgent.

23. " Political Allegory of the Faerie Queene." By Mr. P. M. Buck, of the McKinley High School, St. Louis.

[As is well known, references to political affairs of the time are found in Spenser's Faerie Queene. The first three books take definite periods of English and Elizabethan History. Thus, the First Book refers to the triumph of Protestantism under Elizabeth, and to the undoing of the mischief of Mary I and Pole (Duessa and Archimago). The Second Book refers to the downfall of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the hero, Guy on, is Thomas Ratcliffe, Earl of Sussex. The Third Book refers to the courtships of Queen Elizabeth. The last three books are occupied with court gossip and isolated events of the reign. It is needless to say that Spenser has clouded his allegory by deliberately confusing his characters, using one name for several distinct individuals. — A fifteen-minute abstract."]

The Association adjourned at half-past twelve o'clock.

PAPERS READ BY TITLE.

The following papers, presented to the Association, were read by title only :

24. "Plot Parallels in Popular Ballad and Tale." By Professor Arthur Beatty, of the University of Wisconsin.

[In the systematic study of ballad and folk-tale the consideration of parallel stories has always formed an important part of the method of enquiry. An examination of the principles underlying systems of classifi- cation (von Hahn, de Gubernatis, Folk-Lore Society, Child) shows that with the material now in hand a clearer definition of a plot parallel is needed. Strictly interpreted, there are comparatively few real parallels in plot. The constant is a custom, belief, ceremony, or ritual. This is of

0

XX MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

the utmost importance, and must be taken into account in the study of the origins of the popular ballad and tale.]

25. "The Decline of the English Heroic Drama." By Dr. William E. Bohn, of the University of Michigan. [To appear in Modern Language Notes.]

[An attempt to determine when and why the heroic drama went out of favor. A rapid sketch was given of the type in question and the conditions under which it flourished. Then the decline of the heroic and the rise to favor of another type were followed in the works of Dryden, Otway, and Lee. The change of dramatic ideals involved was discust in connection with certain political and social developments.]

26. "The Relation of the Standard Language to the Population of London." By Professor Frank E. Bryant, of the University of Kansas.

[The paper discust the instability of London's population — the re- markable growth and, in the past, the surprising death rate. The city has not grown from within. Moreover, we find that for all centuries a large proportion of the great writers of so-called standard English have not been Londoners by birth or early residence. What is the bearing of these facts upon the standard language ? ]

27. "Social Problems in Grillparzer's Dramas." By Dr. P. G. A. Busse, of the Ohio State University.

[Grillparzer used his later plays, e. g., Jildin von Toledo, Libussa, Bruder- zm&t) etc., extensively for the discussion of social problems. As a profound student of political affairs and questions he was very much interested in the socialistic doctrines that were spread broadcast from France by men like Fourier, Cabet, Saint Simon, etc., about the time of the revolution of July. It is from their point of view that he presents political complications in his dramas. Other writers, e. g., Gutzkow (in TFa%), Fanny Lewald ( Vatex und Sokn, etc. ) , were similarly affected by this move- ment. Grillparzer, however, takes up the minute details of communistic theories, such as the abolishing of the oath of allegiance, the even distribu- tion of all property, the principle of equality, and the question of leader- ship, etc. In Libussa he applies these ideas (which appear almost as the real purpose of the play) to such an extent that an exact comparison of them with contemporary writings of socialistic leaders will furnish more definite dates regarding the various stages of the composition of the drama. Yet the poet never declared himself an adherent of these doctrines ; his clear intention was to prove the absolute impossibility of realizing any of these socialistic theories. In that point, he differs distinctly from G.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Xxi

Hauptmann, M. Dreyer, and others, who, as dramatists "des reifen Zustandes," merely represent stages in the actual development of socialis- tic enterprises.]

28. "The Life and Letters of Antoine Arlier." By Dr. J. L. Gerig, of Columbia University.

[These letters, discovered by M. Emile Picot, give much interesting information concerning the literary history of the early 16th century. The author of them played a prominent role at Nimes and, later, in the Parlia- ment of Turin. Much of the information concerning him and his friends, to whom these letters are addressed, represents extensive researches in the archives of France and Northern Italy. Altho Arlier was once instrumen- tal in securing a pardon for Dolet, Mr. Christie was unable to find anything concerning him. - As a writer of Latin, Arlier rivals his master, Bembo. (To be published in collaboration with M. Picot.)]

29. " The College of the Trinity at Lyons before 1540." By Dr. J. L. Gerig, of Columbia University.

[It was thru this college, founded in 1527, that the Renaissance was introduced into Lyons. Among its regents during this period were Guil- laume Durand, the friend of Dolet ; Jean Canappe, author of many medical tracts and rival of Eabelais ; Jean Raynier, the grammarian ; Jean Pelis- son, afterward celebrated as principal of the College of Tournon ; the poets, Charles de Ste-Marthe, Gilbert Ducher and Claude Bigothier ; and finally Barthelemy Aneau, to a study of whose life and works this article serves as an introduction. (To be published in the Revue de la Renaissance. )]

30. " Bericht iiber das Studium der deutschen Eomantechnik, mit einer ausfuhrlichen Bibliographic der einschliigigen Werke und Zeitschriften- artikel." By Professor Charles Hart Handschin, of Miami University. [To appear in Modern Language Notes.']

[Die ersten Forscher waren die Komanschriftsteller selbst, und die besten alteren, z. T. grundlegenden Abhandlungen stammen von ihnen. Vieles, was sich heutzutage unter dem Numen " Studien zur Romantechnik " gibt, ist lediglich Anpreisung irgend eines Werkes oder Autors. Das Bestreben der bedeutendsten neueren einschliigigen Werke geht darauf hinaus, nicht nur die historische Entwickelung darzutun und Wechsel- beziehungen aufzuweisen, oder asthetisch zu wiirdigen, sondern besonders die Regeln, welche die bedeutendsten Romanschriftsteller bei ihrem Schaffen beobachtet, darzulegen. Das Ergebnis ist wachsendes Verstiindnis fiir Romankunst und die Gewinnung von bestimmteren Massstaben zur Beurteilung derselben.]

XX11 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

31. "A Literary Mosaic." By Professor Charles Wesley Hodell, of the Woman's College, Baltimore. [See Publications, xxm, 3.]

[The lawyers' monologues, hitherto the crux of Browning's The Ring and the Book, appear in a new light when compared with the ' ' old yellow book," now in press with the Carnegie Institution. In them the poet of humanity reproduces his own impression of the legal mind as seen in the cunning sophistries of the book. To this end he has assembled in his first lawyer's speech a mass of fragments from the book — precedents, illustra- tions, points of law, Latin quotations — all of which he arranges in a new design, cementing them fast in an element of irony and humor.]

32. "Rabener's Theory of Satire." By Professor G. Lehmann, of Kentucky University.

[The paper began by stating briefly the general theory of satire held by Rabener's predecessors and contemporaries. It then endeavored to prove from Rabener's writings, especially from Vom Missbrauche der Satyre and Sendschreiben that Rabener aimed to develop a system of his own, by investigating the nature and purpose of satire from a purely ethical standpoint.]

33. " On the Principles of Naturalism in Modern German Literature." By Professor O. E. Lessing, of the University of Illinois. [To form a part of a volume entitled Poets and Prophets. ]

[Literary criticism has never done justice to the theory of naturalism as expounded by Arnold Holz. Consistent ( ' ' konsequenter ' ' ) naturalism has nothing to do with the choice of subject nor with the pessimistic view of life embodied in the works of Hauptmann and others. It is in reality the purely esthetic law of perfect, harmony of style : a law resulting from a conception of art that is closely related to Walt Whitman's theories.]

34. "Silence and Solitude in the Poems of Leopardi." By Professor M. Levi, of the University of Michigan.

[The greatness of men and their sufferings. — Dante and Leopardi. — Leopardi, the singer of sorrow. — Accents of universal misery in Leopardi' s poems. — The poet of pessimism. — Aim of the present paper : Silence and solitude in the poems of Leopardi one of the frequent means by which the poet has given expression to his pessimism. — Analysis of the following poems, to illustrate the features mentioned : 1. Frammento, 2. II Primo Amore, 3. AW Italia, 4. II Passero Solitario, 5. L' Infinite, 6. Alia Luna, 7. II Sogno, 8. La Sera del di di Festa, 9. Canto Notturno di un Pastore Errante deW Asia. ]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. xxiii

35. " Italy in the English Poets." By Professor William E. Mead, of Wesleyan University. [See Publications, xxm, 3.]

[This paper was not concerned, except incidentally, with the influence of Italian literature or thought upon English literature, but rather with the various attempts to present Italy in English verse since the Revival of Learning. With few exceptions the noteworthy English poems dealing with Italy have been produced within the past hundred years, a fact which calls for some explanation. Moreover, the modern conception of Italy differs widely from the earlier in depth and intensity and in breadth of sympathy. This was illustrated by an examination of the more impor- tant poems that have Italy as their theme.]

36. * ' Studies in Cervantes. III. Persiles y Sigismunda and the Aeneid. ' ' By Professor Rudolph Schevill, of Yale University. [See Transactions of the Connecticut Academy, xui, 475.]

[The continuation of a study in the sources of Cervantes' s last work. The influence of the JEneid on Spanish literature before Cervantes was first considered, especially in the prose fiction of the Renaissance. Then followed a study of the extent to which Cervantes is indebted to Virgil.]

37. "The Two Rival Texts of Richard III." By Mr. Robinson Ship- herd, of Harvard University.

[This was an attempt to show that there is but one authentic text of Richard III, that of the First Folio. This version, tho containing defects due to the bad condition of the theatre copy from which it was probably printed, and revealing some traces of revision, was shown to represent essentially the original form of Shakespeare's play ; the variants in the Quarto text being in most cases explicable as errors and substitutions made by the actors, the reporter, and the printer. If this argument be regarded as conclusive, it renders unnecessary the hypothesis that either version represents a detailed revision of the play by the author, and establishes the right of the First Folio version to be regarded as the only text with any claim to authority.]

38. " Variation in the Orthography and Inflection of English Loan- Words in German." By Professor Rudolf Tombo, Jr., of Columbia University.

[We are witnessing an influx of English words into the German language, and in many instances variation of form is still found by reason of the recency of the borrowing. A comparison of material contained in the ktest edition (1906) of Duden's Orthographisches Worterbuch with that found in the seventh (1902), reveals the rapidity of changes towards

XXIV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

normal orthographical and inflectional forms and enables the establishment of certain tendencies in the treatment of loan-words. Thus we have Keek ( 1 906 )< Kake < Cake ( 1902 ) . Similarly, a series of words which formerly took a nom. pi. in -s, now follow one of the established declensions, e. g. pi. Zinder (1906) but Cinders (1902), while about twenty-five masc. and neut. nouns now take the gen. sing, only in -s (or -es) that formerly also permitted the form without any ending. — Examples of variation are seen in : Klub and Koks, but Clown and Collie, Zinder but City, schocking but Shoddy, etc. , and pi. Niyger, Receiver, etc. , but Dissenters, Squatters, etc. Many English substantives still form the pi. in -s, most nouns in -er take no ending, while in some words both German and English pi. forms exist side by side : Boxen-Soxes, Docke-Docks, etc., the tendency being to drop the form in -s. Variation in gender is also found, as in Tramway (masc. and fern.), Pony (masc. and neut.), Interview (fern, and neut.), etc.]

39. " On the Date and Composition of Guillaume de Lorris's Section of the Roman de la Rose." By Professor F. M. Warren, of Yale University. [See Publications, xxm, 2. ]

[Reliability of Jean de Meun's testimony concerning Guillaume de Lorris. Objective character of the beginning of the romance : descrip- tions of nature, persons, dress, and customs, material borrowed from romans d'aventure. The main plot of the Roman de la Rose outlined in Gautier d' Arras's Erode (11. 2396-99). Possible existence of a third poem containing this plot. ]

40. "Grabbe's Eelations to Byron." By Mr. Josef Wiehr, of the University of Illinois. [Printed in the Journal of English and Germanic Philology, vn, 3.]

[Some features of Gothland, Grabbe's first work, bear a strong resem- blance to Byron's Cain, and it is quite possible that Grabbe knew Cain before the completion of Gothland, and was influenced by it. Don Juan und Faust shows the influence of Manfred, Cain, and possibly of Canto III of Childe Harold. We knew from one of Grabbe's letters that some time previous to the writing of Don Juan und Faust he bought, and of course read, the complete works of Byron. Scene I of Act V of Napoleon seems to be modeled on those stanzas of Canto IV of Childe Harold that describe the feast of the Duchess of Richmond at Brussels on the eve of the battle of Waterloo.]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. XXV

OFFICERS OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR 1908

President, F. M. WARREN,

Yale University, New Haven, Conn.

Vice-Presidents, JOHN A. WALZ, BENJAMIN L. BOWEN,

Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio.

J. D. BRUCE,

University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.

Secretary, Treasurer,

C. H. GRANDGENT, WILLIAM GUILD HOWARD,

Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

CENTRAL DIVISION

Chairman, Secretary,

O. F. EMERSON", CHARLES BUNDY WILSON,

Western Reserve University, Cleveland, 0. State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.

EXECUTIVE COUNCIL

ALCEE FORTIER,

Tulane University of Louisiana, New Orleans, La.

CHARLES HARRIS, GEORGE HEMPL,

Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O. Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.

JOHN M. MANLY, LEWIS F. MOTT,

University of Chicago, Chicago, III. College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.

C. ALPHONSO SMITH, HENRY A. TODD,

University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C. Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

C. H. GRANDGENT, CHARLES BUNDY WILSON,

Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. Slate University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.

CALVIN THOMAS, JAMES W. BRIGHT,

Columbia University, New York, N. Y. Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

XXVI MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

THE PRESIDENT'S ADDRESS

DELIVERED ON THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26, IN COLUMBUS,

O., AT THE TWENTY-FIFTH ANNUAL

MEETING OF THE ASSOCIATION.

BY FRED NEWTON SCOTT.

THE GENESIS OF SPEECH.

If I have departed from tradition in using in my title the word genesis for the word origin, the substitution is not without reason. There are many persons to whom the latter word is fatally suggestive; they cannot hear it applied to speech without thinking forthwith of an invention or dis- covery ; they tend under its influence to conceive of speech as coming into existence under the conditions and through the agencies which went to the making of Volapiik and Esperanto ; it is almost as if they imagined some clever troglodyte of primitive days saying to his fellows: "A happy thought strikes me ; let us invent a language."

" Genesis " will, I hope, suggest a different view ; it presents speech not as an invention, but as a process, not as an abrupt, but as a slow and gradual coming-into- existence,1 like the evolution of man himself, proceeding

1 1 am not unmindful of the claims of the mutation theory, which Pro- fessor A. H. Pierce has already applied tentatively to the explanation of gesture and other modes of expression (Jnl. of Philos., Psych, and Sci. Method, vol. 3, p. 573), and which Professor Manley has used analogically (and perhaps a little prematurely, if ingeniously) for the interpretation of literary history (Modern Philology, vol. 4, p. 1); but as the theory is still in its inception, and liable to sweeping modifications, I have thought it best to hold for the present purpose to the older view.

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without a break from beginnings crude and humble and scarcely recognizable, yet not contemptible, to the rich and complex function of the present day.

Like every other complicated human phenomenon, speech may be defined in a variety of ways, according as stress is thrown upon the physical, the physiological, the psychical, or other aspect of it. For my part, since I wish to simplify the problem of its genesis as much as I can, I shall reduce it to its lowest, most nearly physiological, terms. I shall therefore assume for the present that what- ever else it may be, it is for my purpose merely a peculiar movement of certain organs of the body — a series of muscular contractions of the thorax, the throat, the tongue, the lips, etc. Disregarding other equally interesting ques- tions, I shall ask how these movements are related to other bodily movements and how, in the history of early man, or his precursor, they arose, developed, and attained their peculiar character and significance.

We may begin by considering the general categories of bodily movement.

Bodily movements may be divided into two main classes : 1) life-serving movements, or utility accommoda- tions, as the biologist terms them, and 2) expressive-com- municative movements. The first class comprises those whose primary function is to maintain and promote the life of the bodily organism. In the lowest orders of creation all movements are thought to be of this class, for all con- tribute in some way to the animal's well-being. If the creature expands or contracts, if it reaches out or draws back, if it attaches itself to objects or lets go of them, if it undulates, or quivers, or moves from place to place, — in every instance, the origin and meaning of the movement is the preservation, furthering, or propagating of the little life. The organism has no other desire, no other ambition,

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no other destiny. That it may have physical life and may have it more abundantly sums up the purpose of its being — so far as nature, from the evolutionary point of view, may be said to have any purpose at all.

As the organism becomes more complex and its inner and outer structures are differentiated, two sub-classes of life- serving functions may be distinguished, to which I shall give the names covert and overt. Under covert processes will fall physiological functions which, going on within the cavities of the body, are ordinarily hidden from observation. The secretion of bile, the beating of the heart, the move- ments of the white and red corpuscles of the blood, will serve as examples of these. On the other hand, we may reckon as overt processes those obvious movements of the head, limbs, trunk, or body as a whole, which are necessary in obtaining food, escaping from harmful agencies, or secur- ing a more favorable environment. Under this head we may bring also the various strains in which muscles are set to resist attack or prepare for flight, although these are more properly denominated attitudes.

To this large category of life-serving movements, embrac- ing both covert and overt movements, is often applied the term useful.

If the first category includes movements which promote individual life, the second includes those whose purpose is primarily to manifest this life and convey an apprehension of it to others, that is, to express and communicate.1

1 Although the two classes have been thus marked off from each other there is a sense in which all overt movements may be said to be at one and the same time life-serving and expressive-communicative. The life-serving function of eating, for example, when it is performed by persons

"Feeding like horses when you hear them feed,"

both expresses hunger and communicates the idea of hunger to others. The provincial guest at a hotel who with his fork spears a slice of bread on the

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Examples of such movements are gnashing of the teeth and rolling of the eye-balls in rage, exposing of the canine tooth in scorn, setting of the lips in decision, shaking of the head in negation, shrugging of the shoulders in doubt, elevation and depression of the corners of the mouth in joy and grief respectively. Here belongs, generally speaking, the whole round of gesture, pantomime and grimace. And here, finally, belong the phenomena of speech.

Movements of this type, compared with life-serving func- tions, are termed useless, and in one sense they are so : they do not promote directly the life of the bodily organism. They can be suspended, as the life-serving functions cannot, without injury to the body. A man may sit quietly in a chair, or lean against a lamp-post, or lie asleep in his bed, not only without speaking or laughing or crying, but without moving his head or his limbs, or (with one important exception which will be noted later) in any other way giving sign of his presence. He may in this passive condition preserve his bodily integrity for an indefinite length of time. More than this, he may, if he is alone, dispense altogether with the class of movements which we term communicative. To this extent movements of expression and communication may with some degree of truth be said to be non-useful.

