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THE  JOURNAL  OF    * 
ENGLISH  AND  GERMANIC 
PHILOLOGY  '1V\ 


FOUNDED  BY 

GUSTAF  E.  KARSTEN 


MANAGING  EDITOR 
JULIUS  GOEBEL,  UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 

ASSOCIATE  EDITORS 

H.  S.  V.  JONES  AND  G.  T.  FLOM 
UNIVERSITY  or  ILLINOIS 


CO-OPERATING  EDITORS 

HERMANN  COLLITZ,  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY 
GEORGE  O.  CURME,  NORTHWESTERN  UNIVERSITY 
WILLIAM  W.  LAWRENCE,  COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY 
CLARK  S.  NORTHUP,  CORNELL  UNIVERSITY  I  ft  O  O  3  I* 


VOLUME  XXI 
1922 


PUBLISHED  QUARTERLY  BY  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
URBANA,  ILLINOIS,  U.  S.  A. 


.  A  £     o  >  1 
•   .          \ 


i 

J7 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 
BY  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


Qttp  (EoUrgiat*  Prraa 

GEORGE  BANTA  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

MENASHA,  WIS. 


-rrr 

TABLE  OF  CONTENTS  - 


ARTICLES 

Arturo  Farinelli,  Arturo  Graf  (1848-1913) 1 

George  F.  Lussky,  The  Verb  Forms  Circumscribed  with  the  Perfect  Par- 
ticiple in  the  Beowulf 32 

Hermann  J.  Weigand,  Heine's  Family  Feud — The  Culmination  of  his 

Struggle  for  Economic  Security 70 

E.  F.  Amy,  The  Manuscripts  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women 107 

Prokosch,  Lauterverschiebung  und  Lenierung 119 

Murry  W.  Bundy,  Milton's  View  of  Education  in  Paradise  Lost 127 

A.  L.  Corin,  Versuch  einer  neuen  Deutung  von  Sunu  Fatarungo  im  'Hilde- 

brandslied' 153 

Alice  D.  Snyder,  Stevenson's  Conception  of  the  Fable 160 

E.  C.  Metzenthin,  Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  des  Heliand 191 

Lynn  Thorndike,  The  Latin  Pseudo-Aristotle  and  Medieval  Occult  Science  229 

John  A.  Spaulding,  The  Lower  Middle  Class  in  Tieck's  Writings 259 

Frederick  Tupper,  Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies 293 

Harold  Newcomb  Hillebrand,  The  Children  of  the  King's  Revels  at 

Whitefriars 318 

Edwin  H.  Zeydel,  "Das  kommt  mir  Spanisch  vor" 335 

Robert  Adger  Law,  A  Source  for  "Annabel  Lee" 341 

Oliver  Farrar  Emerson,  Notes  on  Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight ....  363 
Carl  F.  Schreiber,  Sieben  Briefe  Varnhagens  von  Ense  an  J.  P.  Ecker- 

mann 411 

Newmanl.   White,  Shelley's  Charles  the  First 431 

Albert  Morey  Sturtevant,  Gothic  Notes 442 

E.  C.  Metzenthin,  Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  des  Heliand 457 

W.  S.  Mackie,  The  Old  English  Rhymed  Poem 507 

Paull  Franklin  Baum,  Judas's  Red  Hair 520 

Walter  Graham,  An  Important  Coleridge  Letter 530 

Hermann  Collitz,  Sunufatarungo 557 

John  J.  Parry,  Modern  Welsh  Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories 572 

Sigmund  Feist,  Die  religiongeschichtliche  Bedeutung  der  Altesten  Runen- 

inschriften 601 

Samuel  Kroesch,  Semantic  Notes 612 

Arturo  Farinelli,  Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Homburg" 621 

Herbert  A.  Wichelns,  Burke's  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  its  Reviewer. . .  645 
Virgil  L.  Jones,  Methods  of  Satire  in  the  Political  Drama  of  the  Restora- 
tion    662 

C.  A.  Ibershoff,  A  Note  on  Kleist's  Prinz  von  Homburg 670 

John  W.  Draper,  Dr.  Grossart's  Rosalind 675 


REVIEWS 

H.  S.  V.  Jones,  W.  H.  Schofield's  'Mythical  Bards  and  the  Life  of  William 

Wallace' ' 169 

Albert  Morey  Sturtevant,  H.  Falk's  'Betydningslaere' 171 « 

Camillo  von  Klenze,  L.  Cazamkn's  'L'Evolution  Psychologique  et  la 

Litterature  en  Angleterre  (1660-1914)' 179 

George  T.  Fiona,  H.  Hermannsson's  'Bibliography  of  the  Eddas' 183 

B.  A.  Uhlendorf,  J.  A.  Kelley's  'England  and  the  Englishman  in  German 

Literature  of  the  Eighteenth  Century' 184 

R.  H.  Griffith,  Tony  Aston's  'Fool's  Opera' 188 

Louis  I.  Bredvold,  L.  P.  Smith's  'Donne's  Sermons,'  H.  J.  C.  Grierson's 

'Metaphysical  Lyrics  and  Poems  of  the  Seventeenth  Century,'  and 

M.  P.  Ramsay's  'Les  Doctrines  M£dieVales  chez  Donne,  Le  Poete 

Metaphysicien  de  L' Angleterre  (1573-1631)' .  . 347 

E.  Prokosch,  Josef  Schrijnen's  'Einfuehrung  in  das  Studium  der  Indo- 

germanischen  Sprachwissenschaft,'  and  E.  Sapir's  'Language' 353 

John  Van  Home,  A.  Farinelli's  'Dante  in  Spagna-Francia-Inghilterra- 

Germania  (Dante  E.  Goethe)' 357 

Notes. . , 362 

Josef  Wiehr,  J.  Van  Der  Elst's  'L'Alternance  Binaire  dans  le  vers  N6er- 

landais  de  Seizieme  Siecle' 536 

Clark  S.  Northup,  F.  W.  Roe's  'The  Social  Philosophy  of  Carlyle  and 

Ruskin' 540 

George  T.  Flom,  'Sverris  Saga  etter  Codex  327' 543 

C.  A.  Williams,  G.  Schiitte's  'Ptolemy's  Maps  of  Northern  Europe' 547 

George  F.  Whicher,  Alice  I.  Hazeltine's  'A  Study  of  William  Shenstone 

and  of  his  Critics' 549 

C.  A.  Williams,  Erik  Rooth's  'Eine  Westfalische  Psalmeniibersetzung' . . .  551 
W.  F.  Bryan,  S.  Moore's  'Historical  Outlines  of  English  Phonology  and 

Middle  English  Grammar' 552 

Frederick  Tupper,  R.  W.  Chamber's  'Beowulf 680  - 

Alfred  Gotze,  Albert  Heintze's  'Die  deutschen  Familiennamen' 684 

Martin  B.  Ruud,  Josef  Wiehr's  'Knut  Hamsun' 689 

Karl  Young,  N.  C.  Brooks'  'The  Sepulchre  of  Christ  in  Art  and  Liturgy' ...  692 
H.  S.  V.  Jones,  C.  H.  Whitman's  'A  Subject-Index  to  the  Poems  of 

Edmund  Spenser' 702 

Harold  N.  Hillebrand,  M.  S.  Allen's  'The  Satire  of  John  Marston' 703 

Edwin  Berry  Burgum,  J.  F.  A.  Pyre's  'The  Formation  of  Tennyson's 

Style' 705 


ARTURO  GRAF  (1848-1913) 

Vor  mehr  als  acht  Jahren,  an  einem  schwiilen  Junitag, 
brachte  man  Arturo  Graf  auf  dem  Turiner  Friedhofe  zur  letzten 
Ruhe.  Es  war  kein  endloser  Zug;  das  Volk  das  den  Abgang 
der  Lieblingsdichter  Carducci  und  Pascoli  lebhaft  betrauerte, 
schien  den  neuen  Verlust  wenig  zu  beachten;  still  fuhr  die 
Leiche  durch  die  geschaftigen  Gassen  der  Stadt,  und  still  in 
ihrem  Innern  verschlossen  die  Leidtragenden  ihren  Kummer 
und  Schmerz  um  den  Heimgegangenen  und  liessen  alle  begeis- 
terten  Reden  und  Panegyriken,  die  der  Dichter  und  Lebens- 
forscher  nie  gewiinscht,  schnell  in  die  grosse  Leere  verrauschen. 
Als  ein  Einsamer,  in  sein  gequaltes  Ich  versunken,  den  Blicken 
und  dem  Lobe  der  Menge  abhold,  war  Arturo  Graf  ja  durch's 
Leben  geschritten.  Nach  Volkstiimlichkeit,  dem  "plauso 
della  turba  sciocca,"  hatte  er  sich  nie  gesehnt.  Seinem  Berufe 
als  Hochschullehrer  und  Erzieher  der  Jugend  diente  er  mit 
priesterlichem  Ernst,  ein  Geistesfuhrer  gewiss,  um  die  Bereich- 
erung  des  Wissens,  den  Triumph  des  Wahren  und  Schdnen, 
die  Verinnerlichung  und  Vergeistigung  des  Lebens  stets  besorgt. 
Das  Gemeine  und  Niedrige  immer  fern  von  sich  bannend,  zu- 
gleich  aber  ein  Geistesaristokrat  vornehmster  Natur,  unfahig 
dem  Willen  und  der  Laune  des  herrschenden  Geschmacks  und 
der  Mode  zu  huldigen,  mit  dem  Weltstrome  zu  schwimmen; 
ein  Spotter  unserer  so  himmelhochgepriesenen  Kultur;  "riottoso 
spirito  superbo,"  wie  er  sich  selbst  nannte,  rang  er  vergebens 
nach  einem  sich  selbst  und  der  armen,  zerriitteten  Menschheit 
vorgeschriebenen  Lebenszweck. 

Zeigte  er  sich,  eine  schlanke,  vornehme  Gestalt,  die  grossen, 
klaren  Augen  tief  in  dem  hageren  Kopfe  eingegraben,  sah  man 
die  machtige  Denkerstirne,  so  erkannte  man  gleich  den  Welt- 
entriickten,  den  immerfort  mit  dem  Befragen  des  Lebens- 
geheimnisses  Beschaftigten;  und  man  scheute  sich  ihm  zu 
nahen.  War  er  selbst  nicht  ein  wandelndes,  schwer  zu  be- 
fragendes  Ratsel?  Und  durfte  man  einen  leichten  Erguss  der 
Empfindungen  und  Gefiihle,  die  Warme,  das  Feuer,  die  Liebe 
der  unmittelbaren  Mitteilung  von  diesem  Einsamen  erwarten? 
Allseitig  gab  ihm  die  sinnende  Melancholic  ein  treues  Geleit, 
und  fiihrte  ihn  in  alle  Spalten  und  Kliifte,  wo  Menschen- 


2  Farinelli 

jammer  und  Not,  Lebensiiberdruss  und  Ekel  tief  sich  im 
Frost  der  Erde  einnisten,  umdiisterte  seine  Visionen,  bewegte 
in  der  tiefsten  Stille  und  Ode  die  flatternden  Traume.  So 
mussten  alle  Stimmen  der  Welt,  die  lauten,  die  schwachen, 
die  klaren,  die  wirren,  klang-  und  lebenslos  zu  ihm  gelangen ; 
schmerzvolle  Einzelgesprache,  einer  in  banger  Ungewissheit, 
im  Dunkeln  und  im  Zweifel  tappenden,  nach  Licht,  nach 
Harmonic  und  nach  Frieden  schmachtenden,  wunden  Seele, 
Lieder  eines  personlichen  Leidens  und  Begehrens  gesungen 
im  freudenleeren  All,  musste  sein  ganzes  Dichten  sein.  Die 
Menschen  gingen  ihre  Wege,  abseits  sann  der  Dichter  iiber 
das  Menschenschicksal;  er  versenkte  den  miiden  Blick  in  sein 
Inneres  und  hob  ihn  hinauf  ins  ungewisse  Dammern  des  Abend- 
lichtes  und  schaute  wie  sich  zitterhd  Stern  an  Stern  entziindete. 
Dieser  sonderliche  Mann,  der  einen  Deutschen  zum  Vater, 
eine  Italienerin  zur  Mutter  hatte,  in  Griechenland  das  Licht 
der  Welt  erblickte,  in  Rumanien  die  Kindheit  verbrachte, 
in  Suditalien,  am  heiteren  Gestade  Neapels,  griindlichen  und 
ernsten  Studien  oblag,  sein  Lieblingsfach  Philologie  und  Litera- 
turgeschichte  mit  einigen  Streifziigen  in  die  Nachbargebiete 
der  Jurisprudenz  und  der  Medizin  erganzte  und  bald  nach 
Norditalien  wanderte,  wo  er  in  noch  jungen  Jahren,  in  der 
vollsten  Bliite  seiner  Geisteskrafte,  vielbewundert,  eine  Lehr- 
kanzel  an  der  Universitat  Turin  innehatte, — dieser  treue  und 
gewissenhaf te  Hiiter  der  Wissenschaft,  der  den  Beruf  als  Dichter 
und  Apostel  der  Kunst  heilig  auffasste  und,  eine  nie  zu  be- 
schwichtigende  Unruhe  in  seinem  Innern,  an  dem  Zusammen- 
stoss  contrastirender  Krafte  litt — die  Rassen  wollen  keinen 
Frieden  in  meiner  Brust  schliessen  hat  er  einst  geklagt — ver- 
brachte das  ganze  Leben  in  selbstqualerischem  Befragen, 
gebeugt  vor  dem  grossen  Lebensgeheimnis,  und  streute  in  die 
Welt  seine  Klagen  aus  und  presste  sein  seufzendes  nimmer  zu 
unterdriickendes  "Warum"  aus  der  beklommenen  Brust. 
Warum  dieser  Pulsschlag  des  Menschen,  dieses  Scheinen  der 
Sonne,  dieser  Himmel  voller  Sterne,  diese  Erde  voller  Leiden; 
warum  Licht,  Bewegung,  Liebe,  all  das  Irren  und  Streben  der 
Sterblichen  im  Laufe  der  Jahrtausende,  wenn  Auflosung  und 
Tod,  das  Endziel  aller  Dinge  ist?  Was  bin  ich?  Was  seid  ihr, 
irrende,  funkelnde  Gestirne? 


Arturo  Graf  3 

O  voi  fulgide  stelle,  onde  il  fiorito 
Etra  spavilla,  e  voi  diffusi  e  strani 
Nembi  di  luce  che  nei  gorghi  arcani 
Maturate  dei  soli  il  germe  ignoto; 
E  voi,  pallide  Terre,  e  voi,  crinito 
Randagio  stuol  delle  comete  immani, 
E  quanti  siete,  astri  del  ciel,  che  in  vani 
Cerchi  solcate  il  mar  dell'  infinite; 
Un  astro,  un  mondo  al  par  di  voi  son  io, 
Travolto  in  cieco  irresistibil  moto, 
Non  so  ben  se  del  caso  opra  o  d'un  dio. 
Folgorando  pel  freddo  etra  m'  addentro, 
Vita,  lume,  calor,  sperdo  nel  voto, 
E  dell'  orbita  mia  non  veggo  il  centra. 

"Meglio  oprando  obliar,  senza  indagarlo  /Questo  enorme 
mister  de  Puniverso,"  mahnte  Carducci,  allein  unser  Dichter 
lieh  selbst  dem  Kinde  aus  der  Schaar  seiner  auf  den  Fluten 
eines  uferlosen  Meeres  wogenden  "Naviganti"  sein  banges 
Befragen:  "Perche  si  leva  /  Ogni  mattina  perche  poi  la  sera  / 
Tramonta  il  sol?"1  Einen  hohlen  Schadel,  der  ihm  wie  Faust 
entgegengrinst  und  gewiss  immer  noch  den  "gran  pensier 
arcane"  in  sich  schliesst,  stellt  er  zur  Rede:  "Was  denkst  du 
von  der  Welt"  "dimmi,  per  Dio" — Traumt  man  noch  im 
Grabe?  1st  sein  Schlaf  in  der  finsteren  abscheulichen  Nacht 
ohne  Ende?" 

Dieses  ewige,  gewaltsame  Erforschen  des  Unerforschlichen, 
dieses  bestandige  Werfen  des  Senkbleis  der  Vernunft  in  die 
nie  zu  erreichenden  grundlosen  Tiefen,  das  beharrliche  Grubeln 
iiber  dem  "fatal  secreto,"  dem  "empio  mistero,"  diese  Unfahig- 
keit  des  Verstummens  gegeniiber  dem  stummen  Walten  und 
Wirken  der  Natur,  musste  auf  die  Dauer  jede  frische,  schopfe- 

1  Ein  ebenso  schmerzvolles  Befragen  im  Giobbe  Rapisardis 

E  che  mi  giova 
m  Questo  ver  ch'  acquistai?    Vero? 

Vano  miraggio 

Del  mio  vano  pensier  non  e  poi  questo? 
Che  sei  tu?    Che  son  io?    Perchfc  si  nasce? 
Donde  si  viene?    Ove  si  va?    Tu  taci 


O  notte,  o  abisso, 
O  mistero  infinite,  io  mi  profondo 
Tu  te.    Per  questa  immensa  ombra  in  che  vivo 
Fuor  che  il  mio  vano  interrogar  non  odo. 


4  Farinelli 

rische  Dichtungskraft  lahmen  und  die  Leier  zum  Gesang  des 
eitlen  Lebenskampfes  mit  einem  einformigen  Grundton  stim- 
men.  Ware  dem  Dichter  die  Gabe  verliehen  gewesen,  sich 
mutig,  mit  jeder  Scharfe  der  Abstraktion,  originellem,  tiefem 
Denkvermogen,  in  die  Welt  der  Ideen  und  Begriffe  hinaus  zu 
wagen,  so  hatte  er  dem  furchtbaren,  zermalmenden  Ratsel 
nicht  die  Schatten  allein,  sondern  auch  Licht  und  vielleicht 
auch  ein  Ziel  im  labyrinthischen  Gange  der  Menschheit  abge- 
wonnen;  an  unserem  stetigen,  von  dem  Pulsschlag  unseres 
Lebens  selbst  bedingten  Emporrichten  und  Auflosen  von 
Weltsystemen  hatte  er  segensreich  leidend  und  forschend 
mitgewirkt.  Wie  die  von  Sturm  bewegten  Wellen  rauschen 
seine  Klagen  dahin:  sie  reissen  uns  nicht  mit,  und  nur  in  der 
Brust  des  Dichters  ward  die  Tragodie  durchkampft,  die  uns 
Alle  hatte  erschuttern  und  iiberwaltigen  miissen.  An  die 
eiserne  Tiire  der  letzten  Mysterien  klopft  er  verzweifelt,  und 
nicht  Gewalt  und  nicht  Vernunft  vermogen  ihn  von  diesem 
Abgrunde  zu  entfernen.  Sein  Dasein  wird  ihm  zur  Last;  der 
Himmel  will  iiber  ihm  zusammenbrechen,  er  fiihlt  sich  wie  in 
einem  engen  Kerker  eingesargt;  alle  Lebensquellen  drohen 
zu  versiechen;  der  qualvollen  Sellenangst  musste  ein  dumpfes 
Briiten  folgen;  die  Augen  mussten  sich  regungslos  in  die  uner- 
messliche,  fiirchterh'che  Leere  offnen,  denn  jede  Trane  war 
bald  verronnen,  und  trocknete  gar  zu  bald.  Uber  diese  Welt 
voll  Schatten  und  Finsternis  wolbt  sich  die  grossere,  geheim- 
nissvollere,  verlorene  Sternenwelt;  und  Herr  dieser  im  ewigen 
Kreislauf  rollenden  Welten  ist  doch  nur  das  blinde  Schicksal. 

Quand'io  contemplo  da  quest'  erma  altura 

Ove  sospira  tra'  ginepri  il  vento, 

Sfavillar  senza  fin  lo  smarrimehto 

Degli  astri  accesi  nella  notte  oscura; 
Vinto  da  uno  Stupor,  da  uno  sgomento 

Di  cieca,  ignota,  universal  sciagura 

Che  sempre  fu,  che  interminabil  dura, 

II  cor  nel  petto  avviluppar  mi  sento 
E  penso  le  infinite  anime  erranti 

Nell'  abisso  de'  cieli  e  senz'  aita 

Cacciate,  offese,  piangenti,  preganti; 
E  implore- la  pieta  d'una  infinita 

Forza  che  il  tronco  maledetto  schianti 

E  la  radice  onde  fiori  la  vita. 


Arturo  Graf  5 

War  aber  in  Arturo  Graf  der  helle,  durchdringende  Verstand 
doch  nicht  von  solcher  Scharfe  und  strengen  Legik,  um  die 
hochsten  Lebensprobleme  mit  der  Ruhe  und  Besonnenheit 
des  Philosophen  aus  ihrem  Chaos  zu  entwirren,  und  zeigte 
sich  bald  und  bitterlich  die  Ohnmacht  alles  Befragens  und 
Erforschens,  so  rachte  sich  die  gedemiitigte,  griibelnde  Ver- 
nunft  durch  ein  entschlossenes  Eingreifen  in  die  Arbeit  der 
bildenden  Phantasie.  Ihr  storendes  Werk  ist  in  alien  lyrischen 
Ergiessungen  des  Dichters  bemerkbar;  sie  brach  die  Schwingen 
zum  hohen  Flug,  sie  ersetzte  das  Unbewusste  durch  das  Be- 
wusste;  dammte  den  freien  Fluss  der  Empfindungen  und  goss 
ihr  kaltes  Eis  auf  jede  Glut  der  Leidenschaft.  Willig  fiigte 
sich  aber  der  Dichter  der  despotischen  Macht  seines  Verstandes, 
und  nie  hat  er  iiber  die  so  standig  und  so  unbarmherzig  geiibte 
"carneficina"  der  Instinkte  gejammert;  er  gewohnte  sich 
friih  alle  seine  inneren  Regungen  zu  belauschen  und  zu  be- 
wachen;  er  gebot  sich  selbst,  in  jeder  Lebenslage  Mass  und 
Beschrankung. 

Uber  die  Rechte  des  Herzens  gab  er  stets  der  Stimme  der 
Vernunft  den  Vorzug.  Er  sah  vor  allem  in  jedem  Glaubens- 
bekenntnis  das  leuchtende  Licht  des  Intellektes;  lobte  den 
"Heiligen"  Fogazzaros,  der  noch  am  Sterbebette  den  Seelsor- 
genden  einscharfte  grosse  Achtung  vor  der  Vernunft  zu  tragen, 
und  lebte  in  dem  Wahn  seine  logische  Welt  vollkommen  un- 
abhangig  von  der  phantastischen  in  sich  zu  bergen,  so  dass 
er,  je  nach  Bedarf,  bald  zu  dieser  bald  zu  jener  greifen  diirfte. 
Riihmte  ja  der  Held  seines  "Riscatto,"  der  so  viele  Ziige  seines 
eigenen  Wesens  trug:  "Fantasia  e  ragione  sono  in  me  egualmente 
operose  ed  autonome;  ne  meno  mi  compiaccio  d'esercitare 
Tuna  che  1'altra,  ne  mai  mi  fu  difficile  uscire  dalla  realta  per 
vagare  nel  sogno,  o  uscire  dal  sogno  per  rientrare  nella  realta." 

So  schuf  er  sich  sinnend  seine  Traume,  wenn  sie  nicht 
unmittelbar  vom  Himmel  fielen,  und  wanderte  durch  die 
Lebenshalle  wie  durch  einen  Wald  voll  Geheimnissen  und 
Ratseln.  Er  hatte  als  Knabe  bereits,  wie  sein  Aurelio,  "il 
sentimento  immaginoso  ed  inquieto  delle  cose  che  furono,  delle 
vite  spente  per  sempre,  del  tempo  irrevocabilmente  fuggito" 
und  brauchte  wahrhaftig  nicht  seine  Einbildung  mit  der 
Lektiire  phantastischer  Biicher  zu  erhitzen  oder  sich  selbst 
die  in  seiner  jugendlichen  Rede  "tlber  den  poetischen  Geist 


6  Farinelli 

unserer  Zeiten"  empfohlenen  Grundsatze  ("La  poesia  vive  in 
gran  parte  di  misteri;  essa  ha  bisogno  di  una  certa  oscurita 
e  d'una  certa  dubbiezza,  perche  la  fantasia  non  si  esercita 
liberamente  die  sulle  cose  dubbie  ed  oscure;  ella  ha  bisogno 
del  mito  .  .  .  ")  aufzuzwingen,  um  auf  die  diisteren  Gegen- 
stande  der  Mehrzahl  seiner  Dichtungen  zu  verf alien;  dem 
Traumer,  der  iiberall  Mysterien  witterte  und  Legenden  und 
Mythen  als  Hauptgegenstand  seiner  kritischen  Studien  wahlte, 
boten  sie  sich  von  selbst. — "Ame  aux  songes  obscurs.  /  Que 
le  Reel  etouffe  entre  ses  murs,"  fand  er  oft,  wie  Beaudelaire, 
im  Geftihl  des  Grausens  und  des  Unheimlichen  eine  Erleich- 
terung.  Und  er  schwelgte  in  der  Darstellung  dunkler  Visionen; 
fuhrte  seine  Muse  taumelnd  iiber  alle  Graber  und  Griifte 
ins  Reich  der  tiefsten  Schatten,  der  wildesten  Trauer  der 
Natur.  Die  Toten  grollen  den  Lebenden  und  nehmen  ihnen 
Sprache  und  Gebarden.  Und  wie  die  ruhelosen  Geister  der 
Abgeschiedenen  reden  die  Statuen,  die  Saulen,  die  Glocken; 
Undinen  summen  unter  den  stillen  Wellen  des  Sees  ihr  trauriges 
Lied;  Geisterschiffe  erscheinen  und  verschwinden  mit  be- 
angstigendem  Spuk;  abgestorbene  Gestirne  sturzen  und  durch- 
kreuzen  die  Balm  der  noch  lebenden  Sterne. 

Todesschauer  durchwehen  sein  Herz;  er  sieht  uberall  auf 
der  schonen,  bliihenden  Erde  den  Mantel  des  Verganglichen 
ausgebreitet.  Geheimnis  ist  wohl  Alles  hienieden,  der  Tod 
allein  ist  greifbar  und  verstandlich.  So  lasst  der  Dichter  in 
seinen  bangen  Liedern  mit  Vorliebe  die  Harmonien  des  Todes 
fortrauschen.  Die  Welt  ist  ein  Trummerhaufen,  eine  Nekro- 
pole  ohne  Ende,  auf  welche  Medusa  mit  finsteren  Blicken 
herabschaut.  Es  gibt  kein  Verweilen;  alles  ist  dem  unbarm- 
herzigen,  raschen  Hinschwinden  geweiht,  alles  stiirzt  in  die 
Abgriinde  des  Todes.  Ein  kaum  merkbares  Zittern  der  Liebe, 
ein  Schein  des  Gliickes,  das  Bliihen  und  Lachen  eines  Augen- 
blicks,  das  Blitzen  eines  Lichtstrahls  und  dann  das  rettungs- 
lose  Versinken  und  Ausloschen  ins  Schattenreich,  die  Ruhe 
des  Grabes,  Schweigen  und  Vergessenheit.  Es  scheint  als  ob 
der  Dichter  in  den  kraftigsten  Jahren  sich  als  Lebensaufgabe 
das  ewige  Schauen  ins  blasse  Angesicht  des  Todes  vorgenommen 
hatte,  und  mit  Gewalt  Gram  und  Pein  in  sein  armes  Innere 
gejagt,  um  wiirdig  das  hohe  Lied  der  Verganglichkeit  anzu- 
schlagen  und  den  Stillstand  aller  Welten  zu  betraueren.  Er 


Arturo  Graf  7 

klammert  sich  an  angstliche  Visionen:  "Citta  sommerse,  in- 
abissate  prore,  /  Inutili  tesor  buttati  al  fondo,  /  Tutta  una 
infinita  di  cose  morte" — "Sfasciarsi  i  mondi  negli  spazi  io  scerno, 
/  E  I'oriuol  del  tempo  odo  che  suona  /  L'ore  nel  vuoto  e  i 
secoli  in  eterno." 

Diesem  verhangnisvollen  Hinwelken  und  Absterben  musste 
auch  seine  sonst  so  reiche  Gefiihlswelt  anheimfallen.  Die 
Warme  schwindet.  Es  ist  tiefer  Winter  in  der  nach  Licht 
und  Liebe  schmachtenden  Seele,  ein  Schiitteln  des  Frostes: 

Un  torbo  ciel  che  mai  non  si  serena, 
Una  tetra,  deserta  orribil  scena 
Dal  gelo  ingombra  della  morte:  e  questo 
II  paesaggio  dell'  anima  mia. 

"Bisogna  riconciliarsi  con  la  morte,  cacciar  dall'  animo  quest' av- 
versione,  vincere  questo  terrore,"  sagt  sich  gebieterisch 
der  Held  seines  "Riscatto";  der  Gedanke  an  die  Allgegenwart 
des  Todes  wird  ihm  aber  selbst  zur  erdriickenden  Last;  er 
findet  ihn  unertraglich;  empfindet  mit  Schrecken,  mit  eisigem 
Schauer  seine  vernichtende  Macht;  und  will  doch  von  ihm 
nicht  ablassen;  will  ewig  "im  Kopf  und  im  Herzen  die  Tranen 
aller  Lebenden,  das  grosse  Schweigen  der  To  ten,  tragen;  und 
befiehlt  den  "strazio,"  "1'agonia,"  seines  "chiaro  e  fisso, 
attonito  pensiero." 

Es  ist  ein  stetes  Martern  und  Zerfleischen  seines  Verstandes, 
mehr  als  eine  Holle  seiner  Gefiihle  und  Empfindungen,  was 
er  erleidet.  Mit  dem  "Pensiero  dominante"  Leopardis  und 
der  gewollten  Verneinung  des  Lebens,  der  Verkiindigung  des 
allgemeinen  Weltleidens,  und  Ubels  kampfte  die  leidenschaft- 
lich  nach  Leben,  nach  Liebe,  nach  Gliick,  nach  freiem  Erguss 
und  voller  Mitteilung  sich  sehnende,  gepresste,  blutende 
Seele  des  Dichters.  Arturo  Graf  mildert  und  entkraftet  die 
Tragik  dieses  Ringens;  dem  starren  Bilde  des  Todes  mochte 
er  eine  erstarrte  Welt  von  Gefuhlen  entgegensetzen,  Tod  gegen 
Tod,  und  keine  Stimmen,  keine  Seufzer  des  unterdriickten, 
erstickenden  Herzens  sollten  die  feierliche  Grabesstille  zu 
unterbrechen  wagen. 

Schatten  um  uns,  und  Schatten,  nie  zu  lichtendes  Dunkel  in 
unserer  Herzenstiefe:  "Bujo  cielo  coperchia  ed  intomba  / 
Terra  e  mar" — "Buja  e  1'anima  mia  .  .  .  /  Freddo  e  il  mio  cor" 
—"II  mio  povero  cuor  fatto  e  di  pietra."  Wie  oft  in  den  einge- 


8  Farinelli 

flochtenen  Wehmutskranzen  steckt  die  scharfe  Spitze  des 
winterlichen  Frostes!  Es  dringt  bis  zu  den  Knochen  "il  gelo 
della  cruda  pietra" — "Che  gel  sent'  io  dentro  dell'  ossa"- 
"mi  s'  agghiaccia  il  cor."  Kein  Dichter  des  Siidens  liess  sich 
so  griindlich  wie  Arturo  Graf  von  der  Macht  einer  sibirschen 
Kalte  erfassen.  Er  hat  einer  formlichen  Wollust  des  Erfrierens 
Ausdruck  gegeben.  Schliesslich  gewb'hnte  er  sich  in  die 
Abgriinde  seiner  Seele  wie  in  eine  lautlose  Stille  und  Ode  ohne 
Wunsch,  ohne  Reue,  klag-  und  bewegungslos  zu  blicken.  Und  er 
ertrug  diese  Leere,  die  Seelenmiidigkeit  und  Mattheit;  alle 
Schrecknisse  der  traurigen  Daseinswiiste  vermochten  die  Kraft 
seines  Sinnens  und  Dichtens  nicht  zu  brechen;  alle  Triumphe 
und  Vernichtungen  des  Todes  brachten  keine  to'dliche  Wunde 
in  sein  qualvolles  Innere. 

Solo  in  quel  vuoto  ed  in  quel  bujo  sento 

II  perduto  mio  cor  che  vibra  e  pulsa 

Sempre  piil  stretto  in  s6,  sempre  piil  lento; 
Con  un  lieve  rumor  d'ala  che  frulla 

Con  una  stanca  ansieta  convulsa,  • 

Piu  lento  ancor  .  .  .  piu  lento  .  .  .  piu  nulla. 

Ein  enges  und  immer  engeres  Zusammenschntiren  des 
muden  Herzens,  ein  stilles,  resignirtes  Begleiten  des  Verglim- 
mens  und  Schwindens  des  Lebenssterns. 

Das  Gefiihl  der  Nutzlosigkeit  des  Lebens  einerseits  und 
andererseits  der  Trieb  sich  in  die  hoheren  Geistesfluren  hin- 
aufzuschwingen,  "salir  1'eccelse  e  rovinose  cime  /  con  1'ansia 
in  core  e  la  baldanza  in  fronte"  das  gab  dem  scheinbar  ge- 
dampften,  stumpfen  Drama  des  Innern  ein  immer  erneutes 
Leben.  Mochte  auch  das  Endergebnis  des  Kampfes  das  un- 
vermeidliche  "Che  val?"  sein,  wozu  der  tolle  Lauf,  das  eitle 
Streben?  Je  weiter  der  Kreis  des  Horizontes,  den  du  umfassest, 
desto  grosser  die  Finsternis  deiner  unzulanglichen  Vernunft. 
Das  "tedium  vitae,"  diese  aus  der  Seelentiefe  wie  aus  einer 
"palude  accid'iosa  e  tetra"  langsam  emporgestiegene  Dunst- 
und  Nebelwelt  war  nimmer  zu  durchbrechen  und  zu  verscheu- 
chen.  Wie  ein  atzendes  Gift  empfand  es  Grafs  Ulyss  in  den 
Sehnen  und  Nerven,  und  eine  neue  Welt  will  er  befahren, 
neue  und  unbekannte  Reiche  und  Volker  kennen  lernen, 
entauscht  jedoch,  durchzieht  er  mit  den  traurigen  Schiffsge- 
nossen  die  neue  Bahn;  uberall  die  gleiche  Leere,  und  immer 


Arturo  Graf  9 

und  immer  die  gleichen  bitteren  Welten,  jenes  ode,  finstere, 
unermessliche  Meer. 

Siiss  nannte  es  Leopardi,  in  diesem  Meer  des  Unendlichen 
SchifiFbruch  zu  erleiden;  der  Sturm  seines  Innern  schien  sich  zu 
legen,  wenn  sein  Auge  von  seinem  einsamen  Hugel  iiber  die 
endlosen,  unbegrenzten  Flachen  schweifen  konnte.  Von 
diesem  Gefiihle  des  Unendlichen  kannte  Arturo  Graf,  ganz 
im  Gegensatze  zu  den  Dichtern  der  Romantik,  niemals  die 
Wonne,  sondern  immer  nur  die  Angst  und  den  Schauer.  "Ah 
com'  e  formidabile  alia  piccolezza  e  infermita  nostra  quel 
pensiero  dell'  infinite  e  dell'  eterno,"  klagte  bedriickt  der  Held 
seines  "Riscatto."  Tatsachlich  sah  er  sich  selbst  wie  schwe- 
bend  zwischen  dem  Abgrund  der  Vergangenheit  und  dem 
Abgrund  der  Zukunft,  ein  bleiernes  Gewicht  lastete  auf  seiner 
Seele;  und  es  verdunkelte  sich  der  sonst  so  helle  Verstand. 
Dieses  Meer  ohne  Ende,  wo  sich  die  Stunden  im  ewigen  Lauf 
der  Zeit  senken  und  senken;  dieser  "formidabile  azzurro," 
das  sich  iiber  das  ewige  Einerlei  des  Lebens,  und  die  Arbeit 
der  Tage,  der  Jahrhunderte,  der  Jahrtausende  wolbt,  dieser 
monotone  Rhythmus  der  eilenden  und  nimmer  rastenden 
und  nimmer  abschliessenden  Zeiten! 

Blass,  verzweifelnd  und  stumm  wandern  auch  seine  Da- 
naiden  durch  die  Schatten  det  todten  Geschlechter.  Gabe  es 
endlich  Ruhe  und  Frieden  bei  den  Abgeschiedenen !  Der 
Dichter  griibelt  iiber  einen  Tod,  der  eigentlich  nicht  totet, 
sondern  nur  Formen  ablost,  um  neue  Formen  zu  erschaffen; 
verfolgt  das  Phantom  eines  Lebens,  das  immer  schwindet 
und  immer  dauert,  "nasce  di  morte  per  pascere  la  morte"; 
verdoppelt  mit  Bedacht  seinen  Schauer  und  seinen  Lebens- 
iiberdruss,  und  malt  sich  eine  noch  unfassbarere  Unendlich- 
keit. — "Muta  e  rimuta  la  fatal  vicenda."  Weit  aus  unnahbarer 
Feme  winkt  dem  miiden  Geist  das  buddhistische  Nirvana, 
die  Auflosung  alles  Seins,  die  Verfliichtigung  des  Weltratsels. 

Immer  fallt  bei  diesem  Weltschmerzdichter  die  kiihle  und 
gemessene  Ruhe  auf,  mit  welcher  er  iiber  alle  die  gedachten 
Abgriinde  und  selbstgeschaffenen  Freudengrufte,  ohne  Gram 
und  ohne  ein  Beben  blickte.  Er  mag  sein  Leid  und  seinen 
Schmerz  "il  disperato  /  dolor  che  m'  urge  e  mi  dilania  il  verso," 
unertraglich  nennen,  und  die  finstersten  Ziige  dem  grausamen 
Antlitz  der  ihn  begeisternden  Muse  leihen,  nach  Schatten  jagen, 


10  Farinelli 

in  seinen  Vorstellungen  des  Grausigen  schwelgen,  und  sich 
wirklich  weit  mehr  fiir  das  Hinwelken  und  Absterben  als  fiir 
das  Aufbliihen  und  Gedeihen  der  uns  umgebenden  Natur 
empfanglich  zeigen,  den  Friihling  besingen,  "intesa  solo  a 
preparar  la  morte,"  seine  innere  Qual  ist  doch  nie  bis  zur 
iiberwaltigenden,  diisteren,  vernichtenden  Pein  gestiegen. 
Tief e  Risse  und  Spaltungen  bleiben  seiner  Seele  erspart.  Leicht 
konnte  er  die  geschlagenen  Wunden  mit  zarter  Hand  verbinden 
und  heileri.  Dieses  ratselvolle,  nichtsnutze  Leben  schien 
ihm  doch  wert  gelebt  zu  werden.  "Era  dentro  di  me  una 
sorgente  inesausta  di  forza  riparatrice,  una  indomabile  volonta 
di  vivere,"  gestand  sein  Aurelio.  Die  Fahigkeit  Aurelio's 
jeden  Taumel,  alle  Ausschweifungen  der  Phantasie  rechtzeitig 
bandigen  zu  konnen:  "Sempre  vidi  sopra  il  loro  disordine 
levarsi  la  severa  luce  della  ragione,  e  assidersi  la  correttrice 
forza  della  volonta,"  war  ihm  selbst  in  hohem  Masse  zu  eigen. 
Und  er  durfte  mit  seinem  Helden  bei  alien  schlagenden  Ge- 
wittern  und  wiitenden  Sturmen,  das  ruhige  Gleichgewicht, 
die  voile  Gesundheit  des  Leibes  und  der  Seele  rUhmen:  "Della 
sanita  del  corpo  m'  assicurai  facilmente:  di  quella  dello  spirito 
con  alquanto  piu  di  studio  e  di  fatica;  ma  da  ultimo  m'assicurai 
anche  di  questa.  Nessun  mancamento  dell'  intelletto,  nessun 
vizio  della  volonta,  nessun  disordine  della  fantasia;  ma  una 
ponderazione  armonica,  e  un  moto  equilibrate  di  tutte  le 
energie  della  psiche." 

So  waren  ihm  die  Damonen  gnadig,  und  rissen  ihn  nicht 
fort  mit  der  verheerenden  Gewalt  mit  welcher  sie  Lord  Byron 
und  Lenau  fortrissen.  Die  ziindende  Wirkung  dieser  Grossen 
musste  ihm  aber  versagt  bleiben.  Wo  kein  wirkliches  Gliihen 
und  Aufbrausen,  keine  Aufwallungen  der  Leidenschaften 
ein  blutendes  Dichterherz  zu  erwarmen,  zu  erheben  und  zu 
begeistern  vermogen,  und  alle  Furien  immer  gebandigt  bleiben, 
die  Vernunft  nie  das  kleinste  Opfer  ihres  lauten,  herrischen 
Waltens  iiber  die  gb'ttliche  Unordnung  und  das  teuflische  Toben 
der  Instinkte  zu  bringen  gewillt  ist,  muss  die  Schopfung  ihren 
stSrksten  Odem  entbehren.  Die  Leidenssymphonie  der 
Menschheit  schlagt  keine  gewaltigen,  erschiitternden  Akkorde 
und  klingt  in  gar  zu  gedampften,  matten  Tonen  aus.  Die 
wahren  Naturlaute  fehlen.  Und  nie  aus  tiefster  Seele  klagt  der 
Mensch  den  erbarmungslosen  Gottern  seine  Not. 