When we come to consider the two classes closely, how- ever, we find that they are more intimately related than is implied by this sheer distinction, botli in origin and in purpose. I will speak first of their origin. Since the time

far side of the table, not only performs a life-serving function, but also gives publicity to his lack of manners. Just so the movement of running away expresses fear, the movement of striking expresses anger, the movement of carrying a hod of bricks up a ladder expresses toil. Even covert processes may have this function, as when accelerated beating of the heart in excite- ment appears in the temporal artery or defective secretion of bile gives a yellow cast to the complexion.

*

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of Darwin, and especially since the publication, in 1873, of Darwin's Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, it has been almost an axiom with scientists that expressive and communicative movements are life-serving functions worn to the butt, — functions reduced, that is, to attitudes and tendencies to action, to mere remnants of their former selves.1 To give a few familiar examples : What was originally a knock-down blow in anger has now been reduced to a futile clenching of the fist ; what was once an actual biting of a foe, has become a gnashing with the teeth at a safe distance ; what was once a prostration of oneself at the feet of a superior, has become an inclination of the head. Much ingenuity has been expended in thus tracing the origin of grimace and gesture. Henle explains the clapping of hands for applause as a symbolic abridgment of an embrace. The flaring of the nostrils in violent rage has been interpreted as a remnant of that lively epoch in the life of primitive man when two foes, their teeth buried in each other's flesh, drew back the wings of their nostrils in order to take breath. Without going to such length as this, we may at least trace the shake of the head in negation to the avoidance of unpleasant food, the sudden raising of the arm in fright to an original shielding of oneself from a blow or the attack of a wild beast, pointing with the finger and beckoning, to clutching movements in seizing food or in drawing another person toward oneself. And so on through a long list.

But not only are the expressive-communicative move- ments derived, by a wearing-down process, from the life- serving movements, they are also, like the latter, useful. Their use, however, is different. The life-serving move- ments are useful in preserving and promoting the life of the

1 This theory has been fully elaborated by Dewey, The Theory of Emotion, Psychological Review, vol. 1, p. 553.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907.

individual. The expressive-communicative movements, on the other hand, since they are the means by which indi- viduals are bound together in a social group, are useful in preserving and promoting the life of society. I have said that an isolated individual could apparently dispense with them and yet preserve his bodily integrity. But it must be remembered that as a rule individuals do not and cannot live in isolation. They live and must live in families, groups, and communities. Consequently in the higher forms of life a condition of things frequently comes about such that individuals must cooperate with one another in order to preserve their existence and continue the species, — the pre- servation and progression of individual life depending directly upon the organization of social life. In such case intercommunication becomes an absolute necessity. If food, for instance, in the form of an elephant cannot be obtained without calling or beckoning to one's fellows, the ability to call or beckon is as useful as the eating of the elephant- meat. Similarly, if the repelling of an attack demands the cooperation of the clan as a whole, the means of summoning the clan and directing their mode of defense is no less useful than skill with club or javelin.1

It would appear, then, that expressive and communicative movements are movements which have lost their primitive life-serving functions only to be reinstated in a different function of an equally useful character. They have ceased to sustain the life of the isolated individual in order that they may sustain community life.

If the relation between these two categories of move-

1 In like ' manner, to rise to a higher plane, if spiritual life and progress be the end in view, if existence without it is intolerable, the means of intercommunication which will conserve and propagate spiritual life — say, for example, the maintenance of free speech — is as distinctively a life- serving process as eating, sleeping or breathing.

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ments is such as I have indicated, the question at once arises : By what steps or stages have functions originally life-serving passed over into society-serving functions? How have muscular contractions whose original purpose was to secure food, to repel enemies, to escape dangers, to secure a more favorable environment, been transformed into muscular contractions whose sole purpose is to express feelings and states of consciousness, and to communicate these feelings and mental states to others?

I will begin my answer to this question by pointing out that in the evolution of bodily movement from the indi- vidual-serving to the social-serving stage, we may distin- guish certain grades. The lowest grade is that of the recognition-sign, by which in any group the presence and identity of one member are revealed to his fellows. Just as among the fishes certain marks and contours and motions enable the male to distinguish the female of the same species, just as among the social ants the sense of smell enables the ants of one colony to distinguish those of a friendly or a hostile colony, so in the lowest human societies movements of various kinds have enabled members of a given community to identify one another and to comport themselves in such a way as to maintain and advance social integrity.

All overt life-serving movements possess this lowest grade of expressive and communicative function. Even in our present highly organized social relations, we depend to a considerable degree upon these low-grade recognition- signs for judgments of identity. We know our acquaint- ances by their walk, by their pose, by the carriage of the head or swing of the arms. " That thou art my son," says Falstaff, " I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me."

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In how many cases do we not fail to recognize an old acquaintance until a peculiar lift of the chin, or wrinkling of the brow, recalls him suddenly to our remembrance ? 1 Such distinguishing marks must have been of great value in the early history of mankind in sharpening the vague, inchoate sense of personality, — in enabling the mother, for example, to know her child, and the adult to recognize his clansman.

But the movement which serves as a recognition-sign may pass to a higher stage. It may become a voluntary communication. The process by which this comes about is so complicated and an explanation of it is so essential to my thesis, that I may be pardoned for dwelling upon it at some length. I will be as un-technical as I can.

In the first place it must be remembered that, psychologi- cally speaking, the motives to all voluntary acts are mental images of involuntary acts previously performed. " Wheu a particular movement," says Professor James, " having once occurred in a random, reflex, or involuntary way, has left an image of itself in the memory, then the movement can be desired again, proposed as an end, and deliberately willed. But it is impossible to see how it could be willed before."2 An illustration may be taken from that most fundamental of life-serving functions — the taking of food. If I voluntarily reach out my hand for food, it is because a previous involuntary act has traced in my mind an image

1 For a striking illustration of the psychical value of a seemingly trivial gesture, see May Sinclair's story, The Fault Compare also the following : " Der Eunuch Euliius warder hochste Bewunderer dieser Fiisse [?'. e., of Cleopatra, as she lay at the banquet], nicht, wie er vorgab, um ihrer Schonheit willen, sondern weil das Spiel der Zehen der Konigin ihm gerade dann zeigte, was in ihr verging, wenn aus ihrem in der Kunst der Verstellung wohlgeiibten Mund und Auge nichts, was ihre Seele erregte, zu erkennen vermochte. " — Georg Ebers, Die Schwestern, 8. Kap., S. 112.

2 Principles of Psychology, vol. n, p. 487. ^

3

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of myself grasping the food and carrying it to the mouth. The image serves as the motive to the act. I seize the food because I wish to make this pleasing image a reality.

In the second place I must be allowed to assume that the desire of primitive man to cooperate with those of his own group, — of the mother, for example, to help and cooperate with her child, — is at least as fundamental as the desire to fight and kill. Appeals for help or move- ments which show that help is needed will, therefore, meet with a response from other members of the community. The mother who perceives from the actions of her child that it desires food, will place the food within its reach. A man who sees that his clansman is in danger will go to his aid. Generally speaking, each member of a community is prompted by the social instinct to render to his fellows the services which will promote the integrity of the community.

How these individual and social motives operate in trans- forming a life-serving act into a true communication, may be illustrated most simply by tracing the genesis of a familiar gesture. I will take for this purpose the gesture or attitude of pointing. In its original form this gesture is the act of seizing or clutching. Its primary purpose is the acquisition of food.1 Such a movement also serves as a recognition-sign, disclosing to others the presence, and to some extent the identity, of the individual making it, and also revealing his hungry condition. If a supply of food were always present, the act would never rise above its primitive stage. As often as the individual felt the need of food he would reach out his hand and take it. But the source of food-supply, especially in the case of the very

1 Or of whatever else is necessary. For simplicity's sake I use hunger as a typical motive.

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young, is not always within reach. The hand goes out towards it in vain. The stomach remains empty, and the futile clutching movement is merely a sign of increasing hunger.

If, now, when such a movement is made by the child, the mother places the food within its reach, the clutching takes on a new aspect. The movement was at first com- pleted by the act of the child ; it is now completed by the act of the mother, since a part of the movement which was formerly made by the child alone, is supplied by the mother's movement. This vicarious completion of the child's act has important consequences. If the original image in the child's mind which supplied the motive for the act, was an image of itself grasping the food, that image has now been supplanted by one which also includes the image of the mother's cooperation. When the child performs the act a second time, the motive to it will be not an image of itself grasping the food with its own hand, but an image of a cooperative grasping, in which the mother's act supplements its own and coalesces with it. The effect of this is to abort or abbreviate the movement, for since part of it is to be performed by another, the whole movement need not be made. All that is necessary is a reaching toward the object ; the mother will do the rest. Hence, in course of time, the grasping part of the movement will be abandoned. The clutch will be shortened into a mere thrust of the hand accompanied by an expectant look at the mother. The life-serving movement of clutching will have passed over into the gesture of pointing.1

It is important to notice how in this process the character

JCf. Wundt, Volkerpsychologie, I, S. 129: " Nach so oft wiederholten vergeblichen Versuchen, die Gegenstande zu ergreifen, verselbstiindigt sich dann erst die Deutebewegung als solche." Wundt fails to explain, however, how the transition is effected.

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and value of the movement has been affected. In the first place the movement has been socialized. What at first related solely to one individual has now been connected with another individual. From a selfish, self-centered impulse to seize and appropriate, it has been transformed into an appeal for help. It is now made in its modified form with the expectation that another will cooperate to secure the end in view.

But in the second place it has been made symbolic. The abbreviated movement, through the intervention of another, has come to stand in the child's mind for the whole move- ment. It now means " Help me/7 or " Feed me," or " Please pass me the bread." It is more than a muscular contraction ; it is an indication or sign of the child's desire, voluntarily directed towards its kin.

To sum up : The individual life-serving movement of clutching has, through response and cooperation, passed over into the socialized, symbolic attitude or gesture which is called pointing.

Assuming that the process I have described is fairly typical, I shall now attempt to apply this view of the nature and origin of expressive-communicative movements to speech. If speech is, as I have said, a movement of the vocal organs analogous to movements of the head, arms, face, etc., the fundamental problems of its genesis appear to be as follows :

1. Of what life-serving function is speech a survival or development ?

2. By what steps or stages has the original life-serving function been transformed into an expressive and communica- tive function ?

With regard to the first question, if we consider how intimately the most elementary phenomena of speech are related to the musculature of the thorax and diaphragm, we

PROCEEDINGS FOE 1907. XXXvii

shall see some reason for suspecting that the life- serving movement from which speech has arisen is ordinary respira- tion. Such, at any rate, is the hypothesis which I shall adopt. Speech, in its inception, is significantly modified breathing. Just as gesture arose from movements of the hands in obtaining food or warding off enemies, so speech arose from the movements of the muscles of the thorax and diaphragm in obtaining a fresh supply of oxygen and in rejecting the harmful products of physiological com- bustion.

Starting with this postulate, I shall proceed to the second question : By what steps or stages has this life-serving and indispensable process of breathing been transformed into the expressive and communicative function which is termed speech ?

Five different kinds of breathing are distinguished by the biologists, namely, intestinal-breathing, skin-breathing, gill- breathing, bucco-pharyngeal breathing (as in frogs), and lung- breathing. The last is the dominant method in man. It is marked off from all the rest, except gill-breathing, by the fact that the interchange of oxygen and carbon dioxid takes place not uninterruptedly as in intestinal and skin-breathing, nor at irregular intervals, as in frogs, but rhythmically. Although it is to a certain extent under control of the will, it cannot be suspended for more than a few seconds without discomfort.

Breathing is the result of a demand of the system for a certain kind of food, namely, oxygen. It is analogous to the movement of a starving man in reaching for a loaf of bread. It differs from the latter movement mainly in the fact that the process of assimilation is much more rapid. If the digestive system were of such a character that repletion and starvation succeeded each other at intervals of a few seconds, the analogy would be complete. The hand,«n that

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case, would go out rhythmically for the food at brief and regular intervals.

The inhalatory movement of the air supplies oxygen to the circulatory system, the exhalatory movement rejects the waste products. In both cases the air passes through the narrow channel of the throat and mouth or nasal passages. If this channel is wide open and wholly unobstructed, the rush of air in normal slow breathing makes, especially in the nasal passages, a faint rasping sound such as is produced by drawing a finger across the surface of smooth paper. I shall call the sound produced in this way a respirate. Increase in the rate or force or breathing under excitement increases the loudness of this sound. After intense exertion, when the system has great need of oxygen and also a great accumula- tion of waste material to throw off, the respirate, even when the mouth is open and the air-passages are relaxed, may become so loud as to be audible at a considerable distance.1

In the beginnings of human life the sound of normal breathing served no doubt as a recognition-sign. It disclosed the presence, and possibly in some cases the identity, of the individual who made it. Nor is it necessary to think of the sound as being loud. Philologists have written of the beginnings of speech as if they consisted of hoarse, shrill cries like the roaring of lions or the shrieking of gorillas, but I see no reason for assuming these violent utterances in the earliest stages of vocal expression. For one thing, the ears of primitive man were much sharper than ours. Slight sounds had greater significance when life was a struggle d outranee. Even to us, with our dull senses, faint noises are, in moments of great suspense, fraught with meaning. One

1 At one of the Henley regattas the panting of an exhausted oarsman could be distinctly heard, amid the confusion of other sounds, at a distance of forty feet.

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who wakes in the middle of the night in a lonely house, may be thrown into a spasm of terror by the creaking of a loose board or by the still fainter sound of some one breathing at his bedside. The intelligibility and impressive- ness of a sound depend in no way intrinsically upon its loudness, but upon the conditions under which it is produced and heard.

Again, silence is sometimes more powerful than sound, especially if it takes the form of a sudden cessation of the customary. Just as the stopping of an orchestra in a theatre may throw -the audience into a state of panic, so, in a circle of primitive men, a sudden pause in the breathing of one of them may very well have raised excitement to a high pitch.

There is another reason, also, why we need not imagine that the earliest communicative sounds were loud sounds. It is that the original contacts between individuals were physical contacts. The psychologists tell us that all the senses were originally senses of touch. The lowest organisms know each other only in this way. To this sense were added in course of time the senses of smell, of taste, of sight, and of hearing ; but all retained in some measure this original function of touch. They were all means by which one body came into physical contact with another body. It follows that the earliest social consciousness was the con- sciousness of a bodily contact by which the movement of one individual was transmitted directly to the senses of another.

" Even among the higher animals that can distinguish their own and other species by sight and hearing/7 says Professor Giddings,1 "and among mankind, touch survives as a fundamental test which is over and over resorted to in obedience to an unconquerable instinct or habit. Horses,

1 Principles of Sociology, p. 107.

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cattle, sheep, and dogs perfect acquaintance by touching and rubbing one another. The embrace, the hand-clasp, and the kiss are survivals of the primitive way of making and renewing acquaintance among men and women. They sur- vive because, as Guyau profoundly observes : ' Le toucher est le moyen le plus primitif et le plus sur de mettre en communication, d'harmoniser, de socialiser deux systemes nerveux, deux consciences, deux vies ' • because it is ' par excellence, le sens de la vie.' '

We must, then, seek for the beginnings of communication, and the beginnings of speech, in what a recent novelist has called " the horrible intimacy " of domestic life — that is, in the closest physical contacts. From a variety of such contacts * we may select as a typical example the relations of mother and child. When the infant is resting on its mother's breast, the two bodies are in intimate physical union. The child's body, is, as it were, a part of the mother's body. Every movement of the child, every thrill, every shudder, every breath, even every heart-beat, com- municates itself instantly to the senses of the mother. On the other hand, the mother's body, her movements, her breathing, her starts of alarm, are part of the most intimate experiences of the child. As far as physical contact can go, each shares as fully in the consciousness of the other as if they were parts of the same organism.

In such close contact the rise and fall of the child's abdomen and chest in the process of respiration, as well as the warmth or moisture of its breath upon the mother's body, is, we may suppose, a constant indication to the mother of the life and condition of the child.2

1 1 purposely omit, while recognizing its importance for the discussion, the question of the relation of the sexes.

2 This view receives confirmation from the well-known fact that the sense of hearing was originally a shake-organ, the sensations of noise having

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The beginnings of speech are, then, to be sought in the movements of breathing and the respirates, or relatively faint sounds, produced by the passage of the breath through the unobstructed throat. These movements and sounds may have, as I have shown, a communicative value. Variations in the rate of breathing and in the loudness of the sounds may serve to express a physical condition or a social situa- tion, and to convey the existence of such condition or situa- tion to others, especially from the child to the mother and vice versa. We have now to consider how these movements and sounds- may be still further varied and especially how the sounds may be enhanced.

Aside from the increase in rapidity and force of exhalation and inhalation, the most important means by which the current of breath becomes variously audible is partial or complete closure of the vocal passages. If the sides of the passages approach one another at any point, the air in its inward and outward flow is compelled to move at a higher rate of speed. The result of the increased friction is a louder sound. Should the passage close completely, the movement of the air ceases and there is silence ; but the necessity of inhaling and exhaling at fairly regular intervals soon compels the obstruction to give way. The walls of the air passages separate, and the air rushes in or out with some violence, causing at the moment of separation an explosive sound, — a cough, grunt, catch, etc., if the breath is exhaled, a gasp, gulp, click, etc., if the breath is inhaled.

The causes of these constrictions are various, but are chiefly of two kinds : (1) ordinary physiological processes, (2) strains or tensions of the whole body. Let us consider first the effect of certain physiological processes.

developed before the sensations of tone. "All sensations of hearing," says Professor Titchener, ' ' have been in some way developed from sensations of jar or shake which were not heard at all." (Primer of Psychology p. 43.)

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Of the constrictions of the air-passages due to purely physiological causes, those connected with the assimilation of food, namely with mastication and swallowing, and with the rejecting of food, are the most interesting, not only because the digestive apparatus and the lungs are genetically the same organ and still maintain an intimate connection, but because to these processes may be traced some of the most familiar uses of the vocal organs ; — laughter, for example, to the taking of food (or at least to movements which promote digestion), crying to the rejection of food.1 It is obvious that both gorging and disgorging 2 necessitate a temporary closure of the respiratory channel, after which the lungs, if full, relieve themselves, or if empty, refill them- selves, by a violent effort. In either case the air rushes with abnormal force through the reopened passages. Sounds of laughter, I need hardly say, are mainly connected with the expiratory movement, sounds of crying with the inspiratory movement.

Other constrictions due to physiological causes are to be found in sneezing, snoring, coughing, spitting, groaning, hic- cuping, choking, grunting, and gulping.

The closures which accompany these various physiological processes occur at different points in the vocal passages. In some the constriction takes place at the glottis, in others at the epiglottis, in still others the soft palate is involved.3

1 See the interesting and suggestive article on Crying, by A. Borgquist, American Journal of Psychology, vol. 17, p. 149.

2 According to Furness, Home-Life of the Borneo Head-Hunters, nothing is more characteristic of savage life than the ravenous devouring of food. The savage grace before meat in Borneo is ' Eat slowly.' An overplus of food, or a modicum of poisonous food, is commonly rejected by the spon- taneous recoil of the digestive system.

3 On the function of the epiglottis in modifying vocal sounds, see Czermak, Sitzungsberichte d. K. Akademie d. Wiss., Wien, Math. -Nat. Klass., 1858, xxix, S. 557 (reprinted in Ges. Schriften, i, 555), and Scripture, Experi- mental Phonetics, pp. 274, 279.

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Thus it may be seen that from purely physiological causes may arise a considerable variety of closures and resultant sounds, all indicative of corresponding bodily states.1

A second class of constrictions result from the sympathetic action of the throat-muscles, and other muscles, under the influence of bodily strains of various kinds. That strains arising from violent efforts of any sort tend to close the vocal passage, is easily demonstrated.2 If any one of those who are sitting before me will, after taking a full breath, pull violently at the arm or rung of his chair, he will find that his glottis has closed involuntarily. The immediate reason for this is that when the air-passages are open, the thorax affords an insecure basis for the strain of the arm-

:Such sounds as these are frequently said to be meaningless. Thus Jesper- sen (Progress in Language, p. 361) speaking of the phonation with which he conceives speech to have begun, says: "Originally a jingle of empty sounds without meaning, it came to be an instrument of thought." Aston also characterizes spitting5 gulping, and coughing as " non-significant human vocal sounds" (Japanese Onomatopes and the origin of Language, Jnl. Anthropol. Inst., vol. 23, p. 332). Although significance is a relative term, it seems to me unscientific to apply the word non-significant to any vocal sound which reveals bodily states or affects social relations. In primitive society the sound of sneezing, for example, may at times have been as significant for human events then and there, as are the most solemn words of our modern vocabulary. To take an extreme case, a sneeze which re- vealed the presence of an individual to his enemy may have resulted in death. The sentence of a judge could do no more.

2 Scripture, Experimental Phonetics, p. 380 : " Experiments on the nervous and mental reactions of the vasomotor system, of the heart, of the muscles, of the sweat glands, bladder, anus, etc. , make it probably safe to say that the production of any vocal sound is accompanied by nerve impulses to and from every organ of the body. Vocal sounds of a certain character, such as clear, smooth, energetic phrase in song, become associated with the regula- tion not only of the vocal muscles but also of those of the arms and hands, and, in fact, of the entire body. The disturbance of any of these by re- straint or unnatural posture interferes to a greater or less degree — depend- ing on the individual and on circumstances — with the vocal action. To produce the proper modulation the singer or speaker should put his entire body into the appropriate condition."

xliv MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

muscles ; it is like an unstoppered air-cushion which col- lapses suddenly when one sits on it. Full and tightly- stoppered lungs, on the other hand, expand and stiffen the thorax and give points of attachment to the muscles of the arms.1

Of such strains the most important for the present inquiry are those which are correlated with emotional seizures, such as anger, fright, suspense, and the like. Whether the emotion is caused by the strain, as some psychologists believe, or the strain is the expression of the emotion, I shall not pause to inquire. It is sufficient for my purpose to note that the two are in some way connected, and that, in consequence, a con- striction of the throat is an invariable accompaniment of violent emotion.

As for the strains themselves, they no doubt can be traced to original life-serving movements whose purpose was to secure food, to resist attack, or to prepare for running away.2

To show how strain and emotion operate in modifying respiration and producing sound, I will take as an illustra- tion one of the most elementary and typical of all emotions, namely, fright. When one is startled, as by a brilliant flash of lightning, the breath is first drawn in sharply, filling the lungs with oxygen as if to nourish the system for a coming struggle. The muscles stiffen throughout the whole body just as they do when one braces oneself to resist attack or prepare for flight, and as a result of this general muscular contraction, the glottis closes abruptly, penning up the air

1 And to the muscles of the legs as well. Thus the runner in a hundred- yard dash, first taking a full inspiration, closes the glottis tightly, and if closely pressed keeps it closed during the entire race. Cf. the interesting article by Dr. E. Tait McKenzie on The, Facial Expression of Violent Effort, Breathlessness, and Fatigue, in the London Journal of Anatomy and Physiology, October, 1905, p. 51.

2 Darwin, Expression of the Emotions, p. 284 ; Dewey, The Theory of Emotion, Psychological Review, vol. I, p. 553.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. xlv

behind it. This strained attitude may be held for some little time. The system, however, soon clamors for a fresh supply of oxygen, the lungs discharge their contents, and the imprisoned air, forcing its way with an explosive sound through the constricted glottis, rushes violently through the throat and mouth.

In this series of quickly drawn breath, tightly constricted glottis, explosive opening and violent exhalation, we have what I shall regard as the earliest form of voice proper. It may be termed the vocal unit. For the sake of simplicity I will treat the glottal constriction as the typical form, assuming that closures at other points in the vocal passages illustrate the same principles.

It now remains to show how this elementary form of vocal utterance may pass over into a communicative sign. This will be the less difficult because the process of trans- formation is so closely analogous to that by which the clutching movement of the hand and arm passes into a gesture of pointing, that the terms used to describe one phenomenon may be applied to the other almost without change. Thus the clamor of the stomach for food is analogous to the clamor of the circulatory system for oxygen, the only difference being in the kind of nourish- ment demanded. Again, the grasping movement of the hand is paralleled by the movements of the diaphragm and of the intercostal muscles which expand the chest.1

To continue the analogy, since an important factor in the development of the pointing gesture was the absence of food, we must, in the case of breathing, look for a condition which will check the supply of oxygen. This we can readily discover in the closing of the glottis, or other parts

1 Nor is the comparison merely fanciful. The lungs hunger for their proper food. A diver rising to the surface after a long stay under water " clutches" the air as fiercely as a starving cat clutches a piece of meat.

xlviil MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

word and sentence, it was a protoplasmic speech-form in which an entire situation was inchoately expressed and communicated. Within it were embraced emotional seizure, instinctive appeal to its kind for help, discharge of feeling, consciousness of self, and consciousness of cooperation. If there was to the child any differentiation in the utterance, it consisted in this, that the first part of the series of movements pertained more closely to itself, the latter part pertained more closely to its mother.

I have now tried to show how, in the early history of mankind, even prior to the full development of the vocal chords, the passage of air through the respiratory channel may have produced a variety of sounds. I have tried also to show how these sounds, together with the muscular movements which occasioned them, may, under the condi- tion of close physical contact, as in the case of mother and child, first have served as recognition-signs, then, through the response of the mother to the child's implicit appeals for help, have developed into true communications. Still further, I have attempted to show that the successive stopping and unstopping of the breath, owing to the neces- sarily rhythmical character of the respiratory act, may have caused a succession of consonantal and aspirate, or consonantal and sonant, sounds which would form the basis of articulation.

It remains to consider by what stages the symbolic representatives of bodily states or social situations may have come to stand for particular ideas.

Since all speculations of this kind are imaginative recon- structions of the past, I will, for variety 's sake, venture to recount the process of evolution as it may actually have occurred.

If we could, by the aid of Mr. Wells' s time-machine, transport ourselves back to the period when speech was

PROCEEDINGS FOE 1907. xlix

beginning, and could then, by leaps of a century or a millennium, approach our own era, we should probably witness such conditions and changes as the following.1 At the beginning we should find the creatures who are to become men, perhaps the only voice-producing mammals in creation. Their voices, however, owing to the rudimentary condition of the vocal apparatus, are little more than buzzings, hoarse whispers, or faint cries, following abrupt closures of the air-passages at the glottis, the epiglottis, the root of the tongue, the palate, and the lips. These sounds increase in volume and rise in pitch in moments of excite- ment or of physiological disturbance. At this early period, they serve among adults only as recognition-signs by which one detects the presence of his kind in the dark or through intervening obstacles. But if we observe the relations of mother and child and note the development of their intelligence, we shall perceive the dawning of a higher use. Imagine, if you please, a primitive mother and her sleeping child. The mother clasps the child to her breast. As long as she feels and hears its regular breathing, she is content, for to her dim intelligence this rhythm of respiration is a sign of life and health. If at intervals the child stirs restlessly, she perceives, through her physical contact with it, not only the movement of its body, but also the irregu- larity of its breathing. Now, we may suppose, it wakes in fright, drawing its breath in sharply and stiffening all its muscles. The passage of the throat closes, the breathing stops. The cessation of the customary movement alarms the mother and excites her sympathy. She fondles the child, and at her comforting touch the glottis opens with an explosion, and the breath rushes out in a whisper or faint

1 For the sake of simplicity I will confine myself to a single phenome- non.

4

1 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

cry, which diminishes in intensity as the fear passes away. The breathing again becomes regular. Trivial as this little series of events may seem, it has traced in the simple brains of both these beings a record of momentous importance. On the part of the child, the emotional seizure, the desire for protection, and the instinctive muscular contraction with its resulting constriction of the throat, are combined with the image of the caress and with consciousness of a pleasureable relaxation of tension. The spasmodic movement to resist attack or escape from imagined danger has been completed by the mother's act. A consciousness of the social value of stopped and unstopped breathing has been awakened.

On the mother's part also, the sudden tension of the child's body within her arms, which conveyed to her its emotion of fear, has been connected with its vocal sounds, just as her instinctive caress has been connected with the cessation of the sound and the restoration of the child's normal condition. She realizes vaguely the value of its interrupted breathing as an appeal to her for aid.1

We set our machine in motion and pass down a score of generations. The voices have grown louder as the vocal chords have developed with use. But the multiplied records of tension, sound, response, and achievement of desire, transmitted from one generation to another in a more highly developed brain-structure, have produced a remarkable change in the relations of mother and child. The value of the vocal unit as a means of intercommunica- tion has been enhanced. The connection in the child's con- sciousness between the muscular sensations of the thorax,

1 Fanciful though this description may be, it was suggested in all its outward details by the behavior of a mother and baby Macacus in the London Zoological Gardens.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. 11

vocal organs, etc., and the mother's response to the resulting sounds, is so firmly established that the cry is uttered with the expectation that it will be responded to. The child cries at the mother. The mother, on her side, imitates the cry, partly through the instinct of imitation, but also because the sound of her voice is a part of her feeling for the child. The movement of her hand and the constriction of her throat are, in fact, a single complex innervation. She recognizes also the value of the cry as a response to the child's appeal, since together with the caress it restores the normal respiratory rhythm.

As we go on down the centuries we see these vocal sounds growing in value and importance as the sound frees itself to some extent from the movements which originally gave rise to it. When the recollection of a painful experience innervates the muscles of the child's throat and produces the cry of fright, the mother, if she sees no real occasion for fear, gives only the comforting vocal response. Thus the sound is, in a measure, detached from its original cause, while remaining significant of it. In other words, it becomes a symbol of the relations between the two.

At a still later stage we shall find this sound attaching itself to some particular element in the situation which, with their growing intelligence, both are now able to distinguish. Because this element is most prominent, or because it occurs most frequently, the sound becomes more closely associated with it than with the rest of the complex. When the sound is uttered on either side, it calls into consciousness, as before, the entire situation ; but since the stress of attention now falls upon the particular element which in both minds is most typical or most characteristic, the sound which before expressed for each, and communi- cated from one to the other, an emotional seizure, now denotes a particular element in the exciting cause. ^ The

Hi MODEEN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

unimportant details of the situation retreat into the back- ground, leaving the typical feature in isolation ; out of the emotion emerges that sharpened state of consciousness which we call an idea. What this typical feature is will depend upon the experience of the individuals. In the case of the emotion we have been considering, it may be a flash of light- ning, thunder, the cry of a tiger, the crackling of a twig under the foot of a prowling enemy, the dividing of the grass marking the approach of a poisonous snake, or a pain in the stomach. In any case, the vocal sound has been so often interchanged to convey the state of fear which this object of terror arouses, that the utterance of it calls up infallibly in the mind of each the image of this particular element in the dangerous situation.

As we flit by the succeeding generations, we note that the number of these significant respirates increases. Different situations cause different kinds of strains, and these again, resulting in different sorts of constrictions of the throat and varying shapes of the resonance chambers, produce in their turn a variety of vocal sounds, symbolizing the most ele- mentary relations of mother and child. At first unstable and sporadic and confined to single families, these little vocabularies die out of use as rapidly as they are born, and a new set springs up in each succeeding generation. But in course of time, as the mind becomes more retentive, the growing child holds fast to his infantile vocabulary. A bridge is thus made from one generation to the next. The vocal creations of the past are conserved and added to. A tendency is established, which out of the manifold creations of each new generation selects for survival those which are analogous to the old, and rejects the remainder. These usages spread from one family to another. The latest arrival in the community finds himself in the midst of a group who will attend to his needs only when he uses the

PEOCEEDINGS FOB 1907. liii

sounds which others use, and only when he uses them with the meanings which others attach to them.

We shall see hundreds and thousands of these little systems of speech springing up, competing one with another and passing away. In the struggle for existence we may conceive either that the fittest group survives, together with its mode of speech, or, what is more probable, that (other things being equal) the group with the best language-system, since it is able to give more explicit instructions for the or- ganization of defense and attack, gets the start of the rest, and perpetuates both itself and its system of communication. Thus a particular vocabulary, at first confined to a single group, may come to dominate a wide area.

But we need pursue our imaginary flight no farther* for we have left the period of genesis behind ; we have entered upon the period of transmission in which we find ourselves to-day.1

1It will be observed that among the factors of speech-genesis I have given but a modest r61e to imitation. Considering the great importance which philologists have assigned to the imitative instinct, this view may excite surprise and at least deserves a word of explanation.

It must be apparent to persons who are familiar with the recent literature of psychology, that the imitation-theory, not only with respect to speech, but with respect to origins of mental aptitudes of all kinds, especially in infants, has been sadly overworked. Imitation has been treated as a purely reflex and mechanical act, as an inscrutable instinct prompting men and animals to repeat exactly the movements of others or to reproduce in one way or another certain natural phenomena. The truth is, however, as Professor C. H. Cooley has well said, that much of what we call imitation is a difficult and complicated exercise of attention, will, and even judgment. It is more characteristic of adults than of the very young. Referring to the speech of young children, Professor Cooley says : " The imitativeness of children is stimulated by the imitativeness of parents. A baby cannot hit upon any sort of a noise, but the admiring family, eager for communi- cation, will imitate it again and again, hoping to get a repetition. They are usually disappointed, but the exercise probably causes the child to notice the likeness of the sounds and so prepares the way for imitation. It

liv MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Let me say in conclusion that I am far from thinking that the processes involved in the genesis of speech are so simple as I have made them, for purposes of brevity and clearness. My sketch is, as the physiologists say, diagrammatic. I have left out of it the details which, however necessary to a finished picture, seem to me nevertheless to confuse the main outlines. If the picture is true as far as it goes, the details can be readily filled in. If, on the other hand, it is false, its very bareness and simplicity will make the errors more easy of detection. In either case I shall be content if my paper, by stimulating other minds, leads to a reconsideration of this ever-abandoned, ever-renewed, baffling yet perennially fas- cinating problem.

is perhaps safe to say that up to the end of the first year the parents are more imitative than the child. ' ' (Human Nature and the Social Order, p. 25. ) Applying this principle to the genesis of speech, we may say that the primitive mother's imitation of the child's irregularities of respiration are a more potent factor in the development of speech than the child's imitation of the mother, or of anything else. The so-called imitation words pop, crack, bang, sizzle, and the like are probably late creations. Primitive man must have attained to a relatively advanced stage of intelligence and dis- criminative power before he detected the similarity of the sounds he was making with his breath to the sounds made by the forces and objects of nature — to the rippling of streams, the murmuring of the winds in the trees, or the rolling of thunder in the clouds. (Cf. Wundt, Schallnach~ ahmungen und Lautmetaphern in der Sprache. Beilage zur Munchcncr Allg. Ze.it. , 16. Feb. , 1907. ) I say nothing about the sounds made by other animals, because, as I have said before, I assume that man or his precursor was the earliest of his kind to develop voice.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. lv

CONSTITUTION OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA.

ADOPTED ON THE TWENTY-NINTH OF DECEMBER, 1903.

The name of this Society shall be The Modern Language Association of America.

II.

1. The object of this Association shall be the advance- ment of the study of the Modern Languages and their Literatures thru the promotion of friendly relations among scholars, thru the publication of the results of investi- gation by members, and thru the presentation and dis- cussion of papers at an annual meeting.

2. The meeting of the Association shall be held at such place and time as the Executive Council shall from year to year determine. But at least as often as once in four years there shall be held a Union Meeting, for which some central point in the interior of the country shall be chosen.

in.

Any person whose candidacy has been approved by the Secretary and Treasurer may become a member on the pay- ment of three dollars, and may continue a member by the payment of the same amount each year. Any member, or any person eligible to membership, may become^ a life

Ivi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

member by a single payment of forty dollars or by the payment of fifteen dollars a year for three successive years. Distinguished foreign scholars may be elected to honorary membership by the Association on nomination by the Ex- ecutive Council.

IV.

1. The officers and governing boards of the Association shall be : a President, three Vice-Presidents, a Secretary, a Treasurer; an Executive Council consisting of these six officers, the Chairmen of the several Divisions, and seven other members ; and an Editorial Committee consisting of the Secretary of the Association (who shall be Chairman ex officio), the Secretaries of the several Divisions, and two other members.

2. The President and the Vice-Presidents shall be elected by the Association, to hold office for one year.

3. The Chairmen and Secretaries of Divisions shall be chosen by the respective Divisions.

4. The other officers shall be elected by the Association at a Union Meeting, to hold office until the next Union Meeting. Vacancies occurring between two Union Meet- ings shall be filled by the Executive Council.

v.

1. The President, Vice-Presidents, Secretary, and Treasurer shall perform the usual duties of such officers. The Secretary shall, furthermore, have charge of the Publi- cations of the Association and the preparation of the pro- gram of the annual meeting.

2. The Executive Council shall perform the duties as- signed to it in Articles II, III, IV, VII, and VIII ; it shall, moreover, determine such questions of policy as may

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ivii

be referred to it by the Association and such as may arise in the course of the year and call for immediate decision 3. The Editorial Committee shall render such assist- ance as the Secretary may need in editing the Publications of the Association and preparing the annual program.

VI.

1. The Association may, to further investigation in any special branch of Modern Language study, create a Section devoted to that end.

2. The officers of a Section shall be a Chairman and a Secretary, elected annually by the Association. They shall form a standing committee of the Association, and may add to their number any other members interested in the same subject.

VII.

1, When, for geographical reasons, the members from any group of States shall find it expedient to hold a sepa- rate annual meeting, the Executive Council may arrange with these members to form a Division, with power to call a meeting at such place and time as the members of the Division shall select; but no Division meeting shall be held during the year in which the Association holds a Union Meeting. The expense of Division meetings shall be borne by the Association. The total number of Divisions shall not at any time exceed three. The present Division is hereby continued.

2. The members of a Division shall pay their dues to the Treasurer of the Association, and shall enjoy the same rights and privileges and be subject to the same conditions as other members of the Association.

0

Iviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

3. The officers of a Division shall be a Chairman and a Secretary. The Division shall, moreover, have power to create such committees as may be needed for its own busi- ness. The program of the Division meeting shall be pre- pared by the Secretary of the Division in consultation with the Secretary of the Association.

VIII.

This Constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote at any Union Meeting, provided the proposed amendment has received the approval of two-thirds of the members of the Executive Council.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. lix

MEMBERS OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA

INCLUDING MEMBERS OF THE CENTRAL DIVISION OF THE ASSOCIATION.

Adams, Arthur, Assistant Professor of English, Trinity College, Hart- ford, Conn.