Arturo  Graf  11 

Es  ist  kein  kraftiges,  mutiges  Entsagen,  und  auch  keine 
Emporung  des  bedriickten  Innern,  keine  Anklage,  kein  Ballen 
der  Faust  gegeniiber  einer  blinden  Macht.  Ein  dunkles 
Schicksal  waltet,  das  lasst  gewahren  ihr  Sterblichen,  "rifiuti 
del  del."  Und  es  tut  der  Empfindungswelt  des  Dichters  keinen 
Eintrag,  wenn  doch  zuweilen  in  diesen  Gesangen  der  Trotz 
der  Titanen  und  Himmelstiirmer  verherrlicht  wird,  wenn  der 
Dichter,  der  die  Schicksale  des  Teufels  im  Wandel  der  Jahr- 
hunderte  mit  kritischem  Scharfsinn  verfolgte  und  eine  Ge- 
schichte  des  prometheischen  Mythus  entwarf,  in  wiirdigen, 
schonen,  keineswegs  schmachtenden  Stanzen  die  von  den 
besiegten  Titanen  mit  Riesenschwung  und  machtigem  Sinn 
emporgerichtete,  von  den  riihrigen  Zwergen  trotz  ihrer  auf- 
bauenden  und  vernichtenden  Wut  unversehrt  gelassene  Stadt, 
oder  die  qualvolle,  still  und  hartnackig  befolgte  aushohlende 
Arbeit  des  in  den  Bergeseingeweiden  begrabenen,  von  den 
Gottern  verwiinschten  und  vergessenen  Titanen  schildert, 
bis  eines  Tages: 

.  .  .  con  formidabil  ruina 
Si  squarcia  il  fianco  dell'  eccelsa  mole, 
E  roteando  1'ascia  adamantina 
H  risorto  titan  s'  affaccia  al  sole. 
Biondi  campi  di  spiche  ci  mira  e  denso 

D'  arbori  il  giogo  e  il  mar  senza  alcun  velo, 
E  con  un  grido  di  letizia  immense 
Sveglia  la  terra  e  fa  tremare  il  cielo. 

Selbst  seine  Verdammten  bequemen  sich,  ohne  sonderlichen 
Groll,  der  ihnen  auferlegten  ewigen  Strafe,  und  man  fragt 
sich,  ob  sie  wirklich  jener  Ruhepause  bediirfen,  welche  der 
Dichter  ihrem  Martyrium  gonnt,  dem  'Tuom  s'awezza  alia 
lunga  a  poco  a  poco  /  Anche  all'  inferno"  ("II  Riposo  dei 
Dannati"). 

So  miissen  wir  auch  die  von  der  herrschenden  Vernunft 
gewollte,  endlos  ausgesprochene  Verdammnis  aller  Lebensgiiter 
die  angenommene  Todestrauer  Grafs  nicht  so  ernst  nehmen. 
Denn  wie  sollte  aus  der  Herzenswiiste  und  aus  der  ewigen 
Erstarrung  der  Gefiihle  Poesie  und  Kunst,  irgend  ein  tatiges 
Lebenswerk  entspringen?  Die  allmachtige  Vernunft  hat  zum 
Gliick  auch  bei  Arturo  Graf  ihre  Niederlagen  erlitten.  Das 
arme  gepresste  Herz  schuf  sich,  seiner  Gebieterin  zum  Trotz, 


12  Farinetti 

seine  stille  Welt  lieblicher  Tauschungen;  holte  sich  sein  Grimes 
unter  dera  Frost  der  Erde,  ein  dammerndes  Licht  aus  dem 
Reich  der  Schatten  und  der  finsteren  Wolken.  Wir  finden 
jene  Wiederspriiche,  welche  iibelwollende  Kritiker  dem  altern- 
den  Dichter  vorwarfen  natiirlich  und  menschlich,  leicht  erklar- 
lich  den  Ubergang  von  den  diisteren  Medusaliedern  zu  den 
resignierten  Morgana-  und  Waldliedern.  Beteuert  er  ja  die 
Einnerungen  vergangenen  Gliicks  unausloschlich  in  sich  zu 
tragen.  Schwanden  sie  rasch  und  sanken  in  das  Leere,  all 
seine  Lebensfreuden,  so  hat  er  sie  doch  einmal  genossen;  es 
bleiben  die  "care  memorie"  die  "immagini  belle."  "II  luminoso 
e  blando  sogno"  will  nicht  von  ihm  lassen;  und  er  denkt  an 
den  "caro  tempo  de'  dolci  sospiri,"  an  das  Traumgeflecht  der 
Liebe,  das  "dolce  errar  di  pria."  Verliess  ihn  seine  "compagna 
.  .  .  gentile  e  cara"  von  der  harten  Schicksalshand  ent- 
rissen,  so  tragt  ihn  die  nie  zu  stillende  Sehnsucht  zu  ihr;  noch 
redet  er  sie  an  "Vedi  la  vita  mia  com'  e  smarrita." 

Das  eingesogene  Gift  und  alle  die  Taumelsafte  haben  das 
beabsichtigte  Zerstorungswerk  nicht  vollbracht.  Mitten  im 
Grame,  im  "tedio"  und  "livore"  der  Seele,  keimt  unverwiistlich 
die  Hoffnung,  und  es  lebt  die  Liebe,  die  Teilnahme  an  den 
dunklen  Schicksalen  der  Menschheit,  der  Wunsch  eine  Besser- 
ung  unserer  Leiden  zu  erzielen,  den  Schlamm  der  Erde  von 
sich  abzuschutteln.  Sein  Amt,  die  immer  rege  unternommenen 
wissenschaftlichen  Studien  brachten  eine  wirkungsvolle  Ablen- 
kung  von  hammernden  Todesgedanken,  und  mit  den  Schmerzen 
und  Enttauschungen  wurden  ihm  auch  die  stillen  Freuden 
einsamer,  selbstloser  Gelehrtenarbeit  reichlich  zu  Teil.  Er 
konnte  die  siisse  Extase  seines  Monchs  Ekkehardt,  dem  ein 
Jahrhundert  der  Betrachtung  Gottes  rasch  wie  wenige  Stunden- 
schlage  verfloss,  mitempfinden,  und  fiel  ein  heller  Sonnernstrahl 
auf  seine  duster  beschattete  Lebenskammer,  so  erheiterte  sich 
sein  Gemiit;  die  Bitterkeit  schwand;  und  es  drang  jubelnd 
zu  ihm  die  Schaar  siisser  Erinnerungen. 
Oh  dolcissimi  sogni!  oh  rimembranze! 

Come,  degli  anni  trionfando,  ancora 

Di  letizia  e  d'amore  il  cor  m'  inondi 

Muss  ihn  die  Nachwelt  bloss  als  Sanger  des  geheimniss- 
vollen  Lebensdunkels  und  der  unheimlichen  Grabesnacht 
kennen?  Und  soil  sie  sein  Bild  einzig  als  das  eines  an  seinem 


Arturo  Graf  13 

Lebensgliick  ganzlich  Verzweifelnden,  ewig  in  tiefster  Schwer- 
mut  Versunkenen,  so  rettungslos  schwarz  umflort  bewahren? 
In  seinem  Schrei,  "Oh  Natur,  Natur"  ist  so  viel  Sehnsucht 
nach  Leben,  ein  heimliches  Segnen  der  schaffenden  und  vernich- 
tenden  Gottheit  verborgen!  Und  mag  es  auch  gering  und 
schwach,  mag  es  auch  mit  alien  Ubeln  und  Leiden  erfullt 
sein,  jedes  Leben  ist  jedem  Naturgeschopfe  willkommen, 
"insaziabilmente  /  .  .  .  Ogni  tua  creatura,  /  Brama  e  chiede 
la  vita";  am  Rande  des  Abgrundes  schmachtet  das  zarte 
Bliimchen  auf  dem  zitternden  Stengel,  und  off  net  sich  "invocando 
il  cielo."  Der  Glaube  an  eine  sittliche  Weltordnung 
hatte  in  dem  Dichter  immer  festere  Wurzeln  geschlagen; 
und  sang  er  auch  von  der  Unmoglichkeit  eines  Fortschritts 
der  Menschheit,  die  er  in  einem  auf  die  endlosen  Fluten  des 
Meeres  geworfenenen,  von  den  "scogli  d'  impietrato  gelo" 
bedrangten,  erstarrten,  Schiffe  versinnbildlicht,  so  zweifelte 
er  doch  nicht  an  dem  Triumph  der  Wahrheit  xiber  die  Luge. 
Gerechtigkeit  und  Freiheit  erschienen  ihm  kein  leerer  Wahn. 
Es  musste  sich  auf  Erden  jedwede  Schuld  rachen. 

Sich  selbst,  dem  iiber  die  Mysterien  des  Lebens  Briitenden, 
dem  iiber  die  Traurigkeit  der  Welt  Trauernden,  gab  er  im 
Zwiegesprach  zwischen  Lazarus  und  Christus  eine  scharfe 
Riige.  Warum  wohl  schlagen  die  Wellen  immer  an  das  felsige 
Gestade,  warum  kreisen  die  Himmelskorper,  und  eilen  die 
Stunden,  fallen  die  Reiche?  Oh  du  "anima  accidiosa,  anima 
sbigottita,"  antwortet  der  Heiland  dem  Kranken;  stehe  auf, 
verlasse  dein  Grab,  und  gehe.  Ich  kam  um  euch  zum  Lichte, 
zum  Leben,  zur  tatigen  Arbeit  zu  rufen.  Ein  plotzlicher 
Lichtstrahl  muss  auch  am  triiben  Himmel  der  in  banger  Unge- 
wissheit  den  unbegrenzte  Ozean  befahrenden  "Naviganti" 
durchbrechen.  Die  alte  Welt  wird  stiirzen.  Und  eine  neue 
Sonne  wird  unsere  Leiden  bescheinen.  So  konnte  der  Dichter 
seinem  trostlosen  "Che  val?",  wozu  die  Hohen  erklettern, 
wenn  du  doch  sinken  und  fallen  musst?  sein  Sehnen  nach  einer 
Besserung  der  Menschheit  entgegenstellen,  die  Leier  aus  welcher 
er  die  Tone  menschlicher  Verganglichkeit  und  des  eitlen  Welt- 
truges  entlockte  mit  einer  schwungvolleren  vertauschen,  das 
mit  unverhofftem  Sehnen  angestimmte  Lied  der  Wiederaufer- 
stehung  entgegenstellen. 


14  Farinelli 

Sorgon  nei  cieli  dagT  imi 

Campi  le  vette  lustrali. 

Che  stai?  se  impavido  sali 

Ancor,  da  te,  ti  redimi. 
In  alto,  in  alto!  nel  vivo 

Acre  die  purga  e  ristora; 

La  dove  splende  1'  aurora 

Di  nuovo  giorno  festive. 
Bevi,  salendo,  alle  fonti 

Cui  non  fallisce  la  vena; 

Mira  dall'  alto  la  scena 

Degli  allargati  orizzonti. 
Chiedi  al  silenzio  divino, 

Chiedi  all'  oracolo  ignoto, 

La  voce  di  quel  remote 

Che  pur  n'  £  tanto  vicino. 
Chiedi  alia  luce  del  sole 

La  verita  nuda  e  pura 

Cui  non  offusca  e  snatura 

Nebbia  d'  amare  parole. 
Sappi  che  nulla  si  nega 

A  un  desiderio  immortale, 

Che  la  tua  anima  ha  1'  ale, 

E  che  nessuno  la  lega. 

Das  Eis  der  erstarrten  Lebensquellen  konnte  doch  zum 
Schmelzen  gebracht  werden.  Die  geloschten  Sterne  am  Himmel 
kehrten  funkelnd  dem  triiben  Blick  wieder.  Und  auch  der 
Schauder  des  Todes  war  iiberwunden.  Wohl  sind  wir  Staub 
und  Asche;  aber  unter  dieser  Asche  lodert  eine  nimmer  zu 
loschende  Flamme.  So  bereits  in  den  Medusaliedern.  Sterben? 
Wer  spricht  von  Sterben;  wer  befiirchtet  die  schnell  dahinei- 
lenden  Schatten?  Befreit  von  ihrer  Erdenschwere,  in  leichtem, 
hohen  Fluge  hebt  sich  auf  ihren  Schwingen  die  Seele  und 
durchkreuzt  die  unendlichen  Raume.  In  die  fallenden  Triim- 
mer  des  Welt  wirft  der  Dichter  sein  entschlossenes  "non  morro, 
non  morr6";  machtig  regt  sich  in  ihm,  wenn  die  Luzerner 
Glocken  in  den  hellen  Liiften  schwingen,  die  Sehnsucht  nach 
Unsterblichkeit. 

Die  Hiille  des  Skeptikers  und  des  ewig  Verneinenden  mochte 
ihn  auf  die  Dauer  bedrangen;  alle  Ideale  drohten  zu  zerrinnen, 
wenn  er  als  Beschwichtigung  seiner  inneren  Zweifel,  an  einem 
Wendepunkte  des  Lebens,  nicht  ein  Glaubensbekenntniss  ge- 
wagt  und  verkiindet  hatte.  Und  er  verfasste  ein  gedrungenes 


Arturo  Graf  15 

Schriftchen  "Per  una  fede,"  das  nur  diejenigen  iiberraschen 
konnte,  welche  mit  dem  intimen  Wesen  des  Dichters  und 
Gelehrten  nicht  vertraut  waren.  Der  Glauben  der  Vater  war 
ihm  friih  geschwunden — "Morta  e  la  fede;  a  che  piu  la  vorace  / 
fiamma  di  vita  nel  tuo  grembo  occulti?  ("Medusa");  hinge- 
welkt  oder  weggerissen  waren  alle  Friihlingsknospen  und 
Bliiten;  es  blieb  eine  Diirre  in  der  Seele;  und  wir  sehen  den 
Dichter  selbst  mit  der  Askese  der  Brahmanen  und  Buddhisten 
nach  einem  "Nirvana"  alles  Seins  schmachtend;  immer  grosser 
und  bedrohlicher  ward  ihm  das  Reich  der  Schatten.  Gewiss, 
wie  er  jeder  Mystik  abgeneigt  war,  war  ihm  auch  das  Sehnen 
nach  dem  Unendlichen  kein  Bediirfnis  des  Geistes;  allein  die 
Angst  vor  der  Auflosung  alles  Endlichen  und  dem  Stillstand 
alles  Lebens  plagte  ihn  und  nahm  ihm  jede  Rube.  Die  Idee 
einer  gottlichen  Vorsehung,  mitten  im  Schiffbruch  des  Glaubens 
an  die  kirchlichen  Dogmen,  war  seinem  Aurelio  wie  ihm  selbst 
geblieben.  Und  es  kamen  Zeiten  wo  dieser  Imperativ  des 
Gottlichen  mit  drohnender  Stimme  Genugtuung  verlangte 
nach  der  langen  Entbehrung.  Die  Seele  erbebte.  Wie  rette 
ich  mich?  Wer  gibt  mir  den  Glauben  wieder? 

Ahi  dura  cosa  aver  nella  smarrita 

Anima  il  sogno  d'una  eterna  idea; 
Volere  il  nume  e  non  trovar  la  fede! 

Erhebe  die  Stirne  in  alien  Schicksalwirbeln  und  gib  deiner 
Hoffnung  Fliigel!  Der  Dichter  suchte,  iiberlegte,  schwankte; 
schliesslich  meinte  er  mit  Gottes  Beistand,  seine  "piccola 
face  .  .  .  dentro  a  questa  immensurabile  sfera  d'  ombra" 
entziindet,  seine  Bekehrung  vom  Unglauben  zum  Glauben 
vollbracht  zu  haben,  eine  Bekehrung,  die  allerdings  nicht 
im  Entferntesten  mit  derjenigen  Manzonis  zu  vergleichen 
ist.  Denn  sie  geschah  ohne  ein  heftiges  Ringen,  ohne  eine 
tiefe  innere  Erschiitterung.  Nur  leise,  leise,  und  mit  der 
ausschliesslichen  Macht  des  Willens  wurde  an  der  bestehenden 
Welt  geruttelt.  Kein  Werk  der  Offenbarung,  sondern  die 
Frucht  einer  Gedankenarbeit.  Und  weil  der  Dichter  in  dem 
waltenden  Ubel  "sterminato,  tenace,  formidabile,"  doch  immer 
ein  wohltatig,  alldurchdringendes,  geisterhebendes  Gut  an- 
nahm,  weil  er,  instinktiv,  wie  er  sagte,  die  moralischen  Werte 
des  Lebens  als  die  einzig  Bestehenden  anerkannte,  an  einer 


16  Farinelli 

gerechten  und  weisen  Ordnung  niemals  gezweifelt,  vor  dem 
krassen  Materialismus  und  Positivismus,  dem  er  selbst,  irrend 
und  forschend  in  seinem  dunklen  Drange,  eine  Zeit  lang  hul- 
digte,  eine  heilsame  Abwehr  suchte,  so  geriet  er  unvermeidlich 
auf  eine  Religion,  die  hochste  Giite,  hochste  Moral,  hochste 
Gerechtigkeit,  und  hochste  Intelligenz  bedeutete. 

Die  Auffindung,  oder  besser  die  Konstruktion  dieses 
Glaubens  musste  wiederum  die  Vernunft  allein,  mit  dialek- 
tischer  Scharfe  und  Folgerichtigkeit  besorgen.  Und  nichts 
kennzeichnet  mehr  die  Grundanschauungen  und  Anlagen 
des  Dichters  als  der  scharfe  Wiederstand,  den  er  der  von  Pascal 
anerkannten  Macht  des  Gefuhles  entgegensetzte  und  die  von 
ihm  verlangte  Umkehrung  der  Maxime:  "C'est  le  coeur  qui 
sent  Dieu,  et  non  la  raison." — "lo  ho  bisogno  di  una  credenza 
che  appaghi  la  mia  ragione"  unterwarf  sie,  jede  innere  Not 
mildernd,  seinen  Lebensbedtirfnissen.-  Die  Religion  musste 
so  beschaffen  sein,  dass  sie  ohne  ein  Verbluten  des  Herzens, 
selbst  ohne  ernste  Aufopferung  seinen  eigenen  tiefsten  Wiinschen 
willfahrte, — "dev'  essere" — eine  Ummodelung  war  erforder- 
lich;  sie  sollte  frei,  beweglich,  dogmenlos  sein,  den  Ballast 
unnotiger  Mythologie  sollte  sie  von  sich  abschutteln.  Die 
schonungslose  Aufrichtigkeit,  mit  welcher  Arturo  Graf  dieses 
sein  Glaubensbekenntnis  an  den  Tag  legte,  ist  gewiss  bewun- 
derungswiirdig;  es  beriihrt  uns  aber  peinlich,  wenn  der  so 
Edelgesinnte  den  utilitaristischen  Zweck  der  ihn  leitenden  und 
ach!  immer  noch  von  Aussen  wirkenden'  Gottheit  mit  dem 
unermudlich  wiederholten:  "lo  ho  bisogno — lo  ho  bisogno — 
lo  ho  bisogno"  so  sehr  hervorhob.2  "Dentro  a  questo  mistero 
bisognera  che  io  congegni  la  mia  credenza." 

Die  ersehnte  Anpassung  musste  erfolgen.  Er  dachte  sich 
eine  Religion,  welche  den  freien  Willen  im  Menschen  forderte 
und  niemals  hemmte,  die  Wissenschaft  ermutigte,  alle  tatigen 
Energien  anstachelte,  den  Frieden  gewahrte,  zu  einer  wirklichen 
Erhebung  des  Lebens  fiihrte;  eine  Religion,  die  sich  mit  dem 
moralischen  Weltgesetze  einer  hienieden  und  im  Jenseits 

1  Ins  Vage  und  Unbestimmte  verliert  sich  zum  Teil  die  Rechtfertigung,  die 
er  seinen  Kritikern  zu  geben  gedachte:  "Sentii  il  bisogno  di  considerarli  (die 
moralischen  Lebenswerte)  altrimenti  che  come  una  pura  illusione  che  non  regga 
alia  critica;  il  bisogno  di  sottrarli  al  computo  incerto  del  tornaconto  e  della 
opportunity." 


Arturo  Graf  17 

wirkenden  nur  das  Gute  erzeugenden  geistigen  Macht  deckt: 
"Di  la  dalle  nostre  leggi,  di  la  dai  nostri  ordinamenti,  di  la 
dalla  nostra  infida  e  titubante  giustizia,  e  un'  altra  giustizia, 
piu  diritta  e  sicura,  che  tramezza  e  corregge  la  nostra."  Und 
mit  diesem  Phantom  eines  ersonnenen  Glaubens  gab  er  sich 
zufrieden — "questa  fede  mi  basta" — jede  Sehnsucht  war 
gestillt;  die  blasse  Stirne  lachelte  einem  Lichtstrahl  entgegen; 
im  Schoosse  dieses  Uberzeugungsscheines  ruhte  das  Uner- 
forschliche — "mi  piace  d'  essere  persuaso." 

Immer  grosser  ward  dann  die  Teilnahme  des  Dichters  an 
religiosen  Problemen,  selbst  die  Herzensergiessungen  eines 
Zanella  schatzte  er  so  gut  wie  die  Glaubensevangelien  eines 
Fogazzaro,  er  versah  die  tJbersetzung  des  vielgelesenen  Buches 
Chambers-James  "Unser  Leben  nach  dem  Tode"  mit  einer 
eingehenden  Vorrede  worin  er  seinem  Glauben  eine  weitere 
Stiitze  bot.  Da  Alles  im  ewigen  Buche  des  Seins  niederge- 
schrieben  werden  muss  und  Nichts  sowohl  in  der  physischen 
wie  in  der  moralischen  Welt  verloren  geht,  so  hat  die  Seele 
wohl  ein  Recht  auf  ein  weiteres  Bestehen;  Unsterblichkeit, 
ein  Fortschreiten  von  Tatigkeit  zu  Tatigkeit  in  einer  lichteren 
Lebenssphare  ist  ihr  zugesichert. 

Ein  tiefes  Ergriinden  dieses  mit  aller  Sorgfalt  zusammen- 
gezimmerten  Glaubens  war  naturlich  nicht  Sache  des  Dichters, 
der  niemals  nach  dem  Ruhme  eines  selbstschaffenden  Philo- 
sophen  gestrebt.  Genug,  wenn  er  im  Sturme  der  Zeiten  und  im 
drohenden  Schiffbruch  aller  Ideale  and  Ziele  eine  Stutze  fand 
und  den  schwachen,  zitternden  Schimmer  eines  leitenden 
Lebenssterns.  Mit  dem  Begriff  des  Guten  musste  die  Religion 
zusammenfallen.  Die  hochste  Kraft  des  Denkers  musste  sich 
in  der  Erwagung  der  ethischen  Werte  des  Lebens  erschopfen. 
Auch  fur  Amiel,  der  in  manchen  Ziigen  seiner  Denk-  und 
Empfindungswelt  an  Graf  erinnert,  war  Hauptbeschaftigung 
seines  Lebens,  Grundlage  seines  philosophischen  Forschens, 
die  Feststellung  moralischer  Prinzipien,  welche  allein  dem 
leidvollen  Menschendasein  Trost  und  Gedeihen  zusichern 
konnten.  Eine  unersattliche  Neugierde  aber,  der  immer  rege 
Wissensdrang,  das  Bediirfnis,  das  immer  drohende  Gefuhl  der 
Leere  und  Verganglichkeit  alles  Irdischen — mit  der  Last  immer 
wachsender  Kenntnisse  zu  ersticken,  naherten  Arturo  Graf  mit 
gleicher  Teilnahme  den  verschiedenenartigsten,  oft  sich  wider- 


18  Farinelli 

sprechendsten  Weltsystemen.  Er  nippte  an  alien  Bechern 
der  Weisen  und  iibersaete  seine  Schriften  mit  Belegen  aus 
alien  Grundwerken  der  fiihrenden  Geister  aller  Zeiten. 

Keine  Gedankenstromung  blieb  ihm  fremd.  Und  je  nach 
der  herrschenden  Weltanschauung,  mit  einer  Biegsamkeit, 
die  in  dem  Dichter  der  erstarrten  "Medusa"  iiberrascht,  gab 
er  seinen  eigenen  leitenden  Ideen  bald  diese,  bald  jene  Farbung. 
Er  selbst  mochte  das  Gefiihl  des  Unstatigen  in  diesem  statigen 
Wechsel  am  schmerzvollsten  empfinden.  Die  Pole  der  Schop- 
fung  wankten.  Die  Irrlichter  am  Himmel  mehrten  sich.  Selbst 
von  dem  Getriebe  der  Occultisten  und  Spiritisten  hat  sich 
der  Dichter  eine  Zeit  lang  hinreissen  lassen.  Reuevoll  bekannte 
er,  lange  unter  dem  Joch  der  Materialisten  und  Positivisten 
("quel  materialismo  e  veramente  la  maggiore  vergogna  del 
passato  secolo")  gestanden  zu  sein,  und  schwang  sich  dafiir 
zu  den  aetherischen  Hohen  des  freisten  Idealismus  empor. 
Wie  sehr  er  die  Macht  naturalistischer  Theorien  empfand, 
welche  dem  Geiste  die  Gesetze  der  Materie  vorschreiben  und 
eine  unentrinnbare  erbliche  Belastung  in  den  Individuen  und 
in  den  Geschlechtern  verktindigen,  bezeugt,  mehr  als  die  in 
den  ersten  kritischen  Schriften  dem  Wahne  dieser  Theorien 
dargebrachten  Huldigungen,  sein  Roman,  "Riscatto,"  worin 
er  mit  aller  Entschlossenheit  und  mit  der  schliesslichen  Betati- 
gung  der  alles  heilenden  Liebe  den  Helden  dem  drohenden 
Verderben  entreisst. 

Der  Einsame,  der  Menge  und  jedem  Getummel  und  Getose 
so  grundlich  abgewendet,  hat  es  nicht  gescheut,  in  bewegter 
Stunde,  auch  an  dem  Streben  und  Sehnen  der  Socialisten 
lebhaften  Anteil  zu  nehmen.  Nicht  dass  er  den  gewaltsamen 
Bruch  mit  dem  Bestehenden,  die  Gahrung  der  Emporten, 
nach  Gleichheit  aller  Stande  Verlangenden  billigte;  seine 
grenzenlose  Achtung  fiir  alle  moralischen  Lebenswerte,  der 
Adel  seiner  Seele,  das  Bediirfnis  Menschenjammer  zu  lindern, 
bewogen  ihn  zu  einem  Befiirworter  des  bedrangten  Volkes, 
freilich  mehr  in  der  Richtung  seines  Freundes  De  Amicis,  als 
in  derjenigen  Tolstois.  Selbst  das  Beispiel  Victor  Hugo's 
wirkte.  Und  eben  aus  diesem  Drange  zu  erleuchten,  zu 
reinigen  und  zu  veredeln,  den  Hilfslosen  seine  Stiitze  zu  bieten, 
erklart  sich  die  Masse  der  Maximen,  Aphorismen  und  Gedan- 
kensplitter,  womit  er,  wahrend  seiner  Lebensneige  zumal, 


Arturo  Graf  19 

die  Gefilde  der  Literatur  seiner  Heimat  iiberflutete.3  Derm, 
das  ist  gewiss,  das  Befremdendste  in  diesem  an  Gegensatzen 
so  reichen  Mann,  dass,  wiewohl  er  einerseits  mit  gebrochenem, 
erfrorenem  Herzen,  in  wehmutsschwangeren  Gesangen  sich  und 
seinen  Mitmenschen  die  Grabesstille  gebot,  er  andererseits 
eine  kaum  zu  hemmende  Redseligkeit  entwickelte,  sich  auch 
in  den  stillsten  Winkeln  seiner  Geisteseinsiedelei  einen  Katheter 
zur  Belehrung  und  Beratung  der  Menschheit  errichtete,  und 
mitunter  das  Reich  des  Verganglichen  in  eine  padagogische 
Erziehungsanstalt  umwandelte.  Handle,  meide,  wahle,  er- 
wage! — Auch  musste  die  Kunst  stets  die  ordnende  Disziplin 
dieses  Raisonnements  anerkennen.  Mit  welchem  Nachteile 
fiir  ihre  Unmittelbarkeit  und  Frische  ist  leicht  zu  iibersehen. 
Aurelio's  Vater  stirbt;  eine  Welt  geht  unter;  man  erwartet 
ein  Schluchzen,  ein  lautes  Aufschreien  der  wundgetroffenen 
Seele.  Und  was  anders  vernehmen  wir  als  das  Ausklingen  der 
letzten  Lebensregeln,  welche  jener  Treffliche  dem  fernen  Sohne 
hinterlassen? — "Prosperi  in  lui  la  divina  virtu  dell'  amore" 
u.  s.  w. 

Nie  genug  konnte  Arturo  Graf  von  der  ihn  beseelenden 
Kunst  sprechen;  als  Dichter  vor  Allem  wollte  er  gelten;  er 
hiitete  treu  in  seinem  Innern  die  heilige,  leuchtende  und  reine 
Flamme;  und  regte  sich  die  Gottin,  so  schwanden  die  Tranen, 
es  senkte  sich  Frieden  in  seine  Brust.  Von  seiner  Knabenzeit 
bis  zu  den  letzten  Lebenstagen  schuf  er  Verse;  mit  dem  Dich- 
tungsgruss  wollte  er  scheiden;  mochte  dann  sein  Leib  zusam- 
menbrechen.  Und  mit  zitternder  Hand  "dalle  bugiarde 
lusinghe  /  sciolto  lo  spirito  ignudo  .  .  .  nell'  ora  muta  e 
declive,"  schloss  er  das  letzte  Buch  seiner  eignen  Vergangenheit 
und  schrieb  auf  das  letzte  Blatt  sein  "Finis." 

Begeistert,  geriiht,  von  seinem  Numen  hingerissen,  be- 
teuerte  er  einmal,  dass  seine  Reime  rein  aus  seiner  Seele  flos- 
sen-"Siccome  sgorga  nell'  ime  convalli  un'  acqua  natia."  So 
flossen  sie  in  der  Tat,  selten  aber  mit  voller  Urspriinglichkeit, 
ohne  den  Druck  und  die  Bewilligung  der  iiber  Alles  gebietenden 

3  Ein  Nachklingen  und  selbst  ein  Wiederholen  der  Gedanken  anderer 
war  unvermeidlich.  Fur  den  Ecce  Homo  war  oft  La  Rochefoucauld  massge- 
bend:  "Non  sara  mai  savio  veramente  chi  qualche  volta  non  sappia  essere  un 
tantino  matto."— L.  R.  "Qui  vit  sans  folie  n'  est  pas  si  sage  qu'il  croit," 
u.  s.  w. 


20  Farinelli 

Vernunft.  Diese  "lacrymae  rerum"  vermengtem  sich  gleich 
bei  ihrem  Entstehen  mit  den  Tranen  des  Verstandes.  Wissen 
wir  ja  wie  der  Dichter  nur  leise,  leise  und  immer  zagend  an 
die  Tiire  seines  Herzens  pochte,  um  desto  rascher  und  ver- 
trauensvoller  dafur  jene  seiner  Vernunft  aufzuschliessen, 
und  kennen  wir  ja  seine  Anklagen  gegen  die  Ohnmacht  der 
Gefiihle.  Seines  "giusto  temperamento"  das  sich  nie  gehen  Hess, 
der  "padronanza  di  me  stesso,"  wie  seines  Ordnungssinnes 
und  seines  hellen,  disziplinierten  Geistes  freute  sich  Aurelio, 
des  Dichters  Ebenbild,  zur  Selbstzucht  aller  drohenden  Aus- 
schweifungen  der  Phantasie  immer  bereit.  Ein  sinnender, 
griibelnder  Dichter,  stets  besorgt,  seine  Kunst  dem  Wirbel  und 
dem  Sturme  und  gewalttatigen  Drange  der  Affekte  zu  entziehen, 
jede  Willkur,  jede  freie  Improvisation  scheuend.  Denn  das 
Kunstwerk,  sagte  er,  offenbart  sich  nicht  plotzlich;  "sempre 
piu  appar  manifesto  che  1'  opera  d'  arte  .  .  .  diviene,  si  fa, 
o  almeno  si  compie  e  si  determina  in  quella  che  il  senso  e 
P  intelletto  P  apprendono." 

Darum  sollte  auf  die  Technik  die  hochste  Sorgfalt  ver- 
wendet  werden.  Jede  Nachlassigkeit  der  Form  schadet  dem 
Inhalte.  Es  ist  erstaunlich  wie  peinlich  dieser  Dichter  der 
"vanitas  vanitatum"  bedacht  war,  seiner  innerlichen  Kunst 
und  Poesie  em  vornehmes,  wurdiges  ausseres  Gewand  zu 
verleihen,  wie  er  jede  Unebenheit  mied  und  alles  erwog,  alles 
sichtete,  alles  harmonisch  abzurunden  trachtete.  Im  Bestreben 
massvoll  zu  erscheinen,  kannte  er  wirklich  kein  Mass.  Er 
ersparte  sich  keine  Miihe  der  Selbstbeobachtung.  Frei  sangen 
die  Vb'gel  ihr  heiteres  oder  wehmiitiges  Lied;  er  beichtet  der 
Lerche,  die  sorgenlos  ihr  "semplice  stornello"  zwitschert,  seine 
Miihen,  die  "acre  fatica" — "picchio,  ripicchio,  tempero, 
cesello." — Wie  man  Diamanten  schneidet,  "come  il  sottile 
intagliator  la  chiara  /  gemma  sfaccetta"  wollte  er  das  Sonett, 
alle  Verse  bearbeitet  wissen;  erhellen  sollte  sich  "il  pugnace 
pensier," — "denso  e  forte,  nitido  e  lucente  /  Nel  rigor  di  sua 
forma  adamantina"  sollte  das  Kunstwerk  ans  Tageslicht  treten. 
Man  denkt  an  den  vom  franzosischen  Dichter  erteilten  Rat: 
"Sculpte,  bine,  cisele,  /  Que  ton  reve  flottant  /  Se  scelle  / 
Dans  le  bloc  resistant;"  und  man  fragt  sich  wie  in  der  steten 
Sorge,  ja  nur  den  passendsten  Ausdruck  zu  treffen,  die  lebens- 
volle  Ursprunglichkeit  und  Na'ivitat  hatte  bewahrt  werden 


Arturo  Graf  21 

konnen.  Was  anders  fordert  Arturo  Graf  vom  jungen  Dichter 
als  ein  redliches  Bemiihen  "in  concreare,  in  modellar  la  forma," 
so  dass  "...  del  travaglio  cancellata  1'orma,  /  Arte  s'affermi 
e  paja  altrui  natura?" 

Tatsachlich  finden  wir  nirgends  grossere  Korrektheit  als 
bei  ihm,  eine  tadellosere  Glatte  der  Form,  mehr  Klarheit, 
Durchsichtigkeit  und  Gedrungenheit  des  Verses.  Und  wie- 
derum  iiberrascht  uns  diese  Genauigkeit  und  Scharfe  der  Linien 
und  der  Umrisse,  dieses  Fliichten  von  dem  dammernden  Schein 
ins  helle  Tageslicht,  in  dieser  Welt  von  Schatten  und  Finster- 
nissen,  der  dunkelsten  Ahnungen  und  erschreckendsten  My- 
sterien,  mit  gespenstigem  Spuk  und  Grausen,  welche  seine 
Phantasie  befangen  hielt.  Kein  grosserer  Verrat  and  er  roman- 
tischen  Empfindungswelt  wurde  je  ausgeiibt  als  durch  diese 
scheinbar  romantische  Poesie  im  klassischen  Gewande. 

Ein  mystisches  Versenken,  die  Sehnsucht  nach  dem  Un- 
endlichen,  wir  wissen  es,  lag  nicht  in  der  Natur  des  Dichters. 
So  sehr  er  es  liebte  sich  mit  dem  Schleier  des  Geheimnissvollen 
zu  umhullen,  die  Welt  des  Konkreten  und  Fasslichen  hatte 
doch  bei  ihm  vor  der  Welt  des  Grenzenlosen  und  Unformlichen 
den  Vorzug.  Wie  behagte  ihm  die  sonnig  heitere,  milde,  ganz 
in  den  Rahmen  des  Natiirlichen  und  Reellen  eingeschlossene 
Kunst  eines  Goldoni!  Und  wie  schnell  bereit  war  er  all  das 
Verschwommene  und  Unklare  der  Symbolisten,  Praeraffaeliten 
und  Aestheten  zu  verurteilen!  Die  Neuesten  brauchten  die 
unendlichen  Raume  um  sich  nach  Belieben  auszudehnen; 
sie  vergotterten  das  Unbestimmte  und  Nebelhafte  und  wieder 
das  Bestimmte,  scharf  und  hell  begrenzt  Greif bare ;  ihre  Traume 
brachten  sie  weit  vom  reellen  Leben.  Dass  sie  unsere  Vision 
vercharft  und  erweitert,  unserer  Gefiihlswelt  neue  Gebiete 
aufgeschlossen,  wollte  der  Dichter  nicht  anerkennen;  und  er 
vergass  sein  eigenes  phantastisches  Schwelgen,  wenn  er  ihnen 
vorwarf  den  tollen  Spuk  der  Romantiker  wieder  ins  Leben 
gerufen  zu  haben:  "tutta  la  vecchia  fantasmagoria  romantica 
di  castelli  merlati,  di  chiostri  silenziosi,  di  cavalieri  armati 
cavalcanti  per  cupe  foreste  .  .  .  ,  di  santi  rapiti  in  estasi." 

Der  stille  Traumer  verlor  sich  ungern  in  die  stille  Marchen- 
welt.  Er  erkannte  aber  in  den  erforschten  Mythen  die  Macht 
des  Symbolischen  und  sann  ununterbrochen  iiber  Legenden 
und  Themen,  welche  die  grossten  Dichter  beschaf  tigten  und  den 


22  Farinelli 

tiefsten  Blick  in  die  tiefsten  Geheimnisse  des  Weltalls  boten. 
Immer  waren  es  Ideen  und  Probleme,  weit  mehr  als  Gefuhle 
und  Empfindungen,  welche  seinen  Geist  fesselten.  Und 
unvermutet  wandelten  sich  die  von  ihm  versuchten  Wider- 
belebungen  eines  Prometheus,  eines  Orpheus,  eines  Faustes, 
eines  ewigen  Juden,  eines  Don  Juans,  so  lebendig  auch  stellen- 
weise  der  kurze  dramatische  Dialog  floss,  so  edel  und  schon 
und  anmutig  die  Verse  klangen,  in  Gedankenexkurse  um, 
welche  eben  mehr  beweisen  und  iiberzeugen  oder  iiberraschen 
als  hinreissen  und  erschuttern.  Wenig  half  ihm  auch  die 
versuchte  Umgestaltung  der  bekannten  Motive,  die  gewollte 
Pointe — Don  Juan  vesohnt  sich  in  der  Holle  mit  der  Schaar 
seiner  Geliebten  und  lebt  vergniigt  im  ewigen  Feuer  fort, 
eine  bereits  von  Beaudelaire  halb  ersonnene  Phantasie — Ahas- 
verus  und  Faust,  der  eine  sich  nach  einem  unmoglichen  Tode 
sehnend,  der  andere  bereits  mit  dem  Leben  versohnt,  bege^nen 
einander  und  vertrauen  sich  gegenseitig  was  sie  im  Innern 
bewegt — Mephistopheles  mit  einem  melancholischen  Anstrich, 
frostelnd  an  Leib  und  Seele  (1'inverno  e  nel  mio  corpo"),  will 
das  Bose  und  schafft  unvermerkt  das  Gute,  von  Stufe  zu  Stufe 
emporgehoben,  versohnt  sich  schliesslich  mit  Gott  und  rettet 
seine  Seele.  (An  eine  Rettung  Mephistopheles'  dachte  einst 
selbst  Gothe,  und  auch  Victor  Hugo  trug  sich  mit  dem  Gedan- 
ken  die  Transfiguration  Satans  zu  besingen) — die  Kiihle  aller 
Gedankenpoesie  musste  das  Herz  dieser  rhapsodischen  Gesange 
treffen;  die  bewusste  Absicht  musste  den  Schwung  und  die 
Kraft  des  Symbolischen  lahmen. 