Adams, Edward Larrabee, Instructor in Romance Languages, Uni- versity of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [644 S. Ingalls St.]

Adams, Warren Austin, Professor of German, Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. F.

Alden, Raymond Macdonald, Assistant Professor of English Litera- ture and Rhetoric, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. [Box 82.]

Alder, Eugene Charles, Master of German, William Penn Charter School, Philadelphia, Pa. [125 School Lane, Germantown, Pa.]

Alexander, Luther Herbert, Professor of Modern Languages, Univer- sity of Alberta, Strathcona, Alberta, Canada.

Allard, Louis, Instructor in French, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [9 Hampden Hall, Plympton St.]

Allen, Edward Archibald, Professor of the English Language and Literature, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Allen, F. Sturges, Springfield, Mass. [246 Central St.]

Almstedt, Hermann, Professor of Germanic Languages, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Armes, William Dallam, Assistant Professor of English Literature, University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [Faculty Club.]

Armstrong, Edward C., Associate Professor of French, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Armstrong, Edwin Stanley, Teacher of English, Central High School, St. Louis, Mo.

Arrowsmith, Robert, American Book Co., New York, N. Y. [Wash- ington Square.]

Artmann, Florentine E., Instructor in German, Normal College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [828 Lexington Ave.]

Aviragnet, Elys6e, Professor of Romance Languages, Buckn^ll Uni- versity, Lewisberg, Pa.

IX MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Axson, Stockton, Professor of English, Princeton University, Prince- ton, N. J.

Ayer, Charles Carlton, Professor of Romance Languages, University of Colorado, Boulder, Col.

Ayres, Harry Morgan, Lecturer in English, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [507 Fayerweather Hall.]

Babbitt, Irving, Assistant Professor of French, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [6 Kirkland Road.]

Babcock, Earle Brownell, Instructor in French, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [5546 Madison Ave.]

Babize, Auguste Charles, Editor in Chief, L'Echo des Deux Mondes, Chicago, 111.

Bacon, Edwin Faxon, Teacher of Modern Languages, State Normal School, Oneonta, N. Y. [56 East St.]

Bagster-Collins, Elijah William, Adjunct Professor of German, Teachers' College, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Baillot, E. P., Professor of Romance Languages, Northwestern Uni- versity, Evanston, 111. [718 Emerson St.]

Baker, Asa George, G. & C. Merriam Co., Publishers of Webster's Dictionaries, Springfield, Mass.

Baker, Franklin Thomas, Professor of English, Teachers' College, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [525 W. 120th St.]

Baker, George Pierce, Professor of English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [195 Brattle St.]

Baker, Harry Torsey, Assistant Professor of English Literature, Beloit College, Beloit, Wis. [Chapin Hall.]

Baker, Thomas Stockham, Head Master, Tome School for Boys, Jacob Tome Institute, Port Deposit, Md.

Baldwin, Charles Sears, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric, Yale Uni- versity, New Haven, Conn.

Baldwin, Edward Chauncey, Assistant Professor of English Litera- ture, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [1006 Nevada St.]

Bargy, Henry, Professor of the French Language and Literature, Normal College of the City of New York, 68th St. and Park Ave., New York, N. Y.

Barnes, Frank Coe, Professor of Modern Languages, Union College, Schenectady, N. Y.

Bartlett, Mrs. D. L., Baltimore, Md. [16 W. Monument St.]

Baskervill, Charles Read, Instructor in English, University of Texas, Austin, Texas.

Bassett, Ralph Emerson, Associate Professor of Romance Languages, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

PKOCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixi

Batt, Max, Professor of Modern Languages, North Dakota Agricul- tural College, Fargo, N. D.

Battin, Benjamin F., Professor of German, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pa.

Baumgartner, Milton D., Instructor in Germanic Languages and Literature, Nebraska State University, Lincoln, Neb.

Baur, William F., Instructor in German, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O.

Beam, Jacob, Preceptor in Modern Languages, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Beatty, Arthur, Assistant Professor of English, University of Wis- consin, Madison, Wis. [1824 Jackson St.]

de Beaumont, Victor, Lecturer in the French Language and Litera- ture, Victoria College, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada. [40 Dupont St.]

Bechert, Alexander Otto, Tutor in the Germanic Languages and Literatures, Barnard College, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [464 Bainbridge St., Brooklyn, N. Y.]

Becker, Ernest Julius, Head of the Department of Modern Languages, Baltimore City College, Baltimore, Md.

Belden, Henry Marvin, Professor of English, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo. [811 Virginia Ave.]

Bell, Robert Mowry, Assistant Professor of German, Collegiate De- partment, Clark University, Worcester, Mass.

Berdan, John Milton, Instructor in Rhetoric, Yale University, New Haven, Conn.

Bergeron, Maxime L., Tutor in French, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [505 W. 148th St.]

Berkeley, Frances Campbell, Instructor in English, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [616 Lake St.]

Bernkopf, Anna Elise, Instructor in German, Vassar College, Pough- keepsie, N. Y.

Bernkopf, Margaret, Instructor in German, Smith College, North- ampton, Mass.

Bernstorff, Frank A., Instructor in German, Northwestern Univer- sity, Evanston, 111. [2241 Sherman Ave.]

de Bgthune, Baron F., Louvain, Belgium. [36 rue de Be"riot.]

Bevier, Louis, Jr., Professor of the Greek Language and Literature,

Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J. Be"ziat de Bordes, Andre", Professor of French, Newcomb College, New

Orleans, La.

Bigelow, John, Jr., Professor of French and Head of the Department of Modern Languages, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass. 0

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Bigelow, William Pingry, Professor of Music and German, Amherst

College, Amherst, Mass. Bishop, David Horace, Professor of the English Language and Litera-

ture, University of Mississippi, Oxford, Miss. [University,

Miss.] Blackburn, Francis Adelbert, Associate Professor of the English Lan-

guage, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [383 E. 56th St.] Blackwell, Robert Emory, President and Professor of English, Ran-

dolph-Macon College, Ashland, Va. Blair, Emma Helen, Historical Editor, State Historical Library,

Madison, Wis. Blaisdell, Daisy Luana, Instructor in German, University of Illinois,

Urbana, 111. [1010 W. California Ave.] Blanchard, Frederic T., Instructor in English, University of Cali-

fornia, Berkeley, Cal. Blau, Max F., Assistant Professor of German, Princeton University,

Princeton, N. J. Bleyer, Willard Grosvenor, Assistant Professor of English, Univer-

sity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [625 Langdon St.] Boesche, Albert Wilhelm, Instructor in German, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [322 Harvard St.] Bohn, William Edward, Instructor in Rhetoric, University of Michi-

gan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [718 Monroe St.] Boll, Helene Hubertine, Instructor in German, Hillhouse High School,

New Haven, Conn. Bonilla, Rodrigo Huguet, Instructor in French and Spanish, U. S.

Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md.

Booth, William Stone, Cambridge, Mass. [19 Berkeley St.] Borgerhoff, J. L., Associate Professor of Romance Languages, Western

Reserve University, Cleveland, O. Both-Hendriksen, Louise, Assistant Professor of History, Adelphi

College, Brooklyn, N. Y. [150 Lefferts Place.] Bothne, Gisle C. J., Professor of Scandinavian Languages and

Literatures, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. Boucke, Ewald A., Assistant Professor of German, University of

Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [808 S. State St.] Bourland, Benjamin Parsons, Professor of the Romance Languages,

Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O. [11170 Euclid

Ave.] Bo wen, Benjamin Lester, Professor of Romance Languages, Ohio

State University, Columbus, O. Bowen, Edwin Winfield, Professor of Latin, Randolph-Macon College,

Ashland, Va.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixiii

Bowen, James Vance, Professor of Foreign Languages, Mississippi Agricultural and Mechanical College, Agricultural College, Miss. Boysen, Johannes Lassen, Associate Professor of German, Syracuse

University, Syracuse, N. Y. [714 Beech St.]

Bradshaw, S. Ernest, Professor of Modern Languages, Furman Uni- versity, Greenville, S. C. Bradsher, Earl L., Instructor in Rhetoric, University of Illinois,

Urbana, 111.

Brandon, Edgar Ewing, Professor of Romanic Languages and Litera- tures, Miami University, Oxford, O. Brandt, Hermann Carl Georg, Professor of the Germanic Languages

and Literatures, Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y. Braun, Wilhelm Alfred, Instructor in the Germanic Languages and Literatures, Barnard College, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Brecht, Vincent B., Head of the Department of Language and Litera- ture, Northeast Manual Training High School, Lehigh Ave. and 8th St., Philadelphia, Pa.

Bre"de, Charles F., Professor of German, Northeast Manual Training High School, Lehigh Ave. and 8th St., Philadelphia, Pa. [1813 N. 15th St.] Briggs, Fletcher, Instructor in German, Dartmouth College, Hanover,

N. H. [Box 240]. Briggs, Thomas H., Professor of English, Eastern Illinois State

Normal School, Charleston, 111. Briggs, William Dinsmore, Assistant Professor of English, Leland

Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. Bright, James Wilson, Professor of English Philology, Johns Hopkins

University, Baltimore, Md. Bristol, Edward N., Henry Holt & Co., New York, N. Y. [29 West

23d St.] Bronk, Isabelle, Professor of the French Language and Literature,

Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pa.

Bronson, Thomas Bertrand, Head of the Modern Language Depart- ment, Lawrenceville School, Lawrenceville, N. J. Bronson, Walter C., Professor of English Literature, Brown Univer- sity, Providence, R. I. Brooks, Maro Spalding, Head of the Modern Language Department,

Brookline High School, Brookline, Mass. [25 Waverly St.] Brooks, Neil C., Assistant Professor of German, University of Illinois,

Urbana, 111.

Brown, Arthur C. L., Professor of English Literature, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. [815 Coif ax St.] 0

Ixiv MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Brown, Calvin S., Professor of Romance Languages, University of Mississippi, Oxford, Miss. [University, Miss.]

Brown, Carleton F., Associate Professor of English, Bryn Mawr Col- lege, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Brown, Frank Clyde, Associate Professor of English, Emory College, Oxford, Ga.

Brown, Frederic Willis, Professor of Modern Languages, Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Me.

Brown, Rollo Walter, Professor of Rhetoric, Wabash College, Craw- fordsville, Ind.

Brownell, George Griffin, Professor of Romance Languages, Univer- sity of Alabama, University, Ala.

Bruce, Charles A., Associate Professor of Romance Languages, Ohio State University, Columbus, O. [1981 Indianola Ave.]

Bruce, James Douglas, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.

Brugnot, Mrs. Alice Gabrielle Twight, Head of the French Depart- ment, University School for Girls, Chicago, 111. [21 Lake Shore Drive.]

Brumbaugh, Martin Grove, Superintendent of Schools, Philadelphia, Pa. [3324 Walnut St.]

Brun, Alphonse, Instructor in French, Harvard University, Cam- bridge, Mass. [39 Ellery St.]

Bruner, James Dowden, Professor of Romance Languages and Litera- tures, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Bruns, Friedrich, Instructor in German, University of Wisconsin, Madison Wis. [424 Frances St.]

Brush, Henry Raymond, Professor of Modern Languages, Hope Col- lege, Holland, Mich. [609 State St.]

Brush, Murray Peabody, Associate in Romance Languages, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Brusie, Charles Frederick, Principal, Mt. Pleasant Academy, Ossin- ing, N. Y.

Bryant, Frank Egbert, Assistant Professor of English, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Buchanan, Milton Alexander, Lecturer in Italian and Spanish, Uni- versity of Toronto, Toronto, Canada. [124 McPherson Ave.]

Buck, Gertrude, Professor of English, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Buck, Philo Melvyn, Jr., Head of the Department of English, McKin- ley High School, St. Louis, Mo.

Buckingham, Mary H., Boston, Mass. [96 Chestnut St.]

Buffum, Douglas Labaree, Preceptor in Romance Languages, Prince- ton University, Princeton, N. J.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixv

Burkhard, Oscar C., Instructor in German, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. [Care of Rev. John Burkhard, Elkader, la.]

Burnet, Percy Bentley, Director of Modern Languages, Manual Train- ing High School, Kansas City, Mo. [1112 E. 14th St.]

Burnett, Arthur W., Henry Holt & Co., New York, N. Y. [29 West 23d St.]

Burnham, Josephine M., Instructor in English Composition, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. [142 York St., New Haven, Conn.]

Burton, Richard, Professor of English Literature, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn.

Busey, Robert Oscar, Instructor in German, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

Bush, Stephen Hayes, Professor of French, University of Iowa, Iowa, City, la.^

Busse, Paul Gustav Adolf, Instructor in German, Ohio State Uni- versity, Columbus, O. [316 W. Ninth Ave.]

Cabeen, Charles William, Professor of Romance Languages, Syra- cuse University, Syracuse, N. Y.

Cady, Frank William, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, McKendree College, Lebanon, 111. [Box 258.]

Callaway, Morgan, Jr., Professor of English, University of Texas, Austin, Texas. [1104 Guadalupe St.]

Camera, Amerigo Ulysses N., Instructor in French, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [575 West Ave., Flat- bush, Brooklyn, N. Y.]

Cameron, Arnold Guyot, Princeton, N. J.

Cameron, Susan E., Instructor in English, Royal Victoria College, McGill University, Montreal, Canada.

Campbell, Killis, Adjunct Professor of English, University of Texas, Austin, Texas. [2301 Rio Grande St.]

Campion, John L., New York, N. Y. [370 W. 116th St.]

Canby, Henry Seidel, Instructor in English, Sheffield Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [77 Elm St.]

Canfield, Arthur Graves, Professor of Romance Languages, Uni- versity of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [909 E. University Ave.]

Capen, Samuel Paul, Assistant Professor of Modern Languages, Col- legiate Department, Clark University, Worcester, Mass.

Carnahan, David Hobart, Associate Professor of Romance Languages, University of Illinois, Champaign, 111. [Box 113, Station A.]

Ixvi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Carpenter, Frederic Ives, Associate Professor of English, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [Barrington, 111.]

Carpenter, George Rice, Professor of Rhetoric and English Compo- sition, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Carpenter, William Henry, Professor of Germanic Philology, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Carruth, William Herbert, Professor of the Germanic Languages and Literatures, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Carson, Lucy Hamilton, Professor of English, Montana State Normal College, Dillon, Mont.

Carson, Luella Clay, Professor of Rhetoric and American Literature, University of Oregon, Eugene, Ore. [289 E. 9th St.]

Carteaux, Gustav A., Professor of the French Language, Polytechnic Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Carter, Charles Henry, Assistant Professor of English, Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. [1005 Walnut *Ave.]

Castegnier, Georges, Civilian Instructor in French, U. S. Military Academy, West Point, N. Y., and Lecturer for the Board of Education of New York, Newark, and Jersey City. [100 W. 117th St., New York, N. Y.]

Cerf, Barry, Instructor in Romance Languages, University of Wis- consin, Madison, Wis.

Chamberlain, May, Instructor in Germanic Languages and Litera- tures, State University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. [Station A.]

Chamberlin, Willis Arden, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Denison University, Granville, O.

Chandler, Edith Beatrice, Instructor in French and German, Huron College, Huron, S. D. [467 Illinois St.]

Chandler, Frank Wadleigh, Professor of Literature and History, Polytechnic Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y. [22 Orange St.]

Chapman, Henry Leland, Professor of English Literature, Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Me.

Charles, Arthur M., Professor of German and French, Earlham Col- lege, Richmond, Ind.

Chase, Frank Herbert, Professor of English Literature, Beloit Col- lege, Beloit, Wis. [718 Church St.]

Chase, Lewis Nathaniel, Professor of English, University of Louis- ville, Louisville, Ky. [14 rue Duplessis, Bordeaux, France.]

Chase, Stanley Perkins, Instructor in English Literature, North- western University, Evanston, 111.

Cheek, Samuel Robertson, Professor of Latin, Central University of Kentucky, Danville, Ky.

PROCEEDINGS FOE 1907. Ixvii

Cheever, Louisa Sewall, Instructor in English, Smith College, Northampton, Mass. [Chapin House.]

Chenery, Winthrop Holt, Assistant Professor of Spanish and Italian, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo.

Cherington, Frank Barnes, Associate in English, University High School, Chicago, 111. [115 Maroon Heights, University of Chicago.]

Child, Clarence Griffin, Assistant Professor of English, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [4237 Sansom St.]

Chiles, James A., University of Illinois, Urbana, 111.

Churchill, George Bosworth, Professor of English Literature, Amherst College, Amherst, Mass.

Churchman, Philip Hudson, Assistant Professor of Romance Lan- guages, Clark College, Worcester, Mass. [21 Shirley St.]

Clapp, John Mantel, Professor of English, Lake Forest College, Lake Forest, 111.

Clark, Alexander Frederick Bruce, Instructor in French, University College, Toronto, Canada.

Clark, J. Scott, Professor of the English Language, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111.

Clark, Thatcher, Head of the Department of Modern Languages, Cathedral School of St. Paul, Garden City, N. Y.

Clark, Thomas Arkle, Professor of Rhetoric and Dean of Under- graduates, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111.

Clarke, Charles Cameron, Jr., Assistant Professor of French, Shef- field Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [254 Bradley St.]

Clary, S. Williard, D. C. Heath & Co., Boston, Mass. [120 Boylston St.]

Clementine, Sister M., Teacher of English, Saint Clara College, Sinsinawa, Wis.

demons, William Harry, Instructor in English, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Coar, John Firman, Professor of the German Language and Litera- ture, Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Cohn, Adolphe, Professor of the Romance Languages and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Colin, Mrs. Henriette Louise The"rese, Professor of the French Lan- guage and Literature, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass.

Collings, Harry T., Instructor in French and German, Colgate Academy, Hamilton, N. Y.

Collins, George Stuart, Professor of German and Spanish, Polytechnic Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y. [Wyckoff, N. J.]

Ixviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Collins, Varnum Lansing, Preceptor in Modern Languages, Princeton

University, Princeton, N. J. Collitz, Hermann, Professor of Germanic Philology, Johns Hopkins

University, Baltimore, Md. Colville, William T., Carbondale, Pa. Colvin, Mrs. Mary Noyes, Dansville, N. Y. Colwell, William Arnold, Instructor in German, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [17 Conant Hall.] Comfort, William Wistar, Associate Professor of Romance Languages,

Haverford College, Haverford, Pa. Compton, Alfred D., Tutor in English, College of the City of New

York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y. Conant, Martha P., Walnut Hill School, Natick, Mass. Conklin, Clara, Professor of Romance Languages and Literatures,

University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. Cook, Albert S., Professor of the English Language and Literature,

Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [219 Bishop St.] Cool, Charles Dean, Instructor in Romance Languages, University of

Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [2022 Jefferson St.] Cooper, Lane, Assistant Professor of English, Cornell University,

Ithaca, N. Y. [120 Oak Ave.]

Cooper, William Alpha, Assistant Professor of German, Leland Stan- ford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. [1111 Emerson St.] Corbin, William Lee, Associate Professor of English, Wells College,

Aurora, N. Y. Corwin, Robert Nelson, Professor of German, Sheffield Scientific

School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [247 St. Ronan

St.] Coues, Robert Wheaton, Assistant in English, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [10 Mason St.] Cox, John Harrington, Professor of English Philology, West Virginia

University, Morgantown, W. Va. [188 Spruce St.] Craig, Percy Gaines, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [Liv- ingstone Hall, 115th St. and Amsterdam Ave.] Crawford, James Pyle Wickersham, Instructor in Romanic Languages

and Literatures, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. Crawshaw, William Henry, Dean and Professor of English Literature,

Colgate University, Hamilton, N. Y.

Critchlow, Frank Linley, Preceptor in Romance Languages, Prince- ton University, Princeton, N. J. Croll, Morris William, Preceptor in English, Princeton University,

Princeton, N. J. [53 Patton Hall.] Cross, Wilbur Lucius, Professor of English, Sheffield Scientific School,

Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [24 Edgehill Road.]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. Ixix

Crowell, Asa Clinton, Associate Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures, Brown University, Providence, R. I. [345 Hope St.]

Crowne, Joseph Vincent, Instructor in English, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Cunliffe, John William, Professor of English, University of Wiscon- sin, Madison, Wis.

Curdy, Albert Eugene, Assistant Professor of French, Yale- Uni- versity, New Haven, Conn. [743 Yale Station.]

Curme, George Oliver, Professor of Germanic Philology, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. [629 Coif ax St.]

Cushwa, Frank William, Instructor in English, Phillips Academy, Exeter, N. H.

Cutting, Starr Willard, Professor and Head of the Department of Germanic Languages and Literatures, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Daland, Rev. William Clifton, President and Professor of English and Philosophy, Milton College, Milton, Rock Co., Wis.

Dallam, Mary Theresa, Teacher of English, Western High School, Baltimore, Md. [307 Dolphin St.]

Damon, Lindsay Todd, Professor of Rhetoric, Brown University, Providence, R. I.

Daniels, Francis Potter, Professor of Romance Languages, Cornell College, Mt. Vernon, la.

Danton, George Henry, Acting Assistant Professor of German, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. [1327 Byron St.]

Dargan, Edwin Preston, Adjunct Professor of Romanic Languages, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va.

Darnall, Frank Mauzy, Assistant Professor of English, Mississippi Agricultural and Mechanical College, Agricultural College, Miss.

Darnall, Henry Johnston, Professor of Modern Languages, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.

Davidson, Frederic Joseph Arthur, Associate Professor of Italian and Spanish, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada. [22 Madi- son Ave.]

Davies, William Walter, Professor of the German Language, Ohio Wesleyan University, Delaware, 0.

Davis, Edward Z., Instructor in German, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [3223 Powelton Ave.]

Deering, Robert Waller, Professor of Germanic Languages and Litera- ture, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, 0. [1130 Bell- flower Road.] 0

Ixx MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

De Haan, Fonger, Professor of Spanish, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Deister, John Lewis, Assistant Professor of Modern Languages, Mis- sissippi State University, Oxford, Miss. [University, Miss.]

De Lagneau, Lea Rachel, Instructor in Romance Languages, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 111.

Delamarre, Louis, Instructor in French, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [324 Highland Ave., Mt. Vernon, N. Y.]

Denney, Joseph Villiers, Professor of English and Dean of the College of Arts, Philosophy, and Science, Ohio State University, Co- lumbus, O.

Dey, William Morton, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Diekhoff, Tobias J. C., Junior Professor of German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

Dodge, Daniel Kilham, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, University of Illinois, Champaign, 111.

Dodge, Robert Elkin Neil, Assistant Professor of English, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [21 Mendota Court.]

Doniat, Josephine C., Instructor in French and German, Lyons Town- ship High School, La Grange, 111.

Douay, Gaston, Professor of French, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo.

Dow, Louis Henry, Professor of French, Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H.

Downer, Charles Alfred, Professor of the French Language and Literature, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Durst, Marie, Teacher of Modern Languages, Steele High School, Dayton, O. [152 Eagle St.]

Dunlap, Charles Graham, Professor of English Literature, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Dunn, Joseph, Associate Professor of Celtic Languages and Lecturer in Romance Languages, Catholic University, Washington, D. C.

Dupouey, Robert, Assistant Professor of French, University of Cali- fornia, Berkeley, Cal. [1943 Rose St.]

Dye, Alexander Vincent, Professor of German and Instructor in French and Spanish, William Jewell College, Liberty, Mo.

van Dyke, Henry, Professor of English Literature, Princeton Uni- versity, Princeton, N. J.

Eastman, Clarence Willis, Associate Professor of German Literature, Amherst College, Amherst, Mass.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. Ixxi

Easton, Morton William, Professor of English and Comparative Phi- lology, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [224 S. 43d St.]

Eaton, Mrs. Abbie Fiske, Principal, Friedeneck School, Pasadena, Cal.

Eaton, Horace A., Associate Professor of English, Syracuse Univer- sity, Syracuse, N. Y. [607 Walnut Ave.]

Eckelmann, Ernst Otto, Instructor in German, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [905 S. Busey St.]

Edgar, Pelham, Professor of the French Language and Literature, Victoria College, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada.

Effinger, John Robert, Junior Professor of French, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

Eggert, Carl E., Instructor in German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [930 Church St.]

Elliott, A. Marshall, Professor of Romance Languages, Johns Hop- kins University, Baltimore, Md. [18 E. Eager St.]

Elliott, George Ray, Instructor in English, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

Emerson, Oliver Farrar, Professor of English, Western Reserve Uni- versity, Cleveland, O. [98 Wadena St., E. Cleveland, 0.]

Erskine, John, Associate Professor of English, Amheret College, Amherst, Mass.

Evans, M. Blakemore, Assistant Professor of German, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [21 Mendota Court.]

Evers, Helene M., Instructor in Romance Languages, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Ewart, Frank Carman, Professor of Romance Languages, Colgate University, Hamilton, N. Y.

Fahnestock, Edith, Instructor in Romance Languages, Vassar College,

Poughkeepsie, N. Y. Fairchild, Arthur Henry Rolph, Assistant Professor of the English

Language and Literature, University of Missouri, Columbia,

Mo. [Until May 1, 1909: 155 Iffley Road, Oxford, England.] Fairchild, J. R., American Book Co., New York, N. Y. [Washington

Square.] Farley, Frank Edgar, Professor of English, Simmons College, Boston,

Mass. Farnsworth, William Oliver, Instructor in French, Asheville School,

Asheville, N. C. Farr, Hollon A., Assistant Professor of German, Yale University,

New Haven, Conn. [351 White Hall.] Farrand, Wilson, Head Master, Newark Academy, Newark, N. J.

m

Ixxii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Farrar, Thomas James, Professor of Modern Languages, Washington and Lee University, Lexington, Va.

Faust, Albert Bernhardt, Assistant Professor of German, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. [University Place.]

Fay, Charles Ernest, Professor of Modern Languages, Tufts College, Tufts College, Mass.

Ferrell, Chiles Clifton, Professor of Germanic Languages, University of Mississippi, Oxford, Miss. [University, Miss.]

Ferren, Harry M., Professor of German, High School, Allegheny, Pa.

Few, William Preston, Professor of English, Trinity College, Dur- ham, N. C.

Fielder, Edwin W., Editor, D. Appleton & Co., New York, N. Y. [436 Fifth Ave.]

Fife, Robert Herndon, Jr., Professor of German, Wesleyan Univer- sity, Middletown, Conn. [240 College St.]

Files, George Taylor, Professor of German, Bowdoin College, Bruns- wick, Me.

Fiske, Christabel Forsyth, Instructor in English, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Fitz-Gerald, John Driscoll, 2d, Instructor in the Romance Languages and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Fitz-Hugh, Thomas, Professor of Latin, University of Virginia, Char- lottesville, Va.

Fletcher, Jefferson Butler, Professor of Comparative Literature, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [112 E. 22d St.]

Fletcher, Robert Huntington, Acting Professor of English Literature, Iowa College, Grinnell, la. [1110 West St.]

Fiona, George Tobias, Professor of Scandinavian Languages and Lit- eratures and Acting Professor of English Philology, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la. .

Florer, Warren Washburn, Assistant Professor of German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [910 Olivia Ave.]

Fogg, Miller Moore, Professor of Rhetoric, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.

Ford, Daniel, Adjunct Professor of Rhetoric and Composition, Uni- versity of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.

Ford, J. D. M., Professor of the French and Spanish Languages, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [57 Brewster St.]

Ford, Joseph Sherman, Instructor in German, Phillips Academy, Exeter, N. H.

Ford, R. Clyde, Professor of Modern Languages, State Normal Col- lege, Ypsilanti, Mich.

Fortier, Alc6e, Professor of Romance Languages, Tulane University of Louisiana, New Orleans, La. [1241 Esplanade Ave.]

PKOCEEDINGS FOE 1907. Ixxiii

Fortier, Edward J., Associate in Romance Languages, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [609 S. Busey St.]

Fossler, Laurence, Professor of the Germanic Languages and Litera- tures, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.

Foster, Irving Lysander, Professor of Romance Languages, Pennsyl- vania State College, State College, Pa. [Box 543.]

Foulet, Lucien, Professor of French, Bryn Ma\vr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Fowler, Thomas Howard, Professor of German, Wells College, Au- rora, N. Y.

Fox, Charles Shattuck, Instructor in Modern Languages, Lehigh Uni- versity, South Bethlehem, Pa. [222 Wall St., Bethlehem.]

Francke, Kuno, Professor of the History of German Culture and Curator of the Germanic Museum, Harvard University, Cam- bridge, Mass. [3 Berkeley Place.]

Francois, Victor Emmanuel, Associate Professor of French, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [140th St. and Convent Ave.]

Fraser, Margaret E. N., Dean of Women and Head of the Department of Romance Languages, Allegheny College, Meadville, Pa. [Hulings Hall.]

Fraser, William Henry, Professor of Italian and Spanish, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada.

Freeman, J. C., Professor of English Literature, University of Wis- consin, Madison, Wis. [222 Langdon St.]

Froelicher, Hans, Professor of German, Woman's College of Balti- more, Baltimore, Md.

Fruit, John Phelps, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, William Jewell College, Liberty, Mo.

Fuentes, Ventura, Instructor in Spanish, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Fuller, Harold DeW., Instructor in English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [44 Brentford Hall.]

Fuller, Paul, New York, N. Y. [71 Broadway.]

Fulton, Edward, Associate Professor of Rhetoric, University of Illi- nois, Urbana, 111. [1008 W. Oregon St.]

Fulton, Maurice Garland, Professor of English, Centre College, Central University of Kentucky, Danville, Ky.

Furst, Clyde B., Secretary of Teachers' College, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Oalloo, Eugenie, Professor of Romance Languages and Literatures, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Ixxiv MODEBN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Galpin, Stanley Leman, Associate Professor of Romance Languages, Amherst College, Amherst, Mass.

Gardiner, John Hays, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard Uni- versity, Cambridge, Mass. [18 Grays Hall.]

Garnett, James M., Baltimore, Md. [1316 Bolton St.]

Garrett, Alfred Cope, Philadelphia, Pa. [525 Locust Ave., German- town.]

Garver, Milton Stahl, Instructor in French, Sheffield Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [811 Yale Station.]

Gauss, Christian Frederick, Preceptor in Romance Languages, Prince- ton University, Princeton, N. J.

Gaw, Mrs. Ralph H., Topeka, Kas. [1321 Filmdre St.]

Gay, Lucy Maria, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Uni- versity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [216 N. Pinckney St.]

Gayley, Charles Mills, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2403 Piedmont Ave.]

Geddes, James, Jr., Professor of Romance Languages, Boston Uni- versity, Boston, Mass. [20 Fairmont St., Brookline, Mass.]

Geissendoerfer, John Theodore, Assistant Instructor in German, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la. [320 Davenport St.]

Gerig, John Lawrence, Lecturer in Romance Languages and Celtic Philology, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Gerould, Gordon Hall, Preceptor in English, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Gill, John Glanville, Instructor in Romance Languages, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [16 Oxford St.]

Gillett, William Kendall, Professor of French and Spanish, New York University, University Heights, New York, N. Y.

Glascock, Clyde Chew, Assistant Professor of German, Sheffield Sci- entific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [Gradu- ates' Club.]

Glen, Irving M., Professor of the English Language and Early Eng- lish Literature, University of Oregon, Eugene, Ore. [254 E. 9th St.]

Goad, Caroline M., Teacher of German, Wilson College for Women, Chambersburg, Pa.

Goddard, Harold C., Assistant Professor of English Literature, North- western University, Evanston, 111. [843 Judson Ave.]

Goebel, Julius, Professor of German, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111.

Goettsch, Charles, Instructor in German, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. IxxV

Gould, Chester Nathan, Instructor in German, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Gould, William Elford, Instructor in Spanish and French, University of Texas, Austin, Texas.

Grandgent, Charles Hall, Professor of Romance Languages, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [107 Walker St.]

Graves, William Lucius, Assistant Professor of English, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

Gray, Charles Henry, Assistant Professor of English, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas. [1000 Ohio St.]

Greene, Herbert Eveleth, Collegiate Professor of English, Johns Hop- kins University, Baltimore, Md. [1019 St. Paul St.]

Greenlaw, Edwin Almiron, Professor of English, Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y.

Greenough, Chester Noyes, Professor of English, University of Illi- nois, Urbana, 111.

Gregor, Leigh R., Associate Professor of Modern Languages, McGill University, Montreal, Canada. [139 Baile St.]

Griebsch, Max, Director, National German- American Teachers' Semi- nary, 558-568 Broadway, Milwaukee, Wis.

Griffin, James 0., Professor of German, Leland Stanford Jr. Univer- sity, Stanford University, Cal.

Griffin, Nathaniel Edward, Preceptor in English, Princeton Univer- sity, Princeton, N. J. [14 N. Dod Hall.]

Grimm, Karl Josef, Professor of the German Language and Litera- ture, Pennsylvania College, Gettysburg, Pa.

Gronow, Hans Ernst, Associate in German, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [Faculty Exchange, University of Chicago.]

Gruener, Gustav, Professor of German, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [146 Lawrance Hall.]

Grumbine, Harvey Carson, Professor of the English Language and Literature, University of Wooster, Wooster, O.

Grummann, Paul H., Professor of Modern German Literature, Uni- versity of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. [1930 Washington St.]

Gu6rard, Albert Le"on, Assistant Professor of the Romance Languages, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Stanford University, Cal.

Guite"ras, Calixto, Professor of Spanish, Girard College, Philadelphia, Pa.

Guitner, Alma, Professor of German, Otterbein University, Wester- ville, O.

Gummere, Francis B., Professor of English, Haverford College, Hav- erford, Pa.

Ixxvi MODEBN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Gutknecht, Louise L., Teacher of German and French, South Chicago High School, Chicago, 111. [7700 Bond Ave., Windsor Park, Chicago.]

Hale, Edward E., Jr., Professor of English, Union College, Schenec- tady, N. Y.

Hall, John Leslie, Professor of the English Language and Literature and of General History, College of William and Mary, Wil- liamsburg, Va.

Ham, Roscoe James, Professor of Romance Languages, Trinity Col- lege, Hartford, Conn. [83 Allen Place.]

Hamill, Alfred Ernest, Ballyatwood, Lake Forest, 111.

Hamilton, George Livingstone, Instructor in Romance Languages, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [538 Church St.]

Hamilton, Theodore Ely, Instructor in Romance Languages, Univer- sity of Missouri, Columbia, Mo. [1111 University Ave.]

Hammond, Eleanor Prescott, Chicago, 111. [360 E. 57th St., Hyde Park.]

Hancock, Albert E., Assistant Professor of English, Haverford Col- lege, Haverford, Pa.

Handschin, Charles Hart, Professor of German, Miami University, Oxford, O.

Haney, John Louis, Professor of English Philology, Central High School, Philadelphia, Pa.

Hanner, James Park, Jr., Professor of Modern Languages, Emory College, Oxford, Ga.

Hansche, Maude Bingham, Teacher of German, Commercial High School for Girls, Broad and Green Sts., Philadelphia, Pa.

Hardy, Ashley Kingsley, Assistant Professor of German and Instruc- tor in Old English, Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H.

Hare, James Alexander, Speyer & Co., 24-26 Pine St., New York, N. Y.

Hargrove, Henry Lee, Professor of English, Baylor University, Waco, Texas.

Harper, George McLean, Professor of English, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Harris, Charles, Professor of German, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O.

Harris, Lancelot Minor, Professor of English, College of Charleston, Charleston, S. C.

Harrison, James Albert, Professor of Teutonic Languages, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va.

Harrison, John Smith, Assistant Professor of English, Kenyon Col- lege, Gambier, O.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. Ixxvii

Harry, Philip Warner, Instructor in French, Northwestern Univer- sity, Evanston, 111. [University Club.]

Hart, Charles Edward, Professor of Ethics and Evidences of Christi- anity, Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J. [33 Livingston Ave.]

Hart, James Morgan, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.

Hart, Walter Morris, Assistant Professor of English, University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2255 Piedmont Ave.]

Hastings, William Thomson, Instructor in English, Brown University, Providence, R. I. [11% John St.]

Hatfield, James Taft, Professor of the German Language and Litera- ture, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111.

Hathaway, Charles Montgomery, Jr., Instructor in English, U. S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. [183 King George St.]

Hauhart, William F., Instructor in German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1115 S. University Ave.]

Hauschild, George William, Instructor in German, University of Chicago High School, Chicago, 111. [75 Hitchcock Hall.]

Hausknecht, Emil, Professor at the University of Lausanne, Lau- sanne, Switzerland.

Havens, Raymond Dexter, Instructor in English, University of Rochester, Rochester, N. Y.

Head, Walter Dutton, Instructor in French, Phillips Academy, Exeter, N. H.

Heller, Otto, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo.

Hempl, George, Professor of Germanic Philology, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. [382 Lincoln Ave.]

Henning, George Neely, Professor of Romance Languages, George Washington University, Washington, D. C.

Herford, Charles Harold, Professor in the University of Manchester, Manchester, England.

Herrick, Asbury Haven, Woburn, Mass. [4 Plympton St.]

Hervey, Wm. Addison, Adjunct Professor of the Germanic Langua- ges and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Heuser, Frederick W. J., Tutor in the Germanic Languages and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Hewett, Waterman Thomas, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. [Netherby, Cornell Heights.]

Heyd, Jacob Wilhelm, Professor of German and French, Kirksville State Normal School, Kirksville, Mo. [1112 S. Florence Ave.]

Ixxviil MODEEN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Hicks, Fred Cole, Instructor in German, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [Tipton, la.]

Hill, Albert Ellsworth, Associate Instructor in English, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [Box 73, Faculty Exchange.]

Hill, Raymond Thompson, Instructor in Romanic Languages, Syra- cuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. [907 University Ave.]

Hills, Elijah Clarence, Professor of Romance Languages and Litera- tures, Colorado College, Colorado Springs, Col. [120 Tyler Place.]

Hilmer, William Charles, Instructor in German, Oberlin College, Oberlin, 0. [219 W. Lorain St.]

Hinckley, Henry Barrett, Northampton, Mass. [54 Prospect St.]