Weit  besser  gelang  ihm  die  dichterische  Schopfung  wenn 
er  die  hohe  Flut  der  Schicksale  der  Menschheit  verliess  um 
se'ine  inneren  Regungen  im  Labyrinthe  seiner  Brust  zu  be- 
lauschen.  Ihm  selbst,  so  wenig  wie  dem  jungen  Dichter,  dem 
er  als  Mentor  sass,  war  zu  raten;  "audacemente  il  volo  / 
.  .  .  attra verso  i  secoli  fatali"  /  pel  vasto  ciel,  dalP  uno 
all'  altro  polo"  zu  wagen.  Ein  kleines,  gerauschloses  Erdreich 
wollte  seiner  Muse  besser  behagen  als  ein  so  grosses  Universum. 
Zum  Idyll  der  Seele  und  nicht  zum  rauschenden  Gesange  der 
"Legendes  des  siecles"  war  seine  Leier  gestimmt.  Nur  sollten 
rasch,  gegen  den  eigenen  Willen,  wie  das  poetische  Bild  sich  hob 
der  erste  Flug  der  Phantasie,  die  unmittelbare  Riihrung  des 
Herzens  festgehalten  werden,  ohne  auf  die  weisen,  ordnenden 
Gebote  einer  hoheren  Instanz  der  Besonnenheit  zu  warten; 


Arturo  Graf  23 

das  Bildliche  und  wirklich  Gestaltende  hatte  das  ruhig  Be- 
schreibende  ersetzt. 

Denn  es  mangelte  Arturo  Graf  wahrhaftig  nicht  an  Zartheit 
des  Empfindens,  an  jener  von  ilim  besungenen  "fragranza 
delicata  e  forte,"  welche  die  Seele  nur  durch  den  Tod  einbiisst. 
Ein  Nichts  konnte  den  so  hart  und  empfindungslos  sich  stellen- 
den  Dichter  riihren,  Phantasmen  wecken  und  entziinden.  Eine 
einzige  Tonwelle  brachte  ein  ganzes  Wogen  und  Fluten  in  sein 
Gemiit.  Und  mehrfach  sind  seine  Lieder  auf  musikalische 
Eindriicke  und  Stimmungen  zuriickzufiihren.  Der  Zauber 
eines  festen  und  doch  weichen,  melodischen  Rhythmus  er- 
streckt  sich  auf  die  Mehrzahl  seiner  Dichtungen.  Wie  ein- 
schmeichelnd,  lieblich,  sinneneinlullend  ist  sein  "Stundentanz," 
"la  danza  leggera  delPore  infinite  /  Che  sempre  .../... 
fuggenti,  pel  mite  /  Sereno  si  van  dileguando.  .  .  Sen 
vanno  fra  gli  astri,  sen  van  per  1'  azzurro  /  Aeree,  f ugaci,  flu- 
enti"!  Wie  reine  Wortmusik  hort  sich  manches  Getandel 
seiner  Traumdichtung  an  und  wirklich  batten  mehrere  seiner 
phantastischen  Visionen  eher  in  Noten  als  in  Worten  einen 
geeigneten  Ausdruck  gefunden. 

Nie  hat  der  Dichter  innigere  Tone  angeschlagen  als  in 
elegischen  Riickblicken  auf  sein  Leben,  worin  er  leise  auf 
eigene  Erlebnisse,  das  Voriiberrinnen  von  Zeit  und  Gliick 
mit  jedem  Wellenschlag  andeutet,  und  den  Drang  zum  aus- 
fuhrlichen  Erzahlen  und  Ausmalen  erstickt.  Mag  er's  auch 
einen  armseligen  Trost  nennen — in  der  Vergangenheit  zu 
stobern.  "Quello  ch'  e  stato  e  stato  /  Quello  ch'  e  morto  e 
morto" — Verwehen,  Zerstieben,  Verklingen,  Absterben,  das 
leise  Sinken  all  der  diirren  Blatter  des  Lebens.  Keinen  anderen 
Inhalt  kennt  ja  das  treueste  Buch  der  Erinnerungen.  Auch 
die  Wonne  der  Wehmut  ist  dem  sinnenden  und  hoffenden 
Pessimisten  bekannt;  und  die  Trane  floss  auch,  wo  die  Erstar- 
rung  aller  Gefiihle  am  tiefsten  beklagt  wird;  die  einfachste, 
als  Kind  bereits  vernommene  Arie,  welche  ein  "Organetto" 
nachseufzt,  das  leise  Schluchzen  einer  Note  auf  der  Flote 
wecken  eine  Welt  von  Erinnerungen,  und  fort  stromen  die 
Tranen — "piover  ti  senti  giu  dagli  occhi  il  pianto"-  -"mi 
sgorga  dagli  occhi  il  pianto;  /  il  cor  nel  petto  mi  trema"4 

4Natiirlich  war  auch  die  Erinnerung  an  die  Verse  Leopardis  rege:  "Odo 
sonar  nelle  romite  stanze  /  L'arguto  canto,  a  palpitar  si  move  /  Questo  mio 
cor  di  sasso." 


24  Farinelli 

Und  nur  die  verklungene  Liebe  entlockt  dem  Dichter 
Tone  und  fliistert  den  elegischen  Nachgesang.  Ins  Reich  der 
Schatten  wandern  die,  die  sein  Herz  gewonnen;  als  Schatten 
kehren  sie  still  wandernd  in  die  Grabesnacht.  So  still  auch 
einst  im  Lenz  des  Lebens,  so  sanft,  so  leise  der  Schritt!  Wie 
schnell  flog  nun  alles  vorbei!  Von  Liebeswonne  und  Liebes- 
entziicken  konnten  diese  Ergiessungen  so  wenig  wie  von 
Stiirmen  der  Leidenschaften  und  herbem,  schneidenden  Weh 
berichten.  Uber  der  Macht  der  Empfindungen  stand  priifend 
und  richtend  die  Macht  des  Grubelns.  Aurelio  nimmt  endlich 
wahr,  dass  etwas  Ungewohnliches  sich  in  seinem  Herzen  regt; 
er  betastet  seinen  Puls  und  stellt  sich  selbst  zur  Rede;  "Piu 
d'  una  volta  gia  avevo  pensato  all'  amore,  e  la  fantasia  mi  si 
era  accesa  in  quel  pensiero.  L'  idea  che  il  sogno  potesse  ora 
divenire  realta  mi  colmb  di  deliziosa  inquietudine.  'Sei  tu 
innamorato'  ripetevo  a  me  stesso,  e  tutto  a  un  tratto  il  cuore, 
uscendo  di  perplessita,  mi  rispose:  'Si  sei.'  "  Wunder  der 
Beharrlichkeit,  der  treuen  Fiirsorge  und  Hingebung  muss 
auch  Viviana  vollbringen  um  den  geliebten  Mann  unverlierbar 
an  sich  zu  fesseln,  das  Werk  der  Wiederbelebung  und  der 
Erlosung  der  Seele  durch  die  allmachtige,  iiber  alles  trium- 
phierende  Kraft  der  Liebe  nicht  scheidern  zu  lassen.  Der 
Sieg  der  Liebe  kommt  mehr  dem  Willen  und  der  Absicht  des 
Dichters  als  dem  freien  Walten  und  Ausatmen  der  Seele  zu 
Gute.  Eine  wohlklingende  aber  gar  zu  schwache  Leier,  welche 
alle  die  Tone  der  gliihendsten  Leidenschaft,  der  paradisischen 
Wonne  und  Extase  entbehrt,  schlagt  Graf's  Orpheus  in  Plutos 
Reich  um  Euridice  zuriickzugewinnen,  den  Triumph  der  Liebe 
iiber  Tod  und  Holle  zu  verherrlichen5  und  den  Fiirsten  der 
Unterwelt  zu  uberzeugen:  "Cio  che  si  vivo  fu,  Pluto,  non 
muore." 

Wo  Pinien  und  Zypressen  in  feierlichster  Stille  das  dunkle 
Geheimnis  der  Welt  hiiten,  in  menschenleeren  Talern,  in  der 
Waldeseinsameit,  vor  allem,  wo  wild  die  emporten  Wellen  des 
Meeres  die  Ufer  umbrausen  und  Wolken  ziehen  das  Hiinmels- 
licht  verhiillend,  da  regen  sich  mit  lebendigem  Schaffensdrang 
die  Traume  des  Dichters.  Mochte  auch  Graf,  wie  Lenau  und 
Leopardi,  das  finstere  Walten  der  Natur  anklagen,  die  keine 

s  Ueber  die  verschiedenen  Bearbeitungen  des  Themas  L 'amore  dopo 
la  merle  lieferte  Arturo  Graf  einen  schonen  Aufsatz. 


Arturo  Graf  25 

Stimme  fiir  das  Menschenherz  besitzt,  und  blind  und  uner- 
forschlich  iiber  alle  Schicksale  waltet.  "Velata  dea  che  formi, 
agiti,  domi  /  Con  odi  arcani  e  con  arcani  amori,  /  lo  non 
intendo  cio  che  tu  lavori";  den  Gram  seiner  Seele  hat  doch 
die  Gottin  teilnahmsvoll  selbst  getragen,  betrauert  hat  sie 
ihn  doch  oft  genug  mit  ihrem  eigenen  Leid  und  Schmerz  und 
den  dichten  Schleier  ihrer  Schatten,  "la  gramaglia/delle 
spioventi  rame"  auf  die  hohen  Gipfel,  auf  die  steil  emporragen- 
den  Felsen  und  die  einsam  zum  Himmel  strebenden  Fichten 
gezogen  und  ausgebreitet;  sie  bewegte  iiber  die  Waldesflache 
"tutta  viva  di  aneliti  secreti,"  die  irrende,  seufzende  Seele 
des  Windes;  ordnete  den  schweigsamen  Lauf  des  Mondes, 
bleich  wie  eine  Verblichene  still  leuchtend  iiber  alien  Wipfeln; 
sie  bot  ihm  zur  Linderung  des  Erdenwehes  und  zum  eifrigen 
Nachsingen  die  Lieder  anderer  Dichter,  die  nur  in  ihrer  Emp- 
findungsfiille  schufen,  darunter  die  wunterschonen  Waldlieder 
Lenaus,  worin  der  mitten  im  Tode  ewig  dauernde  Lebenswechsel 
geriihmt  wird: 

In  dieses  Waldes  leisem  Rauschen 
1st  mir,  als  hor'  ich  Kunde  wehen, 
Dass  alles  Sterben  und  Vergehen 
Nur  heimlichstill  vergniigtes  Tauschen. 

Und  sie  erschloss  ihm  die  tiefe  traumerische  Stille  und  Ruhe 
verlorener,  waldumkranzter  Bergseen,  sowie  das  ruhelose 
Toben  des  Meeres,  ("Et  ton  esprit  n'est  pas  un  gauffre  moins 
amer" — so  auch  Baudelaire),  und  gab  dem  "voraginoso  / 
Mare  sterminator,"  das  alle  Wut  der  Elemente  entfesselte, 
beangstigend  genug  um  alle  erforderlichen  diisteren  Visionen 
wachzurufen,  ihren  Segen.6 

•  Gewiss  verliert  die  Kunst  Grafs  ihre  Wirkung  wenn  sie  in  eine  bloss 
schildernde  Poesie  verfallt.  Zu  oft  ist  das  Bestreben  bemerkbar  alles  auszu- 
sprechen,  alles  ausfiihrlich  anzugeben,  anstatt  leise  anzudeuten.  Jede  Kon- 
zentration  wird  dann  vermieden.  Der  Dichter  vermag  nicht  iiber  seinem 
Werke  zu  stehen.  Er  dekorirt  anstatt  wirklich  zu  schaffen  und  zu  bilden. 
Er  iibt  eine  unnotige  Detailmalerei  aus,  strebt  hach  voller  Deutlichkeit  und 
Genauigkeit,  hauft  Beiworter  auf  Beiworter.  ("il  gotico  traforo" — "il  gotico 
altare" — "la  jonica  ruina" — Die  Grafin  stirbt  und  Aurelio  eilt  zur  Toten: 
"Corsi  al  letto,  le  presi  la  mano  .  .  .  povera  mano  affilata  e  bianca,  come 
frenando  le  lacrime"  u.s.w.)  Wissen  und  Skrupeln  des  Gelehrten  bringen 
mitunter  unliebsame  Stockungen  in  die  Arbeit  des  Dichters  (Der  Held  des 
Riscatto  irrt  in  den  Ruinen  der  Termen  CaracaUas:  "Salii  per  una  scaletta, 


26  Farinelli 

Auch  die  Kritik,  welche  einen  betrachtlichen  Teil  der 
Lebensarbeit  Arturo  Grafs  ausfullte,  musste  im  intimen  Bilde, 
im  literarischen  Essay,  in  der  feinen  sorgfaltig,  ausgefuhrten 
psychologischen  Analyse  ihre  Starke  aufweisen.  Die  grossen 
Synthesen,  so  umfassend  auch  die  unternommenen  Studien 
sein  mochten,  mussten  diesem  Geiste  fremd  bleiben.  Es 
regten  sich  in  ihm  die  Forschungsfreude  und  Wissensbegierde 
eines  Renaissancemenschen;  und  ein  Universum  hatte  er 
gem  in  seinem  Erkenntnissdrang  umfasst — "E  quanto  ha 
il  mondo  e  tenebre  e  splendori  /  E  mutevoli  aspetti  e  forme 
erranti,  /  Si  dipingon  nell'  egra  anima  mia" — Unablassig  war 
er  bestrebt  seinen  Bildungskreis  zu  erweitern;  iiberraschte 
Jeden  mit  seiner  Vielseitigkeit  und  Belesenheit;  im  Gebiete 
der  literarischen  Gelehrsamkeit  waltete  and  schaltete  er  wie 
ein  Konig,  das  Entfernteste  riickte  er  mit  seiner  Forschung 
nahe.  Er  hat,  ohne  eigentliche  Quellenstudien  zu  unternehmen, 

in  cima  alle  mura,  la  dove  lo  Shelley  pensd  e  compose  molta  parte  del  suo 
Prometeo  disciolto").  Auch  wirkt  mit  der  unvermeidlichen  Monotonie  des 
Grundtones  dieser  Lyrik  die  Wiederholung  einiger  Motive  und  Bilder  lastig. 
(Per  la  selva  folta  e  scura  .  .  .  /  Plassa  come  un  raccapriccio  di  paura  /  Un 
gran  brivido  di  vento" — "Passa  talor  lieve  nell'  alto,  a  volo  /  Una  nuvola 
bianca  e  fuggitiva" — "E  sol  lieve  sopr'  esso,  a  quando  a  quando  /  Passa  una 
bianca  e  vagabonda  vela" — "Sotto  un  cielo  d'  acciajo  brunito  /  Sullo  specchio 
del  mare  infinite  /  Passa  grave  la  bionda  nave" — "Via  per  1'intennine  piano  / 
La  negra  vela  mi  tragge"  .  .  .  u.s.w.)  Einige  bei  schwacher  und  matter 
Inspiration  gereimte  Spielereien,  sowie  die  nicht  geniigend  assimilierten,  im 
eigenen  Geist  verarbeiteten  Einflusterungen  einiger  Lieblingsdichter:  Dante, 
Petrarca,  Foscolo,  Leopardi,  Prati,  Aleardi,  Giusti,  Lenau,  Heine,  Victor 
Hugo,  Lamartine,  Baudelaire,  Shelley,  Wordsworth,  Longfellow,  die  zuweilen 
zu  wortlichen  Wiederholungen  ganzer  Verse  notigten,  batten  wir  gerne  preis- 
gegeben. — Unbegreiflich  war  mir  immer  das  beharrliche  Ironisiren  im  dichte- 
rischen  Schaffen  dieses  zur  Ironic  und  zum  Scherze  so  wenig  geeigneten  Griiblers 
liber  Weltratsel.  Die  schmerz-  und  leidverklarende  Laune,  die  sich  zum  Spiele 
und  zum  Traume  der  Phantasie  gesellt,  war  im  Grunde  innige  Wehmut,  ein 
Zurtickpressen  fliessender  Tranen.  Nannte  er  sich  ja  selber  einen  Dichter 
"che  mai  le  labbra  non  porse  al  riso"  ("Sulle  mie  labbra  awelenate  il  riso  / 
Per  sempre  inaridi");  so  wenig  ziemte  ihm  die  Maske  des  heiteren  Spotters, 
so  ungeschickt,  schwang  er  die  Geisel  des  Satyrikers.  (Gelungen  sind  ihm 
nur  die  humorvollen  Schlusswendungen  einiger  schonen  Parabeln,  die  er 
seinen  Lebensmaximen  beifiigte.)  Die  gewollte  heinische  Wiirze  in  der  Lyrik 
der  letzten  Jahre  ist  wohl  befremdender  als  das  Heinisiren  Carducci's;  und  es 
rachte  sich  die  Muse,  welche  die  standigen  Kontorsionen  der  Seele,  das  ge- 
zwungene  Lachen  nicht  leidet,  indem  sie  liber  diese  Produkte  eine  eisige  Kiihle 
ausgoss. 


Arturo  Graf  27 

die  Kleinarbeit  des  Philologen  nie  gescheut  und  stets  die 
strengste  wissenschaftliche  Methode  befolgt.  So  gewohnte 
er  sich  friih  an  ein  systematisches  Sammeln  und  Sichten; 
und  brachte  Licht,  voile  Sauberkeit,  voile  Ordnung,  die  be- 
quemsten  Einteilungen  in  seinen  Tempel  des  Wissens.  Die 
Werke  reiften  langsam  nach,  und  nahmen  seine  ganze  Geduld 
und  Besonnenheit  in  Anspruch.  Musste  die  Phantasie  in 
dieser  miihevollen  Fahrt  nach  der  Aufsuchung  der  Wahrheit 
und  der  Feststellung  geschichtlicher  Tatsachen  im  Banne 
gehalten  werden,  und  zwangen  ihn  Berufspflichten,  Neugierde 
und  Herzensdrang  die  verschiedenartigsten  Gebiete  zu  durch- 
wandern,  mit  alien  auch  den  entgegengesetzen  Geistes-und 
Lebensrichtungen  vertraut  zu  sein,  so  war  es  begreiflich,  dass 
er  das  regste  Interesse,  die  intimsten  Sympatbien  gerade  der 
Erforschung  jener  phantastischen  Legenden  und  Uberlieferun- 
gen,  der  Welt  des  Geheimnissvollen  und  dunklen  Glaubens 
die  "fantasiosi  esaltamenti  del  senso  del  mistero"  widmete, 
die  seiner  eigenen  Empfindungswelt  am  nachsten  standen. 

Anfanglich  stand  er  unter  der  Macht  der  Naturalisten, 
Positivisten  und  Materialisten,  und  verbeugte  sich  tief  vor 
den  kritischen  Dogmen  Taines.  Auch  ihm  schwebte  als  Ideal 
eine  "critique  scientifique"  vor,  die  zum  eifrigsten  Studium 
von  Rasse  und  Milieu  spornte,  und  keine  Versenkung  in  die 
einzig  schaffende  Individual!  tat  zuliess,  ohne  "lo  studio  della 
coscienza  sociale,"  wie  es  in  einer  der  friihesten  akademischen 
Reden  des  Dichters  hiess.  Dann  kamen  die  unheilvollen 
Regungen  der  Lombrosianer,  Psychophysiologen,  Neuro- 
pathiker,  und  Erblichkeitsphantasten,7  und  manche  anderen 
Schwankungen  musste  der  Kritiker  und  Forscher  erfahren, 
je  nach  den  philosophischen  Anschauungen,  die  sich  im  Lauf 
der  Jahre  seinem  Geiste  aufdrangten;  nicht  so  allerdings,  dass 
er  wetterwenderisch  in  der  Ausiibung  seines  kritischen  Amtes 
verfuhr,  die  eigene  Urteilskraft  schwachte,  das  Innere  in  dem 
Bestreben,  auch  das  Aussere  zu  ergriinden,  vernachlassigte. 

Seine  Unabhangigkeit  wie   sein   Gleichgewicht  hat  er  im 

Strome  der  Zeiten  und  im  Wechsel  der  Ideen  bewahrt.     Wie 

i 

7  Im  Riscatto  ist  das  Selbstgestandniss:  "Erano  da  poco  venuti  in  luce, 
e  avevano  fatto  chiasso,  i  libri  del  Ribot  e  del  Gallon  sull'  eredita  fisiologica  e 
psicologica.  Li  lessi  con  grande  attenzione,  e  cosi  quanti  libri  di  consimile 
argomento  mi  vennero  nelle  mani. 


28  Farinelli 

seine  Dichtung  aber  musste  auch  seine  Kritik  eine  Zerstreuung 
aller  Lichstrahlen,  die  wir  vergebens  um  einen  Brennpunkt 
sammeln  mochten,  erleiden.  Sie  entbehrt  einer  festen  philoso- 
phischen  Grundlage,  einer  kraftigen  inneren  Struktur.  Die 
wirksamste,  ziindende  Flamme  fehlt;  es  fehlt  die  belebende 
Gewalt  der  Seele,  jene  blitzartige  Intuition,  welche  De  Sanctis 
in  hohem  Maasse  besass,  und  die  die  kritische  Nachschopfung 
sowie  das  Kunstwerk  selbst  belebt.  Ein  sicheres  Erfassen  des 
Charakteristischen  im  Individuum,  sowie  der  Hauptmomente 
der  Geistesentwicklung  bedrangte  die  iibermassige  Liebe  zum 
sorgfaltigen  Prufen  und  Anordnen  der  Detailforschung.  Das 
Bedachtige,  kiihl  Eiwagende  seiner  Natur  widerstrebte  jedem 
kiihnen  Zusammenfassen  und  Zusammendrangen;  verlangte 
ein  ruhiges,  mit  sicheren  Belegen  allseitig  gestiitztes  Analy- 
siren,  ein  Nebeneinanderreihen  von  Tatsachen,  das  sich  nur 
schwerlich  zu  einem  organischen  Ganzen  gruppirt,  und  oft 
sich  mit  einem  gar  zu  passiven  Nacherzahlen  begniigen  musste. 

Die  unternommenen  My  then-  und  Legendenforschungen, 
die  stoffgeschichtlichen  Untersuchungen  boten  dem  Dichter 
und  Kritiker  eine  gefahrliche  Klippe.  Das  Fremdartigste, 
oft  aus  ganz  entgegengesetzen  Richtungen  fliessenden  Lebens- 
quellen  Entsprungene  musste  sich  einheitlich  zusammenfugen, 
eine  stetige  Entwicklung  zeigen,  eine  Geschichte  bilden. 
Da  hatten  die  grossten  Genies  vergebens  nach  Einheitlichkeit 
gerungen.  Arturo  Graf  gewohnte  sich  bald,  Glied  nach  Glied 
seine  Kette  von  Beobachtungen  und  Urteilen  abzuwickeln. 
Er  breitete  alle  seine  Schatze  aus,  und  kummerte  sich  wenig, 
rasche  Uberblicke  iiber  das  Gewonnene  und  von  seinem  Geiste 
Beherrschte  zu  bieten.  Ein  Bruchstiick  folgt  dem  andern, 
alle  zwar  vollig  ausgearbeitet,  schon  und  rund  abgeschliffen, 
aber  doch  Bruchstiicke,  mogen  sie  sich  auch  wie  hellschim- 
mernde  Perlen  ausnehmen.  Sein  letztes  Werk  iiber  die  "Anglo- 
mania" zeigt  am  deutlichen  dieses  vom  sproden  Stoffe  gebotene 
Verfahren  des  Zergliederns  und  sorgfaltigen  Beschreibens 
und  Nebeneinanderstellens  geschichtlicher  Resultate. 

Der  Dichter  und  Forscher  hat  sich  auch  nie  andere  Krafte 
zugemutet  als  die,  die  er  eben  besass,  er  hat  nie  nach  einer 
grossen  Literaturgeschichte  gestrebt,  und  war  selbst  vom 
genialen  und  in  seiner  Art  untibertrefflichen  Werke  De  Sanctis, 
besonders  was  die  Darstellung  des  Mittelalters  betraf,  un- 


Arturo  Graf  29 

befriedigt.  Er  hielt  sich  an  das  Episodische,  die  Ausraalung 
einzelner  Bilder.  Und  wo  er,  vom  Zwange  widerstrebenden 
Stoffes  befreit,  eine  intime  engbegrenzte  Welt  beherrschen, 
sein  feines  Empfinden,  den  sicheren  Blick,  die  Scharfe  seines 
Verstandes  aufweisen  konnte,  gelangen  ilim  vortrefflich  Zeit- 
gemalde  und  Essays,  die  auch  fiir  die  zukiinftigen  Forscher 
einen  unverlierbaren  Wert  besitzen;  man  denke  an  seine 
Studien  iiber  das  "Cinquecento,"  an  die  feinsinnigen  Analysen 
der  besten  Komodien  jenes  Zeitalters,  die  Charakteristik  des 
"Scicentismo,"  die  Untersuchungen  liber  Dantes  Damonologie, 
iiber  die  Psyche  und  die  Kunst  Manzonis  und  seines  Lieblings 
Leopardis,  welche  letzteren  natiirlich  als  lose  Studien,  nicht 
als  ein  organisches  Werk  aufgefasst  werden  diirfen.  Ich  wiisste 
auch  nicht  wer  den  Geist  des  kampmutigen  Verfassers  der 
"Frusta"  besser  getroffen  als  Graf  selbst  in  der  gedrungenen, 
noch  kurz  vor  seinem  Tode  entworfenen  Skizze,  bei  Anlass 
der  Forschungen  Piccionis. 

Ein  mussiges  Getandel  war  ihm  so  verhasst  wie  der  leere  und 
windige  Prunk  der  Rhetoren  und  Aestheten.  Mangelt  es  ihm  ab 
und  zu  an  Tiefe,  so  ist  er  immer  von  erstaunlicher  Klarheit  und 
Durchsichtigkeit.  Nie  verlasst  ihn  die  Ruhe,  die  innere 
Fassung ;  auch  begniigt  er  sich  nicht  mit  einem  hastigen  Beruhren 
der  Dinge  und  verlangt  nicht  nach  dem  Nervenreiz  moderner 
Tageskritiker.  Um  dieser  Ruhe  willen,  um  voile  Objectivitat 
zu  wahren,  halt  er  mit  seinem  personlichen  Empfinden  zuriick 
und  zerstreut  und  verfllichtigt  die  eigenen  poetischen  Bilder, 
die  sich  seiner  Phantasie  aufdrangen.  Und  doch  ist  ein  Mit- 
schwingen  seiner  Seele  bei  der  Mehrzahl  der  unternommenen 
kritischen  Studien  unverkennbar.  Die  Kritik  ist  ihm  mehr  als 
eine  Zerstreuung;  sie  ist  ihm  eine  moralische  Pflicht;  sie  konnte 
ihm  Trost  bieten;  konnte  ihn  zum  eigenen  dichterischen 
Traumen  und  zur  Selbstschopfung  aufmuntern.  "Scrivendo," 
sagt  er  im  Geleitwort  seiner  Studie  "Prometeo  nella  poesia," 
".  .  .  molti  giorni  passai  pieni  di  varie,  indimenticabili 
emozioni.  Sentiva  nell'  anima  una  espansione  salutare,  un 
calore  benefico  quali  d'  una  giornata  di  primavera.  .  .  .  Pro- 
vava  una  dolcezza  austera  e  ineffabile  a  porger  1'orecchio  alle 

voci  dei  poeti Quante  volte  non  m'  apparvero  come 

in  una  visione  la  cima  nevosa  del  Caucaso,  e  il  punito  indoma- 
bile,  nella  gloria  della  sua  passione.  Perche  dovrei  tacerlo? 


30  Farinelli 

Da  quelle  vivificanti  contemplazioni  uscii  sempre  rinvigorito 
e  migliore." 

So  wird  man  auch  nicht  leicht  vom  dauernden  Bestandteil 
der  literaischen  Kritik  die  Hauptwerke:  "Roma  nella  memoria 
e  nelle  immaginazioni  del  medio  evo,"  "Miti,  leggende  e 
superstizioni  del  medio  evo"  hinweg  denken  konnen;  ein 
intimer  Reiz  liegt  in  diesen  Fragmenten  und  Exkursen,  und 
etwas  von  der  Fabulirlust  unserer  Ahnen  befangt  uns  wenn 
wir,  von  diesem  hellsichtigen  Geiste  geleitet,  mit  ihrem  Sehnen 
und  Sinnen  so  griindlich  vertraut  werden.  Ein  Wunderbares 
fur  unsere  Phantasie,  und  fur  den  Forscher  von  Legenden  und 
Mythen  eine  Quelle  immerwahrender  Anregung.  Nur  trete 
man  nicht  mit  einem  Geftihl  der  Voreingenommenheit  an 
diese  Blatter  heran,  und  harre  geduldig  auf  die  kleinen  Ent- 
deckungen.  So  fand  ich  selbst  zu  meiner  Beschamung  beim 
Wiederlesen  der  mit  Unrecht  vernachlassigten  Studie  "Nel 
Deserto"  eine  Fiille  der  feinsten  Beobachtungen,  die  mir 
friiher  entgingen,  und  die  sich  auch  der  bewandertste  Kenner 
mittelalterlicher  Askese  zu  Nutze  machen  konnte. 

Bescheidenheit  war  Grundzug  des  Wesens  dieses  Dichters, 
und  nichts  konnte  ihn  mehr  anwidern  als  die  Sucht  einiger 
Modernen,  um  jeden  Preis  originell,  geistreich,  verbliiffend 
erscheinen  zu  wollen.  So  wenig  wie  er  sich  zu  einem  Ver- 
kiindiger  eines  alleinseligmachenden  Evangeliums  der  Poesie 
und  der  Kritik  berufen  fuhlte,  so  gering  war  auch  seine  Teil- 
nahme  f  iir  die  orakelsprechenden  Dutzendkritiker  und  improvi- 
sirten  Genies  unserer  Tage  und  ihr  leichtfertiges  Hinrichten, 
Segnen  und  Verdammen.  Und  was  in  seiner  Aestetik  als 
fremdes  Beiwerk,  die  bestandige  Ruchsichtsnahme  auf  ethische 
Grundsatze,  storend  wirkte,  gereichte  seinem  Charakter  zur 
Zierde.  Keine  Handlung,  die  nicht  von  der  reinsten  Stimme 
des  Gewissens  geboten  ware,  kein  heisserer  Wunsch  in  dem 
einsamen  Manne  als  eine  moralische  Erhebung  und  eine 
gestarktere  Geisteserziehung  der  Menschheit.  In  den  Verord- 
nungen  der  Hochschulen  suchte  man  bloss  eine  Stiitze  fur 
das  aussere  Leben,  das  sich  aller  Krafte  bemachtigte,  und  er 
trat  in  einer  denkwurdigen  Rede  energisch  fur  die  Rechte 
des  Innenlebens  ein;  Erziehungsanstalten  sollten  in  keine 
Beamtenfabriken  umgewandelt  werden,  einem  hoheren  Zwecke 


Arturo  Graf  31 

sollten    sie    dienen;    "tutelare,    aiutare,    incitare,    liberare    la 
personal!  ta." 

Hinab  in  den  reissenden  Strom  der  Menschheit  Hess  er  sich 
nicht  ziehen;  wenn  es  aber  Not  tat,  hat  er  sein  Scherflein  zur 
Linderung  der  Qualen  seiner  Mitleidenden  beigesteuert, 
bereitwillig,  grossrmitig;  unbesorgt  wenn  er  auch  seine  Ein- 
siedelei  mit  einer  Theatertribiine  vertauschen  musste,  wo  er 
einmal  vor  Tausenden, — es  war  seine  letzte  Rede — die  weise 
Mahnung,  das  zertriimmerte  Messina  ja  nicht  wiederaufzubauen 
in  die  Luft  erschallen  liess.  Er  konnte,  so  tief  sich  oft  die 
Stacheln  des  Schmerzes  und  des  Lebensiiberdrusses  in  seine 
Brust  senkten,  nur  Milde,  nur  Giite,  nur  Wohlwollen  von 
sich  ausstrahlen.  Nie  suchte  und  holte  man  bei  mm  vergebens 
Rat.  "E  uno  dei'  miei  poeti  .  .  .  uno  dei  miei  maestri  .  .  . 
da  lui  ebbi  conforto  e  consiglio,"  so  ein  Dichter  von  unsagbarer 
Innigkeit  und  Gemiitstiefe  Giovanni  Pascoli.  Vieles  von 
seinem  Lebenswerke  wird  wohl  der  Verganglichkeit  verfallen, 
nicht  unsonst  aber,  still  und  sanft,  glomm  und  verglomm 
sein  Lebensstern. 

ARTURO  FARINELLI 

University  of  Turin,  Italy 


THE  VERB  FORMS  CIRCUMSCRIBED  WITH  THE 
PERFECT  PARTICIPLE  IN  THE  BEOWULF 

The  purpose  of  this  investigation  is  to  study  the  Verb 
Forms  circumscribed  with  the  perfect  participle  in  the  Beowulf 
as  to  their  State,  Origin  and  Use. 

A  glance  at  our  bibliography  will  show  that  in  the  past  a 
number  of  investigators  have  tried  to  explain  the  verb  forms 
circumscribed  with  the  perfect  participle  in  various  periods 
of  the  English  language. 

Their  method  of  procedure  has  usually  been  as  follows. 
First,  they  counted  instances  of  the  use  of  the  inflected  and 
uninflected  participles;  and,  finding  that  the  same  participle 
occurred  sometimes  with  and  sometimes  without  inflection 
they  concluded,  that  the  presence  or  the  absence  of  inflection 
of  the  perfect  participle  did  not  involve  a  difference  in  meaning. 
It  was  merely  an  arbitrary  matter  depending  upon  the  prox- 
imity or  the  relative  position  of  the  perfect  participle  to  the 
word  which  it  modified.  (Smith  §  138,  Note)  Second,  by 
grouping  the  circumscribed  forms  over  against  the  simple 
forms  i.  e.  the  perfect  and  pluperfect  vs.  preterit,  they  tried 
to  explain  the  use  of  the  circumscribed  forms.  The  result  was 
they  found  that  the  circumscribed  forms  in  the  period  of  the 
English  language  they  were  investigating  corresponded  in  the 
most  cases  to  the  modern  English  circumscribed  forms.  How- 
ever, there  were  some  instances  that  could  not  be  explained 
(Anglia  xviii,  389). 

Thorough  as  these  investigations  are  and  as  useful  as  they 
are,  their  results  are  not  satisfactory.  As  to  the  inflection  of 
the  perfect  participle,  we  find  the  same  participle  in  the  same 
relative  position  to  the  object  or  the  subject,  inflected  in  the 
one  case  and  unflected  in  the  other.  As  to  the  uses  the  method 
indicated  above  fails  to  explain  a  number  of  them. 

The  reasons  why  these  investigations  could  not  arrive  at 
any  satisfactory  results  are: 

1)  they  did  not  try  to  explain  the  origin  of  these  circum- 
scribed forms  and  thus  arrive  at  the  underlying  principle  that 
governs  them.    They  proceeded  in  a  merely  statistical  manner. 

2)  disregarding  the  element  of  time  and  place,  they  treated 
authors  who  lived  in  different  parts  of  England  and  in  different 

32 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  33 

centuries,  as  if  the  English  language  had  been  stagnant  in  the 
use  of  its  tenses  from  the  9th.  to  the  12th.  century  (Anglia, 
xviii)  and  as  if  all  the  people  in  England  spoke  absolutely  in 
the  same  manner.  This  method  is  particularly  pernicious 
in  this  case,  since  the  written  documents  were  not  numerous 
and,  therefore,  the  authors,  not  being  bound  to  any  literary 
traditions,  could  exercise  great  freedom  and  borrow  freely  from 
the  ordinary  spoken  language. 

3)  they  limited  their  investigation  merely  to  the  circum- 
scribed past  tenses  (Perf.  and  Pluperf.)  and  did  not  take  into 
consideration  the  present  and  the  preterit  tense  circumscribed 
with  the  perfect  participle. 

In  the  present  investigation  we  shall  not  make  much  use  of 
statistics;  nor  shall  we  try  to  include  many  authors  who  lived  in 
different  parts  of  England  and  in  different  centuries.  Statistics, 
it  seems  to  us,  would  merely  indicate  whether  an  author  had 
a  preference  for  one  form  of  expression  or  another.  They 
could  not  help  us  determine  the  origin  or  the  use  of  the  circum- 
scribed forms.  The  question  of  tenses  is  to  a  great  extent  a 
subjective  question,  reflecting  the  author's  point  of  view. 
Therefore  we  must  interpret  rather  than  count  instances.  And 
since  this  is  a  subjective  question  it  seems  to  us  that  to  include 
many  authors,  especially  if  they  were  separated  in  locality 
and  time  would  only  confuse  the  issue. 

Therefore  we  have  confined  this  investigation  to  the  Beowulf 
alone.  Since,  however,  the  Beowulf  per  se  does  not  enable 
us  to  solve  our  question,  we  determined  upon  the  following 
method  of  procedure.  The  circumscribed  verb  forms  are  much 
clearer  in  the  Old-Saxon  Heliand  and  cast  much  more  light 
upon  their  origin  and  original  use,  than  do  those  in  the  Beowulf. 
Hence  we  decided  to  study  the  circumscribed  verb  forms 
in  the  Heliand  first;  and  then  to  apply  the  results  obtained  to 
the  Beowulf  and  make  comparisons.  The  validity  of  this 
method  will  become  apparent  as  we  proceed. 

PART  I  OLD  SAXON 

I.  State  of  verb  forms  circumscribed  with  the  perfect 
participle  in  Old-Saxon. 


34  Lussky 

A.  Method  of  formation. 

In  Old-Saxon  we  find  circumscribed  verb  forms  consisting 
of  the  inflected  and  the  uninflected  perfect  perticiple  and  the 
present  and  preterit  of  the  verbs:  hebbian,  uuesan,  uuerdan, 

a)  Active  voice: 

1.  hebbian: 

754      Than  hdbde  ina  craf  tag  god 

gineridan  uuid  iro  nide — 
2264  Tho  habda  sie  that  barn  godes 

ginerid  fan  theru  node — 
5794  So  thiu  fri  habdun 

gegangan  te  them  gar  don — C. 

2.  uuesan: 

2027    Ne  sint  mina  noh 

tidi  cum  ana. 
4619    Thiu  uuurd  is  at  handun, 

thea  tidi  sind  nu  ginahid 

3.  uuerdan: 

2728    Tho  uurdun  an  themu  gertale  ludeo  cuninges 

tidi  cumana. 
94.        Tho  uuard  thiu  tid  cuman. 

b)  Passive  voice. 

1.  uuesan: 

4392     Kumad  gi — the  thar  gikorene  sindun 
1833    the  thar  an  erdagun 

undar  them  liudskepea  lereon  uuarun 

acoran  undar  themu  cunnie. 

2.  uuerdan: 

3526    thar  uuerdat  mina  hendi  gebundana 
fadmos  uuerdad  mi  thar  gefastnod. 

In  the  active  voice,  therefore,  transitive  verbs  take  hebbian, 
while  intransitive  verbs  take  hebbian,  uuesan  or  uuerdan.  In  the 
passive  voice  uuesan  and  uuerdan  are  used  to  form  circum- 
scriptions. 

B.  Position  of  the  perfect  participle. 

The  position  of  the  perfect  participle  is  not  determined  by 
any  syntactical  rule.  It  occurs  both  before  and  after  the  sub- 
ject or  object,  both  before  and  after  the  auxiliary. 

1)  Before  subject: 

5919    gimerrid  uuarun  iro  thes  muodgithahti  C 
4400    oft  uurdun  mi  kumana  tharod 
helpa  fan  iuuun  handun 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  35 

2)  After  subject: 

4020    so  uurdun  thes  godes  barnes 

kumi  thar  gikudid 
2138    Than  seal  ludeono  filu, 

thes  rikeas  suni  berobode  uuerden 

3)  Before  object: 

3465    habda  thuo  farmerrid  thia  morganstunda    C 
5746    habdun  im  farseuuana  sorogia  ginuogia    C 

4)  After  object: 

2056    Than  habas  thu  nu  uunderlico  uuerdskepi  tliinan 

gemarcod  far  thesoro  menigi 
3792    habdun  im  uuidersakon 

gihaloden  te  helpu. 

5)  Before  auxiliary: 

5919    gemerrid  uuarun  iro  thes  muodgithahti    C 
2989    bedrogan  habbiad  sie  dernea  uuihti 
3964    Thuo  gifrang  ik  that  thar  te  Criste  cumana  uurdun 
bodon  fan  Bethaniu    C 

6)  After  auxiliary: 

692      quadun  that  sea  ti  im  habdin  giuuendtt  hugi 
56        that  sia  habdon  bithuungana 
thiedo  gihuilica    C 

It  would  be  useless  to  count  and  compare  by  statistics  the 
number  of  perfect  participles  which  occur  before  and  after 
the  subject,  object  or  auxiliary.  The  Heliand  is  a  poem  and 
the  word  order  may  be  shifted  to  suit  the  case.  It  suffices  for 
us  to  show  that  the  perfect  participle  can  be  used  in  all  of  these 
different  positions. 
C.  Inflection  of  the  perfect  participle. 