Hinsdale, Ellen C., Professor of the German Language and Literature, Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Mass.

Hochdorfer, Karl Friedrich Richard, Professor of Modern Languages, Wittenberg College, Springfield, O. [31 E. Cecil St.]

Hodder, Mrs. Alfred, New York, N. Y. [Hotel San Remo.]

Hodell, Charles Wesley, Professor of the English Language and Literature, Woman's College of Baltimore, Baltimore, Md.

Hohlfeld, Alexander R., Professor of German, University of Wiscon- sin, Madison, Wis.

Holbrook, Richard Thayer, Associate in Italian and Old French, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Hollander, Lee M., Instructor in German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

Holzwarth, Franklin James, Professor of the Germanic Languages and Literatures, Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. [911 Walnut Ave.]

Hopkins, Annette Brown, Instructor in English, Teachers' Training School, Baltimore, Md.

Hopkins, Edwin Mortimer, Professor of Rhetoric and the English Language, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Hopkins, John Bryant, Instructor in Modern Languages, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa. [72 Blair Hall.]

Home, Charles F., Assistant Professor of English, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Horning, L. Emerson, Professor of Teutonic Philology, Victoria Col- lege, Toronto, Canada.

Hoskins, John Preston, Assistant Professor of German, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. [22 Bank St.]

Hospes, Mrs. Cecilia Lizzette, Teacher of German, McKinley High School, St. Louis, Mo.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1907. IxxiX

House, Ralph Emerson, Instructor in Romance Languages, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Houston, Percy Hazen, Instructor in English, University of Illinois, Champaign, 111. [412 E. Green St.]

Howard, Albert A., Professor of Latin, Harvard University, Cam- bridge, Mass. [12 Walker St.]

Howard, William Guild, Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [25 Conant Hall.]

Howe, George Maxwell, Professor of the Germanic Languages and Literatures, Colorado College, Colorado Springs, Col. [1623 N. Tejon St.]

Howe, Malvina A., Principal, Miss Howe and Miss Marot's School, Dayton, O. [513 W. 1st St.]

Howe, Thomas Carr, President and Professor of Germanic Langua- ges, Butler College, University of Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Ind. [48 S. Audubon Road, Irvington.]

Howe, Will David, Professor of English, Indiana University, Bloom- ington, Ind.

Hoyt, Prentiss Cheney, Assistant Professor of English, Collegiate Department, Clark University, Worcester, Mass. [940 Main St.]

Hubbard, Frank G., Professor of the English Language, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

Hughes, Mrs. Charlotte Conde", Director of French, Moffitt School, Grand Rapids, Mich. [18 S. Lafayette St.]

Hulme, William Henry, Professor of English, College for Women, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O. [11424 Mayfield St.]

Hume, Thomas, Professor Emeritus of English Literature, Univer- sity of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Hunt, Theodore Whitefield, Professor of English, Princeton Univer- sity, Princeton, N. J.

Hutchison, Percy Adams, Instructor in English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

Hyde, James Hazen, New York, N. Y. [HE. 40th St.]

Ibbotson, Joseph Darling, Jr., Professor of English Literature, Ham- ilton College, Clinton, N. Y.

Ilgen, Ernest, Associate Professor of German, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Ingraham, Edgar Shugert, Assistant Professor of Romance Langua- ges, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

Ixxx MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Jackson, M. Katherine, Lecturer on English, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

von Jagemann, H. C. G., Professor of Germanic Philology, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [113 Walker St.]

Jenkins, T. Atkinson, Associate Professor of French Philology, Uni- versity of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [488 E. 54th Place.]

Jessen, Karl Detlev, Associate Professor of German, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Jodocius, Albert, French Master, Delancey School, Philadelphia, Pa. [1420 Pine St.]

Johnson, Henry, Professor of Modern Languages, Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Me.

Johnson, William Savage, Instructor in English, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [361 Elm St.]

Johnston, Oliver Martin, Associate Professor of Romanic Languages, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Stanford University, Cal.

Jonas, J. B. E., Assistant Professor of German, Brown University, Providence, R. I.

Jones, Everett Starr, Head Master, Allen School, West Newton, Mass.

Jones, Florence Nightingale, Instructor in French and Italian, Uni- versity of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [901 W. Green St.]

Jones, Harrie Stuart Vedder, Instructor in English, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [605 W. Green St.]

Jones, Jessie Louise, Assistant Professor of German, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 111.

Jones, Richard, Professor of English, Vanderbilt University, Nash- ville, Tenn. [Vanderbilt Campus.]

Jordan, Daniel, Adjunct Professor of the Romance Languages and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Jordan, Mary Augusta, Professor of the English Language and Lit- erature, Smith College, Northampton, Mass. [Hatfield House.]

Joynes, Edward S., Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages, Uni- versity of South Carolina, Columbia, S. C.

Kagan, Josiah M., Master (German), Roxbury High School, Boston, Mass.

Kahn, J. Ottillie, Canon City, Col. [925 Rudd Ave.]

Kayser, Carl F., Professor of the German Language and Literature, Normal College, New York, N. Y. [71 E. 87th St.]

Keidel, George Charles, Associate in Romance Languages, Johns Hop- kins University, Baltimore, Md.

Kellogg, Robert James, Professor of Modern Languages, James Milli- kin University, Decatur, 111.

PROCEEDINGS FOR .907.

Kent, Charles W., Professor of English Literature, University of

Virginia, Charlottesville, Va. Keppler, Emil A. C., Tutor in Germanic Languages and Literatures,

College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [220 W.

107th St.] Kerlin, Robert Thomas, Professor of English Literature, Virginia

State Normal School, Farmville, Va. Kern, Alfred Allan, Professor of English, Millsaps College, Jackson,

Miss. Kerr, William Alexander Robb, Professor of Romance Languages,

Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y. Keyes, Charles Reuben, Professor of the German Language and Lit-

erature, Cornell College, Mt. Vernon, la. Keys, David Reid, Associate Professor of Anglo-Saxon, University

College, Toronto, Canada. Kinard, James Pinckney, Professor of the English Language and

Literature, Winthrop College, Rock Hill, S. C. Kind, John Louis, Instructor in German, University of Wisconsin,

Madison, Wis. [The Irving.] King, Robert Augustus, Professor of French and German, Wabash

College, Crawfordsville, Ind. Kingsbury, Elizabeth, Teacher of Latin and German, Nebraska Nor-

mal College, Wayne, Neb. [Box 71]. Kip, Herbert Z., Associate Professor of German, Vanderbilt Uni-

versity, Nashville, Tenn. Kirchner, Elida Caroline, Instructor in German, Central High School,

St. Louis, Mo. [1127 N. Grand Ave.] Kittredge, George Lyman, Professor of English, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [8 Hilliard St.] Klaeber, Frederick, Professor of English Philology, University of

Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. Klein, David, Tutor in English, College of the City of New York,

138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y. von Klenze, Camillo, Professor of German Literature, Brown Uni-

versity, Providence, R. I. Knoepfler, John Baptist, Professor of German, Iowa State Normal

School, Cedar Falls, la.

Kolbe, P. R., Instructor in German, Buchtel College, Akron, O. Koller, Armin Hajman, Fellow in German, University of Chicago,

Chicago, 111. [97 Middle Divinity Hall.] Krapp, George Philip, Professor of the English Language and Litera-

ture, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O. Kroeh, Charles F., Professor of Languages, Stevens Institute of Tech-

nology, Hoboken, N. J. ^

6

Ixxxii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Krowl, Harry 0., Assistant Professor of English, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Kueffner, Louise Mallinckrodt, Instructor in German, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.

Kuersteiner, Albert Frederick, Professor of Romance Languages, Indiana University, Bloomington, Ind.

Kuhns, Oscar, Professor of Romance Languages, Wesleyan Univer- sity, Middletown, Conn.

Kullmer, Charles Julius, Assistant Professor of German, Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. [505 University Place.]

Kurrelmeyer, William, Associate in German, Johns Hopkins Univer- sity, Baltimore, Md. [Ellicott City, Md.]

Lamaze, Edouard, Dean of the School of Languages, International

Correspondence Schools, Scranton, Pa. Lambert, Marcus Bachman, Teacher of German, Boys' High School,

Brooklyn, N. Y. [5 Maxwell Ave., Jamaica, N. Y.] Lancaster, Henry Carrington, Instructor in Romance Languages,

Amherst College, Amherst, Mass. Lang, Henry R., Professor of Romance Philology, Yale University,

New Haven, Conn. [Box 244, Yale Station.] Lange, Alexis Frederick, Professor of English and Scandinavian

Philology, University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2629

Haste St.] Lange, Carl Frederick Augustus, Associate Professor of German,

Smith College, Northampton, Mass. [83 Massasoit St.] Langley, Ernest F., Assistant Professor of Romance Languages,

Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H. Lathrop, Adele, Instructor in English Literature. Wellesley College,

Wellesley, Mass. Lathrop, Henry Burrowes, Associate Professor of English Literature.

University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [311 Park St.] Law, Robert A., Instructor in English, University of Texas, Austin,

Texas.

Lawrence, William Witherle, Adjunct Professor of English, Colum- bia University, New York, N. Y. Learned, Marion Dexter, Professor of the Germanic Languages and

Literatures, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. Le Compte, Irville Charles, Instructor in French, Yale University,

New Haven, Conn. [754 Yale Station.] Le Daum, Henry, Professor of Romance Languages, State Univer- .

sity of North Dakota, Grand Forks, N. D. [6 New Hampshire

Flats.]

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixxxiii

Le Due, Alma de L., University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [4015 Lake Ave.]

Lehmann, Gottfried, Professor of Modern Languages, Kentucky Uni- versity, Lexington, Ky. [181 Mill St.]

Leonard, Arthur Newton, Professor of German, Bates College, Lewis- ton, Me.

Leonard, Jonathan, Sub-Master (French), English High School, Somerville, Mass. [Sandwich, Mass.]

Leonard, William Ellery, Instructor in English, University of Wis- consin, Madison, Wis. [222 Langdon St.]

Lessing, Otto Eduard, Associate Professor of German, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [906 Gregory Place.]

Levi, Moritz, Professor of Romance Languages, University of Michi- gan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

Lewis, Charlton Miner, Professor of English Literature, Yale Uni- versity, New Haven, Conn.

Lewis, Edwin Herbert, Professor of English and Dean of the Faculty, Lewis Institute. Chicago, 111.

Liberma, Marco F., Professor of Romance Languages, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, 0.

Lieder, Frederick William Charles, Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [46 Holyoke House.]

Lincoln, George Luther, Paris, France. [42 boulevard Raspail.]

Livingston, Albert Arthur, Instructor in Italian, Smith College, Northampton, Mass.

Logeman, Henry, Professor of English Philology, University of Ghent, Ghent, Belgium. [343 boulevard des Hospices.]

Loiseaux, Louis Auguste, Adjunct Professor of the Romance Lan- guages and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Lomer, Gerhard Richard, Instructor in English, MqGill University, Montreal, Canada. [150 Durocher St.]

Long, Percy W., Cambridge, Mass. [35 Trowbridge St.]

Longden, Henry B., Professor of the German Language and Litera- ture, De Pauw University, Greencastle, Ind.

Lotspeich, Claude M., Assistant Professor of German, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O.

Loveland, Helen Isabel, Head of Department of English, Morningside College, Sioux City, la.

Lowes, John Livingston, Professor of English, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pa.

Luebke, William Ferdinand, Assistant Professor of German, Miami University, Oxford, O.

Luquiens, Frederick Bliss, Assistant Professor of Spanish, Sheffield

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [595

Orange St.] Lustrat, Joseph, Professor of Romance Languages, University of

Georgia, Athens, Ga.

Lutz, Frederick, Professor of Modern Languages and Acting Pro- fessor of Latin, Albion College, Albion, Mich. Lyman, Augustus Julian, Instructor in Modern Languages and

Latin, School of Music and Art, Auditorium Building, Ashe-

ville, N. C. Lyon, Charles Edward, Instructor in Modern Languages, Princeton

University, Princeton, N. J. [Bachelors' Club.]

Macarthur, John Robertson, Professor of English, New Mexico Col- lege of Agriculture and Mechanic Arts, Agricultural College, New Mexico.

McBryde, John McLaren, Jr., Professor of English, Sweet Briar In- stitute, Sweet Briar, Va.

McClelland, George William, Tutor in English, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

MacClintock, William D., Professor of English, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [5629 Lexington Ave.]

MacCracken, Henry Noble, Instructor in English, Sheffield Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [180 East Rock Road.]

MacDuffie, John, Principal of the MacDuffie School for Girls, Spring- field, Mass. [182 Central St.]

McKenzie, Konneth, Assistant Professor of Italian, Yale University, New ]iaven, Conn.

McKibben, George Fitch, Professor of Romance Languages, Denison University, Granville, O.

McKnight, George Harley, Professor of English, Ohio State Univer- sity, Columbus, O.

McLaughlin, William Aloysius, Instructor in French, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [920 Monroe St.]

McLean, Charlotte Frelinghuysen, Head of the English Department, Birmingham School, Birmingham, Huntingdon Co., Pa.

MacLean, George Edwin, President, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.

McLouth, Lawrence A., Professor of Germanic Languages and Lit- eratures, New York University, University Heights, New York, N. Y.

Macnie, John, Professor Emeritus of French and Spanish, University of North Dakota. [2113 Bryant Ave., Minneapolis, Minn.]

Mallory, Herbert Samuel, Chardon, O.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixxxv

Maloubier, Eugene F., Tutor in French, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y. [139 E. 18th St.]

Manley, Edward, Englewood High School, Chicago, 111. [5801 Lex- ington Ave.]

Manly, John Matthews, Professor and Head of the Department of English, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Manthey-Zorn, Otto, Instructor in German, Amherst College, Ain- herst, Mass.

March, Francis Andrew, Professor Emeritus of the English Language and of Comparative Philology, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa.

Marcou, Philippe Belknap, Paris, France. [28 quai d'Orleans.]

Marden, Charles Carroll, Professor of Spanish, Johns Hopkins Uni- versity, -Baltimore, Md.

Marin La Meslee, A., Instructor in French, Brown University, Provi- dence, R. I.

Marinoni, Antonio, Associate Professor of Romance and Germanic Languages, University of Arkansas, Fayetteville, Ark. [224 W. Dickson St.]

Marsh, Arthur Richmond, Vice-President, New York Cotton Ex- change, New York, N. Y.

Marsh, George Linnseus, Instructor in English, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Mather, Frank Jewett, Jr., The Evening Post, New York, N. Y.

Mathews, Charles Engley, Instructor in French, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Matthews, Brander, Professor of Dramatic Literature, Columbia Uni- versity, New York, N. Y. [681 West End Ave.]

Matzke, John E., Professor of Romanic Languages, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Stanford University, Cal.

Maynadier, Gustavus H., Instructor in English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [24 Fairfax Hall.]

Mead, William Edward, Professor of the English Language, Wesleyan University, Middletown, Conn.

Meisnest, Frederick William, Professor of German, University of Washington, Seattle, Wash. [4705 Sixteenth Ave., N. E.]

Mellen, Frederic Davis, Instructor in Rhetoric, Mississippi Agricul- tural and Mechanical College, Agricultural College, Miss.

Mensel, Ernst Heinrich, Professor of Germanic Languages and Lit- eratures, Smith College, Northampton, Mass.

Mercier, Louis J., Head Instructor in French, Francis Parker School, Chicago, 111. [199 S. Throop St.]

Metzinger, Leon, Assistant Instructor in German, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la. [319 Davenport St.]

Ixxxvi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Meyer, Edward Stockton, Associate Professor of German, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O. [94 Glenpark Place.]

Meyer, George Henry, Assistant Professor of the German Language and Literature, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [905 W. Green St.]

Miller, George Morey, Associate Professor of English, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O. [16 The Westmoreland, Mt. Au- burn, Cincinnati.]

Miller, Raymond D., Instructor in English, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Milwitzky, William, Instructor in French, Barringer High School, Newark, N. J.

Minis, Edwin, Professor of English Literature, Trinity College, Dur- ham, N. C.

Montgomery, Maud, Head of the Department of Languages, College of Industrial Arts, Denton, Texas.

Moore, Alfred Austin, Preceptor in Romance Languages, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Moore, Clarence King, Professor of Romanic Languages, University of Rochester, Rochester, N. Y.

Moore, Olin Harris, Instructor in Modern Languages, Phillips Acad- emy, Andover, Mass. [Clement House.]

Moore, Robert Webber, Professor of German, Colgate University, Hamilton, N. Y.

Moore, Samuel, Instructor in English, University of Kansas, Law- rence, Kas. [112 Fayerweather St., Cambridge, Mass.]

Morgan, Bayard Quincy, Instructor in German, University of Wis- consin, Madison, Wis. [1715 Adams St.]

Morley, Sylvanus Griswold, Baldwinville, Mass.

Morrill, Clarence B., Instructor in Rhetoric, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [Seffner, Fla.]

Morrill, Georgiana Lea, Instructor in English, University of Wiscon- sin, Madison, Wis. [251 Langdon St.]

Morris, John, Professor of Germanic Languages, University of Georgia, Athens, Ga.

Morrison, Frederic William, Instructor in French and Spanish, U. S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md. [Hotel Maryland.]

Morriss, Margaret Shove, Instructor and Reader in History, Mt. Holyoke College, South Hadley, Mass.

Morton, Asa Henry, Professor of Romance Languages, Williams Col- lege, Williamstown, Mass.

Morton, Edward P., Assistant Professor of English, Indiana Univer- sity, Bloomington, Ind. [6116 Greenwood Ave., Chicago, 111.]

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixxxvii

Moser, Lillian Virginia, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

[415 W. 118th St.] Mosher, William Eugene, Professor of the German Language and

Literature, Oberlin College, Oberlin, O. Mott, Lewis F., Professor of the English Language and Literature,

College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam

Ave., New York, N. Y. Moyse, Charles E., Vice-Principal and Dean of the Faculty of Arts,

McGill University, Montreal, Canada. Mulfinger, George Abraham, Professor of German Literature and

Philology, Allegheny College, Meadville, Pa. Mutterer, Frederick Gilbert, Head of the Department of German,

Indiana State Normal School, Terre Haute, Ind. [650 Mul- berry St,] Myers, Clara L., Assistant Professor of English, College for Women,

Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O.

Nadal, Thomas William, Dean and Professor of English, Olivet Col- lege, Olivet, Mich. [71 Hammond St., Cambridge, Mass.]

Nason, Arthur Huntington, Instructor in English, New York Uni- versity, University Heights, New York, N. Y.

Neff, Theodore Lee, Assistant Professor of French, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Neidig, William J., Instructor in English, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [435 Hawthorne Place.]

Neilson, William Allan, Professor of English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [2 Biedesel Ave.]

Nelson, Clara Albertine, Professor of French, Ohio Wesleyan Univer- sity, Delaware, O.

Nettleton, George Henry, Assistant Professor of English, Sheffield Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [339 Prospect St.]

Nevens, Charles Freeman, Instructor in French and German, Buck- nell University, Lewisburg, Pa. [Box 541.]

Newcomer, Alphonso Gerald, Professor of English, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. [Box 894.]

Newcomer, Charles Berry, Professor of Modern Languages, Transyl- vania University, Lexington, Ky. [335 N. Broadway.]

Newport, Mrs. Clara Price, Instructor in Latin, Swarthmore Col- lege, Swarthmore, Pa.

Newson, Henry Dorsey, President of the Newson Publishing Co., 18 E. 17th St., New York, N. Y.

Nichols, Edwin Bryant, Professor of Romance Languages, Kenyon College, Gambier, O.

Ixxxviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Nitze, William Albert, Professor of Komance Languages, University

of California, Berkeley, Cal. Nix, Amalie Ida Frances, Teacher of German, Mechanic Arts High

School, St. Paul, Minn. [715 Laurel Ave.] Noble, Charles, Professor of the English Language and Rhetoric,

Iowa College, Grinnell, Iowa. [1110 West St.] von Noe, Adolf Carl, Instructor in German Literature, University

of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Nollen, John S., President, Lake Forest College, Lake Forest, 111. Norris, Clarence Elnathan, Instructor in German, Brown University,

Providence, R. I. [6 Chandler St., Worcester, Mass.] Northup, Clark S., Assistant Professor of the English Language and

Literature, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. [107 College

Place.]

Ogden, Philip, Assistant Professor of French Literature, Johns Hop- kins University, Baltimore, Md.

O'Leary, Raphael Dorman, Associate Professor of English, Univer- sity of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas. [1106 Louisiana St.]

Oliver, Thomas Edward, Professor of Romanic Languages, Univer- sity of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [912 W. California Ave.]

Olmsted, Everett Ward, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. [730 University Ave.]

Opdycke, Leonard Eckstein, New York, N. Y. [117 E. 69th St.]

Osgood, Charles Grosvenor, Jr., Preceptor in English, Princeton Uni- versity, Princeton, N. J.

Osthaus, Carl W. F., Junior Professor of German, Indiana University, Bloomington, Ind. [4J7 S. Fess Ave.]

Ott, John Henry, Professor of the English Language and Literature, College of the Northwestern University, Watertown, Wis.

Owen, Edward Thomas, Professor of French and Linguistics, Univer- sity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

1 Padelford, Frederick Morgan, Professor of the English Language and

Literature, University of Washington, Seattle, Wash. [Uni- versity Station.]

Page, Curtis Hidden, Professor of the Romance Languages and Lit- eratures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Palmer, Arthur Hubbell, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [149 E. Rock Road.]

Palmer, Philip Mason, Professor of Modern Languages, Lehigh Uni- versity, So. Bethlehem, Pa. [61 Church St., Bethlehem, Pa.]

Pancoast, Henry Spackman, Germantown, Pa. [267 E. Johnson St.]

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. Ixxxix

Papot, Benedict, Instructor in Modern Languages, R. T. Crane Man- ual Training High School, Chicago, 111. [1038 Jackson Boule- vard.]

Park, Clyde William, Instructor in English, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O.

Patterson, Arthur Sayles, Professor of French, Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. [415 University Place.]

Paton, Lucy Allen, Cambridge, Mass. [Care of Miss Alma Blount, Ypsilanti, Mich.]

Payne, L. W., Jr., Instructor in English, University of Texas, Austin, Texas. [2104 Pearl St.]

Pearson, Calvin Wasson, Edwardsville, Kansas.

Pellissier, Adeline, Instructor in French, Smith College, North- ampton,- Mass. [32 Crescent St.]

Penn, Henry C., Professor of English, Washington University, St. Louis, Mo.

Penniman, Josiah Harmar, Professor of English Literature and Dean of the College, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

Perrin, Ernest Noel, Instructor in English, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [Harvard Union, Cambridge, Mass.]

Perrin, Marshall Livingston, Professor of Germanic Languages, Bos- ton University, 688 Boylston St., Boston, Mass.

Perry, Bliss, Professor of English Literature, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [5 Clement Circle.]

Petersen, Kate O., Brooklyn, N. Y. [91 Eighth Ave.]

Pettengill, Ray Waldron, Teaching Fellow in German, Harvard Uni- versity, Cambridge, Mass. [28 Conant Hall.]

Phelan, Anna Augusta Helmholtz, Instructor in English, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn.

Phelps, William Lyon, Professor of English Literature, Yale Univer- sity, New Haven, Conn.

Phillips, Marvin William, Instructor in Foreign Languages, Mis- sissippi Agricultural and Mechanical College, Agricultural College, Miss.

Pierce, Frederick Erastus, Instructor in English, Sheffield Scientific School, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [622 Wash- ington Ave., West Haven, Conn.]

Plimpton, George A., Ginn & Co., New York, N. Y. [70 Fifth Ave.l

Poll, Max, Professor of German, University of Cincinnati, Cincin- nati, 0.

Pope, Paul Russel, Assistant Professor of German, Cornell Univer- sity, Ithaca, N. Y. [Cayuga Heights.]

0

XC MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Potter, Albert K., Associate Professor of the English Language, Brown University, Providence, R. I. [220 Waterman St.]

Potter, Murray A., Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Har- vard University, Cambridge, Mass. [191 Commonwealth Ave., Boston, Mass.]

Pound, Louise, Assistant Professor of English Literature, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. [1632 L St.]

Prettyman, Cornelius William, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pa.

Priest, George Madison, Preceptor in Modern Languages, Princeton LTniversity, Princeton, N. J.

Primer, Sylvester, Professor of Germanic Languages, University of Texas, Austin, Texas. [2709 Rio Grande St.]

Prokosch, Edward, Instructor in German, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

Pugh, Anne L., Wells College, Aurora, N. Y.

Putnam, Edward Kirby, Acting Director, Davenport Academy of Sciences, Davenport, Iowa.

Putzker, Albin, Professor of German Literature, University of Cali- fornia, Berkeley, Cal.

Pyre, James Francis Augustine, Assistant Professor of English, Uni- versity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [625 Mendota Court.]

Quinn, Arthur Hobson, Professor of English, University of Pennsyl- vania, Philadelphia, Pa.

Raggio, Andrew Paul, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages,

University of Maine, Orono, Me. Ramsay, Robert Lee, Instructor in English, University of Missouri,

Columbia, Mo. Rankin, James Walter, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [14

Sumner Road.] Ransmeier, John Christian, Assistant Professor of German, Tulane

University of Louisiana, New Orleans, La. Raschen, John Frederick Louis, Professor of the Germanic Languages

and their Literature,, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa. Ravenel, Mrs. Florence Leftwich, Biltmore, N. C. Ray, John Arthur, Instructor in Romance Languages, U. 'S. Naval

Academy, Annapolis, Md. [Hotel Maryland.] Reed, Albert Granberry, Assistant Professor of English, Louisiana

State University, Baton Rouge, La. Reed, Edward Bliss, Assistant Professor of English Literature,

Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [Yale Station.] Reeves, William Peters, Professor of the English Language and Lit- erature, Kenyon College, Gambier, O.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. xci

Remy, Alfred, Instructor in Modern Languages, Commercial High School, Brooklyn, N. Y. [Box 13, Bronxville, N. Y.]

Remy, Arthur Frank Joseph, Adjunct Professor of Germanic Phi- lology, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Rendtorff, Karl G., Assistant Professor of German, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal. [1130 Bryant St.]

Rennert, Hugo Albert, Professor of Romanic Languages and Litera- tures, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [4408 Chestnut St.]

Rhoades, Lewis A., Professor of the Germanic Languages and Litera- tures, Ohio State University, Columbus, 0.

Rice, Carl Cosmo, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Uni- versity of Iowa, Iowa City, la. [Box 55.]

Rice, John Pierpont, Instructor in French, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [77 Elm St.]

Richards, Alfred Ernest, Instructor in German, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. [14 University Place.]

Riemer, Guido Carl Leo, Professor of Modern Languages, Bucknell University, Lewisburg, Pa.

Robbins, Fred Oscar, Instructor in French, Yale University, New- Haven, Conn. [215 Livingston St.]

Robertson, James Alexander, Historical Editor, State Historical Library, Madison, Wis.

Robertson, Luanna, Head of the German Department, High School of the School of Education of the University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [Kelly Hall, University of Chicago.]

Robinson, Fred Norris, Professor of English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [Longfellow Park.]

Robinson, Grace Louise, Rensselaer, N. Y. [14 Catharine St.]

Roedder, Edwin Carl, Assistant Professor of Germanic Philology, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [412 Lake St.]

Root, Robert Kilburn, Preceptor in English, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Rosenthal, Daniel Crehange, New York, N. Y. [Care of S. Samuels, 515 W. 134th St.]

Roulston, Robert Bruce, German Master, Country School for Boys, Charles St. Ave., Baltimore, Md.

Roux, Louis Alexandre, Master in French and Latin, Newark Acad- emy, Newark, N. J. [544 High St.]

Roy, Rev. James, Niagara Falls, N. Y. [Station A.]

Rumsey, Olive, Westfield, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.

Ruutz-Rees, Caroline, Head Mistress, Rosemary Hall, Greenwich, Conn.

*

XC11 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Sachs, Julius, Professor of Secondary Education, Teachers' College, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

de Salvio, Alphonso, Instructor in Romance Languages, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. [Association des Etudiants, 43 rue des Ecoles, Paris, France.]

Sampson, Martin Wright, Acting Professor of English Literature, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.

Sanderson, Robert Louis, Assistant Professor of French, Yale Uni- versity, New Haven, Conn.

Saunders, Mrs. Mary J. T., Professor Emeritus of Modern Languages, Randolph-Macon Women's College, Lynchburg, Va. [7 Lowell St., Cambridge, Mass.]

Schelling, Felix E., Professor of English Literature, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [College Hall, University of Pennsylvania.]

Schevill, Rudolph, Asistant Professor of the Spanish Language and Literature, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [Yale Station.]

Schilling, Hugo Karl, Professor of the German Language and Litera- ture, University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2316 Le Conte Ave.]

Schinz, Albert, Associate Professor of French Literature, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Schlatter, Edward Bunker, Instructor in Romance Languages, Uni- versity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [216 Brooks St.]

Schlenker, Carl, Professor of German, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. [422 Union St., S. E.]

Schmidt, Friedrich Georg Gottlob, Professor of the German Lan- guage and Literature, University of Oregon, Eugene, Ore. [345 E. 13th St.]

Schmidt, Gertrud Charlotte, Head of the German Department, Miss Wright's School, Bryn Mawr, Pa. [66 Denbigh Hall, Bryn Mawr College.]

Schmidt, Mrs. Violet Jayne, Urbana, 111. [903 W. California Ave.]

Schneider, John Philip, Professor of English, Wittenberg College, Springfield, O. [206 Ferncliff Ave.]

Schofield, William Henry, Professor of Comparative Literature, Har- vard University, Cambridge, Mass. [101 Brattle St.]

Scholl, John William, Instructor in German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1017 Vaughn St.]

Schradieck, Helen Elizabeth, Brooklyn, N. Y. [535 Washington Ave.]

Scott, Charles Pay son Gurley, Editor, Yonkers, N. Y. [150 Wood- worth Ave.]

Scott, Fred Newton, Professor of Rhetoric, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [539 E. University Ave.]

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. xciii

Scott, Mary Augusta, Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, Smith College, Northampton, Mass.

Sechrist, Frank Kleinfelter, Professor of the English Language and Literature, State Normal School, Stevens Point, Wis. [934 Clark St.]

Segall, Jacob Bernard, Professor of Romance Languages, University of Maine, Orono, Me.

Semple, Lewis B., Teacher of English, Commercial High School, Brooklyn, N. Y. [229 Jefferson Ave.]

Severy, Ernest E., Vice-Principal, Mooney School, Murfreesboro, Tenn,

Seymour, Arthur Romeyn, Associate in Spanish, University of Illi- nois, Urbana, 111.

Shackford, Martha Hale, Associate Professor of English Literature, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. [18 Abbott St.]

Shannon, Edgar Finley, Professor of English, University of Arkansas, Fayetteville, Ark. [15 S. Duncan Ave.]

Sharp, -Robert, Professor of English, Tulane University of Louisiana. New Orleans, La.

Shaw, James Eustace, Associate in Italian, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Shearin, Hubert Gibson, Professor of the English Language and Literature, Kentucky University, Lexington, Ky. [212 Rand Ave.]

Sheldon, Edward Stevens, Professor of Romance Philology, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [11 Francis Ave.]

Shepard, William Pierce, Professor of Romance Languages, Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y.

Sherman, Lucius A., Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.

Sherman, Stuart Pratt, Associate in English, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [707 W. California St.]

Sherzer, Jane, President and Professor of English, Oxford College for Women, Oxford, 0.

Shillock, Anna Felicia, Senior German Teacher, East Minneapolis High School, Minneapolis, Minn. [425 Twelfth Ave., S. E.]

Shipherd, Henry Robinson, Assistant in English, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [69 Dana St.]

Shipley, George, Editor of The Baltimore American, Baltimore, Md. [University Club.]

Shumway, Daniel Bussier, Assistant Professor of Germanic Lan- guages and Literatures, University of Pennsylvania, Phila- delphia, Pa.

XC1V MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Shute, Henry Martin, Instructor in German, Phillips Academy, Ex- eter, N. H.

Sills, Kenneth Charles Morton, Professor of Latin, Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Me.

Simonds, William Edward, Professor of English Literature, Knox College, Galesburg, 111.

Simonton, James S., Professor Emeritus of the French Language and Literature, Washington and Jefferson College, Washington, Pa.

Skinner, Macy Millmore, Assistant Professor of German, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Stanford University, Cal.

Skinner, Prescott O., Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H.

Sloane, Thomas O' Conor, Consulting Engineer and Chemist, South Orange, N. J.

Smith, C. Alphonso, Professor of the English Language and Dean of the Graduate Department, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Smith, Edward Laurence, Professor of Modern Languages, Delaware College, Newark, Del.

Smith, Florence Mary, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [418 W. 118th St.]

Smith, Frank Clifton, Gurleyville, Conn.

Smith, Hugh Allison. Professor of Romance Languages, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [504 Madison St.]

Smith, Kirby Flower, Professor of Latin, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Smyser, William E., Professor of English, Ohio Wesleyan Univer- sity, Delaware, O.

Snavely, Guy Everett, Registrar and Assistant Professor of French, Allegheny College, Meadville, Pa.

Snow, William Brackett, Head of the Department of Modern Lan- guages, English High School, Boston, Mass.

Snyder, Henry Nelson, President and Professor of English Litera- ture, Wofford College, Spartansburg, S. C.

Spaeth, J. D., Preceptor in English, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

Spanhoofd, Arnold Werner, Head of the Modern Language Depart- ment in the High and Manual Training Schools, Washing- ton, D. C. [2015 Hillyer Place, N. W.]

Spanhoofd, Edward, Head of the Department of German, St. Paul's School, Concord, N. H.

Speckmann, Wesley Nast, Professor of Modern Languages, Kansas Wesleyan University, Salina, Kas.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. XCV

Speranza, Carlo Leonardo, Professor of Italian, Columbia Univer- sity, New York, N. Y. [120 E. 86th St.]

Spingarn, Joel Elias, Adjunct Professor of Comparative Literature, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [9 W. 73d St.]

Stathers, Madison, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, West Virginia University, Morgantown, W. Va.

van Steenderen, Frederic C. L., Professor of the French Language and Literature, Lake Forest College, Lake Forest, 111.

Steeves, Harrison Ross, Tutor in English, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Stempel, Guido Hermann, Associate Professor of Comparative Phi- lology, Indiana University, Bloomington, Ind.

Sterling, Susan Adelaide, Assistant Professor of German, Univer- sity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [109 W. Washington Ave.]

Stevens, Alice Porter, Associate Professor of German, Mt. Holyoke College, South Hadley, Mass.

Stewart, Morton Collins, Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [22 Mt. Auburn St.]

Stoddard, Francis Hovey, Professor of the English Language and Literature, New York University, University Heights, New York, N. Y. [22 West 68th St.]

Stoll, Elmer Edgar, Assistant Professor of English, Western Reserve University, Cleveland, 0.

Stowell, William Averill, Professor of Romance Languages, Randolph- Macon College, Lynchburg, Va.

Strauss, Louis A., Junior Professor of English, University of Michi- gan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [900 Lincoln Ave.]

Stroebe, Lilian L., Instructor in German, Vassar College, Pough- keepsie, N. Y.

Strong, Caroline, Portland, Ore. [46 N. 22d St.]

Sturtevant, Albert Morey, Instructor in Germanic Languages, Uni- versity of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas. [931 Louisiana St.]

Sutton, S. Helena, Principal, Haverford Friends' School, Haverford, Pa. [Bryn Mawr, Pa.]

Swearingen, Grace Fleming, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Olivet College, Olivet, Mich.

Swiggett, Glen Levin, Profesor of Modern Languages, University of the South, Sewanee, Tenn.

Sykes, Frederick Henry, Professor of English and Director of Ex- tension Teaching, Teachers' College, Columbia University. New York, N. Y.

Sypherd, Wilbur Owen, Professor of English and Political Sciences, Delaware College, Newark, Del.

XCV1 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Tatlock, John Strong Perry, Junior Professor of English, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

Taylor, George Coffin, Professor of the English Language, University of Colorado, Boulder, Col. [542 Arapahoe St.]

Taylor, Joseph Russell, Associate Professor of English, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

Taylor, Lucien Edward, Boston, Mass. [839 Boylston St., Suite 3.]

Taylor, Marion Lee, Albany, N. Y. [362 Clinton Ave.]

Taylor, Robert Longley, Assistant Professor of French, Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H.

Telleen, John Martin, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric and English, Case School of Applied Science, Cleveland, O.

Thayer, Harvey Waterman, Preceptor in German, Princeton Univer- sity, Princeton, N. J.

Thieme, Hugo Paul, Assistant Professor of French, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1209 E. University Ave.]

Thomas, Calvin, Professor of the Germanic Languages and Litera- tures, Columbia University, New, York, N. Y.

Thomas, May, Instructor in German, Ohio State University, Colum- bus, 0. [162 Fourteenth Ave.]

Thompson, Elbert N. S., Instructor in Rhetoric, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [732 Elm St.]

Thompson, Guy Andrew, Assistant Professor of English, University of Maine, Orono, Me.

Thorndike, Ashley Horace, Professor of English, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Thurber, Charles H., Ginn & Co., Boston, Mass. [29 Beacon St.]

Thurber, Edward Allen, Instructor in English, University of Mis- souri, Columbia, Mo.

Tibbals, Kate Watkins, Instructor in English, Vassar College, Pough- keepsie, N. Y.

Tilley, Morris Palmer, Assistant Professor of English, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [924 Baldwin Ave.]

Tisdel, Frederick Monroe, President of the University of Wyoming, Laramie, Wyoming.

Todd, Henry Alfred, Professor of Romance Philology, Columbia Uni- versity, New York, N. Y.

Todd, T. W., Professor of German, Washburn College, Topeka, Kas.

Tolman, Albert Harris, Associate Professor of English Literature, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Tombo, Rudolph, Jr., Registrar and Adjunct Professor of the Ger- manic Languages and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

PROCEEDINGS FOE 1907. XCVii

Tombo, Rudolf, ST., Instructor in German, Alcuin School, New York, N. Y. [321 St. Nicholas Ave.]