From  the  examples  given  under  B  it  is  clear  that  there  is  no 
general  absolute  rule  fixing  the  position  of  the  perfect  participle. 
Nor  is  there  any  rule  relegating  the  inflected  or  the  uninflected 
perfect  participle  to  any  particular  position  in  the  sentence. 
However,  if  we  examine  those  cases  in  which  we  would  normally 
expect  the  perfect  participle  to  be  inflected  according  to  the 
general  rule  for  the  inflection  of  adjectives,  we  shall  be  able 

1.  to  get  an  idea  of  the  general  state  of  the  inflection  of  the 
perfect  participle  in  the  Heliand  and 

2.  to  arrive  at  some  idea  of  what  the  inflection  and  non- 
inflection  of  the  perfect  participle  is  due  to. 

The  following  table  needs  no  explanation.  It  groups  the 
inflected  and  the  uninflected  perfect  participles  according  to 
their  relative  position  to  the  subject,  object  and  auxiliary. 


36 


Litssky 


Perfect  Participle  Follows  Subject  or  Object 


Uninflected 


Inflected 


erf.  part 

365  uuarun  cuman 

1309  uuerdan  gefullit 

1672  sint  gefratoot 

1834  uuarun  acoran 

2224  uurdun  giledit— C 

3527  uuerdad  gefastnod 

3919  uuerdad  gilestid 

4619  sind  ginahid 

5670  uuurthun  giopanod — C. 

5800  uuurdun  bifellun— C 


2)  hebbian — obj. — perf.  part. 

uuesan — subj. — perf.  part. 

uuerdan — subj. — perf.  part. 
151      h.  unc  binoman  elleandadi 
2056    h.  uuerdskepi  gemarcod 
2264    h.  sie  generid 
2517     h.  muod  gilatan — C. 
2805    h.  mareostan  bihauuuan 
3032    h.  sie  biuuerid 
4211     h.  amahtscepi  biuuendid 
4326    h.  thiod  biuuorpen 
4592    h.  scattos  githingod 
5147    h.  herron  gisald 
5130    h.  craft  (thiod)  gisamnod 
5419    h.  uomos  adelid — C. 

1798    uuerdat  antdon 

himilportun  anthlidan 
3599    uurdun  man  faruuorpen 
4020    uurdun  kumi  gikudid 
717      uuarun  man  gihuuorban 


12 

uurdun  gikorana  —  C 

561 

sin  cumana  (cuman  —  C!) 

632 

uuarun  gifarana 

1228 

uuarun  geuarana 

1264 

uuarun  cumana 

1318 

uuesan  genemnide 

2225 

(uurdun)  cumana  —  C 

3003 

sind  farlorane 

3427 

uuarun  cumana  —  C 

3526 

uuerdat  gibundana 

4851 

uurdun  underbadode 

5228 

sind  kumane 

5761 

uuurthun  giscerida  —  C 

754 

h.  ina  gineridan 

1151 

h.  se  geuuarhtan 

1266 

h.  nigunigetalde  treuuafte 

1325 

h.  achto  getalda  salda  gesagda 

1482 

h.  sundea  giuuarhta 

1957 

h.  uuilleon  giuuarhten 

2990 

h.  sie  binumane 

3792 

h.  uuidersakon  gihaloden 

4147 

h.  ina  gikoranan 

5164 

h.  hugi  undergripanen 

5413 

h.  man  gispanana 

5865 

h.  sia  furfarana  —  C 

2709 

uuarun  kind  odana  —  C  (M  — 

odan) 

5118 

uuarun  fadmos  gibundene 

2061 

sint  druhtingos  druncane 

2027 

sint  tidi  cumana 

4458 

sind  tidi  kumana 

4932 

uuarun  gisidos  gisuikane 

2728 

uurdun  gertale  cumana 

3526 

uuerdat  hendi  gibundana 

3633 

uuerdad  iunga  kumane 

4466 

uurdun  eosagon  kumane 

4850 

uurdun  underbadode 

Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf 


37 


3)  S-part. — uuerdun  (uuesun) 
Obj.-part. — h. 
that  gitald  h. 
sie  gimanod  h. 
the  gicoran  h. 
kopstedi  gicoran  h. 
mi  farkopot  h. 

(sundea  loaan  gisald) 


94 

423 

1296 

3736 

4806 


991      ina  gicorananh. 


80        gibithig  uucrthan — C. 


17  gicoranana  uurdun — C 

350  thea  cumana  uuarun 

558  sulica  cumana  uurdun 

2139  suni  berobode  uuerden 

3218  tbea  giskeride  sind 

3319  gi  gidiuride  uuesen 

4392  the  gikorane  sindun 

4825  sie  kumane  uurdun 


293      sie  h.  giocana 
2902     the  h.  gicorane 
3037     the  h.  gicorane 


4)  Obj.-h.-part. 

253      sea  h.  gimahlit 
297      magad  h.  giboht 
5647     thena  h.  giscerid 
farspanan 
5736    stedi  h.  gihauuuan 

Perfect  Participle  Precedes  Subject  or  Object 

5)  h.-part.-obj. 

uuerdan  (uuesan)-part-subj. 
692      h.  giuendid  hugi 
3466    h.  farmerrid  morganstunda 


56        h.  bethungana  thiedo — C 
C      5746    h.  farseuuana  sorogia 


2455     uuerdid  farloran  spraka 


6)  Part.-h.-obj. 

part  uuerdan  (uuesan)-subj. 
105      gifrumid  h.  uuilleon 
2337     forgeban  h.  mahti 
2989    bedrogen  h.  sie 


2450 
2826 
4400 
5761 

5873 


uuerdad  farlorana  lera 
sind  gesetana  burgi 
uuurdun  kumana  helpa 
uuurthun  giscerida  uueros — C 
uuurthun  cumana  uuardos — C 


5919 


gimerrid  uuarun  muodgithahti      3703    kumana    sind    tidi 

— C.      3964    cumana    uurdun    bodon — C. 

1.  General  state  of  inflection  and  non-inflection  of  the 
perfect  participle  in  Old-Saxon. 

It  is  clear  from  the  above  table  that  the  perfect  participle 
occurs  both  in  the  inflected  and  the  uninflected  form.  The  pro- 


38  Lussky 

portion  is  about  50%  inflected  and  50%  uninflected  in  those 
cases  in  which  we  should  normally  expect  inflection  according  to 
the  general  rule  for  adjective  inflection.  However,  the  circum- 
scriptions with  uuerdan  and  uuesan  seem  to  prefer  the  inflected 
form  of  the  perfect  participle.  About  75%  of  the  perfect  parti- 
ciples are  inflected  and  25%  uninflected.  The  circumscriptions 
with  hebbian  seem  to  prefer  the  uninflected  form.  About 
662/3%  are  uninflected,  while  33l/3%  are  inflected. 

2.  What  was  the  inflection  and  non-inflection  of  the  perfect 
participle  due  to? 

The  perfect  participle  was  originally  an  adjective  and 
inflected  like  an  adjective.  In  the  Heliand,  however,  in  about 
50%  of  the  cases  in  which  we  would  normally  expect  inflection 
according  to  the  general  rule  for  adjective  inflection,  the  in- 
flection is  lacking.  Now  what  was  this  dropping  of  the  adjective 
inflection  due  to? 

a)  Was  it  due  to  the  relative  position  of  the  perfect  parti- 
ciple to  the  word  which  it  modified?    Examples  like — 

754      Than  habde  ina  craftag  god  gineridan  uuid  iro  nide 
2264    Tho  habda  sie  that  barn  godes  ginerid  fan  theru  nodi 

and 

1296    them  the  he  te  theru  spracu  tharod  Krist  alouualdo  gecoran  habda 
3037    the  iungaron  the  he  imu  habda  be  is  gode  gicorane — 

show  that  neither  proximity  nor  remoteness  of  the  perfect 
participle  to  or  from  the  word  which  it  modifies  has  any  influ- 
ence on  the  inflection. 

Furthermore  types  1,  2,  3,  4  as  compared  with  5  and  6  in 
our  table  show  that  the  position  before  or  after  the  word  which 
the  perfect  participle  modifies  had  no  influence  on  the  inflection. 
We  find  inflected  and  uninflected  perfect  participles  both  before 
and  after  the  words  which  they  modify. 

Therefore  position  cannot  be  said  to  have  had  any  influence 
on  the  inflection  of  the  perfect  participle. 

b)  Was  it  due  to  the  nature  of  the  verb  per  se? 

There  are  undoubtedly  some  perfect  participles  which 
cling  to  the  inflection  more  tenaciously  than  others:  kuman, 
kiosan,  nerian,  uuirkian.  However,  even  some  of  these  drop 
the  inflection  at  times  and  other  verbs  fluctuate. 

754  -2264  nerian  (see  above) 
1296-3037  kiosan  (see  above) 
365  Siu  uuarun  is  hiuuiscas,  cuman  fon  is  cnosla 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  39 

561      bihuui  gi  sin  te  thesun  lande  cumana.    (C-cuman) 
3703    that  im  kumana  sind  iro  tidi  touuardes 
3526    thar  uuerdar  mina  hendi  gebundana 
f admos  uuerdad  mi  gefastnod 

Therefore,  it  is  clear  that  the  presence  or  the  absence  of 
inflection  cannot  be  reduced  to  a  certain  class  of  verbs  and  be 
said  to  be  due  to  the  verb  per  se;  though  certain  verbs  cling  to 
the  inflection  more  than  others. 

As  a  consequence  there  are  only  two  possibilities  open  to 
us:  either  1)  to  assume  that  the  perfect  participle  could  drop  its 
inflection  on  general  principles  because  the  tendency  was  in- 
herent in  the  language;  and  that  there  was  no  difference  between 
the  inflected  and  the  uninflected  form,  except  perhaps  a  rhetori- 
cal one,  such  as  "Satzmelodik,"  poetic  license  etc.  This, 
however,  seems  to  be  begging  the  question.  For,  why  did  not 
adjectives  enjoy  the  same  liberty,  especially  when  used  with 
uuerdan  or  uuesan? 

3919    Thesa  quidi  uuerdad  uuara  liudiun  gilestid 

or  2)  to  assume  that  when  the  perfect  participle  is  inflected 
it  has  adjective  force,  and  when  it  is  uninflected  it  has  lost  its 
adjective  force.  And  that,  therefore,  there  is  a  subjective  differ- 
ence involved.  We  accept  this  latter  view. 

D.  Tense  value  of  circumscribed  verb  forms. 
1.  Inflected  perfect  participle. 

The  perfect  participle  was  originally  an  adjective  denoting 
state  or  condition  resulting  from  the  action  of  the  verb.  Hence 
we  must  assume  that  in  all  the  circumscribed  forms  in  which  the 
perfect  participle  retained  its  inflection  it  was  felt  as  an  adjec- 
tive and  that,  therefore,  the  tense  of  these  circumscriptions 
was  determined  by  the  tense  of  the  auxiliary.  They  were  as  a 
consequence  either  present  or  preterit. 

hebbian: 

754      than  habde  ina  craftag  god 

gineridan  uuid  iro  nide,  that  inan  nahtes  thanan 
an  Aegypteo  land  erlos  antleddun,  .... 

Not:  then  God  had  saved  him;  but  then  God  saved  him  i.e. 
had  or  kept  him  as  a  saved  one,  brought  him  into  safety,  so 
that  (or  in  as  much  as)  people  conducted  him  to  Aegypt.  The 
time  expressed  in  habde  gineridan  is  not  prior  to  but  contempo- 
raneous with,  if  indeed  not  later  than,  antleddun. 


40  Lussky 

Compare: 

56        babdon  bithuungana  thiedo  gihuilica — C 
294      that  sie  habde  giocana  thes  allouualdon  craft 
991      he  ina  gicoranan  habdi 
1151    habda  enna  se  geuuarhtan 
1266    Tho  habda  thero  gumono  thar 

the  neriendo  Krist  niguni  getalde, 

treuuafte  nan 
1325    So  habde  tho  uualdand  Crist 

for  them  erlon  thar  ahto  getalda 

salda  gesagda: 

1482    habed  he  sundea  geuuarhta 
1958    habad  uuilleon  geuuarhten 
2990    habbiad  sie  geuuitteu  benumane 
3037    the  he  habde  gecorane    C.f.  2902 
3792    habdun  uuidersakon  gihaloden 
4147    habdun  ina  gicoranen  te  thiu 
5164    habdun  hugi  undergripanen 
5413    habdun  man  alia  gispanana — C 
5746    habdun  farseuuana  sorogia — C 
5865    habit  sia  furfarana     C 

uuesan: 

a)  Passive. 

4392    Kumid  gi  .  .  .  the  thar  gikorene  sindun  endi  antfahad  thit  craftiga  riki 

that  gode  that  thar  gigereuuid  stendid 

(who  are  chosen,  not  who  have  been  chosen) 
3319    so  motun  gi  thar  gidiuride  uuesen 

(Not,  verherrlicht  worden  sein,  but  verherrlicht  sein) 
C.f.  3219. 
3002     im  is  helpono  tharf 

thea  liudi  sind  farlorane,  farlatan  habbiad 

uualdandes  uuord,  that  uuerod  is  getioflid, 

dribad  im  demean  hugi,  ne  uuilliad  iro  drohtine  horieen 

Israhelo  erlskepi,  ungilobiga  sind 

helidos  iro  herron:  (are  lost,  not  have  been  lost) 
1318    thie  motun  uuesan  suni  drohtines  genemnide. 

(genannt  sein;  not  genannt  warden  sein)  (be  called;  not  have  been  called) 
5117    Stod  that  barn  godes 

fast  under  fiundun :  uuarun  imu  is  fadmos  gebundene, 

tholode  mid  githuldiun  so  huat  so  imu  thiu  thiod  to 

bittres  brahte: 

(were  tied,  not  had  been  tied) 
C.f.  2826. 

b)  Active. 

4931     Uuarun  imu  thea  is  diurion  tho 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  41 

gesidos  gesuikane,  al  so  he  im  er  selbo  gisprak: 
Ni  uuas  it  thoh  be  enigaru  blodi,  that  sie  that  barn  godes 
lioben  farletun,  ac  it  uuas  so  lango  biuoren 
uuarsagono  uuord  that  it  scoldi  giuuerden  so: 

His  dear  disciples  were  fled  from  him,  as  he  predicted.  It 
was  not  due  to  their  own  timidity  that  they  fled,  there  existed 
long  before  the  word  of  the  prophets,  that  it  would  happen  thus. 

2060    Nu  sind  thina  gesti  sade, 

sint  thine  druhtingos  druncane  suido 

is  thit  folc  fruomod: 

(are  satisfied — therefore:  are  quenched  not  have  been  quenched.) 
1227     Sume  uuarun  sie  im  eft  ludeono  cunnies, 

fegni  folcskepi:  uuarun  im  thar  geuarana  te  thiu 

that  sie  uses  drohtines  dadio  endi  uuordo 

faron  uuoldun,  habdun  im  fegnien  hugi 

uureclen  uuillion: 

(were  come  or  gone  there) 
C.f.  632 
3426    hiet  thiem  at  erist  geban 

thia  that  lezt  uuarun  liudi  cumana 

uueros  te  them  uuirke,  endi  mid  is  uuordon  gibod 

that  man  them  mannon  iro  mieda  forguldi 

alles  at  af  tan  them  thar  quamun  at  erist  tuo 

uuillendi  te  them  uuerke. — C. 

(Were  come,  not  had  come,  since  uuarun  cumana  is  parallel  to  quamun) 
Compare  uuarun  acuraana  5876 

uuarun  cumana  5609-1264-350. 

Gihugde  (2663-2492-2446)  and  gehoriga  (82-2982)  are  probably  pure  ad- 
jectives. 

uuerdan: 

a)  Passive. 

12         sia  uurdun  gicorana  te  thio 

that  sie  than  euangelium  enan  scoldun 

an  buok  scriban. — C 

(They  were  chosen  i,  e,  became,  entered  into  the  state  of  being  chosen  ones) 
17        sia  gicorana  uurdun    C 
2138    Than  seal  ludeono  filu, 

thes  rikeas  suni  berobode  uuerden 
2450    ac  uuerdad  thar  so  farlorana  lera  mina 
3526    thar  uuerdat  mina  hendi  gebundana 
4850    uurdun  underbadode 
5761     uurthun  giscerida    C 

b)  Active. 

3964    Thuo  gifrang  ik  that  thar  te  Criste  cumana  uurdun 


42  Lussky 

bodon  fan  Bethaniu  endi  sagdun  them  barne  godes 
that  sia  an  that  arundi  tharod  idsi  sendin, 
(uuarun  cumana  and  sagdun  are  in  the  same  tense :  i.e. 
became  such  as  are  here  and  said) 

Compare: 

558      nio  her  er  sulica  cumana  ni  uurdun 
2225    endi  uurdun  thar  giledit  tuo, 

cumana  te  Criste — C 
2728    uurdun  tidi  cumana 
3633    uuerdad  iunga  kumane 
4401    uurdun  mi  kumana  tharod 

helpa  fan  iuuun  handun 
4466    uurdun  eosagon  alle  kumane 
4825    antat  sie  te  Criste  kumane  uurdun 
5873    Thuo  uurthun  oc  an  thia  burg 

cumana  ludeono  uuardos — C. 

2.  Uninflected  perfect  participle. 

In  order  to  understand  the  tense  value  of  the  circumscribed 
forms  in  which  the  perfect  participle  is  not  inflected,  though 
the  general  rule  for  adjective  inflection  would  demand  inflection, 
we  must  begin  with  cases  like  the  following: 

3919    Thesa  quidi  werdad  uuara 
liudiun  gilestid 

Here  the  adjective  uuara  has  retained  its  inflection.  It 
must,  therefore,  be  felt  to  belong  to  quidi.  The  perfect  partici- 
ple gelestid  has  lost  its  inflection  and  with  it  its  adjective  force. 
Hence,  it  cannot  be  felt  to  belong  to  quidi.  The  only  alterna- 
tive, then,  is  to  construe  it  with  uuerdad. 

Now  the  perfect  participle  by  its  very  nature  denotes 
resultant  state  or  completion;  hence,  since  it  cannot  denote 
resultant  state,  owing  to  the  fact  that  it  had  lost  its  adjective 
force,  it  must,  since  it  belongs  to  the  verb  denote  completed 
action.  In  other  words,  the  circumscriptions  with  hebbian  and 
uuesan  and  the  uninflected  perfect  participle  denote  completed 
action  in  present  or  past  time.  They  are  therefore,  perfect  or 
pluperfect  tenses.  The  cases  with  uuerdan  and  the  uninflected 
perfect  participle  are  present  and  past  tenses;  but  differ  from 
the  cases  with  inflected  perfect  participles  in  so  far  as  they 
denote  completed  action;  whereas  the  former  denote  state  or 
condition. 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  43 

Our  conclusion  that  the  circumscriptions  consisting  of  the 
uninflected  perfect  participle  and  some  form  of  the  verbs 
hebbian  or  uuesan  are  perfect  or  pluperfect  tenses  is  confirmed 
by  the  fact  that  we  find  intransitive  verbs  circumscribed  with 
hebbian  and  the  uninflected  perfect  participle  which  are  un- 
doubtedly perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses.  Such  forms  mark  a 
very  advanced  stage  of  tense  development,  as  will  be  shown 
below.  Thus  we  may  be  sure  that  perfect  and  pluperfect  forms 
actually  existed  in  Old-Saxon. 

5794    So  thiu  fri  habdun  gegangen  to  them  garden 

The  following  forms  we  interpret  as  denoting  completed 
action: 

hebbian: 

Perfect 

4808    Nu  uuirdid  sniumo  herod 

cuman  mid  craf  tu  the  mi  farcopot  habad 
2056    Than  habas  thu  nu  uunderlico  uuerdskepi  thinan 

gemarcod  far  thesoro  menigi 
151      habad  unc  eldi  binoman  elleandadi 
1960    habad  antfangan  fader  iuuuan 
2517    habit  gilatan— C. 
2989    bedrogan  habbiad  sie  dernea  uuihti 

Pluperfect 

3464    Sum  thar  oc  an  undern  quam, 

habda  thuo  farmerrid  thia  morganstunda 
thes  daguuerkes  forduolon — C. 

(Many  a  one  came  at  noon  had  missed  the  morning  hours  the 
day's  work,    habda  farmerrid,  forduolon  are  prior  to  quam) 
5417    Thuo  uuarth  that  cuth  obar  all 

huo  thiu  thiod  habda  duomos  adelid — C 

(Then  that  became  known  everywhere  how  the  people  had  cast  the 
lots.    Habda  adelid  is  purely  temporal  and  prior  to  uuarth  cuth. 
5146    tho  bigan  imu  thiu  dad  aftar  thiu 

an  is  hugea  hreuuan,  that  he  habde  is  herron  er 
sundea  losen  gisald  (had  sold) 

Compare: 

94        gitald  habdun:  105  gifrumid  habdi:  253  habda  gimahlit: 
297      habda  giboht:  423  gimanod  habda:  692  habdin  geuuend  it: 
1296    gecoran    habda:  2336    fargeban    habdi:  2805    habde  bi- 

hauuuan : 
3033  habde  biuuerid:  3736  gikoran  habdun:  4211  habdun  bi- 

uuendid: 


44  Lussky 

4226    habde    biuuorpen:  4594    habdi    gethingod:  5736  habdun- 

gihauuuan. — C 
uuesan: 

a)  Passive. 

Perfect 

1671  Oc  mugun  gi  an  iuuuom  hugi  marcon 

uueros  umbi  iuuua  geuuadi,  huuo  thie  uurti  sint 

fagoro  gefratoot  thea  hir  an  felde  stad, 

berhtlico  gebloid. 

.  .  .  have  been  beautifully  arrayed  (have  flowered  beautifully) 

.  .  .  schon  geschmuckt  worden  sind  (aufgebliiht  sind) 
Pluperfect 
1830    Forstodun  uuise  man 

that  he  so  lerde,  liudeo  drohtin 

uuarun  uuordun  so  he  geuuald  habde, 

allun  them  ungelico  the  thar  an  erdagun 

undar  them  liudskepea  lereon  uuarun 

acoron  under  themu  cunnie: 
uuarun  acoran — is  clearly  a  pluperfect  tense  on  account  of  erdagun. 

It  does  not  mean  who  were  chosen  ones  in  former  days,  but  who  had  been 

chosen  in  former  days. 
5918    ne  uuissa  huarod  siu  sia  uuendian  scolda; 

gimerrid  uuarun  iro  thes  muodgithahti. — C 

.  .  .  her  thoughts  had  been  confused — waren  verwirrt  worden. 

b)  Active. 

Perfect 

4619    Thiu  uurd  is  at  handun  thea  tidi  sind  genakid — have  come. 

— have  approached. 

1672  has  been  discussed  above 

560      Gi  sculun  mi  te  uuarun  seggean 

for  thesun  liudio  folke,  bihuui  gi  sin  te  thesun  lande  cumana 
"       "  "   "     "        "      cuman— C! 

M-are  come;  C-have  come 
Pluperfect 
365      Siu  uuarun  is  hiuuiscas, 

cuman  fon  is  cnosla,  cunneas  godes 

bediu  bi  giburdiun. 

Uuarun  cuman — is  clearly  a  pluperfect  tense  here.     Of  course,  the  lack 

of  inflection  can  also  be  explained  on  the  ground  that  the  subjects  are 

masculine  and  feminine,  i.e.  common  gender. 
715      Tho  gefrang  aftar  thiu 

Herodes  the  cuning  thar  he  an  is  rikea  sat, 

that  uuarun  thea  uuison  man  uuestan  gehuuorban 

os tar  an  iro  odil  endi  forun  im  odran  uueg: 

.  .  .  that  they  had  turned  and  were  going. 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  45 

uuerdan: 

a)  Passive 
Present 

3919    Thesa  quidi  uuerdad  uuara 

liudiun  gilestid. 
1798    than  uuerdad  iu  andon  aftar  thiu 

himilpostun  anthlidan 
79        ni  muosta  im  erbiuuard 

an  iro  iuguthedi  gibithig  uuerthan — C 
1309    Thes  motun  sie  uuerdan  an  them  rikia  drohtines 

gefullit  thurh  iro  ferhton  dadi 
Preterit 
2223    endi  uurdun  thar  giledit  tuo 

cumana  te  Criste,  thar  hie  im  thuru  is  craft  mikil 

halp  endi  sia  helda,  endi  liet  sia  eft  gihaldana  thanan 

uuendan  an  iro  uuillion. — C 
Sie  wurden  herzugeleitet  und  wurden  (deshalb)  solche  die  zu  Christo 

gekommen  waren,  i.e.  zu  Christo  gekommen  seiende. 

uurdun  giledit — is  preterit  and  denotes  action  and  not  state. 

(    "    )  cumana  denotes  state. 

Compare: 

3599  uurdun  faruuorpen 

4021  uurdun  gikudid 

5670  uuurthun  giopanod — C. 

5800  uuurdun  bifellun. — C 

b)  Active. 

There  are  no  instances  in  which  the  uninflected  perfect 
participle  occurs  in  the  active  with  uuerdan.  Probably  because 
such  forms  would  be  identical  in  meaning  with  the  simple  verb. 

The  difference  between  the  circumscribed  form  with  inflected 
perfect  participle  and  the  circumscribed  form,  with  uninflected 
perfect  participle  is,  therefore,  a  subjective  one;  the  former 
denoting  state  or  condition,  the  latter  denoting  completed 
action.  The  following  examples  from  the  German  and  the 
English  will  help  make  the  matter  clear. 

I  have  the  letter  written  (State  or  condition — Present) 

I  have  written  the  letter  (Completed  action — Perfect) 

He  war  gone,  when  I  arrived  (State  or  condition— Preterit) 

He  had  gone,    "     "       "      (Completed  action— Pluperfect) 

The  house  was  built,  when  I  arrived  (State  or  condition — Preterit) 

The  house  had  been  built,  when  I  arrived  (Completed  action — Pluperfect) 

Compare  also  the  German: 


46  Lussky 

Die  Tiir  wird  geschlossen — denoting  mere  action. 
"     "    ist  "         —      "       state  or  condition. 

"         — worden — completed  action. 

In  our  discussion  we  have  omitted  all  those  cases  in  which 
the  perfect  participle  would  normally  be  uninflected.  Such 
cases  can  be  determined  only  from  the  context,  and  can  be 
solved  only  by  specialists  in  Satzmelodik,  as  Prof.  Sievers. 

II.  ORIGIN  or  THE  CIRCUMSCRIBED  VERB  FORMS  AND 
DEVELOPMENT  OF  PURE  TENSE  FORMS 

A.  Origin  of  the  Circumscribed  Verb  Forms. 

a)  If  we  examine  the  Heliand,  we  shall  find  that  the 

Aktionsarten  (Aspects  of  the  verb)  were  still  a  potent 
factor  in  Old-Saxon.  The  author  of  the  Heliand  is 
very  discriminating  in  his  treatment  of  the  Perfective 
verbs  (Perfective-inchoative-resultative)  and  Dura- 
tive  verbs. 

1)  Intransitive  perfective  verbs  take  uuerdan  and 

uuesan  in  the  circumscribed  verb  forms;  in- 
transitive durative  verbs  take  hebbian. 

2)  Durative  verbs  are  used  with  biginnan;  pre- 

fective  verbs  are  not. 

3)  Durative  verbs  can  form  a  present  participle; 

perfective  verbs  do  not. 

4)  The  perfect  participle  of  cuman  does  not  take 

the  prefix  gi- 

These  facts  will  suffice  to  show  that  the 
distinction  between  perfective  and  durative 
verbs  was  still  felt  in  Old-Saxon  at  the  time 
the  Heliand  was  written. 

b)  On  the  other  hand  there  is  evidence  that  the  "Aktion- 

sarten" were  not  so  keenly  felt  anymore  as  in  times 

gone  by.    Our  evidence  is  derived: 

1)  From  the  use  of  the  simple  and  the  compound 
verbs.  Behaghel  points  out  in  his  "Syntax  des 
Heliand"  §186  that  under  apparently  similar 
conditions  sometimes  the  simple  sometimes  the 
compound  verb  is  used.  He  attributes  this 
to  the  fact  that  such  verbs  contain  both  per- 
fective and  durative  aspects  or  that,  in  such 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  47 

verbs  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  aspect  was 
clearly  marked. 

We,  however,  are  inclined  to  believe  that  in 
many  of  these  cases  the  simple  verb  had  lost 
its  perfective  force  (we  are  not  concerned  here 
with  the  durative  verbs)  and  was  felt  as  a  mere 
tense  form.  Therefore,  if  the  author  wanted  to 
impart  the  perfective  force  to  the  verb  he  had 
to  form  a  compound.  This  seems  especially 
clear  in  the  case  of  verbs  like  uuerdan  and 
giuuerdan. 

1373    So  uuirdid  them  the  that  godes  uuord  seal  mannon  marean: 
3691     Uue  uuard  thi — thes  thu  te  uuaarun  ni  uuest 

thea  uurdegiskefti  the  thi  noh  giuuerden  sculun 

Or  it  may  have  been  due  to  the  fact  that 
even  the  compound  verb  had  lost  its  perfective 
force  and  was  felt  as  a  mere  tense  form;  so 
that  both  the  simple  and  the  compound  verb 
were  mere  tense  forms. 

2)  from  the  use  of  the  prefix  gi.    The  prefix  gi  was 

originally  the  prefix  par  excellance  for  imparting 
perfective  force  to  verbs.  At  the  time  the 
Heliand  was  written  it  must  have  lost  its 
perfecting  force  to  a  great  extent.  In  the 
perfect  participle  it  must  have  been  felt  as  a 
mere  grammatical  prefix  in  many  cases,  for 
the  verb  gangan  takes  gi  in  the  perfect  parti- 
ciple. 

3)  from  the  presence  of  actual  perfect  and  pluper- 

fect   tenses,    especially    of   intransitive    verbs 
with  hebbian.    This  will  be  shown  below. 
Hence  we  see  that  on  the  one  hand  the  distinction  between 
durative  and  perfective  verbs  was  carefully  observed  in  Old- 
Saxon;  while  on  the  other  hand  the  perfective  verbs  were  losing 
their  perfective  force.     Or  in  different  words,  we  can  detect 
two  tendencies  in  Old-Saxon,  the  one  tending  to  break  down 
the  feeling  for  "Aktionsarten"  and  developing  pure  tenses  at 
the   expense  of   the   "Aktionsarten;"    the   other   tending   to 
discriminate  between  the  Aktionsarten  and  thus  preserving 


48  Lussky 

the  feeling  for  them  against  the  encroachment  of  the  tense 
tendency. 

Now  these  two  facts  1)  that  the  feeling  for  "Aktionsarten" 
was  still  alive  and  2)  that  many  verbs  were  losing  their  inherent 
"Aktionsforce"  and  taking  on  pure  tense  value  gave  rise  to  the 
circumscribed  verb  forms. 

In  the  present  paper  we  are  concerned  only  with  the  Cir- 
cumscriptions formed  with  the  perfect  participle  and  these 
arose  from  an  effort  to  circumscribe  the  perfective  "Aktionsart" 
(perfective-inchoative  resultative) . 

The  following  examples  will  show  that  the  "Aktionsarten" 
were  circumscribed: 

686      Tho  uuard  morgan  cuman 

uuanum  te  thesero  uueroldi.    Tho  bigunnun  thea  uuison  man 
seggean  iro  suebanos: 

Here  uuard  cuman  and  bigunnun  seggean  are  parallel 
constructions  conveying  parallel  ideas.  An  examination 
of  the  Heliand  shows  that  biginnan  is  used  only  with  durative 
verbs.  Therefore,  it  was  necessary  in  Old-Saxon  to  resort  to 
some  other  means  if  one  wanted  to  express  with  a  perfective 
verb  an  idea  parallel  to  biginnan  and  a  durative  infinitive.  The 
author  of  the  Heliand  did  this  by  using  uuerdan  and  the  perfect 
participle. 
The  above  expression  then  means: 

Morning  entered  into  a  state  of  being  here  (wurde  ein  da-seiender) 
the  wise  men  began  to  tell.  .  . 

Both  constructions  are,  therefore,  from  a  subjective  point 
of  view  ingressive.  Considering  them  objectively  uuard  kuman 
is  composed  of  two  perfective  verbs  uuerdan  and  kuman; 
bigunnan  seggean  is  composed  of  a  perfective  verb  biginnan 
and  a  durative  verb  seggean.  Therefore,  uuard  kuman  is  a 
circumscription  of  the  perfective  ingressive  "Aktionsart"  and 
bigunnan  seggean  a  circumscription  of  the  perfective  durative 
ingressive  Aktionsart. 

(It  may  be  well  to  note  here,  that  if  kuman  had  preserved 
its  full  perfective  force  at  the  time  of  the  Heliand,  there  would 
have  been  no  need  of  this  circumscription;  quam  alone  could 
have  expressed  the  perfective  ingressive  Aktionsart.  C.f. 
Streitberg  PBB  15  and  Got.  Elembch  §249  and  Anmerkg.2. 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  49 

Furthermore  if  we  consider  uuerdan  a  durative  perfective  verb 
then  uuard  kuman  is  also  durative  perfective  ingressive.) 
Compare  further  the  following: 

3436    Uui  quamun  hier  an  moragan — endi  tholodun  hier  manag  te  dage  ara- 

biduuerco-C. 

558      nio  her  er  sulica  cumana  ni  uurdun  eri  fon  odrun  thiodun 
350      Forun  thea  bodon  obar  all 

thea  fon  them  kesura  cumana  uuarun 

bodspaha  uueros 

In  the  case  of  quamun  (3436)  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  deter- 
mine whether  the  Aktionart  was  felt  or  not. 

Cumana  uurdun  (558)  means:  never  before  did  such  men 
become  "such  as  are  in  the  state  of  being  here  i.e.  da-seiende." 
We  must  think  only  of  the  moment  in  which  they  entered 
into  this  state.  We  have  here  a  circumscription  of  the  per- 
fective (durative)  ingressive  "Aktionsart." 

Cumana  uuarun  (350)  means:  these  messengers  who  were 
"in  the  state  of  being  here  i.e.  da-seiende."  We  have  here  a 
circumscription  of  the  perfective  (durative)  effective  Aktion- 
sart. This  form  is  not  to  be  taken  for  a  pluperfect  tense  as  the 
German  "waren  gekommen." 

In  the  case  of  transitive  verbs  we  find  the  same  attempt  to 
circumscribe  the  "Aktionsarten,"  by  means  of  an  auxiliary  and 
the  perfect  participle.  Whether  at  first  two  different  auxiliaries 
were  used,  as  in  the  case  of  intransitive  verbs,  cannot  be  deter- 
mined. One  example  would  tempt  us  to  assume  as  much: 
41  endi  al  that  sea  bihlidan  egun  giuuarahtes  endi  giuuahsanes — C 

However,  the  verb  hebbian  would  suffice  for  both  perfective 
ingressive  (i.e.  to  come  into  possession  of  something)  and  the 
perfective  effective  (i.e.  to  be  in  a  state  of  having  come  into 
possession  of  something) 

991     quad  that  he  ina  gicoranan  habdi 
selbo  fon  sinun  rikea 

he  came  into  or  was  in  a  state  of  having  come  into  possession 
of  him  as  a  chosen  one  i.e.  had  him  as  a  chosen  one  (or  merely 
chose  him.) 

In  all  these  cases  the  perfect  participle  is  inflected  when  in- 
flection is  required  according  to  the  general  rule  for  adjective 
inflection.  The  perfect  participle  denotes  state  or  condition 


50  Lussky 

and  the  tense  is  determined  by  the  tense  of  the  auxiliary  i.e. 
they  are  either  present  or  preterit. 
B.  Development  of  pure  Tense  forms. 

Originally  there  were  but  two  tenses  in  Germanic,  the 
present  and  the  preterit.  And  the  circumscribed  "Aktion- 
sarten"  were  present  or  preterit. 

However,  the  tendency  to  develop  tenses  did  not  cease 
when  once  the  "Aktionsarten"  were  circumscribed.  It  soon 
began  to  encroach  upon  these  circumscribed  forms.  There  were 
many  cases  in  which  the  perfect  participle  was  normally  unin- 
flected,  and  being  uninflected  it  lost  its  close  connection  with  the 
object  or  subject. 

Now  the  difference  between  the  perfective  "Aktionsart" 
and  a  pure  tense  form  consists  merely  in  this,  that  the  perfec- 
tive "Aktionsart"  emphasizes  the  point  reached  i.  e.  state  at- 
tained and  the  tense  denotes  the  action.  Therefore,  the  perfect 
participle  having  lost  its  connection  with  the  object  or  subject 
and  consequently  its  adjective  force,  was  felt  to  belong  to  the 
auxiliary;  and  not  to  denote  state  attained  but  action  com- 
pleted. Thus  the  perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses  began  to  be 
developed. 

The  first  perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses  with  hebbian  were, 
of  course,  formed  of  transitive  verbs;  but  the  intransitive  verbs 
soon  began  to  follow  in  their  wake.  The  transition  from  the 
perfect  and  pluperfect  tense  of  a  transitive  verb  to  the  perfect 
and  pluperfect  tense  of  an  intransitive  verb  was  perhaps  as  • 
follows. 

a)  Transitive  verb  with  neuter  object. 
3278    al  hebbiu  ik  so  gilestid 

b)  Verbs  with  pred.  modifier  of  quantity  or  inner  object. 

465      the  habda  at  them  uuiha  so  filu  uuintro  endi  sumaro 
gilibd  an  them  liohta 

c)  Verbs  with  clause  as  object. 

469      1m  habda  giuuisid  uualdandas  craft 

langa  huila,  that  hi  ni  mosta  er  thit  lioht  ageban 
1984    Habda-gelerid  thea  liudi  huo  sie  lof  gode  uuirkean  scoldin. 

d)  Cases  with  a  Gen.  or  Dat.  object. 

505      siu  habde  ira  drohtine  uuel  githionod  te  thanca. 
5330    Hie  mid  is  uuordon  habit  dodes  gisculdid:     C 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  51 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  such  constructions,  especially  the  verbs 
with  inner  object,  would  pave  the  way  for  any  intransitive 
durative  verb  to  form  a  perfect  and  pluperfect  tense.  The 
perfective  verbs,  of  course,  formed  their  perfect  and  pluperfect 
tenses  with  uuesan. 

In  the  present  presentation  of  the  circumscribed  forms  we 
have  disregarded  Latin  influence  completely.  While  we  do 
not  discredit  Latin  influence  entirely,  still  we  fear  that  it  may 
easily  be  exaggerated  and  overestimated.  Moreover,  if  we  can 
explain  such  phenomina  as  circumscribed  verb  forms  on  the 
ground  of  innate  tendencies  in  the  language  itself,  we  feel  that 
we  are  probably  nearer  the  truth,  than  if  we  assume  that  they 
are  a  slavish  imitation  of  a  foreign  construction.  The  fact  that 
we  find  similar  circumscriptions  in  other  Indo-European 
languages  would  merely  indicate  that  they  are  innate  in  all 
these  languages.  They  may  have  been  developed  independ- 
ently. One  language  affected  another  in  this  respect,  probably 
no  further  than  that  it  helped  promote  this  tendency  of  circum- 
scribing verb  forms,  after  it  had  once  been  started  in  the  other. 

III.  Uses  of  the  Circumscribed  verb  forms. 
A.  Circumscribed  Aktionsarten. 

It  was  said  above  that  the  circumscribed  "Aktionsarten" 
owed  their  origin  to  the  fact,  that  the  tense  tendency  was  en- 
croaching upon  the  "Aktionsarten."  It  was  also  pointed  out  that 
the  circumscribed  "Aktionsarten"  were  very  probably  all  perfec- 
tive (durativ)  ingressive,  and  perfective  (durativ)  effective. 
Therefore,  the  non-circumscribed  forms  must  be  either  pure 
tense  forms  or  perfectiv  momentan.  The  circumscribed  tense 
forms,  which  grew  out  of  these  circumscribed  "Aktionsarten" 
are,  of  course,  pure  perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses  in  the  case  of 
circumscriptions  with  hebbian  and  uuesan;  and  present  and 
preterit  tenses,  in  the  case  of  circumscriptions  with  uuerdan. 

A  comparison  will  make  clear  the  use  of  the  circ.  "Aktion- 
sarten" 

1)  Simple  verb 
uuesan: 

3426    hiet  thiem  at  erist  geban 

thia  that  lezt  uuarun  liudi  cumana 

uueros  te  them  uuirke,  endi  mid  is  uuordon  gibod 

that  man  them  mannon  iro  mieda  forguldi 


52  Lussky 

alles  at  af  tan  them  thar  quamun  at  erist  tuo 
uuillcndi  te  them  uuerke. — C 

uuarun  cumana  and  quamun  are  parallel:  the  former  denotes 
were  in  a  state  of  having  come,  (perf.  durat.  effectiv),  the  latter 
denotes  came  and  is  a  pure  tense  form  or  perfectly  momentan. 
The  difference  between  the  two  forms  is,  therefore,  merely 
a  subjective  one. 