Toy, Walter Dallam, Professor of Germanic Languages and Litera- tures, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Trent, William Peterfield, Professor of English Literature, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [The Churchman, Lafayette Place.]

Trueblood, Ralph Waldo, Instructor in German and Science, Grant High School, Cranford, N. J. [114 Vernon Ave.]

Truscott, Frederick W., Professor of Germanic Languages, West Virginia University, Morgantown, W. Va.

Tufts, James Arthur, Professor of English, Phillips Academy, Exeter, N. H.

Tupper, Frederick, Jr., Professor of the English Language and Litera- ture, University of Vermont, Burlington, Vt.

Tupper, James Waddell, Assistant Professor of English Literature, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa.

Turk, Milton Haight, Professor of Rhetoric and the English Lan- guage and Literature, Hobart College, Geneva, N. Y. [678 Main St.]

Turrell, Charles Alfred, Professor of Modern Languages, University of Arizona, Tucson, Arizona.

Tuttle, Edwin Hotchkiss, Modern Language Master, Boys' Latin School, Baltimore, Md. [217 Mansfield St., New Haven, Conn.]

Tweedie, William Morley, Professor of the English Language and Literature, Mount Allison College, Sackville, N. B.

Tynan, Joseph Lawrence, Tutor in English, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [1781 Sedgwick Ave.]

Umphrey, George Wallace, Assistant Professor of Romance Langua- ges, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O.

Underwood, Charles Marshall, Jr., Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Simmons College, Boston, Mass. [Felton Hall, Cambridge, Mass.]

Upham, Alfred Horatio, Professor of the English Language and Lit- erature, Miami University, Oxford, O. [314 E. Church St.]

Utter, Robert Palfrey, Instructor in English, Amherst College, Ain- herst, Mass.

Vaughan, Herbert H., Instructor in Romance Languages, University

of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. Viles, George Burridge, Associate Professor of Germanic Languages

and Literatures, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

7 •

XCV111 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Vogel, Frank, Professor of Modern Languages, Massachusetts Insti- tute of Technology, Boston, Mass. [95 Robinwood Ave., Ja- maica Plain, Mass.]

Vos, Bert John, Professor of German, Indiana University, Blooming- ton, Ind.

Voss, Ernst Karl Johann Heinrich, Professor of German Philology, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [218 W. Gilman St.]

Vreeland, Williamson UpDike, Professor of Romance Languages, Princeton University, Princeton, N J.

Wahl, George Moritz, Professor of the German Language and Litera- ture, Williams College, Williamstown, Mass.

Wallace, Malcolm William, Lecturer in English, University College, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada./

Walter, Hermann, Professor of Modern Languages, McGill University, Montreal, Canada.

Walz, John Albrecht, Assistant Professor of the German Language and Literature, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [13% Billiard St.]

Warren, Frederick Morris, Professor of Modern Languages, Yale University, New Haven, Conn.

Wauchope, George Armstrong, Professor of English, University of South Carolina, Columbia, S. C.

Waxman, Samuel Montefiore, Instructor in Romanic Languages, Syracuse University, Syracuse, N. Y. [21 rue Valette, Paris, France.]

Weber, Hermann J., Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [43 Lexington Ave.]

Weber, William Lander, President and Professor of English, Cen- tenary College of Louisiana, Shreveport, La.

Webster, Kenneth G. T., Instructor in English, Harvard Univer- sity, Cambridge, Mass. [19 Ash St.]

Weeks, Raymond, Professor of Romance Languages, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111.

Weill, F61ix, Instructor in French, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [153 E. 88th St.]

Weiss, Henry, U. S. Government Interpreter and Translator, Port Townsend, Wash. [Box 63.]

Wells, Edgar H., Secretary for Appointments, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [9 University Hall.]

Wells, John Edwin, Professor of English Literature, Hiram College, Hiram, O.

Wells, Leslie C., Instructor in French and Spanish, Collegiate Depart- ment, Clark University, Worcester, Mass.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907.

Wernaer, Robert Maximilian, Cambridge, Mass. [8 Prescott St.]

Werner, Adolph, Professor of the German Language and Literature, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [339 W. 29th St.]

Wesselhoeft, Edward Karl, Assistant Professor of German, Uni- versity of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [College Hall, University of Pennsylvania.]

West, Henry Skinner, Assistant Superintendent of Schools, Balti- more, Md.

West, Henry Titus, Professor of German, Kenyon College, Gambier, O.

Weston, George Benson, Instructor in Romance Languages, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [2 Gannett House.]

Weygandt, Cornelius, Assistant Professor of English, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

Weyhe, Hans, Associate in German, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Wharey, James Blanton, Professor of English, George Peabody Col- lege for Teachers, Nashville, Tenn. [200 24th Ave., S.]

Whitaker, Lemuel, Principal, Southern Manual Training High School, Broad and Jackson Sts., Philadelphia, Pa.

Whitcomb, Rupert Henry, Director of Music, Cathedral School of St. Paul, Garden City, N. Y.

White, Alain C., New York, N. Y. [51 E. 57th St.]

White, Horatio Stevens, Professor of German, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [29 Reservoir St.]

Whitelock, George, Counsellor at Law, Baltimore, Md. [1407 Con- tinental Trust Building.]

Whiteside, Donald Grant, Instructor in English, College of the City of New York, 138th St. and Amsterdam Ave., New York, N. Y.

Whitman, Charles Huntington, Associate Professor of English, Rut- gers College, New Brunswick, N. J. [189 College Ave.]

Whitney, Marian P., Professor of German, Vassar College, Pough- keepsie, N. Y.

Whittem, Arthur Fisher, Instructor in Romance Languages, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [23 Woodbridge St.]

Whoriskey, Richard, Professor of Modern Languages, New Hampshire College, Durham, N. H.

Wiehr, Josef, Instructor in German, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111.

Wightman, John Roaf, Professor of Romance Languages, Oberlin College, Oberlin, O.

C MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Wilkens, Frederick H., Assistant Professor of German, New York, University, University Heights, New York, N. Y.

Wilkins, Ernest Hatch, Instructor in Romance Languages, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [58 Shepard St.]

Wilson, Charles Bundy, Professor of the German Language and Literature, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.

Winchester, Caleb Thomas, Professor of English Literature, Wes- leyan University, Middletown, Conn.

Winkler, Max, Professor of the German Language and Literature, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

Wolff, Samuel Lee, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [Livings- ton Hall.]

Wood, Francis Asbury, Assistant Professor of Germanic Philology, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Wood, Henry, Professor of German, Johns Hopkins University, Bal- timore, Md. [109 North Ave., W.]

Woods, Charles F., Instructor in Modern Languages, Lehigh Uni- versity, So. Bethlehem, Pa. [22 S. High St., Bethlehem, Pa.]

Worden, J. Perry, American Consul, Bristol, England.

Wright, Arthur Silas, Professor of Modern Languages, Case School of Applied Science, Cleveland, O.

Wright, Charles Baker, Professor of English Literature and Rhetoric, Middlebury College, Middlebury, Vt.

Wright, Charles Henry Conrad, Assistant Professor of French, Har- vard University, Cambridge, Mass. [8 rue Bucaille, Honfleur, Calvados, France.]

Wylie, Laura Johnson, Professor of English, Vassar College, Pough- keepsie, N. Y.

Young, Bert Edward, Associate Professor of Romance Languages, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn.

Young, Karl, Assistant Professor of English, University of Wiscon- sin, Madison, Wis.

Young, Mary V., Professor of Romance Languages, Mt. Holyoke Col- lege, South Hadley, Mass.

Zdanowicz, Casimir Douglass, Instructor in Romance Languages, University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [1804 Madison St.]

Zembrod, A. C., Professor of Modern Languages, Kentucky State College, Lexington, Ky. [456 W. 4th St.]

[871]

PEOCEEDINGS FOR 1907. ci

LIBRARIES

SUBSCRIBING FOB THE PUBLICATIONS OF THE ASSOCIATION.

Albany, N. Y.: New York State Library.

Amherst, Mass.: Amherst College Library.

Ann Arbor, Mich.: General Library of the University of Michigan.

Aurora, N. Y.: Wells College Library.

Austin, Texas.: Library of the University of Texas.

Baltimore, Md.: Enoch Pratt Free Library.

Baltimore, Md. : Johns Hopkins University Library.

Baltimore, Md. : Library of the Peabody Institute.

Baltimore, Md. : Woman's College Library.

Beloit, Wis.: Beloit College Library.

Berkeley, Cal: Library of the University of California.

Berlin, Germany: Englisches Seminar der Universitat Berlin. [Doro-

theenstrasse 5.]

Blacksburg, Va. : Library of the Virginia Polytechnic Institute. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana University Library. Boston, Mass.: Public Library of the City of Boston. Bryn Mawr, Pa.: Bryn Mawr College Library. Buffalo, N. Y.: Buffalo Public Library. Burlington, Vt.: Library of the University of Vermont. Cambridge, England: University Library. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Library. Cambridge, Mass.: Radcliffe College Library. -,

Chapel Hill, N. C.: Library of the University of North Carolina. Charlottesville, Va. : Library of the University of Virginia. Chicago, 111.: General Library of the University of Chicago. Chicago, 111.: Newberry Library. Cincinnati, Ohio: Library of the University of Cincinnati. [Burnet

Woods Park.]

Cleveland, Ohio: Adelbert College Library. Collegeville, Pa.: Ursinus College Library. Columbia, Mo.: Library of the University of Missouri. Concord, N. H.: New Hampshire State Library.

Cll MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Decorah, Iowa: Luther College Library.

Detroit, Mich.: The Public Library.

Easton, Pa.: Van Wickle Memorial Library, Lafayette College.

Evanston, 111.: Northwestern University Library.

Giessen, Germany: Die Grossherzogliche Universitats-Bibliothek.

Graz, Austria: K. K. Universitats-Bibliothek.

Greensboro, Ala.: Library of Southern University.

Halifax, Nova Scotia: Dalhousie College Library.

Hartford, Conn. : Watkinson Library.

Iowa City, Iowa: Library of the State University of Iowa.

Irvington, Ind. : Butler College Library.

Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Library.

Knoxville, Tenn.: University of Tennessee Library.

Lincoln, Neb.: State University of Nebraska Library.

Lyons, France: Bibliotheque de 1'Universite". [18 quai Claude Ber- nard.]

Madison, Wis.: University of Wisconsin Library.

Madrid, Spain: Junta para Ampliacion de Estudios en el Estranjero. [Plaza de Bilbao 6.]

Middlebury, Vt.: Middlebury College Library.

Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Library.

Minneapolis, Minn.: University of Minnesota Library.

Munich, Germany: Konigliche Hof- und Staats-Bibliothek.

Nashville, Tenn.: Library of the Peabody College of Teachers.

Nashville, Tenn.: Vanderbilt University Library.

New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Library.

New York, N. Y. : Columbia University Library.

New York, N. Y.: New York Public Library (Astor, Lenox, and Tilden Foundations). [425 Lafayette St.]

Oberlin, O. : Oberlin College Library.

Painesville, O.: Library of Lake Erie College.

Peoria, 111.: Peoria Public Library.

Philadelphia, Pa.: University of Pennsylvania Library.

Pittsburg, 'Pa. : Carnegie Library.

Poughkeepsie, N. Y.: Vassar College Library.

Princeton, N. J.: Library of Princeton University.

Providence, R. I.: Library of Brown University.

Providence, R. I.: Providence Public Library. [Washington St.]

Reno, Nev. : University Library.

Rochester, N. Y. : Library of the University of Rochester. [Prince St.]

Rock Hill, S. C.: Winthrop Normal and Industrial College Library.

Sacramento, Cal.: State Library of California.

St. Louis, Mo.: Library of Washington University.

PKOCEEDINGS FOB 1907. ciii

Seattle, Wash.: University of Washington Library.

South Bethlehem, Pa.: Lehigh University Library.

Stanford University, CaL: Leland Stanford Jr. University Library.

Swarthmore, Pa.: Swarthmore College Reading Room.

Syracuse, N. Y. : Library of Syracuse University.

Urbana, 111.: Library of the University of Illinois. [University

Station.]

Wellesley, Mass.: Wellesley College Reading Room Library. West Point, N. Y.: Library of the U. S. Military Academy. Williamstown, Mass.: Williams College Library. Worcester, Mass.: Free Public Library.

[80]

CIV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

HONORARY MEMBERS.

K. VON BAHDEB, University of Leipsic.

HENBY BBADLEY, Oxford, England.

ALOIS L. BBANDL, University of Berlin.

W. BBAUNE, University of Heidelberg.

KONBAD BUBDACH, University of Berlin.

WENDELIN FOEBSTEB, University of Bonn.

F. J. FUBNIVALL, London, England.

GUSTAV GROBER, University of Strasburg.

OTTO JESPEBSEN, University of Copenhagen.

FB. KLUGE, University of Freiburg.

EUGEN KUHNEMANN, University of Breslau.

MARCELINO MENENDEZ Y PELAYO, Madrid, Spain.

PAUL MEYEB, Ecole des Chartes, Paris, France.

W. MEYER-LUBKE, University of Vienna.

JAKOB MINOB, University of Vienna.

JAMES A. H. MUBBAY, Oxford, England.

ABTHUB NAPIER, University of Oxford.

FBITZ NEUMANN, University of Heidelberg.

ADOLF NOBEEN, University of Upsala.

H. PAUL, University of Munich.

Pio RAJNA, Florence, Italy.

AUGUST SAUEB, University of Prague.

J. SCHIPPEB, University of Vienna.

H. SCHUCHABDT, University of Graz.

EBICH SCHMIDT, University of Berlin.

EDUABD SIEVEBS, University of Leipsic.

W. W. SKEAT, University of Cambridge.

JOHAN STOBM, University of Christiania.

H. SUCHIEB, University of Halle.

HENBY SWEET, Oxford, England.

ANTOINE THOMAS, Sorbonne, Paris.

ADOLF TOBLEB, University of Berlin.

RICHARD PAUL WULKER, University of Leipsic.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1907. CV

ROLL OF MEMBERS DECEASED.

J. T. AKERS, Central College, Richmond, Ky.

GBAZIADIO I. ASCOLI, Milan, Italy. [1907.]

T. WHITING BANCROFT, Brown University, Providence, R. I. [1890.]

D. L. BARTLETT, Baltimore, Md. [1899.]

GEORGE ALONZO BARTLETT, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

[1908.]

W. M. BASKERVILL, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. [1899.] ALEXANDER MELVILLE BELL, Washington, D. C. [1905.] A. A. BLOOMBERGH, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa. [1906.] DANIEL G. BRINTON, Media, Pa. [1899.] SOPHUS BUGGE, University of Christiania. [1907.] FRANK ROSCOE BUTLER, Hathorne, Mass. [1905.] CHARLES CHOLLET, West Virginia University, Morgantown, W. Va.

[1903.]

HENRY COHEN, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. [1900.] WILLIAM COOK, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [1888.] SUSAN R. CUTLER, Chicago, 111. [1899.]

A. N. VAN DAELL, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Boston,

Mass. [1899.]

EDWARD GRAHAM DAVES, Baltimore, Md. [1894.] W. DEUTSCH, St. Louis, Mo. [1898.]

ERNEST AUGUST EGGERS, Ohio State University, Columbus, 0. [1903.] FRANCIS R. FAVA, Columbian University, Washington, D. C. [1896.] L. HABEL, Norwich University, Northfield, Vermont, [1886.]

B. P. HASDEU, University of Bucharest, Bucharest, Rumania. [1908.] RUDOLF HAYM, University of Halle. [1901.]

RICHARD HEINZEL, University of Vienna. [1905.]

GEORGE A. HENCH, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.

[1899.] JOHN BELL HENNEMAN, University of the South, Sewanee, Tenn.

[1908.]

RUDOLF HILDEBBAND, Leipsic, Germany. [1894]. JULES ADOLPHE HOBIGAND, Boston, Mass. [1906.] JULIAN HUGUENIN, University of Louisiana, Baton Rouge, La.

[1901.] ANDREW INGBAHAM, Cambridge, Mass. [1905.]

CV1 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

J. KAEGE, Princeton College, Princeton, N. J. [1892.]

GUSTAF E. KAESTEN, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [1908.]

F. L. KENDALL, Williams College, Williamstown, Mass. [1893.]

PAUL OSCAR KEEN, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [1908.]

EUGEN KOLBING, Breslau, Germany. [1899.]

J. LEVY, Lexington, Mass.

AUGUST LODEMAN, Michigan State Normal School, Ypsilanti, Mich.

[1902.]

JULES LOISEAU, New York, N. Y. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, Cambridge, Mass. [1891.] J. LUQUIENS, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [1899.] ALBERT BENEDICT LYMAN, Baltimore, Md. [1907.] THOMAS McCABE, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. [1891.] J. G. R. MCELROY, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

[1891.]

EDWARD T. MCLAUGHLIN, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [1893.] EDWARD H. MAGILL, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pa. [1907.] Louis EMIL MENGER, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. [1903.] CHARLES WALTER MESLOH, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

[1904.] SAMUEL P. MOLENAER, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

[1900.]

JAMES O. MURRAY, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. [1901.] ADOLF MUSSAFIA, University of Vienna, Vienna, Austria. [1905.] BENNETT HUBBARD NASH, Boston, Mass. [1906.] C. K. NELSON, Brookville, Md. [1890.] W. N. NEVIN, Lancaster, Pa. [1892.] WILLIAM WELLS NEWELL, Cambridge, Mass. [1907.] CONRAD H. NORDBY, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.

[1900.] C. P. OTIS, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass.

[1888.]

GASTON PARIS, College de France, Paris, France. [1903.] W. H. PERKINSON, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va.

[1898.]

HERBERT T. POLAND, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [1906.] SAMUEL PORTER, Gallaudet College, Kendall Green, Washington, D. C.

[1901.]

F. YORK POWELL, University of Oxford, Oxford, England. [1904.] KENE DE POYEN-BELLISLE, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [1900.] THOMAS R. PRICE, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [1903.] HENRY B. RICHARDSON, Amherst College, Amherst, Mass. [1906.] CHARLES H. Ross, Agricultural and Mechanical College, Auburn, Ala.

[1900.]

PEOCEEDINGS FOE 1907. cvii

M. SCHELE DE VEBE, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va.

[1898.] 0. SEIDENSTICKEB, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

[1894.] JAMES W. SHEBIDAN, College of the City of New York, New York,

N. Y.

MAX SOHRAUER, New York, N. Y.

F. R. STENGEL, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. H. TALLICHET, Austin, Texas. [1894.] HIRAM ALBERT VANCE, University of Nashville, Nashville, Tenn.

[1906.]

E. L. WALTER, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1898.] KARL WEINHOLD, University of Berlin. [1901.] CLARA WENCKEBACH, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. [1902.] HELENS WENCKEBACH, Wellesley Cpllege, Wellesley, Mass. [1888.] MARGARET M. WICKHAM, Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y. [1898.] R. H. WILLIS, Chatham, Va. [1900.]

CASIMIR ZDANOWICZ, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. [1889.] JULIUS ZUPITZA, Berlin, Germany. [1895.]

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