Compare:  563-565. 

hebbian: 

1199    cos  im  the  cuninges  thegn  Crist  te  herran 
4147     habdun  ina  gikoranan  te  thiu 

cos  is  a  mere  tense  form 

habdun  gikoranan  is  a  circumscribed  Aktionsart.    The  difference  between 

the  two  forms  is  subjective. 

uuerdan: 

557      Ic  gisiu  that  gi  sind  ediligiburdiun 

cunnies  fon  cnosle  godun:  nio  her  er  sulica  comana  ni  uurdun 
eri  fon  odrun  thiodun;  sidor  ik  most  a  thesas  erlo  folkes 
giuualdan  thesas  uuidon  rikeas.    Gi  sculun  mi  te  uuarun  seggean 
for  thesun  liudio  folke,  bihuui  gi  sin  te  thesun  lande  cumana. 
Tho  spracun  im  eft  teggenes  gumon  ostronea 
uuordspahe  uueros:  'Uui  thi  te  uuarun  mugun'  quadun  sie.  .  .  . 
'bihuui  uui  quamun  an  thesan  sid  herod 
fon  ostan  thesaro  erdu*. 
The  difference  between: 
cumana  uurdun 
srn  cumana  (C  cuman') 
quamun 

is  a  subjective  one. 

uurdun  cumana  denotes,  became  such  as  are  in  a  state  of  being 

here.    It  is  perf.  ingressive. 

sin  cumana  denotes  are  such  as  are  in  the  state  of  being  here. 

It  is  perf.  effective. 

quamun  denotes  merely  came.    It  is  either  a  pure  tense  form 

or  it  may  be  perf.  momentan. 

2)  Compound  verbs. 

We  need  refer  here  only  to  our  discussion  of  §186  in  Behagh- 
el's  Syntax  des  Heliand  and  then  consider  the  following 
examples : 

(II  A  b  1) 

1 199    cos  im  thi  cuninges  thegn  Crist  te  herran 

1186    gecurun  im  thana  neriandan  Krist    helagna  te  herron.  C.f.  147 

4147    habdun  ina  gicoranen  te  thiu 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  53 

Here  the  author  is  again  making  a  subjective  distinction: 
cos  is  a  pure  tense  form, 
gicurun  is  perfect  momentan,  and 
habdun  gicoranen  is  perfect  (durative)  effective. 

3)  Circumscribed  tense  forms. 

It  was  stated  above  that  the  difference  between  the  circum- 
scribed "Aktionsart"  and  the  circumscribed  tense  forms  was 
a  subjective  difference;  the  circumscribed  "Aktionsart" 
denoting  state  or  condition,  the  circumscribed  tense  denoting 
completed  action.  Here  we  must  point  out  a  peculiarity  in 
the  use.  We  often  meet  with  a  sudden  shift  in  point  of  view. 

1957    So  hue  so  iu  than  antfahit  thurh  ferhtan  hugi, 

thurh  mildean  mod;  so  habad  minan  ford 

uuilleon  geuuarhten  endi  oc  uualdand  god 

antfangan  fader  iuuuan, 
3526    thar  uuerdat  mina  hendi  gebundana 

fadmos  uuerdad  mi  thar  gefastnod. 

Such  sudden  shifts  in  point  of  view  must  not  cause  us  too 
much  surprise.  They  are  characteristic  of  the  old  writers.  C.f. 
Kellner:  Historic  Outlines  of  English  Syntax,  §  9  "The  syntax 
of  older  periods  is  natural,  naif,  that  is,  it  follows  much  more 
closely  the  drift  of  the  ideas,  of  mental  images;  the  diction, 
therefore,  looks  as  if  it  were  extemporised,  as  if  written  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  while  modern  syntax  fettered  by  logic,  is 
artificial,  the  result  of  literary  tradition,  and,  therefore,  far 
from  being  a  true  mirror  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  mind.  .  .  ." 

Also  we  would  suggest  as  a  possible  explanation  the  fact 
that  the  author,  being  an  ecclisiast  or  at  least  one  versed  in 
scriptures,  was  trying  to  imitate  the  parallelism  in  the  Hebrew 
poetry  of  the  psalms.  Compare  especially  3526-3527. 

Futhermore  the  following  might  be  referred  to  for  com- 
parison, 

He  was  gone  when  I  arrived 
He  had  gone     "     "       " 

Die  Tiir  wird  geschlossen 

Die  Ttir  ist  geschlossen 

These  phrases  merely  indicate  a  shift  in  point  of  view  in 
the  author's  mind. 

We  would  also  call  attention  to  the  following  sentence 
taken  from  Raabe's  Der  Hungerpastor  p  511.  "(Der  Brief) 
musste  dem  Poststempel  zufolge,  am  vorigen  Abend  in  den 


Lussky 

Briefkasten  geworfen  sein."    We  certainly  would  expect  geworfen 
warden  sein! 

We  are  well  aware  that  since  the  Old-Saxon  language  is 
clearly  in  a  transitional  stage,  there  will  be  investigators  who 
will  challenge  our  method  of  procedure  and  our  interpretation. 
For  example,  it  will  be  pointed  out  to  us  that  sentences  like 
the  following  occur: 

4405    Huan  gisah  thi  man  enig 

bethuungen  an  sulicun  tharabun? 
2150    than  findis  thu  gesund  at  bus     (C-gesundan !) 

magoiungan  man 

Here  bethuungen  and  gesund  are  uninflected.  However, 
such  cases  are  so  rare  that  they  can  hardly  be  considered  as 
the  regular  practice.  They  are  rather  to  be  considered  as  the 
exception.  Futhermore,  would  it  not  be  possible  to  regard — 
bethuungen — as  purely  temporal  and  not  as  denoting  state? 
In  that  case  it  would  denote  completed  action  and  not  state 
attained.  This  would  account  for  the  lack  of  inflection,  namely 
on  annology  of  the  perfect  participle  in  the  circumscribed  tense 
forms.  As  to— gesund — (if  indeed  M  is  the  correct  reading), 
we  may  assume  that  here  the  adjective  is  loosing  its  inflection 
and  following  in  the  wake  of  the  uninflected  perfect  participle. 
At  any  rate  we  cannot  see  that  such  cases  militate  against  our 
method  of  procedure. 

As  to  our  interpretation  of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms 
and  our  explanation  of  the  sudden  shift  from  one  form  to 
another,  we  would  refer  to  our  present  day  use  of  the  perfect 
and  the  preterit  tenses.  We  know  of  no  rule  that  marks 
definitely  the  distinction  between  these  two  tenses,  and  we 
often  meet  with  a  sudden  shift  from  one  to  the  other  owing 
to  a  change  of  point  of  view  in  the  author's  mind.  Considering 
the  fact  that  the  distinction  between  the  circumscribed  Aktion- 
sart  and  the  circumscribed  tenses  was  much  more  subtle  than 
the  distinction  between  the  preterit  and  the  perfect  tenses  is 
today,  and  the  fact  that  the  perfect  tense  was  just  being  devel- 
oped and  that  it  had  no  literary  tradition  behind  it,  we  need 
not  marvel  that  the  author  is  subjective  in  his  use  of  these  forms. 

B.  Circumscribed  tense  forms. 

The  tense  value  of  the  perfect  and  the  pluperfect  in  Old- 
Saxon  corresponds  to  our  modern  English  perfect  and  plu- 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  55 

perfect.     Their  use  as  compared  with  that  of  the  preterit  is 
also  the  same  as  in  modern  English. 

1)  There  is  a  subjective  difference  between  the  perfect  and 
the  pluperfect  as  compared  with  the  preterit.     The  perfect 
and  pluperfect  denote  completed  action  with  reference  to  the 
present  or  past.    The  preterit  denotes  merely  past  action. 
5710    all  so  is  uuillio  geng 

endi  hie  habda  gimarcod  er  manno  cunnie — C. 

2)  Sometimes  the  preterit  is  used  in  place  of  the  perfect  or 
the  pluperfect  just  as  in  modern  English  (Kellner  §366  §373), 
due  to  a  survival  of  the  original  use  of  the  preterit,  at  a  time 
when  there  were  only  two  tenses  and  the  preterit  performed 
the  function  of  the  perfect  and  the  pluperfect.     We  are  con- 
cerned with  this  question  here  only  in  so  far  as  it  furnishes 
further  proof  for  the  fact  that  the  use  of  the  tenses  is  a  sub- 
jective matter. 

In  the  following  cases  the  preterit  is  probably  used  for  the 
perfect: 

1)  Simple  verb: 

2151    mod  is  imu  an  luston, 

that  barn  is  gehelid,  so  thu  bedi  te  mi    C.f.  523  bidun 

2)  Compound  verb: 

3254    Nu  ik  thi  sulica  giuuald  fargaf 

that  thu  mines  hiuuiskes  herost  uuaris, 

mannages  mannkunnies,  nu  scalt  thu  im  mildi  uuesan 

liudiun  lithi. 

In  the  following  cases  we  should  probably  prefer  the 
pluperfect: 

1)  Simple  verb: 

5873    Thuo  uurthun  oc  an  this  burg  cumana 

ludeono  uuardos  thia  obar  themo  grabe  satun  alia  langa  naht. — C 
C.f.  5876  quamun  4724  uuas  4934  uuas 

2)  Compound  verb: 

5947    Thuo  uuarth  thie  helago  Crist 
eft  opanlicoo  oder  sithu 
drohtin  gitogid,  sithor  hie  fan  dode  astuod, — C 
C.f.  4996  gesprak,  3609  giscop,  2293  auuohs 

This  list  is  not  intended  to  be  exhaustive.  These  few 
examples  have  merely  been  given  to  show  that  the  preterit 
can  be  used  for  the  perfect  and  the  pluperfect  tense. 


56  Lussky 

From  the  above  presentation  it  is  clear  that  the  use  of  the 
circumscribed  "Aktionsarten"  as  compared  with  the  tenses, 
and  the  use  of  the  circumscribed  tenses  as  compared  with  the 
simple  preterit  form  is  subjective. 

PART  II.  BEOWULF 

The  Heliand  was  written  about  830.  The  manuscript 
of  the  Beowulf  is  usually  accepted  to  have  been  made  in  the 
eleventh  century,  though  the  individual  poems  of  which  it 
consists  were  composed  some  centuries  before. 

Now  to  appreciate  the  comparison,  which  we  are  going 
to  make,  we  must  bear  in  mind: 

I.  The  Saxons  who  went  to  ''England"  with  the  Angles 
in  about  450  spoke  Saxon  just  as  well  as  their  brothers  and 
sisters  and  relatives  who  stayed  behind  on  the  continent. 
They  did  not  change  their  language  as  soon  as  they  set  foot 
on  the  island.     They  enployed  the  same  vocabulary  and  the 
same  grammatical  constructions  as  their  Saxon  relatives  on 
the  continent.    Their  language  had  the  same  innate  tendencies 
as  that  of  their  fellow  Saxons  in  Saxony.    Therefore,  if  con- 
ditions had  been  identically  the  same  on  the  island  as  on  the 
continent,  the  Saxon  dialect  in  "England"  and  the  Saxon 
dialect  on  the  continent  would  have  developed  in  identically 
the  same  way. 

II.  Conditions  on  the  island,  however,  were  not  the  same 
as  on  the  continent.     Without  mentioning  the  many  other 
factors  which  may  influence  the  course  of  development  of  a 
language,  we  need  point  out  here  only  the  one  fact,  that  Saxon 
came  in  contact  with  another  language.    Though,  to  be  sure, 
it  almost  completely  supplanted  the  other  language,  neverthe- 
less we  cannot  assume  that  it  did  not  experience  some  influence. 

III.  Our  present  manuscript  of  the  Beowulf  was  made 
about  two  hundred  years  later  than  the  manuscript  of  the 
Heliand.    And  in  general  the  language  of  the  Beowulf  shows 
a  later  stage  of  development  than  the  language  of  the  Heliand. 

Turning  to  the  Beowulf  now,  we  find  that  the  circumscribed 
verb  forms  offer  at  first  sight  a  very  bewildering  and  complexing 
aspect.  And,  indeed,  a  study  of  the  beowulf  alone  would  not 
enable  us  to  ascertain  the  fundamental  principles  that  govern 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  57 

the  formation  and  use  of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms  and 
their  origin. 

We  can,  however,  understand  them  if  we  compare  them 
with  the  circumscribed  verb  forms  in  Old-Saxon.  Though  we 
may  detect  some  differences  between  the  circumscribed  verb 
forms  in  Old-Saxon  and  those  in  the  Beowulf,  still  the  similarity 
between  them  in  general  is  so  clear  that  we  can  easily  discover 
that  they  are  due  to  the  same  causes  and  the  same  tendencies. 

An  examination  of  the  Beowulf  shows  that 
I.  the  state  of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms  in  Anglo-Saxon 
is,  with  some  modifications  the  same  as  that  of  Old-Saxon; 

for  we  find 

1,  that  the  method  of  circumscription  is  the  same.    The 
same  auxiliaries  are  employed:  habban,  wesan,  weorthan. 
Active 
weorthan: 

824      Denum  eallum  weard 

after  pam  wal  raese  willa  gdumpen  (perhaps  passive) 
1233    paer  was  symbla  cyst, 

druncon  win  weras:  wyrd  ne  cudon, 

ge6-sceaf t  grimme,  swa  hit  agangen  weard 

eorla  manegum,  syddan  aefen  cwom 

and  him  Hrodgar  gewat  to  hofe  sinum, 

rice  to  raste. 

wesan: 

361      Her  syndon  geferede  feorran  cumene 

ofer  geofenes  begang  Geata  leode: 

pone  yldestan  oret-mecgas  Beowulf  namnad 
3078    Oft  sceall  eorl  monig  anes  willan 

wraec  adreogan,  swa  us  geivorden  is 
2726  (wisse  he  gearwe 

pat  he  dag-hwila  gedrogen  hafde 

eordan  wynne;  pa  w&s  call  sceacen 

dogor-gerimes,  dead  ungemete  neah) 

habban: 

202      pone  sid-fat  him  snotere  ceorlas 

lyt-hwon  logon,  peah  he  him  leof  waere; 

hwetton  higerofne,  hael  sceawedon. 

Hafde  se  goda  Geata  leoda 

cempan  gecoronc,  para  pe  he  cenoste 

findan  mihte; 
940      nu  scealc  hafad 

purh  drihtnes  miht  daed  gefremede, 


58  Lussky 

pe  we  ealle  aer  ne  meahton 
snyttrum  besyrwan. 
104      fifel-cynnes  card 

won-saelig  wer  weardode  hwile, 
siddan  him  scyppend  forscrifen  hSfde. 

407  Wes  pu  Hrodgar  hal!  ic  com  Higelaces 
maeg  and  mago-pegn;  habbe  ic  maerda  fela 
ongunnen  on  geogorde. 

Passive: 
weorthan: 

1240    benc-pelu  beredon,  hit  geond-braeded  weard 
beddum  and  bolstrum. 

wesan: 

1821     Waeron  her  tela 

willum  bewenede;  pu  us  wel  dohtest. 

Therefore,  the  method  of  formation  of  the  circumscribed 
forms  is  the  same  in  the  Beowulf  as  in  Old-Saxon. 
2.  Position  of  the  perfect  participle. 

The  position  of  the  perfect  participle  is  unsettled  in  Anglo- 
Saxon  just  the  same  as  it  was  found  to  be  in  Old-Saxon, 
wesan: 

361      Her  syndon  geferede,  feorran  cumene.  .  .  .  Geata  leode 

Aux.-  part-subj. 

1137    pa  was  winter  scacen  .... 
Aux-subj-part. 

habban: 

408  habbe  ic  maerda  fela  ongunnen.  .  .  . 

h-obj-part 
2382    hafdon  hy  forhealden  helm.  .  .  . 

h-part-obj. 

2708  and  hi  hyne  pa  begen  abroten  hafdon 
1     obj-part-h. 

weorthan : 

2962    paer  weard  Ongenpio  ecgum  sweorda, 
blonden-fexa  on  bid  wrecan 

Aux-subj-part. 
3062    pa  sio  faehd  geweard 
gewrecen  wradlice 

subj-aux-part. 
413      siddan  aefen-leoht 

under  heofenes  hador  beholen  weorded. 
subj-part-aux. 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  59 

Hence  it  is  clear  that  the  position  of  the  perfect  participle 
is  not  fixed  but  is  free,  just  the  same  as  in  Old-Saxon. 
3)  Inflection  of  perfect  participle 

In  Old-Saxon  it  was  found  that  the  inflection  of  the  perfect 
participle  was  not  due  to  the  position  of  the  perfect  participle; 
nor  could  it  be  said  that  a  certain  class  of  verbs  was  always 
inflected  and  others  not.  The  inflection  was  due  rather  to  a 
subjective  difference  between  the  inflected  and  the  uninflected 
form. 

The  following  table  will  show  in  what  positions  the  inflected 
and  the  uninflected  perfect  participle  occur  in  the  Beowulf. 
To  be  sure,  only  those  cases  are  considered  in  which  the  perfect 
participle  should  normally  be  inflected  according  to  the  general 
rule  for  adjective  inflection. 

Inflected  Uninflected 

weorthan 


wesan 

361      syndon  geferede  feorran  cumene       388      sint  wil-cuman  I1 

leode 

1000    heorras  tohlidene 

1247    waeron  gearwe  (adj?) 

1821    waeron  bewenede 

habban 

205      hafde  cempan  gecorone  2381     hafdon  forhealden  helm 

940      hafad  daed  gefremede  3047    hafde  edne  genyttod 

104      him  forscrifen  hafde 
1295    anne  hafde  befangen 

These  examples  are,  indeed,  too  few  in  number  to  enable  us 
to  detect  any  underlying  principle  regarding  the  inflection  and 
the  non-inflection  of  the  perfect  participle.  However,  in  Old- 
Saxon  we  found  that  the  inflection  and  the  non-inflection  of 
the  perfect  participle  involved  a  subjective  difference.  There- 
fore, since  Anglo-Saxon  and  Old-Saxon  are  related  as  they  are, 
and  since  we  can  discover  no  other  principle  in  Anglo-Saxon 
that  would  explain  the  inflection  and  the  non-inflection  of  the 
participles  we  may  safely  assume  that  the  same  principle 
obtained  in  both  languages;  namely  that  the  inflection  and  the 
non-inflection  of  the  perfect  participle  involve  a  subjective 
difference. 

'Probably  a  semi-technical  term. 


60  Lussky 

4)  Tense  Value 

It  was  found  in  Old-Saxon  that,  wherever  the  perfect 
participle  was  inflected,  it  was  felt  as  an  adjective  belonging 
to  the  noun  and  the  tense  of  the  circumscribed  form  was  deter- 
mined by  the  tense  of  the  auxiliary.  Wherever,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  perfect  participle  was  not  inflected,  though  in  accord- 
ance with  the  general  rule  for  adjective  inflection,  we  should 
expect  inflection,  it  was  felt  as  belonging  to  the  verb  and  the 
circumscribed  verb  form  was  a  pure  tense  form  i.e.  the  ones 
with  hebbian  and  uuesan  were  perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses, 
the  ones  with  uuerdan  were  present  or  preterit.  The  difference 
between  the  circumscribed  verb  form  with  inflected  participle 
and  the  circumscribed  verb  form  with  uninflected  perfect 
participle  was  merely  a  subjective  one;  the  former  denoting 
state  or  condition  attained,  the  latter  denoting  completed 
action. 

There  were  many  cases  in  which  we  found  a  surprising 
sudden  shift  from  the  one  to  the  other  in  the  same  sentence. 
This,  however,  we  concluded  was  characteristic  to  the  style 
of  the  older  authors.  They  were  more  subjective  and  naif  in 
their  style  than  the  modern  writers,  who  are  hampered  by 
grammatical  rules  and  literary  tradition. 

The  following  table  will  give  a  list  of  all  the  cases  in  which 
the  perfect  participle  is  inflected  and  of  all  the  cases,  in  which 
the  perfect  participle  is  not  inflected,  though  according  to  the 
general  rule  for  adjective  inflection  we  should  expect  it  to  be 
inflected.  The  cases  in  which  the  participle  would  normally 
not  be  inflected  are,  of  course,  disregarded  here. 

Active 

Inflected  Uninflected 

weorthan : 


wesan: 

361      her  syndon  cumene  388  sint  wil-cuman 

habban: 

205      hafde  cempan  gecorone  104  him  forscrifen  hafde 

940      hafad  daed  gefremede  665  hafde  sele-weard  aseted 

1294  anne  hafde  befangen 

1341  hafad  faehde  gestaeled 

1473  hine  gegyred  hafde 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf 


61 


1600    hine  abroten  hafde 
2322    hafde  land-wara  befangen 
2381     hafdon  forhealden  helm 
2454    hafad  daeda  gefondad 
2707    hyne  abroten  hafdon 
2725    dag-hwila  gedrogen  hafde 

eordan  wynne 
3047    hafde  ende  genyttod 
3076    hafde  est  gesceawod 
826     ,  hafde  gefaelsod  sele  genered 
829      hafde  gilp  gelaested 


Passive 
weorthan: 


none 


wesan: 

361      syndon  geferede 
1000    heorras  tohlidene 
1821    waeron  bewenede 
1247     waeron  gearvve  (adj?) 


These  few  examples  would  not  enable  us  to  detect  any 
underlying  principle,  especially  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  which 
involves  a  subjective  distinction.  However,  a  few  facts 
can  be  detected  and  these  together  with  a  comparison  of  con- 
ditions in  Old-Saxon  will  help  us  arrive  at  an  understanding 
of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms  in  Anglo-Saxon. 

1.  We  find  pure  perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses  of  intransitive 
verbs  with  habban  in  Anglo-Saxon: 

2631     hie  gegan  hafdon. 

Such  forms  show  an  advanced  stage  of  tense  formation, 
and,  therefore,  we  know  that  perfect  and  pluperfect  tenses 
actually  did  exist  in  Anglo-Saxon. 

2.  The  perfect  participle  of  cuman  does  not  take  the  prefix 
gi — .    Neither  did  it  in  .Old-Saxon. 

3.  The  perfect  participle  of  cuman  and  kiosan  tend  towards 
the  inflected  form.      The  same  was  true  in  Old-Saxon. 

4.  Adjectives  inflect  the  same  as  in  Old-Saxon. 

446      ac  he  me  habban  wile  dreore  dabne    Anglo-Sax. 

1523    Tho  namun  ina  wrede  man  so  gebundanan    Old-Saxon 


62  Lussky 

Thus  we  see  that  conditions  in  Anglo-Saxon  were  the  same 
as  conditions  in  Old-Saxon.  Hence,  we  can  infer  that  the 
difference  between  the  circumscribed  form  with  inflected  and  the 
circumscribed  form  with  uninflected  perfect  participle  was  also 
the  same.  Wherever  the  participle  is  inflected  it  is  felt  as  an 
adjective  belonging  to  the  noun  and  the  circumscribed  form 
denotes  state  or  condition  and  is  present  or  preterit;  wherever 
it  is  uninflected  it  is  felt  as  belonging  to  the  verb  and  the  circum- 
scribed form  denotes  completed  action  and  is  perfect  or  pluper- 
fect in  the  case  of  habban  and  wesan;  and  present  in  the  case  of 
weordan.  The  difference  between  the  two  circumscriptions  is 
therefore  a  subjective  one. 

We  need  not  discuss  all  the  examples.  A  few  will  suffice 
to  prove  this  statement. 

1821    Waeron  her  tela 

willum  bewendede;  pu  us  wel  dob  test. 

waeron  bewenede  and  dohtest  are  same  tense;  therefore 

preterit  (were  kindly  served,  you  treated  us  well) 
205      Hafde  se  goda  Geata  leoda 

cempan  gecorone,  para  pe  he  cenoste 

findan  mihte 

had  of  the  Goths  people  chosen  companions  (i.e.  chose  companions,  so 

that  he  had  them  as  chosen  ones  in  his  possession) 
940      Nu  scealc  hafad 

purh  drihtnes  miht  daed  gefremede 

pe  we  ealle  aer  ne  meahton 

snyttrum  besyrwan. 

Now  this  warrior  has  a  deed  performed;  not  has  performed  a  deed,    (present) 
361      Her  syndon  geferede  feorran  cumene 

ofer  geofenes  begang  Geata  leode 

Hither  are  borne  come  from  afar  over  ocean's  course  people  of  the  Goths. 

(present) 
1339    and  nu  oder  cwom 

mihtig  man-scada  wolde  hyre  maeg  wrecan 

ge  feor  hafad  faede  gestaeled, 

and  now  is  come  another  mighty  fell  destroyer  who  would  her  son  avenge 

she  far  off  has  established  warfare.    (perfect-c.f .  2453  and  others) 
666      Hafde  kyninga  wuldor 

Grendle  to-geanes,  swa  guman  gefrungon, 

sels-weard  aseted  Pluperfect. 

II.  Origin  of  the  Circumscribed  verb  forms. 

In  our  study  of  the  Heliand  we  believe  to  have  been  able 
to  show  that  the  circumscribed  verb  forms  were  due  to  an 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  63 

effort  to  maintain  the  perfective  "Aktionsart"  (perfective, 
inchoativ,  resultativ)  against  the  encroachment  of  the  tense 
tendency  in  the  Old-Saxon  language.  The  result  was  that  the 
perfective  "Aktionsart"  was  circumscribed  with  hebbian, 
uuesan  and  uuerdan.  From  these  circumscriptions  of  the 
perfective  "Aktionsart"  the  circumscribed  tenses  were  de- 
veloped. We  also  showed  how  the  intransitive  durative  verbs 
come  to  take  hebbian;  while  the  intransitive  perfective  verbs 
took  uuesan  in  the  circumscribed  tenses. 

Now  if  we  find  that  the  author  of  the  Beowulf  discriminates 
in  the  same  way  in  his  choice  of  the  auxiliary  for  perfective 
and  durative  verbs,  we  can  assume  that  these  circumscriptions 
owe  their  origin  to  the  same  causes. 

The  following  table  will  give  a  summary  of  all  the  intransi- 
tive verbs  in  the  Beowulf.2 

Perfective  intransitive  Durative  intransitive 

734      alumpen  was 
2728    was  sceacen 

(1137-1125-2307) 
360      syndon  cumene 

(275-388) 


2631 
220 
2105 
1551 
1856 

gegan  haf  don 
gewaden  hafde 
geseten  hafdon 
hafde  forsidod 
hafast  gefered  thaet 

3079 

swa  us  geworden  is 
(1305) 

(1221) 

2821 

was  gegongen 
(821-3036) 

2027 
894 

hafad  geworden  thaet 
hafde  gegongen  thaet 

The  examples  given  above  show  that  perfective  verbs  take 
wesan,  alimpan,  sceacan,  cuman,  weorthan;  durative  verbs 
take  habban,  gan,  gewadan,  gesittan,  forsithian,  geferan. 

*  E.  Classen  says  in  his  "History  of  the  English  Language,"  (London 
1919)  pp.  28-29:  "In  the  compound  tenses  Old-English  used  the  auxiliaries 
haban  'to  have'  and  wesan  'to  be.'  Intransitives  were  conjugated  with 
wesan  and  transitives  with  haban" 

This  statement  undoubtedly  needs  revision. 


64  Lussky 

A  few  cases  need  special  attention : 

3079  geworden  is,  and  1305  was  geworden  are  regular, 
according  to  the  rule  that  perfective  verbs  take  wesan.  In 
line  2027,  however,  we  find  hafad  geworden.  The  use  of  habban 
may  be  explained  on  the  following  grounds, 

1)  Any  verb  may  contain  perfective  or  durative  meaning 
(Behaghel   §186).     Therefore,   in   these  circumscribed  forms 
the  author  will  use  either  wesan  or  habban  according  as  he 
wishes  to  express  the  perfective  or  the  durative  force. 

2)  the  verb  weordan  is  used  here  in  the  sense  of  appear 
to,  seem  proper.    It  is  used  in  a  transferred  or  unusual  sense 
and,  therefore,  we  may  assume  that  it  has  lost  its  perfective 
force.    Hence  the  use  of  habban. 

1855  hafast  gefered  (1221)  and  894  hafde  gegongen  are 
regular  in  as  much  as  both  are  durative  verbs  and  are  here 
inclining  towards  transitive  sense.  2821  was  gegongen  (821- 
3036)  is  probably  derived  from  gegan  and  is  therefore  perfective. 

In  1550,  hafde  forsidod  is  either  felt  to  be  durative  or  it 
shows  that  habban  is  usurping  the  place  of  wesan. 

Thus  we  can  detect  the  same  underlying  principle  as  in 
Old-Saxon.  Therefore,  we  can  conclude  that  the  circumscribed 
verb  forms  in  Anglo-Saxon  originated  in  the  same  way  as  those 
in  Old-Saxon,  namely  from  an  effort  to  circumscribe  the  per- 
fective "Aktionsart." 

However,  it  would  seem  that  the  Aktionsarten  were  not  so 
distinctly  felt  in  Anglo-Saxon  as  in  Old-Saxon;  for 

1)  geweortSan  occurs  in  the  place  of  weorSan  in  the  circum- 
scribed verb  forms: 

3062    pa  sio  faehd  geweard  gewrecen  wradlice 

2)  Circumscriptions  with  weorSan  are  rare,  or  may  be  said 
to  be  dying  out  and  supplanted  by  wesan: 

1311    Hrade  was  to  bure  Beowulf  fetod  sigor-eadig  secg. 
643      pa  was  eft  swa  aer  inne  on  healle 

pryd-word  sprecen 
1400    pa  was  Hrodgare  hors  gebaeted, 

wicg  wunden-feax. 
1630    pa  was  of  pam  hroran  helm  and  byrne 

lungre  alysed. 

3)  habban  seems  to  be  infringing  upon  wesan  wherever  the 
Aktionsart  is  not  clearly  felt: 

2027    hafad  geworden 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  65 

III.  Use  of  the  Circumscribed  Verb  Forms. 
1.  Circumscribed  Aktionsart 

In  Old-Saxon  it  was  seen  that  the  use  of  the  circumscribed 
"Aktionsarten"  as  compared  with  the  pure  tenses  was  deter- 
mined by  the  subjective  point  of  view  of  the  author.  That 
the  same  principle  holds  true  for  Anglo-Saxon  can  be  seen  from 
the  following: 
Simple  verb 

569      Leoht  eastan  com, 

beorht  beacen  godes;  brimu  swadredon, 
pact  ic  sae-nassas  geseon  mihte, 
windige  weallas. 

Compound  verb 

115      Gewat  pa  neosian,  siddan  niht  beconi, 
bean  buses,  hu  hit  Hring-Dene 
after  beor-pege  gebun  ha f don. 

Circumscribed  Aktionsart 
361      Her  syndon  geferede  feorran  cumene 
ofer  geofenes  pegang  Geata  leode: 

Com  in  596  is  proably  merely  a  tense  form;  becom  in  115 
is  probably  perfectiv  momentan;  syndon  cumene  is  perfectiv 
(durativ)  effectiv. 
Compare  also  the  following  transitive  verb: 

2819     aer  he  bael  cure — before  he  chose  the  pile  (pure  tense)  (wahlte) 

2639     he  usic  on  herge  geceas  to  pyssum  sid-fate — he  chose  us  in  his  band  for 

this  expedition  (perf .  momentan)  (erwahlte) 

205      hafde  cempan  gecorone — he  chose  companions  so  that  he  had  them. 
(Perf.  effect  or  ingress.) 

The  difference  between  the  circumscribed  Aktionsart  and 
the  circumscribed  tense  form  is  also  subjective: 

940      Nu  scealc  hafad 

purh  drihtnes  miht  daed  gefremede, 

pe  we  ealle  aer  ne  meahton 

snyttrum  besyrwan. 
2451     Symble  bid  gemyndgad  morna  gehwylce 

eaforan  ellorsid;  odres  ne  gymed 

to  gebidanne  burgum  on  innan 

yrfe-weardes,  ponne  se  an  hafad 

purh  deades  nyd  daeda  gefondad. 
— 940    Now  this  warrior  has  through  the  Lord's  might  a  deed  performed 

which  we  all  ere  could  not  with  cunning  machinate. 
2451     ever  will  he  be  reminded  every  morning  of  his  offspring's  death;  another 

heir  he  dares  not  await  within  his  burghs  when  the  one  has  through 

death's  necessity  expiated  his  deeds. 


66  Lussky 

The  difference  between  these  two  sentences  is,  I  take  it, 
the  same  as  between: 

I  have  the  letter  written    and 
I  have  written  the  letter. 

2.  Circumscribed  Tenses. 

Just  as  in  Old-Saxon,  so  the  tense  value  of  the  perfect  and 
pluperfect  in  Anglo-Saxon  correspond  to  the  perfect  and  plu- 
perfect tenses  in  modern  English.  Their  use  as  compared  with 
the  preterit  is  also  the  same  as  in  modern  English. 

a)  There  is  a  subjective  difference  between  the  perfect  and 
the  pluperfect  as  compared  with  the  preterit.  The  perfect 
and  pluperfect  denote  completed  action  with  reference  to  the 
present  or  the  past.  The  preterit  denotes  merely  past  action. 

1187    hwat  wit  to  willan  and  to  word-myndum 

umbor  wesendum  aer  arna  gefremedon  (did-performed) 
474      hwat  me  Grendel  hafad 

hyndo  on  Heorote  mid  his  hete-pancum  % 

faer-nida  gefremed  (has  done) 
104      fifel-cynnes  card 

won-saelig  wer  weardode  hwile, 

siddan  him  scyppend  forscrifen  h&jde 
375      is  his  eafora  nu 

heard  her  cumen,  sohte  holdne  wine. 

(is  come  (-for-)  he  sought) 

b)  Sometimes  the  preterit  is  used  in  place  of  the  perfect  and 
the  pluperfect. 
Preterit  for  perfect : 

656      Naefre  ic  aenegum  men  aer  alyfde, 

siddan  ic  hond  and  rond  hebban  mihte 

pryd-arn  Dena  buton  pe  nupa. 

(Never  have  I  to  any  before  entrusted.  .  .  .  ) 

Preterit  for  pluperfect. 

1978    Gesat  pa  wid  sylfne  se  pa  sacce  genas, 

maeg  wid  maege,  siddan  man-dryhten 

purh  hleodor-cwyde  holdne  gegrette 

meaglum  wordum.    (had  come — had  greeted) 
227      gode  pancedon, 

J>as  pe  him  yd-lade  eade  ivurdon.    had  been  (become) — geworden  waren . 
692      Naenig  heora  pohte  pat  he  panon  scolde 

eft  eard-lufan  aefre  gesecean, 

folc  odde  freo-burh,  paer  he  afeded  was, 

ac  he  hafdon  gefrunen,  pat  hie  aer  to  fela  micles 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  67 

in  pam  win-sele  wal-daed  fornam,  (had  taken) 
Denigea  leode. 
C.f.  2160  hafde— 2174  geaf. 

Results: 

In  summing  up  the  results,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  the 
Beowulf  is  a  poem  and  that  the  language  is  in  a  transitional 
stage.  As  a  consequence,  a  circumscribed  form  may  occassion- 
ally  be  used  in  place  of  a  simple  or  a  compound  verb;  or  a 
simple  or  compound  verb  in  place  of  a  circumscribed  form. 
However,  the  general  elegance  of  the  poem  would  constrain 
us  to  believe  that  such  cases  are  very  rare.  Our  results  are  as 
follows: 

I.  State  of  the  circumscribed  verb  form  in  the  Beowulf. 

1.  We  find  circumscriptions  consisting  of  the  perfect  par- 
ticiple and  some  form  of  the  verbs  habban,  weordan, 
wesan. 

2.  The  position  of  the  perfect  participle  is  not  determined 
by  any  syntactical  rule.    It  may  occur  before  or  after 
the  subject  or  object  and  before  or  after  the  auxiliary. 

3.  The  inflection  of  the  perfect  participle  is  not  dependent 
upon  its  position  in  the  sentence;  nor  can  it  be  said 
that  it  is  due  to  the  nature  of  the  verb  per  se.    It  is 
due  rather  to  a  subjective  difference  in  the  point  of 
view  of  the  author. 

4.  As  to  the  tense  value,  the  circumscribed  forms  with 
inflected  participle  are  present  or  preterit  and  denote 
state  or  condition.     The  forms  with  uninflected  par- 
ticiple and  habban  and  wesan  (in  those  cases  in  which 
we  should  expect  inflection  according  to  the  general 
rule  for  adjective  inflection)  are  perfect  and  pluperfect 
and  denote  completed  action.    The  forms  with  weor San 
and  the  uninflected  participle  are  present  or  preterit  and 
differ  from  the  form  with  inflected  participle  in  so  far  as 
they  denote  completed  action  while  the  form   with 
inflected  participle  denotes   state  or   condition.    The 
cases  in    which   the    perfect    participle    would    nor- 
mally be  uninflected  we  did  not  discuss  here.     They 
can    be    determined    only    from    the   context   or   by 
"Satzmelodik." 


68  Lussky 

II.  Origin  of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms. 

The  circumscribed  verb  forms  arose  from  an  effort  to 
maintain  the  perfective  "Aktionsart"  against  the 
encroachment  of  the  tense  tendency.  From  these 
circumscriptions  of  the  perfective  "Aktionsart"  the  cir- 
cumscribed tenses  arose.  As  a  consequence  the 
circumscribed  tenses  (perfect  and  pluperfect)  of  in- 
transitive perfective  verbs  took  wesan;  the  intransitive 
durative  verbs  and  all  transitive  verbs  took  habban. 
In  the  Passive  the  circumscribed  forms  with  weordan 
became  pure  present  and  preterit  forms,  the  circum- 
scribed forms  with  wesan  became  perfect  and  pluperfect. 
However,  the  "Aktionsarten"  are  not  so  clearly  felt 
in  Anglo-Saxon  as  they  were  in  Old-Saxon.  WeorSan 
seems  to  be  dying  out  and  to  be  replaced  by  wesan. 
Habban  is  intruding  upon  wesan  wherever  the  "Aktion- 
sart" is  not  distinctly  felt. 
III.  Use  of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms. 

1.  The  use  of  the  circumscribed  "Aktionsart"  as  com- 
pared with  the  simple  and  the  compound  verb  and  the 
circumscribed  tense  forms  is  determined  by  the  subjec- 
tive point  of  view  of  the  author. 

2.  The  use  of  the  circumscribed  verb  forms  as  compared 
with  the  simple  preterit  form  is  also  subjective. 

a)  The  perfect  and  the  pluperfect  denote  completed 
action  with  reference  to  the  present  or  the  past. 
The  preterit  denotes  past  action. 

•  b)  The  preterit  is  sometimes  used  in  place  of  the 
perfect  or  the  pluperfect. 

GEORGE  F.  LUSSKY 
University  of  Minnesota 

BIBLIOGRAPHY 
Streitberg,  Perfektive  und  imperfektive  Aktionsart  im  Germanischen 

P  B  B  XV,  70. 

Streitberg,  Gotisches  Elementarbuch  §  290  S. 
Paul,  Perfektive  und  durative  verba. — Miinchen  1902. 
Wustmann,  Verba  perfektiva,  namentlich  im  Heliand,  Leipzig,  1894. 
Behaghel,  Syntax  des  Heliand,  Leipzig  1897. 
Caro  G.,  Das  Englische  Perfectum  und  Praeteritum  in  ihrem  Verhaeltnis  zu 

einander  historisch  untersucht.   Anglia  21, 1898-1899  pp.  56-88. 
Caro  G.,  Zur  Lehre  vom  altenglischen  Perfektum,  Anglia  18,  1895/96  pp.  389  S. 


Verb  Forms  in  the  Beowulf  69 

Hesse,  Perfective  und  imperfective  Aktionsart  im  alt-englischen 

Diss.  Miinster  1906. 

Draat  P.  Fijn  van,  The  Loss  of  the  prefix  ge-in  the  modern  English  verb  and 
some  of  its  consequences 

Engl.  Stud.  32,  353,  1903. 
Belden  H.  M.,  Perfective  ge-in  Old-English  bringan  and  gibringan 

Engl.  Stud.  32,  366,  1903. 

Lorz  A.  Aktionsarten  des  Verbums  im  Beowulf  Wiirzburg  1908. 
Steadman  J.  M.  The  Origin  of  the  Historical  Present  in  English 

Studies  in  Philology  16,  1907. 

Classen  E.  History  of  the  English  Language,  London  1919. 
Lindroth  H.,  Zur  Lehre  von  den  Aktionsarten 

P.  B.  B.  31,  239  ff.  1905/1906. 
Sargeannt  J.,  A  Loss  to  the  English  Language 

The  Nation  June  18,  1921. 
Smith  C.  O.  Old  English  Grammer  1903 
Onions  C.  J.,  An  advanced  English  Syntax.    London  1911. 
Sievers,  E.,  Angel-Sachsische  Grammatik.    Halle,  1898. 
Muller  Th.,  Angel-Sachsische  Grammatik.    Gottingen,  1883. 
Sievers  Heliand,  Halle  A.  S.  1878.    All  citation  from  the  Heliand,  are  taken 

from  "M,"  unless  they  are  marked  "C." 
Heyne  M.  Beowulf  Paderhorn,  1879. 
Deutschbein,  M.  Die  Einteilung  der  Aktionsarten.    Engl.  Stud.  1920,  Vol.  54, 

p.  80. 

Deutschbein,  M.  Das  System  der  neuengl.  Syntax.  Pollak,  H.  W.,  Studien 
zum  germanischen  verb.  I.  tJber  Aktionsarten — P.B.B.  XLIV,  S353-425. 
Cfihten,  1917. 


HEINE'S  FAMILY  FEUD— THE  CULMINATION  OF  HIS 
STRUGGLE  FOR  ECONOMIC  SECURITY 

Among  the  chapters  in  Heine's  life  which  a  new  Heine 
biography  will  have  to  rewrite  substantially  is  Heine's  struggle 
with  his  relatives  over  the  estate  of  his  deceased  uncle,  the 
millionaire  Solomon  Heine.  The  version  of  Strodtmann,  Heine's 
chief  biographer,  still  commonly  accepted  by  serious  students, 
was  based  on  very  incomplete  data  and  written  with  an  obvious 
bias  in  Heine's  favor.  It  limited  itself  chiefly  to  quoting  ex- 
tracts from  Heine's  letters  calculated  to  put  all  the  blame  on 
Solomon's  heirs  and  to  reinforcing  these  utterances  with  strong 
invectives  of  his  own.  In  pursuing  this  course  Strodtmann, 
doubtless  in  good  faith,  propagated  Heine's  own  official  version 
of  the  matter — a  version  woven  out  of  very  thin  tissue,  as  one 
discovers  in  scrutinizing  its  fabric  without  prejudice,  but 
which,  by  force  of  repetition,  has  gained  such  a  foot-hold  among 
Heine's  admirers  that  it  is  likely  to  stand  for  a  long  time  despite 
anything  to  be  said  against  it.1 

The  new  edition  of  Heine's  correspondence2  happily  pre- 
sents such  a  wealth  of  data  concerning  this  struggle,  in  the 
form  of  letters  by  Heine,  letters  to  Heine,  and  letters  exchanged 
between  other  parties  in  Heine's  behalf,  that  it  is  possible  to 
reconstruct  from  them,  almost  without  a  gap,  the  entire  his- 
tory of  the  campaign,  or  rather  series  of  campaigns,  which 
Heine  conducted  against  his  uncle's  heirs.  The  nature  of  this 
miniature  warfare  may  hold  the  reader  breathless  upon  dis- 
covering the  subtle  cunning  lurking  behind  apparently  innocent 
manoeuvres,  the  stealth  and  ingenuity  of  covert  advances, 
feinted  attacks  and  strategic  retreats;  and  shock  him  by  the 
ruthlessness  and  perfidy  encountered  at  every  step;  but  no 
portrait  of  Heine  can  lay  claim  to  truth  without  pencilling  in 
these  sinister  traits  of  his  character  and  blending  them  con- 
vincingly with  those  that  lend  sensitiveness  and  spiritual 
refinement  to  his  features. 

1  Even  Friederich  Hirth,  the  indefatigable  collector  and  editor  of  Heine's 
correspondence,  repeats  substantially,  in  his  introduction  to  Volume  One,  the 
Strodtmann  legend. 

2Heinrich  Heine's  Briefwechsel.  Herausgegeben  von  Fr.  Hirth;  vol.  I, 
1914,  G.  Miiller,  Miinchen;  vol.  II,  1917,  G.  Miiller,  Munchen;  vol.  Ill,  1920, 
Propylaen-Verlag,  Berlin. 

70 


Heine's  Family  Feud  71 

On  December  28,  1844  Heine  learned  from  his  sister  the 
news  of  his  wealthy  uncle's  death.  Altho  this  announcement 
shocked  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  was  unable  to  shed  a 
tear,  he  felt  no  uneasiness  concerning  the  stipulations  of  his 
uncle's  will;  in  fact,  he  regarded  his  economic  future  as  assured, 
and  his  thoughts  were  already  engaged  with  the  erecting  of  a 
biographical  monument  of  gratitude  to  his  benefactor.3  When, 
therefore,  a  few  days  later  Carl  Heine,  Solomon's  son  and  heir- 
in-chief,  communicated  to  him  the  fact  that  instead  of  liberally 
increasing  his  annual  pension  his  uncle's  will  left  him  a  legacy 
of  a  paltry  8000  marks,  coupled  with  an  offer  on  Carl's  part 
to  continue  the  pension  on  condition  that  Heine  submit  to 
his  censorship  any  manuscript  he  might  write  in  regard  to 
Solomon,4  Heine  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  utter  panic.  He 
at  once  sent  Carl  a  declaration  of  open  war  and  began  to  mar- 
shal all  the  forces  at  his  command  for  a  fight  to  the  finish. 
Heine's  sojourn  at  Paris  had  been  punctuated  by  an  almost 
incessant  series  of  personal  and  literary  polemics;  into  all  of 
them  he  plunged  with  a  certain  zest,  keyed  up  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  displaying  his  fine  swordsmanship,  wont  to  play 
with  his  adversary  for  the  sake  of  the  spectacle,  to  taunt  and 
bait  his  victim  before  driving  home  the  final  thrust.  Here 
is  a  struggle  of  a  totally  different  order.  This  is  a  silent,  under- 
ground fight;  the  combatants  are  interlocked  with  clenched 
teeth;  no  spark  save  that  of  hate  glitters  in  their  eyes;  and  its 
conclusion  finds  Heine  crumpled  on  the  ground,  bleeding  and 
broken. 

To  understand  this  struggle  it  is  indispensable  to  review 
in  all  conciseness,  yet  omitting  no  salient  feature,  the  circum- 
stances which  led  up  to  it,  namely  Heine's  relations  to  his  uncle 
and  his  uncle's  family  during  all  the  previous  years;  to  know  as 
precisely  as  possible  the  extent  to  which  Heine  derived  financial 
support  from  his  uncle,  as  well  as  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
solicited  and  bestowed ;  to  sift  in  so  far  as  possible  the  charges 
and  counter-charges  of  Heine  and  his  uncle's  family;  and  to  dis- 
cover to  what  extent  a  tie  of  genuine  affection  linked  Heine  to 
his  uncle  and  his  kin.  Only  then  it  will  be  possible  to  apportion 
justly  the  blame  for  Heine's  disappointed  hopes  and  claims. 

1  Heine  to  his  sister,  Dec.  29,  1844. 
4  Heine  to  Detmold,  Jan.  9,  1845. 


72  Weigand 

From  the  time  of  his  adolescence,  Heine's  relations  to  his  uncle 
were  of  a  double  nature.  On  the  one  hand,  Solomon  had  under- 
taken to  launch  Heine  on  a  mercantile  career,  and  he  had  every 
reason,  from  his  practical  business-man's  viewpoint,  to  be 
highly  disgusted  with  his  nephew's  incompetence  and  his 
indifference  to  his  business.  On  the  other  hand,  Heine,  im- 
mediately upon  arriving  in  Hamburg  in  1816,  fell  violently  in  love 
with  his  uncle's  daughter  Amalie;  or,  to  put  it  more  correctly, 
he  had  come  to  Hamburg  with  the  fixed  idea  of  falling  in  love 
with  his  cousin,  which  he  proceeded  to  do  forthwith,  only  to 
meet  with  the  rebuff  that  rankled  in  his  heart  for  years  to 
come.  The  situation  is  complicated  by  the  well-known  fact 
of  Heine's  falling  in  love  with  Amalie's  sister  Therese  seven 
years  later,  when  the  old  wound  burst  open  and  festered  until 
the  latter's  marriage  to  Dr.  Halle  in  1828. 

Whatever  one  can  say  about  Heine's  love  for  his  two  cousins 
must  be  tinged  with  speculation,  since,  as  practically  every 
Heine  scholar  will  agree,  his  love  poetry  must  be  ruled  out  as 
a  source  of  positive  evidence.  The  few  letters  handed  down 
to  us,  in  which  Heine  unburdens  himself  in  regard  to  his  love, 
make  it  clear  beyond  a  doubt  that  Heine  believed  himself  to 
be  genuinely  in  love  with  his  cousin  Amalie,  and  that  he  suffered 
cruelly  upon  finding  his  desires  thwarted;  but  they  also  make 
the  supposition  more  than  probable  that  Heine  was  in  love  rather 
with  the  idea  of  marrying  one  -of  his  cousins  than  with  their 
persons.  As  regards  Amalie,  at  any  rate,  it  is  absurd  to  speak 
of  Heine's  passion  for  her  as  love  at  first  sight;  it  was  rather  a 
love  in  anticipation  of  sight,  for  when  Heine  had  last  seen 
Amalie,  two  years  before  coming  to  Hamburg,  they  had  both 
been  still  mere  youngsters,  and  as  to  Heine,  he  was  even  upon 
arriving  in  Hamburg  still  in  the  early  high-strung  stages  of 
adolescence.5  What  is  more  likely,  therefore,  than  that  Heine, 
his  imagination  filled  with  tales  of  his  uncle's  wealth  and  luxury, 
his  consciousness  of  his  own  intellectual  superiority  strained 
to  the  most  exaggerated  pitch,  should  from  the  outset  have  spun 
dreams  of  falling  heir  to  a  substantial  share  of  the  goods  of  this 
earth,  accumulated  by  the  slaves  of  the  stock-market  whom  he 
felt  to  be  immeasurably  beneath  him.  In  view  of  the  fact  that 

*As  convincingly  established  by  Beyer  in  his  book:  "Der  junge  Heine." 
Bonner  Forschungen  1911. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  73 

to  the  end  of  his  life  Heine  clung  in  theory  and  practice  to  the 
claim  that  the  money  magnates  of  the  earth,  and  more  particu- 
larly his  wealthy  relatives,  owed  him  a  living  commensurate 
with  his  luxurious  tastes  and  his  rank  as  an  intellectual,  the 
assumption  that  Heine  was,  perhaps  subconsciously,  actuated 
in  part  by  pecuniary  motives  even  at  the  time  of  his  first  wooing 
of  Amalie,  can  not  be  lightly  dismissed. 

If  Heine  was  impressed  with  the  influential  position  which 
his  uncle  commanded  in  Hamburg  society,  he  none  the  less, 
during  the  time  of  his  Hamburg  apprenticeship,  did  not  rate 
his  personality  any  higher  than  that  of  the  average  banker  and 
stock-jobber.6  It  would  be  strange  under  these  circumstances 
if  Heine  had  succeeded  in  meeting  his  uncle  outwardly  on  the 
terms  of  complete  subordination  and  respect  which  the  latter 
was  wont  to  be  shown  by  the  other  members  of  his  family.  It 
is  far  more  likely  that  Heine,  in  keeping  with  his  then  ostenta- 
tiously rebellious  attitude,  made  his  uncle  feel  that  he,  the 
poet,  was  condescending  in  honoring  him  with  his  society.  This 
attitude  of  Heine's  and  his  utter  failure  in  business  doubtless 
laid  the  foundation  for  the  sometimes  good-natured,  sometimes 
violent  contempt  which  marked  the  relation  of  uncle  to  nephew 
until  Solomon's  death.  Solomon's  letters  to  Heine  show  that 
he  always  continued  to  rate  him  as  an  irresponsible  youngster, 
a  sort  of  entertaining  good-for-nothing,  who  must  constantly 
be  shown  his  place,  even  if  it  takes  the  cane  to  do  it. 

A  few  years  later,  at  the  university,  Heine  found  himself 
living  on  his  uncle's  charity,  grudgingly  enough  given,  partly 
because  Solomon  resented  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  accepted 
and  partly  because  he  regarded  it  as  wasted.  In  the  meantime, 
however,  Heine  had  learned  to  a  certain  extent  to  keep  his 
feelings  in  check  and,  except  when  carried  away  by  the  passion 
of  the  moment,  to  appeal  to  his  uncle  by  flattery  rather  than 
haughtiness.  What  grave  psychological  mistakes  he  made  even 
then  is  shown  by  his  dedication  to  his  uncle  of  the  "Tragodien 
und  lyrisches  Intermezzo"  in  1823 — a  move  which  provoked 
Solomon's  violent  wrath.7  The  old  man,  who  had  no  conception 
of  his  nephew's  poetic  talent,  can  scarcely  be  blamed  for  resent- 

6  Clearly  shown  by  the  tone  of  his  reference  to  his  uncle  in  his  second  letter 
to  Sethe,  October  27,  1816. 

7  Heine  to  Varnhagen,  June  17,  1823. 


74  Weigand 

ing  seeing  his  name  coupled  with  a  cycle  of  lyrics  which  the 
initiated,  who  knew  of  Heine's  passion  for  his  uncle's  daughter, 
could  not  but  regard  as  an  out  and  out  falsification  of  reality. 
Heine  must  have  known  that  his  uncle  could  not  judge  his 
poems  on  the  basis  of  their  aesthetic  merits.  The  fact  that 
he  nevertheless  risked  this  dedication  is  an  early  striking  in- 
stance of  his  vanity  getting  the  better  of  his  judgment. 

During  Heine's  years  of  study  Solomon's  name  appears 
frequently  in  his  letters  to  intimate  friends.  The  thermometer 
of  his  relations  with  his  uncle  was  constantly  changing,  largely 
because  his  own  attitude  was  far  from  stable.  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  do  without  his  uncle's  support,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  felt  it  below  his  dignity  to  accept  it.  Constantly  planning 
to  arrange  his  affairs  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  his  uncle's  aid 
unnecessary  for  the  future,  his  good  intentions  were  contra- 
dicted at  every  step  by  the  soliciting  and  accepting  of  gifts 
which  tightened  the  meshes  of  his  dependence.  The  irksome- 
ness  of  his  dependence  was  aggravated  by  constant  humiliations, 
the  common  lot  of  poor  relatives,  and  poison  was  added  to 
bitterness  when  Heine  felt  himself  regarded — rightly  or  wrongly 
— by  the  members  of  his  uncle's  household  as  an  intruder, 
spied  upon  and  slandered,  for  the  purpose  of  undermining  the 
last  vestige  of  his  uncle's  confidence  in  him.  Thus  Heine, 
suspicious  in  the  extreme,  would  scent  foul  play  whenever  his 
uncle's  pocketbook  remained  closed;  he  would  react  now  by 
writing  a  letter  which  he  characterized  as  a  masterpiece  of 
dignity  and  scorn,  another  time  he  would  boast  of  not  even 
deigning  to  thank  his  uncle  when  the  latter  again  opened  his 
purse  in  a  particularly  reluctant  way;  but  a  third  time  he  was 
equally  certain  to  beg  forgiveness  submissively  and  to  pile 
flattery  upon  Solomon:  to  wheedle  him  into  new  concessions. 

One  would  expect  this  chapter  to  be  closed  with  Heine's 
graduation  from  Gottingen  in  the  summer  of  1825.  But  as 
his  plans,  either  to  practice  law  in  Hamburg  or  to  become  a 
lecturer  at  the  University  of  Berlin,  came  to  nothing,  we  find 
him  depending  upon  his  uncle  after  as  before,  with  their  rela- 
tions fluctuating  as  much  as  ever.  In  December  1825  he  dates 
a  letter  to  his  friend  Moser  "Verdammtes  Hamburg,"8  but 

8  December  14,  1825. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  75 

during  the  first  days  of  January  he  finds  his  uncle  very  gracious.' 
Trouble  thickens  again  when  a  friend  of  Heine's,  a  certain 
Cohn,  takes  it  upon  himself  to  play  the  intermediary  between 
nephew  and  uncle,  by  telling  the  latter  a  long  tale  of  woe  and 
indiscreetly  intimating  that  Heine  had  lost  money  in  gambling. 
Heine,  while  freely  admitting  his  gambling  a  little  later  to  his 
easy-going  friend  Merkel,10  denies  this  to  the  conscientious 
Moser  with  an  access  of  fury  which  would  have  been  quite 
intelligible  even  had  there  been  no  truth  in  the  accusation.11 

This  incident  was  smoothed  over,  but  matters  came  to 
a  much  more  serious  crisis  in  consequence  of  Heine's  London 
trip  in  1827  when,  in  addition  to  funds  provided  him  by  his 
uncle  for  the  voyage,  he  cashed  in  a  check  for  200  pounds  which 
he  had  induced  his  uncle  to  give  him  merely  as  a  matter  of 
form  on  the  plea  that  it  would  serve  as  a  very  effective  intro- 
duction to  the  Rothschild  family.  All  in  all,  he  must  have 
drawn  a  pretty  penny  out  of  his  uncle's  pocket  on  that  occasion, 
for  he  spent  over  210  pounds  in  London,  according  to  one  letter 
of  his,12  and  over  300  according  to  another,13  and  yet  managed 
to  send  an  order  for  800  Talers  to  his  friend  Varnhagen  for 
safe  keeping,  to  provide  for  an  emergency.14  Thus,  on  one 
occasion  at  least,  he  did  not  practice  the  proverbial  poet's 
improvidence.  As  to  the  200  pounds  obtained  by  trickery, 
we  have  Solomon's  own  words  to  vouch  for  the  charge.  In  a 
letter  of  December  26,  1843,  stimulated  to  good  humor  by  a 
typical  Hamburg  Christmas  dinner,  he  took  occasion  to  recall 
to  his  nephew  this  little  old  time  trick  by  recounting  the  story 
in  the  form  of  an  anecdote — just  by  way  of  a  reminder  that 
old  scores  were  not  forgotten.15 

From  the  year  after  the  London  incident  we  have  a  letter 
of  Heine's  to  Solomon,  written  for  the  purpose  of  effecting  a 

•  Heine  to  Moser,  Jan.  9,  1826. 

10  Heine  to  Merkel,  July  25  and  August  16,  1826. 

11  Heine  to  Moser,  Feb.  14,  1826. 

»  Heine  to  Merkel,  August  20,  1827. 

"  Heine  to  Varnhagen,  October  19,  1827. 

14  ibidem. 

u  This  letter,  the  authenticity  of  which  can  scarcely  be  questioned,  is 
found,  along  with  several  other  letters  of  Solomon's  which  I  have  occasion 
to  refer  to  repeatedly,  in  the  volume  of  "Heine-Reliquien,"  edited  by  Gustav 
Karpeles  and  Max  Heine-Geldern.  Berlin  1911. 


76  Weigand 

reconciliation.  The  tone  of  this  letter,  dated  September  15, 
1828,  bears  visible  evidence  of  the  effort  it  cost  the  writer. 
On  the  one  hand  there  is  the  attempt  to  placate  and  conciliate 
his  uncle  at  any  cost  by  showering  him  with  protestations  of 
love  and  respect;  on  the  other  hand  Heine's  pride  and  self- 
righteousness  have  their  say  by  balancing  the  losses  sustained 
by  the  uncle's  purse  against  the  wounds  inflicted  upon  his 
own  heart;  in  addition  Heine  would  place  the  blame  for  their 
estrangement  upon  the  malicious  intrigues  of  other  relatives. 

Only  in  a  general  way  do  we  know  that  Heine  and  his  uncle 
seem  to  have  been  upon  a  better  footing  the  year  following,16 
whereas  in  1830  matters  took  a  critical  turn  once  more.  Cer- 
tainly this  was  due  at  least  partly,  if  not  wholly,  to  the  general 
cry  of  protest  raised  by  the  tone  of  Heine's  polemics  against 
Platen.17  Very  probably  Solomon's  wrath,  which  was  doubtless 
dictated  by  the  common  verdict  against  Heine,  was  deep-seated 
enough  to  extend  to  his  purse.  Without  this  assumption  it 
were  difficult  to  explain  why  Heine,  before  his  voluntary  flight 
to  Paris  in  1831  should  have  had  recourse  to  the  bounty  of  a 
stranger,  to  whom  he  appealed  on  the  ground  of  furthering 
the  cause  of  Saint-Simonianism.18 

During  the  first  few  years  of  Heine's  life  in  Paris  Heine's 
letters  contain  very  little  mention  of  his  uncle,  but  the  name 
of  the  latter's  son  Carl  begins  to  assume  a  certain  prominence. 
Carl  found  himself  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  cholera  epidemic 
of  1832  and  was  among  those  stricken.  Heine,  who  came 
to  visit  him  often  during  his  convalescence,  took  occasion  to 
air  this  fact  in  press  articles19  and  letters,20  making  it  appear 
that  he  had  braved  the  terrors  of  the  cholera  for  the  sake  of  a 
very  dear  relative.21  Whether  their  friendship  was  reinforced 

18  Heine  to  Varnhagen,  Nov.  19,  1830. 
17  Solomon  to  Heine,  June  27,  1839. 

"Heine  to  Hartwig  Hesse.  Cf.  Hirth's  introduction  to  Heine's  corre- 
spondence, vol.  I,  p.  120. 

19  Werke  V,  93.    I  quote  the  Elster  edition  thruout. 

20  Heine  to  Cotta,  April  11,  1832. 

n  That  Carl's  illness  was  not — to  say  the  least — Heine's  only  reason  for 
staying  appears  from  other  letters  which  explain  his  reluctance  to  leave 
Paris  once  on  the  ground  of  his  expecting  interesting  political  developments 
(Heine  to  Cotta,  April  2,  1832),  and  once  on  the  ground  of  pure  laziness  (Heine 
to  Varnhagen,  about  May  20,  1832).  The  latter  explanation  was,  of  course, 
sheer  bravado,  calculated  to  emphasize  his  courage,  about  which  he  felt  sensi- 
tive, as  other  letters  show. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  77 

by  any  other  ties  than  those  of  pleasure,22  whether,  in  fact, 
Carl,  who  was  Heine's  junior  by  a  dozen  years,  came  in  for  so 
much  attention  merely  as  a  cousin  rather  than  in  his  capacity 
of  heir  presumptive,  I  leave  to  the  reader  to  judge  on  the  basis 
of  subsequent  developments.  At  any  rate  they  do  not  seem 
to  have  kept  up  any  correspondence  after  Carl  returned  home, 
for  Heine  expressed  his  annoyance  at  Carl's  silence  to  his 
brother  Max.23 

It  is  safe  to  assume  that  during  these  years  Heine  received 
occasional  gifts  of  money  from  his  uncle.  Thus  we  know  of  a 
Christmas  gift  of  2000  francs  in  1834.24  But  the  fall  of  1836 
again  brought  a  complete  rupture  of  relations  between  them.26 
Altho  the  cause  of  this  is  nowhere  explicitly  stated,  a  partial 
clue  is  offered  by  Heine's  letter  of  August  5,  1837,  to  his  brother 
Max,  in  which  Heine  accuses  his  uncle  of  having  perpetrated 
an  act  against  him  which  violated  his  honor  and  most  painfully 
damaged  his  material  interests  in  Paris,  at  a  time  when  Heine, 
bowed  down  by  an  attack  of  yellow  fever  and  by  financial 
difficulties,  had  written  his  uncle  in  a  tone  which  should  have 
aroused  his  sympathy  rather  than  his  anger.  Fortunately  we 
have  Heine's  own  admission  as  to  the  words  which  so  incensed 
his  uncle.  He  had  the  audacity  to  tell  him:  "Das  Beste,  was 
an  Ihnen  ist,  besteht  darin,  dass  Sie  meinen  Namen  fiihren."28 
But  of  the  act  of  punishment  with  which  Solomon  struck  back 
at  Heine,  we  hear  nothing  definite.  What  could  it  have  been? 
I  venture  the  following  explanation.  Remembering  that  an 
aggravating  illness  and  very  serious  financial  reverses  had 
reduced  Heine  to  a  state  of  morbid  irritability,  heightened 
probably  by  the  pressing  demands  of  impatient  creditors,  it  is 
easy  to  realize  how  his  thoughts  must  have  wound  themselves 
in  desperation  around  the  man  who  had  millions  beyond  his 
wants  and  gave  lavishly  when  his  reputation  could  be  thereby 
enhanced;  so  that  Heine  utterly  lost  his  head  at  the  time  when 
he  wrote  his  uncle  in  terms  which  cast  all  discretion  to  the 
winds.  Now  it  is  possible  that  Heine,  too  desperate  to  resort 

a  Heine  to  Christian!,  July  15,  1833. 

»  Letter  of  April  21,  1834. 

M  Heine  to  Meyerbeer,  April  6,  1835. 

25  Heine  to  Moser,  November  8,  1836. 

26  Heine  to  Meyerbeer,  March  24,  1839. 


78  Weigand 

to  entreaty,  merely  sent  his  uncle  a  peremptory  demand  for 
financial  help;  but  could  the  latter 's  refusal  to  come  to  the  rescue 
be  construed  as  the  "act  which  compromised  Heine's  honor 
and  his  credit  in  Paris"?  I  think  not.  But  what  if  Heine,  in 
blind  desperation,  had  taken  a  short-cut  and  drawn  a  check 
upon  his  Paris  banker  against  the  name  of  Solomon  Heine  and 
simply  announced  to  him  the  'fait  accompli'  in  a  tone  of  re- 
sentment sharpened  by  his  nervousness  over  what  he  had  done? 
Granted  this  hypothesis,  which  certainly  has  nothing  psycho- 
logically unlikely  about  it,  in  view  of  the  London  episode, 
what  is  more  likely  than  that  Solomon,  stung  to  rage  by  this 
impudence,  should  have  protested  payment  of  the  draft  with 
a  sarcastic  note  to  the  banker,  cautioning  him  to  trust  to  better 
guarantees  than  Heine's  mere  word  for  the  future?  This  is 
only  a  hypothesis,  I  repeat,  but  it  at  least  affords  a  plausible 
explanation  for  the  most  serious  falling-out  that  occurred 
between  Heine  and  his  uncle. 

Matters  were  now  bad  enough,  but  to  make  them  worse, 
Heine's  aunt,  the  wife  of  Solomon,  died  in  January  1837,  and 
Heine,  smarting  under  the  recent  blow,  felt  unable  to  express 
his  condolences  to  his  uncle  in  other  than  the  driest  and  most 
formal  terms. 

Here  matters  would  have  rested  but  for  Heine's  eternal 
financial  difficulties.  Altho  at  this  time  he  was  drawing  an 
annual  pension  of  5000  francs  from  the  French  government 
and  his  income  was  further  supplemented  by  royalties  from 
his  German  and  French  publishers  and  by  repeated  drafts  on 
the  funds  of  the  composer  Meyerbeer,  in  return  for  press  agent's 
services,27  he  confessed  himself  in  January  1837  to  be  in  debt 
to  the  extent  of  20,000  francs.28  Unlucky  speculations  and 
possibly  gambling29  rather  than  mere  reckless  spending  must 
account  for  this  comparatively  enormous  debt.  To  pay  it 
back  by  means  of  his  pen  was  out  of  the  question,  hence  it 
became  more  necessary  for  him  than  ever  to  see  amicable 
relations  with  his  uncle  restored.  But  Heine  well  knew  that 

27  See  Heine's  letters  to  Meyerbeer  of  April  6, 1835  and  May  24,  1842. 

M  Heine  to  Campe,  January  23,  1837. 

39  When  trying  later  to  bridge  the  differences  with  his  uncle,  Heine  cautions 
his  friend  Detmold  that  under  no  circumstances  must  Solomon  learn  the  true 
source  of  his  financial  troubles  (Heine  to  Detmold,  July  29,  1837). 


Heine's  Family  Feud  79 

this  time  the  end  in  view  required  extreme  caution  and  delicate 
manipulation,  and  he  made  his  preparations  accordingly.  It 
is  worth  our  while  to  study  these  manoeuvres  in  detail,  since 
they  served  as  a  model  on  a  reduced  scale  for  those  which  Heine 
set  on  foot  after  his  uncle's  death. 

The  first  of  these  manoeuvres  would  scarcely  be  recognized 
as  such  by  the  reader  who  lacks  acquaintance  with  the  devious 
tactics  which  Heine  had  learned  in  the  school  of  French  jour- 
nalism.30 It  took  the  form  of  a  letter  to  his  publisher,  Campe, 
containing  the  following  apparently  innocent  paragraph:31 

Meine  Mutter  schreibt  mir,  ich  gabe  ein  Buch  heraus  mit  einem  Motto, 
worin  ich  Salomon  Heine  beleidige.  Wer  mag  denn  solche  Liigen  erfinden? 
Ich  stehe  schon  schlecht  genug  mit  meinem  Oheim,  ich  sitze  bis  am  Hals  in 
grossen  Zahlungsnothen,  und  er  lasst  miph  im  Stich,  aber  ich  bin  nicht  der  Mann, 
der  um  dergleichen  Misere  auch  nur  in  einer  Zeile  sich  racht.  Gottlob,  als  ich 
meine  'Memoiren'  schrieb,  wo  er  oft  besprochen  werden  musste,  standen  wir 
noch  brilliant,  und  ich  habe  wahrlich  ihn  con  amore  gezeichnet. 

On  the  face  of  it  this  looks  like  a  purely  personal  confession, 
.prompted  by  no  other  motive  than  that  of  unburdening  himself 
to  an  intimate  about  a  matter  which  touched  him  very  keenly. 
But  Heine  was  not  in  the  habit  of  writing  letters  for  the  mere 
purpose  of  self-expression,  least  of  all  to  his  publisher,  whom 
he,  moreover,  regarded  as  an  awful  gossip.32  This  letter, 
however,  takes  on  an  entirely  new  meaning  when  we  assume 
that  Heine  counted  upon  its  contents  being  retailed  either 
directly  or  indirectly  to  his  uncle.  Then  the  following  salient 
points  of  the  letter  take  on  a  new  aspect:  1)  Certain  other 
parties  are  interested  in  keeping  Heine  and  his  uncle  embroiled; 
2)  Heine  is  in  a  terrible  financial  plight;  3)  he  feels  grieved  at 
his  uncle's  indifference  to  his  troubles;  4)  he  emphasizes  his 
own  generosity  by  way  of  contrast  and  appeals  to  his  uncle's 
vanity  by  referring  to  unpublished  memoirs  which,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, existed  at  that  time  only  in  his  imagination.33  Proof 

30  As  to  Heine's  initiation  into  the  practices  of  French  journalism,  see 
his  letter  to  Lewald,  March  1,  1838. 

81  Heine  to  Campe,  December  20,  1836. 

12  Heine  refers  to  Campe  as  "die  Schwatzlise"  in  his  letter  to  Ferdinand 
Lassalle,  February  27,  1846. 

33  Heine  again  refers  to  these  memoirs  at  this  time  in  his  letters  to  Campe 
of  January  23  and  March  1,  1837.  Both  these  letters,  however,  mention  the 
memoirs  not  as  a  finished  manuscript  but  as  something  still  under  his  pen. 


80  Weigand 

of  the  direct  kind  is  lacking,  to  be  sure,  that  this  letter  was 
intended  for  his  uncle's  rather  than  his  publisher's  consump- 
tion, but  since  succeeding  events  will  show  that  it  was  a  favorite 
device  of  Heine's  to  write  letters  for  the  consumption  of  a 
third  party  and  even  to  add  a  covering  note  with  full  instruc- 
tions to  the  addressee  how  to  proceed  in  communicating  its 
contents  apparently  on  his  own  initiative,  there  can  be  no 
question  that  Heine  either  did  so  in  this  case,  the  covering 
note  having  been  lost  or  destroyed,  or  that  he  relied  upon 
Campe's  intuitive  tact  to  sense  the  real  import  of  the  missive. 
It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  Campe,  being  a  resident  of 
Hamburg,  frequently  negotiated  with  Heine's  family  on  his 
behalf. 

In  terms  of  warfare  the  above  letter  to  Campe  would  repre- 
sent a  scouting  detachment,  sent  in  advance  of  larger  opera- 
tions; in  terms  of  diplomacy  it  would  be  called  an  informal 
feeler.  Whatever  steps  Campe  may  have  taken  to  approach 
Heine's  uncle  must  have  been  ineffective,  for  on  May  23  of 
the  following  year  Heine  again  complains  to  Campe  that  he 
is  on  very  bad  terms  with  his  uncle,  who  inflicted  a  terrible 
insult  upon  him  the  previous  year,  adding:  "Es  ist  schlimm 
genug,  dass  dieser  Mann,  der,  wie  ich  hore,  Institute  stiftet, 
um  heruntergekommene  Schacherer  wieder  auf  die  Beine  zu 
bringen,  seinen  Neffen  mit  Weib  und  Kind  in  den  unver- 
schuldetsten  Nothen  hungern  lasst."  It  is  impossible  to  suppress 
a  smile  at  the  phrase  'Weib  und  Kind,'  one  of  Heine's  most 
characteristic  exaggerations,  and  one  wonders  who  is  supposed 
to  figure  as  the  child  in  this  instance, — his  wife  Mathilde,  who 
was  certainly  enough  of  a  child  to  deserve  the  name,  or  Cocotte, 
the  garrulous  parrot  that  so  often  evoked  Heine's  jealousy!34 


Moreover  these  references  to  the  memoirs  are  meant  both  as  a  threat  and  as 
an  appeal  to  Campe's  business  instinct;  for  Heine  alleges  that  his  publisher, 
by  his  reluctance  to  pay  the  price  Heine  demanded  for  his  "Borne,"  is  causing 
him  to  shelve  the  writing  of  an  exceedingly  timely  book  in  favor  of  something 
not  intended  for  publication  for  years  to  come.  I  can  mention  only  in  passing 
that  statements  of  Heine,  calculated  to  force  his  publisher's  hand,  can  never 
be  taken  at  their  face  value. 

34 1  cannot  take  seriously  Karpeles'  claim  ("Heine  und  seine  Zeitgenossen," 
p.  216  ff.,  Berlin,  1888)  that  Heine  should  have  adopted  a  child  for  which  he 
had  stood  god-father.  Karpeles,  always  without  a  grain  of  critical  objectivity, 


Heine's  Family  Feud  81 

After  these  first  ineffective  manoeuvres  Heine  began  to 
marshal  his  forces  in  earnest.  He  had  gathered  enough  from 
past  experiences  to  realize  that  a  reconciliation  with  his  uncle 
would  not  be  a  guarantee  against  further  troubles;  hence  he 
now  made  it  his  aim  to  get  from  his  uncle  the  promise  of  a 
definite  annual  pension.  To  this  end  he  first  impressed  the 
lawyer  Herman  Detmold  and  his  brother  Max,  who  was  then 
on  a  visit  in  Hamburg,  into  his  service.  Detmold,  whose 
friendship  with  Heine  dated  back  to  his  student  days,  was  one 
of  those  men,  unfortunately,  who  by  their  readiness  to  use 
the  most  questionable  means  in  serving  the  cause  of  a  friend, 
made  it  regrettably  easy  for  Heine  to  follow  the  baser  side  of 
his  nature.  Detmold,  in  fact,  must  be  blamed  for  having 
steered  Heine  upon  the  disastrous  course  which  he  later  pur- 
sued in  connection  with  his  uncle.35 

The  task  intrusted  to  Detmold  was  to  win  over  Heine's 
brother  Max  to  the  work  of  effecting  the  reconciliation.  Heine's 
letter  of  July  29,  1837  gives  him  minute  instructions  how  to 
proceed. 

Max  ist  in  Hamburg  zum  Besuche  bey  meiner  Familie.  Vor  etwa  ftinf 
Wochen  erhielt  ich  Brief  von  ihm  aus  Hamburg,  worin  er  mir  schrieb,  dass 
er  ungefahr  drei  Monath  dableibe.  Wenn  Sie  ihm  daher  dorthin  baldigst 
schreiben,  trifft  ihn  Ihr  Brief.  Er  steht  dort  in  hQchster  Gunst  bey  meinem 
Oheim,  und  es  ware  moglich,  dass  Ihr  Brief,  worin  Sie  ihm  tiber  mich  Nachricht 
geben,  zu  meinem  Heile  wirken  kann.  Sie  miissen  ihm  nemlich  die  Seele  heiss 
raachen,  dass  er  alles  aufbietet,  mich  mit  meinem  Oheim  zu  versfihnen  und  mir 
bey  demselben  ein  Jahrgeld  auszuwirken.  Der  wahre  Grund,  warum  meine 
Finanzen  so  schlecht  stehen,  diirfen  Sie  freylich  nicht  merken  lassen,  aber  das 
Faktum,  dass  ich  in  der  grossten  Geldnoth  bin,  und  die  erschutterndsten 
Folgen  daraus  zu  befurchten  stehen,  miissen  Sie  so  pragmatisch  hinstellen, 
dass  diese  Geldnoth,  nur  durch  edles  Ungliick  entstanden,  eben  zu  meinem 
Vortheil  spricht.  In  der  That,  Sie  diirfen  gestehen,  dass  ich  um  alle  Friichte 
meines  Fleisses  geprellt  worden,  dass  ich  alles  verkauf  t  habe,  um  meine  Schulden 
zu  bezahlen,  dass  ich  alle  fremde  Unterstiitzungshiilfe  abgelehnt,  dass  ich  mich 
vergebens  an  meinen  Onkel  gewendet  (das  ist  nicht  wahr),  dass  Sie  vernommen 


here  follows  the  legend  set  a-foot,  among  others,  by  Heine's  brother  Gustav, 
whose  pen-portrait  of  Heine  pictured  the  dying  poet  as  a  sort  of  Christ,  sur- 
rounded by  beautiful  children.  See  Gustav  Heine's  essay,  dated  August 
28,  1855,  as  reprinted  in  "Heine-Reliquien,"  especially  pages  250  and  259. 

"Heine  to  Detmold,  July  29,  1837:  "Sie  sehen,  Ihr  Unterricht  hat  ge- 
fruchtet;  wenn  auf  diesem  Wege  keine  Hiilfe  kommt,  so  hab  ich  mein  Latein 
verloren." 


82  Weigand 

batten,  wie  unbarmherzig  mein  Onkel  mir  alle  Hiilfe  entzogen  (das  ist  auch 
nicht  wahr)— kurz,  Sie  schreiben  ihm  einen  Brief,  womit  er  bey  meinem  Oheim, 
welcher  emport  seyn  wird,  dass  man  ihn  solcher  Lieblosigkeit  falschlich  be- 
schuldigt,  etwas  ausrichten  kann.36 

Two  features  of  this  letter  deserve  the  closest  attention. 
In  the  first  place,  the  duplicity  practiced  by  Heine  against  both 
his  uncle  and  his  intermediary,  his  brother  Max,  in  regard  to 
the  causes  of  his  financial  troubles  and  the  steps  he  had  taken 
to  adjust  them.  We  are  left  in  the  dark  as  to  the  actual  facts 
in  the  case,  unfortunately,  because  Heine's  confidential  ex- 
planation of  his  troubles  to  Detmold  had  been  given  orally, 
during  the  latter's  visit  to  Heine  in  Paris.  In  the  second  place, 
the  remarkable  psychology  of  Heine's  approach  to  his  uncle. 
So  Heine  expected  to  placate  his  uncle  by  having  patent  false- 
hoods, emanating  from  himself,  reported  to  his  uncle,  who, 
instead  of  sending  his  nephew  to  the  devil,  is  expected  to  demon- 
strate the  falsity  of  these  accusations  by  opening  his  purse  once 
more!  We  ask  in  astonishment,  is  this  a  prudent  course  to 
pursue,  gauged  merely  by  the  likelihood  of  its  success?  Does 
it  not  savor  of  the  'kleine  Schlauheit'  of  the  Nazarene,  as 
Nietzsche  put  it,  rather  than  of  the  unscrupulous  amoralism 
of  the  super-man? — It  will  be  necessary  to  return  to  this  point 
somewhat  later. 

A  few  days  after  writing  to  Detmold,  Heine  sent  Max  a 
letter  calculated  to  coincide  with  the  one  to  be  written  by 
Detmold.  To  a  reader  familiar  with  Heine's  correspondence 
the  long  preamble  of  this  letter  is  sufficient  to  put  him  on  his 
guard.  As  in  similar  cases,  when  Heine  felt  diffident  about 
asking  for  a  service,37  he  expatiates  on  the  nature  of  his  broth- 
erly sentiments,  telling  Max,  "Du  bist  der  einzige  von  meiner 
Familie,  der  mich  schweigend  verstehen  kann."38  In  accord- 

18  So  far  as  I  can  see,  Heine's  accusations  against  his  uncle,  followed  by 
his  own  denial  of  them  in  the  same  paragraph,  permit  of  only  two  possible 
interpretations,  neither  one  of  which  I  find  entirely  plausible: — Either  Heine's 
uncle  must  have  continued  to  give  him  a  certain  ((but  insufficient)  amount 
of  financial  support  even  after  the  rupture  of  their  relations  in  1836;  or  Heine 
must  have  deliberately  deceived  Detmold  as  to  the  extent  of  his  falling  out 
with  his  uncle.  I  incline  to  the  former  interpretation,  partly  because  of  Heine's 
intimacy  with  Detmold,  and  partly  because  of  the  parallelism  between  this 
letter  and  the  one  Heine  wrote  Meyerbeer  under  date  of  March  24,  1839, 
discussed  below. 

91  See  Heine's  letter  to  Meyerbeer,  April  6,  1835. 

"  Heine  to  Max,  August  5,  1837. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  83 

ance  with  his  instructions  to  Detmold  he  refers  to  his  troubles 
in  general  terms  as  "notwendige  Folge  meiner  sozialen  Stellung 
und  meiner  geistigen  Begabung."  Then  he  turns  to  discuss 
the  specific  grievances  which  estrange  him  from  his  uncle,  of 
which  there  are  three,  namely  1)  the  familiar  accusation  that 
he  is  being  systematically  slandered  by  members  of  his  uncle's 
household;  2)  a  sin  committed  against  him  by  his  cousin  Carl, 
not  specified  here;  3)  the  act  on  the  part  of  his  uncle  which 
broke  the  peace. 

The  result  of  Max's  attempts  at  mediation  seem  to  have 
been  confined  to  his  advising  Heine  to  write  his  uncle  in  person 
and  beg  his  forgiveness.  With  the  utmost  revulsion  Heine 
subjected  himself  to  this  new  humiliation,  and  every  line  of  his 
letter  to  Solomon  (September  1,  1837)  reveals  his  desperate 
efforts  to  appear  to  prostrate  himself  completely  before  his  uncle 
without  yielding  an  inch  of  his  dignity.  He  begins  by  waving 
aside  all  blame  for  past  misunderstandings.  "Mein  Gewissen 
ist  ruhig,  und  ich  habe  ausserdem  dafiir  gesorgt,  dass,  wenn 
wir  alle  langst  im  Grabe  liegen,  mein  ganzes  Leben,  mein  ganzes, 
reines,  unbeflecktes,  obgleich  ungliickliches  Leben,  seine  ge- 
rechte  Anerkennung  findet."  But  self-justification  was  not, 
as  it  might  appear,  the  only  motive  for  writing  these  words; 
the  renewed  mention  of  his  memoirs  contains  a  veiled  promise 
or  a  veiled  threat,  according  to  the  turn  that  the  negotiations 
might  take,  and  Heine  knew  that  his  uncle  would  not  miss 
his  meaning.  The  body  of  the  letter,  however,  pictures  Heine 
as  completely  bowed  down  with  grief  over  having  lost  the 
affection  of  the  man  whom  he  reverenced  almost  to  the  degree 
of  worship.  He  appeals  to  the  natural  kindness  of  his  heart, 
to  his  amiability  and  generosity.  He  finds  his  uncle's  hardness 
against  himself  so  unnatural  that  he  can  explain  it  only  by  the 
whisper  of  poisonous  tongues.  Every  word,  in  short,  is  calcu- 
lated to  give  the  impression  that  his  uncle's  affection  is  the 
priceless  boon  which  Heine  craves  to  regain  and  that  there  is 
not  the  remotest  thought  in  his  mind  of  exploiting  the  million- 
aire. To  read  this  letter  without  keeping  in  mind  at  every 
moment  the  effect  it  was  calculated  to  produce  were  to  miss 
its  real  nature  altogether. 

This  letter  also  clears  up  in  part  the  burden  of  Heine's 
grudge  against  his  cousin  Carl.  It  has  already  been  mentioned 


84  Weigand 

that  on.  the  occasion  of  his  aunt's  death  Heine  had  expressed 
his  condolences  to  his  uncle  in  terms  dictated  by  his  anger. 
Now  Heine  claims  to  have  written  at  the  same  time  a  very 
different  letter,  expressing  his  real  emotions,  to  his  cousin  Carl, 
whom  he  accuses  of  having  intentionally  kept  his  father  in 
ignorance  of  this  letter,  so  as  to  thwart  the  stirring  of  any 
generous  feelings  on  his  part.  This  charge  against  Carl  he  had 
already  uttered  in  his  letter  of  August  29  to  his  brother  Max, 
and  it  recurs,  in  very  exaggerated  form,  in  a  letter  to  Meyer- 
beer, written,  two  years  later,  specifically  for  his  uncle's  con- 
sumption.39 I  confess  that  the  last  wording  of  this  charge  has 
even  raised  doubts  in  my  mind  as  to  whether  such  a  letter  was 
written  at  all,  in  spite  of  Heine's  insistence  that  Solomon  should 
force  Carl  to  produce  that  letter.  "Ich  erinnere  mich,"  he  says, 
"als  ich  jenen  Brief  an  Carl  Heine  beendigt  hatte,  fiel  ich  ohn- 
machtig  nieder  und  Mathilde  musste  mir  mit  Essig  die  Schlafe 
reiben  und  um  Hulfe  rufen — Ich  erinnere  mich,  der  Bruder 
von  Detmold,  der  den  Brief  auf  meinem  Tische  liegen  sah 
und  ihn  las,  ward  ganz  davon  erschxittert." 

Be  that  as  it  may,  two  things  stand  out  clearly.  First, 
regardless  of  whose  the  fault  may  have  been,  Carl  had  turned 
from  a  friend  into  Heine's  enemy.  Second,  Heine  cleverly  tries 
to  jockey  his  uncle  out  of  his  strategic  position,  by  beclouding 
the  issue.  Whereas  the  death  of  his  aunt  had  occurred  after 
Heine  was  completely  embroiled  with  his  uncle,  he  would  make 
it  appear  as  tho  his  apparent  lack  of  sympathy  were  the  reason 
for  his  uncle's  irreconcilable  attitude.  Heine  doubtless  cal- 
culated that  if  he  succeeded  in  thrusting  a  specious  issue  in 
place  of  the  real  one  into  the  focus  of  his  uncle's  attention,  he 
could  be  confident  of  ultimate  victory. 

These  tactics  seem  to  have  had  their  effect,  for  altho,  after 
waiting  for  two  weeks  without  any  results,  Heine  had  to  entreat 
Detmold  anew  to  goad  his  brother  Max  to  further  action  by 
painting  an  even  more  lurid  picture  of  his  troubles,40  we  find 
Heine  informing  Campe  a  year  later  that  the  reconciliation 
had  long  since  taken  place,  and  he  was  now  looking  forward 

3»  Heine  to  Meyerbeer,  March  24,  1839. 
"Heine  to  Detmold,  September  17,  1837. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  85 

to  his  uncle's  visit  in  Paris.41  The  real  purpose,  however,  for 
which  the  reconciliation  had  been  staged,  namely  the  securing 
of  a  fixed  pension,  still  lacked  fulfilment,  and  Heine,  with  his 
customary  tenacity  wherever  his  material  welfare  was  at  issue, 
held  this  plan  in  the  background  of  his  mind,  ready  to  follow 
it  up  at  the  first  favorable  turn. 

The  eagerly  awaited  opportunity  came  in  March  of  the 
following  year,  when  Meyerbeer,  then  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame, 
had  occasion  to  be  in  Hamburg.  Here  at  last  was  an  inter- 
mediary whose  word  was  bound  to  have  weight  with  his  uncle, 
because  he  was  a  fellow- Jew,  the  possessor  of  great  wealth, 
and  the  most  talked-of  composer  and  entrepreneur  in  the 
realm  of  the  most  fashionable  of  the  arts.  Moreover,  Solomon 
had,  from  his  Paris  visit,  recent  first-hand  impressions  of  the 
pomp  and  dazzle  of  Meyerbeerian  grand  opera.  Meyerbeer, 
on  the  other  hand,  whose  fame  was  due  in  the  largest  measure 
to  his  fabulous  control  of  the  press, — a  fact  that  elicited  the 
withering  sarcasm  of  Richard  Wagner — had  every  reason  to 
exert  himself  on  Heine's  behalf  because  of  his  invaluable  press 
agent's  services. 

Heine  once  more  resorted  to  his  favorite  tactics.  He  wrote 
a  letter,  addressed  to  Meyerbeer42  but  intended  for  his  uncle, 
in  which  he  covered  the  following  points:  1)  He  again  minimizes 
the  benefits  received  from  his  uncle  and  threatens  to  render 
an  accounting  of  them  to  the  last  penny  in  his  memoirs.  2)  He 
complains  of  his  uncle's  extravagant  benevolence  to  undeserving 
strangers,  while  allowing  his  own  kin  to  suffer  want.  3)  He 
claims  that  his  uncle  is  conscious  of  being  in  the  wrong  in  this 
matter  and  draws  the  conclusion  that  he  must  be  bent  on 
finding  fault  with  his  nephew  in  order  to  justify  his  own  miser- 
liness. 4)  He  is  convinced  that  in  his  heart  of  hearts  his  uncle 
has  far  more  respect  for  the  "poor  indigent  scholar"  than  for 
rich  stock-jobbers.  5)  He  repeats  the  most  extravagant 
affirmations  of  his  love  and  reverence  for  his  uncle,  contrasting 
his  own  unselfish  love  with  the  fawning  professions  of  his  uncle's 
exploiters  in  the  bosom  of  the  family.  6)  Finally  he  touches 

41  For  Heine's  success  during  this  visit  in  mystifying  his  uncle  as  to  his 
talent  of  improvisation,  see  Hirth,  introduction  to  volume  I,  page  63,  of  Heine's 
correspondence. 

42  March  24,  1839. 


86  Weigand 

upon  the  two  reasons  for  their  estrangement.  He  concedes 
having  written  the  statement  that  had  aroused  his  uncle's 
ire.  He  does  not  remember  it,  to  be  sure,  but  his  uncle's 
veracity  stands  without  question;  however,  as  his  uncle  must 
realize,  it  was  a  purely  momentary  outburst,  due  to  an  access 
of  nerves,  and  signifies  nothing.  As  to  the  manner  in  which 
he  expatiates  on  the  second  reason,  his  apparent  callousness 
over  the  bereavement  of  his  uncle's  family,  this  has  already 
been  discussed  above.43 

Enclosed  with  this  letter  was  a  commentary  for  Meyer- 
beer's guidance.  In  this  Heine  urged  him  to  give  his  uncle 
the  impression  that  everybody  believed  Heine  to  be  the  bene- 
ficiary of  a  fixed  yearly  sum,  motivating  this  request  as  follows: 

Er  muss  an  der  Ambition  angegriffen  werden,  dass  er  mir  endlich  ein  be- 
stimmtes  Jahrgeld  aussetzt,  welches,  wenn  es  auch  noch  so  gering,  mir  sehr 
wiinschenswerth  ware  und  auch  mein  Verhaltnis  zu  meinem  Oheim  sicherer 
gestaltet;  ich  babe  deshalb  in  meinem  Briefe  immer  behauptet,  er  habe  nie 
was  Ordentliches  fiir  mich  getan,  obgleich  er  dennoch  sich  manchmal  sehr 
honett  gegen  mich  benommen;  aber  eben  indem  ich  ihm  ein  bischen  Unrecht 
thue,  wird  er  angespornt,  meinen  Behauptungen  auch  durch  erneute  That  zu 
widersprechen. 

As  if  men  were  ever  prodded  to  kindness  by  deliberate 
libel!  I  have  called  attention  to  this  singular  process  of  reason- 
ing above.  It  indicates  as  remarkable  a  degree  of  sophistica- 
tion as  it  does  a  lack  of  knowledge  of  human  nature.  Heine 
never  acquired  the  latter,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  most  of  his 
troubles  were  due  to  his  inability  to  gauge  the  effects  of  his 
actions  upon  men.  One  of  the  clearest  instances  of  this  is 
his  almost  touching  naivete  in  heightening  the  provocative 
tone  of  his  political  articles  in  order  to  make  the  governments 
of  the  German  states  more  anxious  to  negotiate  with  him. 

However,  the  gods  were  kind  to  Heine  for  once,  knowing 
that  they  would  have  the  laugh  on  him  in  the  end,  and  Meyer- 
beer, thanks  to  his  own  astuteness,  doubtless,  rather  than  to 
Heine's  counsels,  succeeded  in  getting  Solomon  to  promise 
Heine  a  yearly  pension  of  4000  francs,  later  increased  to  4800. 
Here  was  a  moiety  of  security  attained  at  last  after  half  a 
lifetime  of  battling! — 

u  See  page  84  of  this  paper. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  87 

The  history  of  the  next  few  years  has  little  to  tell  us  in 
regard  to  Solomon.  The  "lion  of  the  menagerie,"  as  Heine  once 
styled  him,44  dozed,  and  only  once  did  he  open  his  mouth  for 
a  growl,  when  Heine  had  the  tactlessness  to  send  him  a  Christ- 
mas present  in  the  name  of  Mathilde,  to  whom  Solomon  seems 
to  have  been  in  the  habit  of  sending  a  Christmas  check  for  400 
francs.  Solomon  at  once  came  back  with  the  emphatic  request 
never  to  send  him  any  gift  again.45  Apparently  it  did  not 
appeal  to  his  business  sense  to  receive  gifts  from  his  own  de- 
pendents. In  April  1843  we  find  Heine  writing  his  brother  Max 
that  he  is  on  good  terms  with  his  uncle  from  whom  he  receives 
4800  francs  annually,  about  one  third  of  his  expenses.46  In  May 
of  the  same  year,  Solomon,  at  Heine's  request,  made  his  nephew 
a  present,  of  his  portrait.  The  next  month  Heine  acknowledges 
having  received  a  very  affectionate  letter  from  his  cousin  Carl, 
indicating  that  on  the  surface  at  least  their  differences  also  had 
been  adjusted.47 

Heine's  relations  to  his  uncle  entered  a  new  phase  in  the 
fall  of  1843  when  the  health  of  the  latter,  who  was  then  76  years 
old,  began  to  fail.  Heine's  concern  was  at  once  aroused.  To  his 
mother  he  expressed  himself  in  very  affectionate  terms  in 
regard  to  his  uncle  and  entreated  her  to  keep  him  minutely 
informed  of  the  state  of  his  health.  In  the  same  letter  he  told 
her  that  in  spite  of  his  longing  to  see  her  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  come  to  Germany  that  same  year.48 

But  exactly  a  month  later,  without  motivating  his  change 
of  plans,  he  announced  to  his  mother  his  sudden  decision  to 
make  the  journey,  enjoining  her  to  keep  his  plan  secret.  Even 
his  uncle  was  to  be  informed  of  his  plan  only  one  day  before 
his  departure,  owing  to  weighty  reasons,  as  he  added  without 
further  comment.  We  who  are  accustomed  to  the  inscrutable 
wisdom  with  which  the  publication  of  government  announce- 
ments is  timed,  cannot  fail  to  attach  a  meaning  to  this  secrecy. 
Was  it  fear  of  his  uncle's  possible  disapproval  or  of  the  counter- 
propaganda  of  hostile  relatives  that  prompted  it? 

44  Heine  to  Christian!,  July  15,  1833. 

45  Solomon  to  Heine,  December  24,  1839. 
44  Heine  to  Max,  April  12,  1843. 

47  Heine  to  his  mother,  June  18,  1843. 

44  Heine  to  his  mother,  September  18,  1843. 


88  Weigand 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Heine  decided  on  this  flying 
trip  into  Germany  solely  on  account  of  his  uncle,  altho  I  would 
not  for  a  moment  question  the  genuineness  of  his  affectionate 
longing  to  see  his  mother.  In  his  first  letter  to  his  wife,  who  had 
remained  in  Paris,  he  admits  having  undertaken  the  trip  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  seeing  his  uncle  and  his  mother.49  But 
why  should  he  have  been  so  anxious  to  see  his  uncle?  Heine's 
own  claim,  that  he  felt  a  sincere  attachment  for  the  old  man, 
has  melted  away,  I  trust,  in  the  face  of  our  analysis.  There 
remains  only  the  legitimate  assumption  that  Heine  had  come 
to  ingratiate  himself  more  firmly  in  Solomon's  favor,  so  as  to- 
make  sure  of  being  liberally  remembered  in  his  will. 

As  his  letters  to  Mathilde  show,  he  was  satisfied  with  the 
degree  of  his  success.  In  his  first  letter  he  reports  himself  as 
very  much  in  his  uncle's  good  graces;  on  another  occasion  he 
repeats  his  belief  that  he  has  made  a  good  impression,  adding, 
that  he  is  taking  all  possible  pains  to  be  amiable, — a  very 
difficult  task  in  the  society  of  so  many  uninteresting  people.60 
As  to  Carl  he  felt  much  more  uneasy;  he  distrusted  him;  and  he 
enjoined  Mathilde  never  to  breathe  a  syllable  to  Carl,  who  was 
expected  for  the  winter  in  Paris,  about  Heine's  recently  matured 
plan  to  spend  the  following  summer  together  with  her  in  Ham- 
burg.51 Perhaps  this  precaution  was  due  to  the  unconcealed 
contempt  for  Mathilde  on  the  part  of  Carl's  wife,"  who  was 
Heine's  bitter  enemy.63 

The  Christmas  season  brought  Heine  an  unusually  long 
letter  from  his  Uncle,  full  of  banter,  as  most  of  Solomon's  letters 
to  his  nephew  seem  to  have  been.  He  took  pleasure  in  teasing 
Heine  by  counting  up  all  the  courses  of  his  Christmas  dinner, 
by  reminding  him  of  the  London  affair,  by  addressing  his  letter 
to  him  as  the  man  who  found  that  the  best  thing  about  him  was 
Heine's  name,  and  by  poking  fun  at  him  for  his  alleged  ignorance 
of  money  matters — but  not  a  word  to  imply  that  his  estimation 
of  his  nephew  had  risen  in  any  way.64 —  In  the  course  of  the 

49  Heine  to  Mathilde,  October  31,  1843. 
*°  Heine  to  Mathilde,  November  5,  1843. 
"  Letter  to  Mathilde,  November  10,  1843. 
61  Letter  to  Mathilde,  December  6,  1843. 
M  Heine  to  Detmold,  January  9,  1845. 
M  Solomon  to  Heine,  December  26,  1843. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  89 

winter  Carl  arrived  in  Paris,  but  there  developed  no  cordiality 
of  intercourse  between  his  family  and  that  of  his  cousin.55 

The  next  summer  Heine  carried  out  his  plan  to  make  his 
and  Mathilde's  stay  at  Hamburg.  For  reasons  which  Heine 
was  careful  to  conceal  Mathilde,  however,  was  soon  sent  back  to 
Paris,  and  Heine  decided  to  continue  the  task  of  cultivating 
his  uncle's  favor  single-handed.  There  was  much  at  stake, 
as  Solomon's  health  had  taken  a  decided  turn  for  the  worse, 
and  Heine  complained  to  Mathilde  of  his  uncle's  fitful  moods 
of  violent  irritability  alternating  with  unwonted  gentleness.56 
But  he  stuck  to  his  guns,  keeping  his  nerves  under  rigid  control, 
as  the  restraint  with  which  his  confidence  of  his  victory  is 
announced  would  indicate.  "Vergiss  nicht,"  he  writes  his  wife 
on  September  11,  "dass  ich  nur  fur  Dich  lebe,  und  wenn  Du  in 
diesem  Augenblicke  nicht  gliicklich  bist,  so  beunruhige  Dich 
nicht:  die  Zukunft  gehort  uns." — Die  Zukunft  gehort  uns.  These 
four  words,  underlined  in  Heine's  letter,  light  up  the  page  as 
a  flash  of  sheet  lightning  a  murky  sky  on  a  summer  night. 

Early  in  October  he  returned  to  Paris,  impatiently  awaiting 
developments  that  could  not  much  longer  be  delayed.  He 
entreated  his  sister  to  send  him  weekly  bulletins  regarding  the 
state  of  the  old  man,  adding,  "es  ist  mir  uber  alle  Begriffe 
wichtig."57 

Then,  at  the  turn  of  the  year,  came  the  announcements 
of  Solomon's  death  and  his  division  of  his  estate,  like  a  succes- 
sion of  thunder-claps.  Heine  was  panic  stricken,  and  "Ma- 
thilde sat  by  the  fire-side  like  a  marble  image."58  Eight  thousand 
marks  left  to  Heine,  as  to  each  of  his  brothers,  was  his  only 
share  of  his  uncle's  millions.  No  mention  of  his  pension  in 
Solomon's  will,  but  instead  a  dry  announcement  on  the  part 
of  Carl,  the  heir-in-chief,  that  he  would  undertake  to  pay  the 
pension,  or  part  of  it,59  on  condition  that  Heine  submit  to  his 
censorship  anything  he  would  write  in  regard  to  the  deceased. 

"  Heine  to  his  sister,  January  23,  1844. 

"  Heine  to  Mathilde,  August  12;  August  16,  1844. 

17  Heine  to  his  sister,  November  28,  1844. 

11  Heine  to  Campe,  January  8,  1845. 

'•  Heine's  letters  on  this  point  (to  Campe,  January  8;  to  Detmold  January  9, 
1845)  lack  the  desired  clearness,  and  the  text  of  Carl's  communication  is  not 
available. 


90  Weigand 

"They  want  to  gag  me,"  was  his  comment,60  and  he  who  had 
hept  his  indignation  and  resentment  over  blistering  humiliations 
bottled  up  for  years,  now  broke  loose  from  all  restraint.  The 
cry  of  hate  was  the  only  voice  he  heard  sounding  out  above  the 
roar  of  seething  emotions.  If  it  was  war  that  was  wanted, 
there  was  his  glove.  And  now  he  unleashed  his  dogs  of  war 
on  the  trail  of  those  whom  he  held  responsible  for  his  defeat. 

Was  this  what  the  family  wanted?  Were  they  looking  for 
an  infernal  press  campaign  of  mud-slinging?  Certainly  not. 
Their  manoeuvres  were  inspired  by  hate  and  fear — a  fear  which 
we  have  seen  Heine  foster  by  his  frequent  ambiguous  allusions 
to  his  memoirs.  But  ordinary  gossip,  with  which  the  air  was 
rife,  seems  to  have  done  its  share  also  to  heighten  the  tension. 
Heine's  sister  had  allowed  indiscreet  utterances  to  drop  toward 
Therese  Heine,  and  she  in  turn  had  retailed  them,  grown  to 
threats,  to  her  brother  Carl.61  Now  the  family  felt  that  in  their 
wealth  they  had  a  weapon  which  put  Heine  at  their  mercy. 
They  had  enough  reason  for  hating  Heine.  His  protestations 
of  affection  for  iris  uncle  and  his  kin  had  been  too  transparent 
for  them  not  to  see  the  contempt  for  them  all  lurking  beneath. 
They  had  watched  his  manoeuvres  to  steal  himself  into  his 
uncle's  affection  with  a  suspicious  eye,  and  they  had  counter- 
manoeuvred,  with  the  advantage  of  being  constantly  on  the 
ground.  Of  his  fame  they  saw  only  the  notoriety  of  the  scandal- 
monger who  had  pilloried  many  a  member  of  their  wealthy  set. 
Conceding  that  they  were  made  of  common  clay  without  any 
admixture  of  the  finer  ingredient  that  shone  thru  the  lower  side 
of  Heine's  character,  is  it  just  to  blame  them  for  having  parried 
Heine's  manoeuvres  in  kind?  Is  it  just  to  refer  to  their  machina- 
tions as  a  foul  crime  and  palliate  the  identical  reactions  of 
Heine's  own  nature  as  a  failing  of  genius  or  explain  them  away 
entirely?  They  must  be  judged  according  to  the  ethics  of  their 
set,  low  tho  those  may  have  been,  and  it  should  be  admitted 
that  they  did  what  was  natural  under  the  circumstances, 
namely  gratify  their  resentment  and  listen  to  the  voice  of 
fear  in  consequence,  instead  of  following  a  more  prudent  course. 

Had  Carl  Heine  been  a  realist,  bent  at  all  cost  upon  glorify- 
ing the  name  of  his  family,  even  at  the  expense  of  his  personal 

90  Heine  to  Campe,  January  8,  1845. 

u  Heine  to  his  brother  Gustav,  December  17,  1850. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  91 

feelings,  he  would  have  seen  to  it  that  Heine's  craving  for  a 
life-long  pension  had  been  amply  fulfilled.  Had  Solomon 
remembered  his  nephew  at  all  adequately  in  his  will,  and  had 
Carl  taken  pains  to  court  Heine's  favor,  appealing  to  him  by 
flattery  rather  than  by  threats,  it  is  as  certain  as  any  predic- 
tion can  be  that  Heine  would  have  written  a  eulogy  of  his  uncle 
in  a  tone  dictated  to  an  equal  degree  by  his  gratitude  and  by 
his  desire  to  erect  a  monument  to  the  name  of  Heine.  The 
portrait  of  the  'fearful  tyrant'62  would  then  have  been  re- 
touched, so  as  to  make  his  burly  directness  a  cloak  masking 
the  most  sensitive  kindness.  The  arrogance  of  the  'nouveau 
riche'  in  his  bearing  to  his  dependents,  and  his  fawning  to 
win  the  favor  of  the  old  and  influential  Christian  families, 
would  have  assumed  the  light  of  the  manly  self-consciousness 
of  the  self-made  man,  and  of  innate  modesty.  But  if  Carl  ever 
felt  the  voice  of  prudence  counselling  him  to  mask  his  resent- 
ment by  smiles,  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  it  in  order  to  gratify 
his  malice  by  showing  Heine  his  power.  The  frequent  accusa- 
tion against  Carl,  launched  by  Heine  and  repeated  often  since, 
that  ordinary  dirty  avarice  was  Carl's  motive  in  depriving  the 
poet  of  his  paltry  pension,  is  based  on  such  flimsy  psychological 
foundations  and  is  refuted  so  completely  by  Carl's  subsequent 
liberality  to  him  and  his  widow63  that  it  should  not  be  taken 
seriously  for  a  moment. 

The  struggle  that  ensued  resembles  a  series  of  highly  diver- 
sified military  campaigns.  Frontal  attacks  vary  with  attacks 
on  the  enemy's  flank  and  in  his  rear.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
feinting,  and  there  are  insincere  peace  overtures  to  gain  time 
for  a  new  attack.  The  warfare  is  of  the  most  ruthless  kind. 
The  attacker  poisons  his  enemy's  wells,  and  tries  to  sow  divi- 
sion within  his  ranks.  He  is  constantly  on  the  lookout  for 
new  allies,  and  if  need  be,  like  an  oriental  despot  he  drives  his 
own  troops  into  the  fight  with  the  lash. 

Heine  opened  his  first  campaign  by  calling  his  publisher, 
Campe,  and  his  friend  Detmold  to  the  colors.  He  had  decided 
upon  a  three-fold  attack;  by  threatening  a  suit  at  law,  by 
marshalling  the  forces  of  the  press  to  his  aid,  and  by  seeking 

62  Heine  to  Campe,  February  4,  1845. 

63  Strodtmann  in  his  biography  remarks  that  Carl's  will  provided  a  pension 
of  5000  francs  for  Heine's  widow.    II,  343.    Third  edition. 


92  Weigand 

the  mediation  of  a  third  party  interested  in  bringing  about 
peace.  To  Detmold  Heine  looked  for  legal  counsel  as  to  con- 
testing his  uncle's  will,  but  he  expected  more  immediate  aid 
from  Detmold's  acquaintance  with  the  dark  side  of  journalism. 
Altho  he  believed  he  could  recover  his  pension  by  entreaties, 
he  thought  threats  would  be  more  effective.  To  this  end 
Detmold  was  to  get  busy  at  once  and  write  and  smuggle  into 
as  many  newspapers  as  possible  a  series  of  anonymous  defama- 
tory articles  directed  against  Carl  and  particularly  his  brother- 
in-law  Halle,  Therese's  husband.64  These  articles  were  to  be 
couched  in  such  a  way  as  to  be  favorable  to  Solomon  and  reflect 
blame  on  his  heirs.  Furthermore,  public  opinion  was  to  be 
won  over  by  making  the  controversy  appear  in  the  light  of 
an  issue  between  poet  and  millionaire — an  issue  for  which  he 
subsequently  supplied  the  driving  power  in  the  form  of  the 
slogan  "Genius"  versus  "Geldsack."65  While  these  first  articles 
against  Halle  were  making  their  appearance,  Campe  was  to 
approach  him  thru  a  third  party,  in  order  to  persuade  him  to 
use  his  good  offices  in  Heine's  behalf,  so  as  to  save  his  own 
good  name  from  further  vilification.68 

The  first  of  these  articles  from  Detmold's  pen  Heine  greeted 
with  boundless  joy,  and  he  begged  him  to  continue  at  once 
in  the  same  vein,  as  victory  hinged  entirely  upon  the  speed  of 
such  surprise  attacks.  That  victory  by  this  method  would  come 
within  a  month  or  not  at  all,  was  his  opinion.67  While  Det- 
mold's articles  were  doing  their  work,  he  again  urged  Campe 
to  secure  Halle's  intervention  in  his  favor.  To  Campe,  who 
seems  to  have  been  not  fully  initiated  into  these  dark  intrigues, 
he  expressed  regret  at  the  article  he  had  seen  concerning  Halle, 
insinuating  that  it  must  have  come  from  the  pen  of  some  relative 
trying  to  spoil  his  chances  for  the  senatorship  for  which  he 
was  a  candidate.  His  perfidy  went  so  far  as  to  add  that  with 
great  effort  on  his  part  he  had  sidetracked  a  similar  article  of 
which  he  had  received  wind  in  Paris.  As  specifically  stated 
in  a  covering  note,  it  was  Heine's  intention  that  Halle  should 
be  given  this  letter  to  read.68 

84  Heine  to  Detmold,  January  9,  1845. 

66  Heine  to  Ferdinand  Lassalle,  February  27,  1846. 

68  Heine  to  Campe,  January  8,  1845. 

87  Heine  to  Detmold,  January  23,  1845. 

48  Heine  to  Campe,  February  4,  1845. 


Heine's  Family  Fettd  93 

The  reasons  for  concentrating  his  first  fire  upon  Halle  shed 
some  very  interesting  light  on  Heine's  generalship.  Heine 
singled  out  Halle  as  the  weaker  foe  in  more  than  one  respect. 
For  one  thing,  Heine  seems  to  have  regarded  him  as  less  hostile 
to  himself  than  Solomon's  other  sons-in-law  and  Carl  himself; 
he  blames  him  for  having  played  at  best  a  passive  rdle  during 
the  .machinations  against  him;69  hence  there  was  reason  to 
believe  that  he  might  be  more  tractable  than  the  others.  But 
more  important  than  this  was  Heine's  calculation  that  Halle 
could  not  at  the  present  time  afford  to  stand  up  against  a  cam- 
paign of  slander,  in  view  of  his  candidacy  for  the  vacant 
Hamburg  senatorship. 

From  the  outset  of  the  struggle  the  ramifications  of  Heine's 
duplicity  are  so  intricate  that  without  the  utmost  circumspec- 
tion at  every  step  the  reader  of  his  letters  is  apt  to  be  utterly 
bewildered  as  to  Heine's  real  thoughts  and  sentiments.  In 
feeling  one's  way  forward,  one  has  to  keep  in  mind  that  not 
even  Heine's  agents  were  let  into  his  full  confidence.  It  is 
legitimate  to  wonder,  in  fact,  whether  Heine  knew  his  own 
mind  from  one  hour  to  the  next.  Thus  on  January  13,  1845 
he  wrote  Detmold  a  letter  which  in  point  of  demoralization 
is  hard  to  equal.  He  expresses  himself  as  ready  to  render  any 
declaration  desired,  on  condition  of  his  receiving  the  pension 
integrally  and  irrevocably.  He  is  ready  to  sacrifice  his  honor 
and  comfort  himself  with  the  old  monkish  maxim:  "Contemnere 
mundum,  contemnere  se  ipsum,  contemnere  se  contemni." 
Yet  under  this  same  date  he  writes  to  Campe  in  diametrically 
opposite  terms,  asserting  that  it  is  not  a  question  of  money  but 
of  his  "ethical  consciousness  and  his  offended  sense  of  justice." 
Now,  since  it  was  Campe  who  had  been  assigned  the  rdle  of 
mediator  and  Detmold  that  of  blackmailer,  the  assertions  in 
the  letter  to  Campe  can  not  be  dismissed  as  a  well-calculated 
lie;  for  that  to  be  the  case  the  two  statements  would  have  had 
to  be  reversed.  The  contradiction  rather  shows  that  Heine's 
mind  must  have  been  in  a  state  of  turmoil  bordering  on  chaos. 
As  he  himself  felt,  he  had  either  to  break  down  physically  or 
go  insane,  and  while  his  body  snapped  under  the  strain  his 
reason  also  suffered. 

•»  Heine  to  Campe,  January  13,  1845. 


94  Weigand 

In  more  than  one  respect  Heine  utterly  lost  his  head;  for, 
soon  after,  at  .the  same  time  that  he  was  attempting  to  negotiate 
with  Carl  thru  Halle,  by  false  protestations  of  friendship,  by 
threats  of  a  law  suit  (without  a  ghost  of  a  legal  claim  as  he 
then  already  knew),70  by  even  more  terrible  threats  of  risking 
exposure  in  the  public  pillory  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,71  and 
by  the  offer  of  complete  moral  surrender  to  the  demands  of 
his  family,  as  long  as  the  money  issue  were  satisfactorily 
settled,72 — all  of  which  were  packed  into  the  letter  to  Campe 
which  the  latter  was  to  let  Halle  read — ;  at  the  same  time 
Heine  personally  concocted  a  pair  of  anonymous  articles,  the 
first  containing  a  poisonous  attack  against  his  family  and  the 
second  a  defense  of  the  family,  in  reply  to  the  first,  couched  in 
such  a  way  as  to  be  even  more  compromising  for  them  than  the 
attack.  These  he  sent  to  his  friend  Heinrich  Laube,  the  clever 
journalist  whom  experience  had  taught  that  a  pose  of  blunt 
honesty  is  a  roomy  mantle  that  will  cover  many  sins,  and 
asked  him  to  smuggle  them  into  some  suitable  journal,  the 
second  one  preferably  in  the  form  of  a  paid  advertisement,  so 
as  to  make  it  appear  to  have  originated  within  the  family,73 — 
all  of  which  Laube  executed  to  the  letter.  Perfidy  was  further 
compounded  by  his  request  to  Laube  to  help  him  with  his  own 
pen  in  his  press  campaign  but  to  publish  not  a  word  directly 
against  his  cousin,  who,  "formerly  his  most  intimate  friend, 
now  happened  to  be  among  his  opponents."  From  this  time 
on  Heine  kept  taking  precautions  to  shield  Carl  from  vicious 
public  attacks.  The  reason  why  Heine,  after  the  first  paroxysm 
of  rage  was  over,  organized  his  campaign  on  such  lines  as  to 
leave  Carl's  name  out  of  play,  sometimes  going  so  far  as  even 
to  defend  him,74  is  to  be  found  in  the  reflection  that  it  was  Carl 
who  held  the  key  to  his  uncle's  millions,  and  Heine  was  shrewd 
enough  not  to  risk  a  position  from  which  no  retreat  was  possible. 

70  Admitted  in  Heine's  letter  to  Detmold,  January  23,  1845. 

71  Heine  to  Campe,  February  4,  1845. 

71  In  justice  to  Heine  it  must  be  understood  that  he  meant  by  surrender 
to  his  family  a  pledge  to  write  nothing  offensive  to  his  family.  But  instead 
of  the  revolting  alternative  of  submitting  to  their  censorship,  he  chose  rather 
to  be  entirely  silent  on  family  matters.  See  covering  note  to  letter  to  Campe 
of  February  4,  1845. 

73  Heine  to  Laube,  February  1,  1845. 

74  Heine  to  Varnhagen,  February  16,  1846. 


Heine's  Family  Fued  95 

All  these  attempts  to  force  his  cousin's  hand,  neutralizing 
each  other  as  they  did,  were  by  the  very  contradictoriness  of 
the  methods  employed  doomed  to  failure.  I  have  gone  into 
them  so  fully  because  they  show  in  a  typical  way  the  limitations 
of  Heine's  reasoning.  Just  as  Heine's  poetry  reveals  his  in- 
ability to  compose  works  of  larger  scope  on  a  balanced  archi- 
tectonic basis, — a  fact  which  Legras  has  convincingly  pointed 
out  in  his  study  of  the  'Atta  Troll'  and  the  'Wintermarchen'75— 
so  he  was  incapable  of  any  consistent  plan  or  policy  in  his 
practical  affairs,  despite  a  shrewdness  in  regard  to  details  which 
must  arouse  our  astonishment.  His  machinations  were  of  the 
subtlest  order,  each  taken  by  itself,  but  taken  all  in  all,  as  a 
whole,  they  fail  to  reveal  any  thread  of  consistent  plan  or 
purpose.  The  same  conclusion  has  forced  itself  upon  me  in 
tracing  out  Heine's  erratic  political  attitude.  Any  new  develop- 
ment of  the  moment,  be  it  ever  so  precarious,  was  likely  to 
make  him  turn  a  complete  face-about  and  steer  his  opportunistic 
course  in  the  opposite  direction  from  that  pursued  heretofore. — 
Elsewhere  I  have  pointed  out  how  Heine  made  use  of  the 
Hegelian  dialectic  to  deceive  himself  and  his  followers  as  to  the 
significance  of  his  opportunism.76 

It  is  clear,  then,  that  Heine  had  none  of  that  Nietzschean 
or  Machiavellian  amoralism  with  which  he  has  at  times  been 
mistakenly  associated.  The  amoralism  of  the  super-man  knows 
no  scruples  about  applying  the  means  that  will  serve  his  ends, 
but  the  supposition  indispensable  to  giving  any  ethical  dignity 
to  his  conduct  is  that  he  know  his  end  and  steer  a  straight 
course;  that  he  think  with  trenchant  clearness  and  strike  with 
steady  nerve,  without  wavering  and  half-heartedness.  Heine 
lacked  both  the  steadiness  of  aim  and  the  sureness  of  arm  in 
forging  ahead.  Both  his  aim  and  his  stroke  were  vitiated  by 
cross  currents  of  thought.  To  bring  this  trait  into  sharp  relief, 
contrast  him  with  the  steely  hardness  and  suppleness  of  Frank 
Wedekind's  super-man  characters. — 

Nothing  came  of  the  attempts  to  win  Halle's  services  for 
mediation  with  Carl,  and  Heine  promptly  came  to  see  him  as 
the  ultimate  cause  of  Solomon's  neglect  of  him  in  his  will.  The 

78  Jules  Legras:  "Henri  Heine  Poete."    Paris,  1897;  p.  388-90. 
76  In  my  paper:  "Heine's  Return  to  God."    Modern  Philology,  October 
1920. 


96  Weigand 

force  of  his  threats  had  been  spent,  and  Heine  now  resorted  to 
entreaty  and  self-humiliation,  by  writing  Carl  a  very  submissive 
letter;77  for  the  pension  itself,  obtained  on  any  terms,  proved 
to  be  the  'summun  bonum,'  compared  with  which  everything 
else,  including  his  dignity  and  his  honor,  was  of  little  account. 
He  had  come  to  recognize  this  quite  clearly  even  when  the 
attempts  to  influence  Halle  had  been  in  full  swing.  He  must 
have  the  pension  at  any  cost,  he  had  at  that  time  declared  to 
Campe,7^  even  if  Halle  must  be  forced  to  pay  it  out  of  his  own 
pocket,  assuming  that  Carl  was  intransigeant,  and  he  had 
motivated  his  readiness  to  surrender  by  the  words:  "Ich  gestehe 
Ihnen  heute  offen,  ich  habe  gar  keine  Eitelkeit  in  der  Weise 
anderer  Menschen,  mir  liegt  am  Ende  gar  nichts  an  der  Meinung 
des  Publikums;mir  ist  nur  eins  wichtig,  die  Befriedigung  meines 
inneren  Willens — die  Selbstachtung  meiner  Seele.  .  .  .  Zum 
Ungluck  ist  mein  Wille  auch  so  starr  wie  der  eines  Wahnsin- 
nigen." 

The  results  of  his  letter  to  Carl  proved  that  after  all  some- 
thing was  to  be  gained  by  meekness,  where  threats  were  futile, 
for  in  May  we  are  told  his  family  differences  had  been  more 
or  less  adjusted,79  which  can  mean  nothing  else  than  that  Carl 
had  come  to  his  aid  financially,  without,  however,  giving  any 
guarantees  as  to  the  future.  But  with  this  result  Heine  could 
not  rest  satisfied — much  less  now  than  at  the  time  when  his 
uncle  was  still  living.  What  he  demanded  was  the  pension 
"uncurtailed  and  unconditioned,"  even  tho  he  expressed 
willingness  to  yield  as  to  the  form  and  accept  it  as  a  gift  of  grace, 
without  stressing  his  right.80 

To  this  point  the  fight  had  been  fought  underground,  by 
direct  negotiation  between  the  contending  parties  and  anony- 
mous press  intrigues,  but  the  public  had  not  been  given  any 
official  version  of  the  affair.  But  now,  during  the  lull,  Heine  had 
time  and  sufficient  peace  of  mind  to  concern  himself  with  the 

77  Heine  to  Campe,  March  28,  1845. 

78  Letter  of  February  4,  1845. 

79  Heine  to  Laube,  May  24,  1845.    This  assumption  seems  conclusively 
proved  by  Heine's  statement  (Letter  to  Campe,  October  31,  1845)  that  Meyer- 
beer had  guaranteed  to  pay  him  any  possible  subtraction  from  his  pension 
out  of  his  own  pocket. 

80  Heine  to  Campe,  October  31,  1845. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  97 

thought  of  his  reputation,  and  he  set  to  work  to  edit  a  legend  to 
pass  on  to  posterity;  for  as  such  we  have  every  reason  to  regard 
Heine's  letter  of  January  3,  1846  to  Varnhag^en,  couched  in  the 
form  of  a  new  year's  salutation  and  stamped  unmistakably  by 
its  tone  as  an  official  or  semi-official  document  that  would  stand 
publication  without  the  risk  of  indiscretion.  The  nucleus  of  a 
legend  is  here  presented  in  the  suggestion  of  a  parallel  between 
his  fate  and  that  of  Siegfried,  the  mastery  of  the  form  being 
such  that  a  vision  of  the  bleeding  Germanic  hero  is  conjured 
up  before  the  eye  without  even  the  mention  of  Siegfried's  name. 
The  mere  phrase,  "wie  entsetzlich  mir  von  meinen  nachsten 
Sippen  und  Magen  mitgespielt  worden,"  occurring  near  the 
beginning  of  the  letter,  calls  up  the  whole  picture,  and  all  the 
emotions  that  are  touched  off  at  the  thought  of  Siegfried 
immediately  resurge.  Heine  was  skilful  enough  to  know  what 
emphasis  can  be  lent  by  restraint.  He  at  once  passes  on  to  the 
discussion  of  other  matters — the  blue  flower  of  Romanticism 
contrasted  with  the  hardness  of  the  modern  realistic  age.  Only 
toward  the  end  he  lightly  touches  that  chord  once  more,  after 
speaking  with  an  equally  admirable  restraint  of  his  paralysis: 
"Der  Verrath  der  im  Schosse  der  Familie,  wo  ich  waffenlos  und 
vertrauend  war,  an  mir  veriibt  wurde,  hat  mich  wie  ein  Blitz 
aus  heiterer  Luft  getroffen  und  fast  todtlich  beschadigt;  wer  die 
Umstande  erwagt,  wird  hierin  einen  Meuchelmordsversuch 
sehen;  die  schleichende  Mittelmassigkeit,  die  zwanzig  Jahre 
lang  harrte,  ingrimmig  neidisch  gegen  den  Genius,  hatte  end- 
lich  ihre  Siegesstunde  erreicht.  Im  Grunde  ist  auch  das  eine 
alte  Geschichte,  die  sich  immer  erneut."  His  idealizing  self- 
portraiture  reaches  the  height  of  self-apotheosis  in  the  conclud- 
ing words:  "Ja,  ich  bin  sehr  korperkrank,  aber  die  Seele  hat 
wenig  gelitten;  eine  miide  Blume  ist  sie  ein  bischen  gebeugt, 
aber  keineswegs  welk  und  sie  wurzelt  noch  fest  in  der  Wahrheit 
und  Liebe." 

This  foundation  of  his  official  legend  Heine  reinforced 
toward  the  close  of  the  year  by  a  letter  to  Campe,  written 
during  his  stay  in  the  Pyrenees,  where  the  false  rumor  of  his 
death,  widely  circulated  in  the  German  press,  had  reached 
him.  The  body  of  this  letter  also  has  all  the  ear-marks  of  a 
public  announcement.  After  expressing  his  conviction  that 
his  life  is  doomed,  with  the  possibility  of  prolonging  the  agony 


98  Weigand 

for  another  year  or  two,  he  continues:  "Nun,  das  geht  mich 
nichts  an,  das  1st  die  Sorge  der  ewigen  Cotter,  die  mir  nichts 
vorzuwerfen  haben,  und  deren  Sache  ich  immer  mit  Muth  und 
Liebe  auf  Erden  vertreten  habe.  Das  holdselige  Bewusstseyn, 
ein  schones  Leben  gefiihrt  zu  haben,  erfullt  meine  Seele  selbst 
in  dieser  kummervollen  Zeit,  wird  mich  auch  hoffentlich  in  den 
letzten  Stunden  bis  an  den  weissen  Abgrund  begleiten."  And 
a  little  further  on  he  adds:  "Gott  verzeihe  meiner  Familie  die 
Versiindigung,  die  sie  an  mir  verschuldet.  Wahrlich  nicht  die 
Geldsache,  sondern  die  moralische  Entriistung,  dass  mein 
intimster  Jugendfreund  und  Blutsverwandter  das  Wort  seines 
Vaters  nicht  in  Ehren  gehalten  hat,  das  hat  mir  die  Knochen 
im  Herzen81  gebrochen,  und  ich  sterbe  an  diesem  Bruch."  How 
this  legend  was  further  built  up  by  Heine's  posthumous  poems 
will  be  shown  in  due  course. 

The  exposition  of  Heine's  official  legend  has  taken  us  beyond 
events  that  were  meanwhile  transpiring.  At  the  opening  of  the 
year  Heine  had  made  new  ineffective  overtures  to  his  cousin  as 
to  securing  a  legal  status  for  his  pension,  both  directly  and 
thru  the  mediation  of  Prince  Hermann  Piickler,  who  was  one 
of  Heine's  literary  satellites.  The  correspondence  between 
Puckler  and  Carl  Heine,  while  confirming  the  fact  that  Carl 
had  reluctantly  been  giving  financial  support  to  the  poet, 
shows  how  deep-seated  must  have  been  Carl's  anger  and  his 
suspicions  of  Heine's  intentions.  "Die  Pietat,  die  ich  meinem 
verstorbenen  geliebten  Vater  schuldig  bin,  gebietet  mir  selbst, 
der  Bosheit  Schranken  zu  setzen" — with  these  words  he  cuts 
off  Puckler's  plea.82  In  consequence  Heine  resorted  once  more 
to  the  weapon  of  intimidation.  He  has  discarded  the  idea  of 
bringing  suit,  he  tells  Campe,83  in  order  to  show  that  it  is  no 
longer  any  question  of  money,  the  true  reason  being,  of  course, 
that  he  knew  his  claims  to  lack  any  legal  basis.  Instead  he 
now  describes  himself  as  writing  a  hideous  memoire  aimed  at 
exposing  the  family. 

Upon  the  renewal  of  this  disastrous  course  he  was  steered, 
without  doubt,  by  the  new  ally  he  had  won  for  his  cause, 

81  "Die  Knochen  im  Herzen!"    Is  this  absurd  figure  an  unconscious  be- 
trayal of  the  insincerity  of  his  pathos? 

82  For  this  correspondence  see  Heine's  Briefwechsel  (Hirth)  vol.  II,  p.  577-8. 

83  Letter  of  February  6,  1846. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  99 

Ferdinand  Lassalle,  the  powerful  leader  of  the  German  prole- 
tariat. Endowed  with  an  intellectual  acumen  to  which  Heine 
unhesitatingly  conceded  superiority  over  his  own,  and  possessed 
of  a  degree  of  unscrupulousness  which  made  Heine  feel  like  a 
novice,  Lassalle  fanned  Heine's  wrath  against  his  family  to  the 
hottest  flame.  What  a  difference  between  the  extreme  of  his 
anger  as  expressed  to  Campe  the  year  previous — "Lassen  Sie 
den  Anzug  ungeheurer  Mistkarren  ein  bischen  riechen" — ,  and 
the  depths  of  Old-Testament  wrath  as  voiced  in  his  letter  to 
Lassalle:84 

Sagen  Sie  das  an  Varnhagen,  sagen  Sie  ihm:  die  Herzen  der  Geldparaone 
seyen  so  verstockt,  dass  das  blosse  Androhen  von  Plagen  nicht  hinreichend 
sey,  obgleich  sie  wohl  wissen,  wie  gross  die  Zaubermacht  des  Autors,  der  schon 
vor  ihren  eignen  Augen  so  manches  Schlangenkunststiick  verrichtet  hat — Nein, 
diese  Menschen  mussen  die  Plagen  fiihlen,  ehe  sie  daran  glauben  und  ihren 
zahen  Selbstwillen  aufgeben,  sie  mussen  Blut  sehen,  auch  Frosche,  Ungeziefer, 
wilde  Thiere,  Jan  Hagel  u.s.w.,  und  erst  beym  zehnten  Artikel,  worin  man 
ihre  geliebte  Erstgeburt  todtschlagt,  geben  sie  nach,  aus  Furcht  vor  dem  noch 
grosseren  Vbel,  dem  eignen  Tod. 

While  Lassalle  was  in  Berlin,  serving  Heine's  cause  by  press 
manoeuvres  and  by  recruiting  new  forces: — Varnhagen,  the 
diplomat  and  man  of  letters;  Felix  Mendelssohn,  the  well- 
known  musician;85  Meyerbeer,  with  whom  Heine  had  recently 
broken  but  whom  he  still  saw  fit  to  use;86  and  even  the  renowned 
savant  Alexander  von  Humboldt — ,87  Heine  was  plotting  new 
perfidies  at  home.  He  went  so  far  as  to  write  an  anonymous 
defamatory  article  against  himself,  culminating  in  the  claim 
that  whereas  he  possessed  the  sympathies  of  the  lower  classes 
in  his  family  feud,  the  upper  classes  were  keeping  aloof.  To 
this  article,  which  cleverly  introduced  the  issue  of  the  then 
nascent  consciousness  of  class  war,  Varnhagen,  who  received 
a  copy  before  it  was  sent  to  the  press,  was  asked  to  write  a 
reply,  countering  the  claim  as  to  the  aloofness  of  the  upper 
classes  by  publishing  in  so  far  as  expedient  Prince  Puckler's 

84  February  1846,  exact  date  missing. 

K  Mendelssohn  refused  to  become  involved,  piqued  because  of  Heine's 
previous  attacks  against  him  which  he  regarded  as  staged  in  the  interests  of 
his  rival  Meyerbeer  (Heine  to  Lassalle,  February  10,  1846). 

88  Heine  to  Meyerbeer,  December  24,  1845. 

87  Probably  without  any  success,  altho  Humboldt  had  given  Heine  active 
proofs  of  his  sympathy  previously. 


100  Weigand 

correspondence  with  Carl  Heine.  Varnhagen  was  further  asked 
to  emphasize  the  justice  of  Heine's  claims  by  quoting  Meyer- 
beer's testimony  to  that  effect,  being  careful,  however,  to 
mention  the  name  of  Carl  with  the  utmost  flattery  and  con- 
sideration.88 A  week  later  Heine  reinforced  his  request  to 
Varnhagen  by  a  second  note89  and  also  by  writing  his  aide-in- 
chief,  Lassalle,  a  letter  which  makes  a  point  of  emphasizing 
that  the  article  to  be  written  by  Varnhagen  should  duly  dwell 
on  the  fact  that  the  pension  was  now  actually  being  paid,  in 
order  by  this  public  acknowledgment  to  make  it  more  difficult 
for  Carl  to  discontinue  it  later.90  To  Varnhagen's  credit  it 
must  be  stated  that  he  refused  to  stoop  to  such  tactics.  He 
deprecated  the  abuse  of  private  correspondence  and  urged 
Heine  to  adopt  a  moderate  and  conciliatory  attitude.91 

While  this  manoeuvre  was  still  pending,  Heine  ordered  his 
lieutenant  in  Berlin  to  impress  Meyerbeer  into  the  service.  It 
was  thanks  to  Meyerbeer's  mediation,  we  remember,  that 
Solomon  had  been  induced  in  1839  to  assign  a  fixed  annual 
pension  to  his  nephew.  In  the  course  of  the  year  that  followed 
the  death  of  Heine's  uncle,  Meyerbeer,  anxious  to  oblige  Heine, 
had  given  him  his  written  testimony  to  the  effect  that  the  pen- 
sion had  been  granted  with  the  understanding  that  it  was  to 
continue  until  Heine's  death.92  Meanwhile  Heine  had  become 
embroiled  with  Meyerbeer  over  financial  matters  and  had 
renounced  the  latter's  friendship  in  cutting  terms.93  In  view 
of  this  fact  he  could  not  now  solicit  any  favors  from  him.  But 
as  Heine  believed  that  his  mediation  could  be  of  use,  he  in- 
structed Lassalle  to  "apply  thumbscrews  to  the  bear,"  in  order 
to  force  him  to  approach  Carl  in  Heine's  behalf.94  By  "thumb- 
screws" he,  of  course,  understood  threats  to  prick  the  bubble 
of  Meyerbeer's  fame  by  exposing  the  press  bribery  upon  which 
it  rested.96  How  Heine  could  expect  to  succeed  by  such  means 

88  Heine  to  Varnhagen,  February  16,  1846. 
88  February  24,  1846. 

90  Heine  to  Ferdinand  Lassalle,  February  27,  1846. 

91  ibidem. 

92  Heine  to  Campe,  October  31,  1845. 

93  Heine  to  Meyerbeer,  December  24,  1845. 

94  February  27,  1846. 

96  See  his  satirical  poem  "Festgedicht"  (1847),  Werke  II,  178. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  101 

is  difficult  to  understand.  Had  he  forgotten  the  fate  of  Xerxes' 
lash-driven  legions  at  Thermopylae? 

What  threats  against  allies  and  enemies  failed  to  accom- 
plish for  Heine,  the  premature  rumor  of  his  death  seems  to  have 
brought  about.  On  November  12,  1846  he  informed  Campe: 

Die  voreilige  Nachricht  meines  Todes  hat  mir  viele  Theilnahme  gewonnen; 
ruhrend  edle  Briefe  in  Menge.  Auch  Carl  Heine  schrieb  mir  den  liebreichsten 
Freundschaftsbrief .  Die  kleine  Trodeley,  die  lumpige  Gelddifferenz,  ist  ausge- 
glichen,  und  dieses  that  meinem  verletzten  Gemiithe  wahrhaft  wohl.  Aber 
das  Vertrauen  zu  meiner  Familie  ist  dahin,  und  Carl  Heine,  wie  reich  er  auch 
ist  und  wie  liebreich  er  sich  mir  zuwendet,  so  ware  er  doch  der  letzte,  an  den 
ich  mich  in  einer  Lebensnoth  wenden  wiirde.  Ich  habe  hartnackig  darauf 
bestanden,  dass  er  mir  bis  auf  den  letzten  Schilling  auszahle,  wozu  ich  mich 
durch  das  Wort  seines  Vaters  berechtigt  glaubte,  aber  wahrhaftig,  ich  wiirde 
auch  keinen  Schilling  mehr  von  ihm  annehmen." 

This  preliminary  peace  was  followed  by  the  ratification  of 
a  formal  treaty  during  February  of  the  following  year,  when 
Carl  visited  Heine  in  Paris.  At  that  time  Heine  added  a  post- 
script to  the  will  which  he  had  drawn  up  the  previous  year. 
In  this  he  speaks  of  his  cousin  in  terms  which  give  some  idea 
as  to  the  abysmal  degree  to  which  he  had  renounced  his  pride. 
What  could  have  been  more  bitter  for  him  to  write  than  words 
like  the  following! 

Ja,  er  (Carl)  verriet  hier  wieder  sein  ganzes  edles  Gemiit,  seine  ganze 
Liebe,  und  als  er  mir  zum  Pfande  seines  feierlichen  Versprechens  die  Hand 
reichte,  driickle  ich  sie  an  meine  Lippen,  so  tief  war  ich  erschuttert,  und  so 
sehr  glich  er  in  diesem  Momente  seinem  seligen  Vater,  meinem  armen  Oheim, 
dem  ich  so  oft  wie  ein  Kind  die  Hand  kiisste,  wenn  er  mir  eine  Giite  erwies! 
(Werke  VII,  514) 

"Als  er  mir  .  .  .  die  Hand  reichte,  driickte  ich  sie  an  meine 
Lippen." — I  have  spared  no  effort  to  peel  off  the  superficial 
layers  surrounding  the  kernel  of  Heine's  personality,  but  in 
my  attempt  to  picture  this  scene  I  have  to  steady  myself  by 
a  literal  reading  of  Heine's  maxim:  "Die  Hand,  die  man  nicht 
abhauen  kann,  muss  man  kiissen."96 — 

Two  days  after  this  meeting  he  tells  his  mother  and  sister 
that  he  is  very  well  satisfied  with  Carl,97  and  in  April  he  reports 
to  them  tkat  he  is  burning  all  indiscreet  family  letters.98  But 

*  Heine  to  Lewald,  March  1,  1838. 
"  Letter  of  February  28,  1847. 
»•  Letter  of  April  19,  1847. 


102  Weigand 

by  June  his  resentment  over  the  bitter  cup  he  had  swallowed 
has  had  time  to  well  up  again.  He  writes  to  Campe"  that  he 
has  no  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  Carl,  the  latter  having 
dictated  the  terms  of  the  reconciliation.  He  makes  light  of 
Carl's  generosity,  saying  that  his  purse  had  remained  entirely 
untouched — Heine's  way  of  implying  that  Carl  did  nothing 
beyond  keeping  his  father's  promise.  What  aggravated  Heine's 
resentment  was  his  constantly  increasing  financial  plight. 
His  health  had  broken  down,  so  that  he  earned  nothing  by  his 
pen  over  long  periods  of  time;  his  treatments  swallowed  up 
heavy  doctors'  and  nurses'  fees;  Mathilde  kept  on  spending  as 
recklessly  as  ever;  speculations  turned  out  badly;  and  one  of 
the  most  severe  blows  came  when  his  pension  from  the  French 
government  was  stopped  with  the  overthrow  of  the  July  mon- 
archy. In  consequence  of  this  plight  Heine,  who  had  declared 
that  he  would  never  take  a  shilling  from  Carl  over  and  above 
his  due,  found  himself  forced  to  appeal  again  and  again  to 
Carl  for  emergency  aid,  which,  tho  always  granted  in  the  end, 
was  spiced  with  bitter  humiliations.  It  is  easy  to  understand 
how  each  new  appeal  to  the  man  whom  he  wished  to  owe 
nothing  must  have  acted  upon  his  system  like  a  dose  of  poison; 
yet  again  his  resentment  against  Carl  was  such  that  he  began 
to  take  an  almost  insane  delight  in  bleeding  Carl's  purse  under 
one  pretext  or  another,  by  lie  and  subterfuge.  In  this  course 
he  may  have  been  confirmed  by  the  reflection  that,  having 
sacrificed  his  honor  irrevocably,  it  was  only  good  business  to 
sell  it  at  the  highest  price  possible,  mindful  of  his  own  jesting 
remark  on  how  foolish  it  was  for  a  man  not  to  love  his  wifr, 
when  she  cost  him  the  same  in  either  case.100 

It  would  be  only  a  wearying  statistician's  task  to  quote  in 
detail  the  daily  readings  of  Heine's  family  thermometer  during 
the  remaining  years  of  his  life.  The  tortures  of  his  harrowing 
illness  increased  his  constitutional  suspiciousness.  Even  after 
Carl  had  paid  his  debts  and  almost  doubled  his  pension,  he 
trembled  from  quarter  to  quarter  lest  payments  should  be 
stopped,  the  more  so  as  he  was  forced  in  spite  of  them  to  borrow 
from  his  brothers  Max  and  Gustav  and  even  accept  aid  from 
his  old  mother — not  to  speak  of  the  substantial  alms  which 

"  June  20,  1847. 

100  Heine  to  his  mother,  June  21,  1853. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  103 

he  repeatedly  solicited  and  received  from  members  of  the 
Rothschild  family.  He  has  nothing  but  bitterness  for  Carl 
in  his  confidential  letters,  referring  to  him  in  rather  cryptic 
terms  as  "der  Sohn  des  Re  Aaron,"101  "der  junge  Fatum,"102 
and  "der  junge  Schofelly,"103  altho  continuing  to  flatter  him 
publicly.104  Carl's  repeated  visits  to  Heine's  sick-bed  in  1850 
did  nothing  to  alter  his  real  attitude;105  and  as  late  as  June 
1853,  when  Carl  brought  his  sister  Therese  to  the  bed-side 
of  the  dying  poet,  Carl  was  to  Heine  only  the  prison  guard 
come  to  forestall  confidential  communications.106  The  petty 
intrigues  to  obtain  money  from  Carl  by  the  connivance  of 
Max,  on  the  strength  of  fictitious  debts107  are  weak  repetitions 
of  former  tactics,  reminding  one  of  the  serpent  whose  fangs 
had  been  pulled,  but  coming  as  they  do  out  of  the  mattress-grave 
shrouded  in  perpetual  twilight,  they  elicit  sympathy  rather 
than  indignation.  Of  his  return  to  an  Old-Testament  God  of 
revenge  we  find  an  illuminating  hint  in  his  remark  to  Max:  "Dass 
Dr.  Halle  verriickt  ist  und  wie  ein  Hahn  kraht,  wirst  Du  wissen. 
Wie  witzig  ist  Gott!"108  His  promise  to  keep  silence  on  family 
matters  Heine  kept  during  his  lifetime  with  one  exception. 
His  poem  "Affrontenburg,"  a  transparent  description  of 
Solomon's  villa  which  he  brands  as  a  hot-bed  of  foul  defama- 
tion was  included  in  his  "Vermischte  Schriften"  that  appeared 
in  1854,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  the  family  took  any 
notice  of  it. 

It  may  be  interesting,  on  the  other  hand,  to  tabulate  the 
sums  Heine  received  from  Carl  after  Solomon  s  death.  The 
following  figures  are  based  entirely  on  the  evidence  of  Heine's 
own  letters. 

1845 — Heine  received  money  from  Carl,  the  amount  not  stated;  probably 
4000  francs.109 

101  Heine  to  Max,  January  9,  1850. 
1(8  Heine  to  Max,  March  22,  1850. 

103  Heine  to  Max,  August  12,  1852. 

104  See  his  open  letter,  "Berichtigung"  of  April  15,  1849.    Werke  VII,  538. 
1(*  Heine  to  his  mother  and  sister  May  6  and  September  26,  1850. 

10«  Heine  to  his  mother,  June  21,  1853. 

107  Heine's  letters  to  Max,  May  3,  1849  and  March  22,  1850. 

108  Heine  to  Max,  January  9,  1850. 

109  Heine  to  Laube,  May  24,  1845;  to  Campe,  July  21,  1845. 


104  Weigand 

1846— He  received  4000  francs.110 

1847 — He  received  the  full  pension,  4800  francs,  pledged  with  the  promise  of 
half  that  amount  for  Mathilde  after  his  death. 

1848 — He  received  the  pension  (4800  francs)  and  in  addition  Carl  paid  his 
debts  to  the  amount  of  5000  francs.111 

1849 — He  received  the  pension  plus  an  additional  subsidy  of  3000  francs.112 

1850 — He  received  the  pension  and  a  subsidy  of  750  francs  for  the  first  quarter. 
Then  Carl  intimated  his  intention  to  stop  the  subsidy,113  and  there  is 
no  positive  proof  that  Heine  succeeded  in  gaining  his  point.  (It  is  made 
more  than  likely,  however,  by  his  letter  to  Gustav,  February  7,  1851 
and  to  his  mother,  February  5,  1851.) 

1851 — He  received  the  pension  plus  the  necessary  extraordinary  subsidies, 
this  time  without  any  preceding  chicanery.114 

1852 — He  received  2000  francs  less  than  the  previous  year,  and  in  consequence 
made  every  effort  to  get  this  additional  sum  by  intrigue.115  I  do  not  know 
whether  he  succeeded. 

1853 — He  received  besides  funds  from  Carl  (amounts  not  mentioned)  a  gift 
of  money  from  Therese  (amount  not  known.) 

1854 — No  mention  of  any  figures. 

1855 — Heine  stated  his  fixed  income  from  Germany  as  12000  francs.118  Of  this 
amount  Campe  paid  him  about  2400  francs  (1200  mark  banko)  by  con- 
tract. Consequently  Heine  must  have  been  receiving  a  total  fixed 
pension  of  9600  francs. 

1856 — Nothing  mentioned. 

These  sums  were  large  compared  with  the  gifts  of  his  uncle, 
but  was  not  the  price  paid  disproportionately  larger? — that 
dread  disease,  heretofore  burrowing  silently  underground, 
now  stalking  swiftly  with  raised  head;  those  seething  emotions 
of  hate  and  dread,  bubbling  ever  at  the  slightest  breath  of 
wind  like  a  witch's  cauldron;  bitterest  of  all,  those  moments 
in  which  a  sense  of  shame  poisoned  even  his  indestructible 
love  of  himself. 

The  bitterest  of  these  Heine  conquered,  by  making  his 
peace  with  God — on  his  own  terms;  by  transforming  his  con- 
tempt for  his  own  self  into  an  emotion  of  cosmic  nihilism — the 
basic  motif  of  "Vitzliputzli"  and  "Spanische  Atriden";  by 
casting  his  ideal  vision  of  his  self  and  his  fate — das  eigene 

110  Heine  to  Varnhagen,  February  16,  1846. 

111  Heine  to  Max,  December  3,  1848. 

112  ibidem. 

118  Heine  to  Max,  March  22,  1850. 

114  Heine  to  his  mother  and  sister,  February  5,  1851. 

115  Heine  to  his  brother  Gustav,  April  17,  1852. 
118  Heine  to  his  brother  Gustav,  August  17,  1855. 


Heine's  Family  Feud  105 

Wunschbild — into  the  mold  of  historic  characters  like  the  poets 
Firdusi  and  Jehuda  Ben  Halevy;  by  building  up  the  legend, 
finally,  that  made  him  the  guileless  hero  slain  by  family  treach- 
ery. This  legend,  first  sketched  out  in  his  letters,  as  quoted 
above,  and  rounded  out  subsequently  by  poems  calculated  for 
posthumous  revenge,  must  in  its  later  stages  be  regarded 
rather  as  an  expression  of  the  will  to  survive  as  a  person,  than 
as  conscious  make-believe.  I  grant  that  the  latter  predominated 
to  begin  with,  but  conscious  hypocrisy  gives  way,  except  in 
the  rarest  of  cases,  to  a  sub-conscious  reconstruction  and  rein- 
terpretation  of  the  past  in  favor  of  the  self;  it  could  not  help 
but  do  so  in  the  case  of  a  poet  so  abnormally  amorous  of  his 
self  as  Heine.  That  his  legendary  version  of  the  struggle  had 
become  part  and  parcel  of  his  mental  make-up  is  apparent 
from  a  study  of  his  poem,  "Der  Dichter  Firdusi."  Here  it  was 
the  duplicity  of  the  shah  in  dealing  with  the  poet  Firdusi  which 
struck  Heine  as  a  striking  parallel  to  his  own  fate  at  the  hands 
of  Carl,  and  supplied  the  initial  spark  that  set  Heine's  creative 
imagination  working  on  the  Firdusi  theme.117  Granted  the 
astonishing  transformative  power  of  the  sub-conscious  in  his 
"Buch  der  Lieder,"  where  the  flimsiest  shred  of  fact  grew  into 
the  most  intricate  web  of  emotional  history,  how  can  the 
emotional  genuineness  of  Heine's  last  poems  of  hate  be  doubted! 
It  is  these  last  poems  of  undisguised  hate,118  and  not  only 
these  but  all  those  poems  of  Heine's  last  years  over  which  the 
emotions  released  by  the  grim  family  struggle  shed  their  dusky 
reflection,  that  represent  the  positive  values  which  Heine's 
poet's  personality  distilled  out  of  the  most  evil  passions  and 
out  of  his  self-debasement.  Much  of  Heine's  late  poetry  derives 
its  austere  force  from  the  fact  that  he  could  not  entirely  down 
the  consciousness  of  having  prostituted  his  honor.  His  sin 
was  common  enough,  from  the  nothing-but-moralist's  point 
of  view,  but  his  manner  of  atonement — the  creation  of  priceless 
aesthetic  values  out  of  the  very  sordidness  of  his  material 
existence — was  unique.  The  compensation  he  made  was  full, 
tho  not  in  kind.  And  in  the  valuation  of  his  personality  as  a 
whole,  his  sin  must  be  balanced  against  hig  atonement. 

UT  Fully  analyzed  by  Helene  Herrmann  in  "Studien  zu  Heines  Romanzero," 
Berlin,  1906,  p.  94  ff. 

118  For  these  poems  see  Werke,  vol.  II,  book  2,  numbers  63-68. 


106  Weigand 

May  not  the  cynic  have  the  last  word  for  once?  Would 
it  not  do  to  picture  a  chance  encounter  between  Heine  and 
Frank  Wedekind  in  the  other  world,  a  la  Swedenborg,  and 
have  Wedekind  deliver  himself  of  a  little  sermon  to  Heine  with 
all  the  courtesy  owing  to  a  spiritual  father?  Imagine  him 
quoting  his  own  Marquis  von  Keith — gypsy,  self-styled  mar- 
quis, horse-thief,  entrepreneur  and  philosopher  in  one — to  the 
following  effect: 

Lassen  Sie  sich  noch  eines  sagen:  Das  einzig  richtige  Mittel,  seine  Mit- 
menschen  auszuniitzen,  besteht  darin,  dass  man  sie  bei  ihren  guten  Seiten 
nimmt.  Darin  liegt  die  Kunst,  geliebt  zu  werden,  die  Kunst,  recht  zu  behalten. 
Je  ergiebiger  Sie  Ihre  Mitmenschen  iibervorteilen,  um  so  gewissenhaf ter  miissen 
Sie  darauf  achten,  dass  Sie  das  Recht  auf  Ihrer  Seite  haben.  Suchen  Sie  Ihren 
Nutzen  niemals  im  Nachteil  eines  tuchtigen  Menschen,  sondern  immer  nur 
im  Nachteil  von  Schurken  und  Dummkopfen.  Und  nun  iibennittle  ich  Ihnen 
den  Stein  der  Weisen:  das  glanzendste  Geschaft  in  dieser  Welt  ist  die  Moral." 

Would  Heine  parry  the  thrust  with  the  heroic  pose  and  the 
grandiloquent  phrase  of  which  he  was  master,  or  would  he 
smilingly  counter  the  cynic-moralist  with  his  marquis'  last 
words — 

"Das  Leben  ist  eine  Rutschbahn!"? 

HERMANN  J.  WEIGAND 

University  of  Pennsylvania 


THE  MANUSCRIPTS  OF  THE  LEGEND  OF  GOOD 

WOMEN 

Dr.  John  Koch's  recently  published  study  of  the  relation- 
ship of  the  manuscripts  of  Chaucer's  Legend  of  Good  Women1 
was  evidently  made  in  ignorance  of  a  similar  study  of  mine 
presented  as  a  doctoral  dissertation  at  Princeton  in  1914  and, 
after  some  reworking,  published  in  the  spring  of  1918.2  As  a 
result  we  have  two  independent  studies  of  a  problem  which  had 
been  investigated  before  but  which  for  various  reasons3  had  never 
given  the  impression  of  having  been  satisfactorily  settled. 
That  the  problem  is  not  a  simple  one  is  further  evident  from  the 
differences  in  the  conclusions  which  Koch  and  I  arrive  at, 
differences  which  can  best  be  shown  by  the  accompanying 
stemmas. 

A  comparison  of  the  two  stemmas  shows  that  Koch  and  I 
differ  in  three  respects,  viz.,  as  regards  the  relation  of  "k"  to 
the  other  MSS.,  in  our  interpretation  of  the  significance  of 
so-called  'contamination'  in  most  of  the  MSS.,  and  in  our  con- 
jectures regarding  the  nature  of  the  hypothetical  "A."  Let  us 
consider  the  points  in  the  order  named —  which  is  also  the  order 
of  their  importance. 

1.  The  position  of  "k"  on  the  stemma 

The  difficulty  of  reconstructing  k  arises  from  the  frag- 
mentary character  of  the  MSS.  At  no  point  do  the  texts  of 
the  four  MSS.  run  parallel.  The  text  of  Ff  breaks  off  where 
that  of  R  begins  and  can  be  compared  with  the  texts  of  Ad3 
and  P  in  only  116  lines.  Futhermore,  the  texts  of  P,  R,  and 
Ad8  run  parallel  for  less  than  300  Hues.  Yet  the  fragments 
furnish  sufficient  evidence  to  warrant  grouping  them  as  Koch 
and  I  do  and  (though  Koch  and  I  do  not  agree)  to  establish 
their  relationship  as  a  group  to  the  other  MSS. 

Koch's  evidence  for  connecting  k  with  c  is  to  my  mind 
decidedly  inconclusive.  He  advances  no  evidence  of  readings 
in  which  the  k  MSS.  as  a  group  agree  in  error  with  those  of  c 

1  Anglia  Zeitschrift  fur  Englische  Philologie,  XLIII,  197  ff,  and  XLIV,  23  ff. 

2  The  text  of  Chaucer's  Legend  of  Good  Women,  Princeton  University  Press, 
1918. 

1  See  Preface  to  my  dissertation. 

107 


108 


Koch's  stemma 

Die  punktierten  linien  nach  x  und  y  deuten  nur  vermutungsweise  aufge- 
stellte  beziehungen  an,  die  andern  die  im  folgenden  nachgewiesenen  kontamina- 
tionen,  bei  denen  jedoch  noch  zwischenstufen  mehr  oder  weniger  wahrscheinlich 
sind. 


Bo    T/, 


Author's  stemma? 

Y  is  a  composite.  Yi  consists  of  the  Prologue  and  lines  1250  (dr.) — end; 
Y,  of  lines  580-1250  (dr.). 

EXPLANATION  or  ABBREVIATIONS 
Gg  — Cambridge  University  Library,  MS.  Gg.  4.  27. 
Tr  —Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  MS.  R.  3.  19. 
S    —MS.  Arch.  Selden,  B.  24.  Bodleian. 

**  This  stemma  differs  from  the  one  in  my  dissertation  in  one  respect,  viz., 
I  here  allow  a  generation  between  the  ancestor  of  Ta,  Fx,  and  Bo  and  that 
of  Th.  The  change  is  relatively  unimportant. 


Manuscripts  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  109 

Ad1— Additional  MS.  9832,  British  Museum  (1-1985). 

Ad1— Additional  MS.  12524,  British  Museum  (1640-end). 

Ad3— Additional  MS.  28617,  British  Museum  (513-610;  808-1105;  fragments  of 

1156-1173, 1180-1192,  and  1271-1280;  1306-1801;  1852-2113;  2125-2136; 

and  2151-end). 

P    — Pepys  MS.  2006,  Magdalen  College,  Cambridge  (1-1377). 
R   —  Rawlinson  MS.  C.  86,  Bodleian  (Dido,  924-1367). 
Ff  —Cambridge  University  Library,  MS.  Ff.  1.  6.  (Thisbe,  706-923). 
Fx  —Fairfax  MS.  16,  Bodleian. 
Bo  — Bodley  MS.  638,  Bodleian. 
Ta  — Tanner  MS.  346,  Bodleian. 
Th  — W.  Thynne's  printed  edition,  1532. 

as  a  group;  instead,  he  gives  lists  of  readings  in  which  Tr, 
Ad1,  S,  and  Ad2  as  individuals  (in  a  few  cases  two  of 
them)  agree  with  one  or  more  of  the  MSS.  of  k.  Thus 
in  section  30  we  are  given  lists  of  readings  in  which  Tr 
agrees  with  the  following  MSS.  of  k:  with  P  and  Ff,  two 
readings;  with  P  and  R,  four;  with  P  alone,  eight;  with 
P(-j-Bo),  two;  with  R  alone,  two;  with  Ad2  and  Ad3,  four; 
with  Ad3  alone,  eleven;  and  with  Ad3  and  Ff,  one.  (Notice 
that  in  only  four  of  the  above  cases  is  Tr  supported  by  another 
c  MS.)  Even  these  agreements  are  insignificant;  Koch  admits 
(XLIV,  p.  37)  that  they  are  so  trifling  in  nature  and  number 
that  one  cannot  accept  them  as  proof  of  close  relationship. 

In  sec.  31  (a)  similar  lists  are  given  in  which  S  agrees  with 
one  or  more  of  these  MSS.  and  a  list  of  a  dozen  readings  in 
which  SAd2  agrees  with  Ad3  (Ad2  begins  at  1640,  i.e.,  after 
P,  R,  and  Ff  break  off).  These  lists  are  somewhat  longer 
than  the  lists  given  in  sec.  30,  but  the  agreements  are  in  general 
of  the  same  non-committal  nature.  The  only  reading  which 
particularly  indicates  a  close  relationship  is  that  of  928:  S, 
Ouide;  R,  Supporte  o-oid;  rest,  Eneyde(-dos) .  Since  Tr  and  Ad1 
(Ad2  does  not  exist  here)  do  not  support  S,  and  P  and  Ad3  do 
not  support  R,  I  regard  the  error  as  having  arisen  in  S  and  R 
independently,  probably  because  of  the  close  resemblance 
between  the  capital  letters  O  and  E  in  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
century  manuscripts.4 

The  relationship  of  Ad1  to  the  various  MSS.  of  the  &-group 
is  argued  in  section  33  (a).  Near  the  end  of  the  section  Koch 

4  See  the  facsimiles  of  late  XIV th  century  writing  reproduced  in  Thomp- 
son's Greek  and  Latin  Palaeography,  pp.  308-9,  for  examples. 


110  Amy 

concludes  that  the  readings  linking  Ad1  with  R,  Ff,  and  Ad3 
are  without  significance,  but  that  the  repeated  agreements 
of  Ad1  and  P  in  etror  cannot  be  put  aside  lightly.  From  these 
agreements  he  singles  out  two  cases  as  of  especial  significance — 
195:  Ad1  and  P,  town(e)  for  tonne,  and  1287:  Ad1  and  P,  her- 
vest(-}-Tal)  for  (ti)ernest.  In  comment  I  need  only  say  that 
even  a  careful  scribe — and  a  more  careless  scribe  than  that  of 
P  would  be  hard  to  find — was  in  constant  danger  of  committing 
such  blunders  as  the  two  listed  above.  The  scribe  of  Ta — 
generally  accurate — fell  into  the  trap.  See  also  similar  con- 
fusion in  lines  20&3(leve,  lene),  2086(id.),  and  2353(ivoned, 
woved). 

This  completes  Koch's  evidence  for  linking  k  and  c,  except 
for  five  apparent  Ad2-Ad3  agreements  which  he  promptly 
dismisses  as  without  significance.  Though  the  aggregate  is 
large,  the  trifling  nature  of  the  errors  and  the  utter  lack  of 
agreement  among  the  MSS.  of  both  groups  would  cause  one 
to  doubt  a  descent  of  k  from  C  as  in  any  way  probable.  Indeed, 
because  of  the  contradictory  testimony  of  Tr,  Ad1,  S,  and  Ad2 
in  regard  to  the  groups  of  readings  given  by  Koch,  one  would 
have  to  assume  either  that  these  four  MSS.  descended  from  c 
independently  (which  is  contradicted  by  exceedingly  strong 
evidence),  or  that  the  scribes  severally  corrected  these  errors  and 
thus  wiped  out  evidence  that  the  MSS.  as  a  group  agreed  with 
one  or  more  of  the  k  group.  Such,  of  course,  is  unthinkable. 
The  alternative  is  that  the  agreements  are  due  to  errors  made 
independently  by  individual  scribes.  No  one  who  has  noticed 
the  lack  of  understanding  of  Chaucerian  meter  and  grammar 
exhibited  by  the  scribes  of  P,  R,  k,  and  S,  and  the  deliberate 
tampering  with  the  text  by  the  scribes  of  the  c-group  (see  next 
section)  would  be  surprised  to  discover  that  two  of  them — or 
even  three  occasionally — agree  in  omitting  or  inserting  the 
sign  of  the  infinitive  or  the  relative  that,  or  of  transposing  two 
words,  or  of  dropping  a  prefix  or  substituting  a  suffix.  Yet  it 
is  upon  agreements  such  as  these — not  of  k  and  c,  which  might 
be  of  some  significance,  but  of  separate  units  of  the  two  groups 
— that  we  are  asked  to  accept  proof  of  common  ancestry. 
To  me  the  evidence  is  decidedly  inconclusive,  especially  when 
considered  in  connection  with  evidence  to  the  contrary. 


Manuscripts  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  111 

This  negative  evidence  is  of  two  kinds,  a  few  striking 
instances  in  which  k  and  Gg  alone  present  the  true  reading, 
and  a  large  number  of  evident  agreements  of  k  and  B  in  error. 
The  first  includes  the  presence  of  the  undoubtedly  genuine 
couplet  960/61  (that  the  couplet  is  genuine  is  indicated  by  the 
source  of  the  passage,  A  en.  I.  170-1)  in  Gg  and  k  only,  and  the 
agreement  of  these  two  MSS.  in  the  probably  true  reading 
of  1139: 

But  natheles  cure  autour  tellith  vs. 
•  .  •  (Fx,  Bo,  Ta)  For  to  him  yt  was  reported  thus 

(Tr,  Ad1)  Had  gret  desyre.    And  af tyr  fell  hit  thus 
(S)  And  in  his  hert,  than  he  seid  rycht  thus. 

The  two  MSS.  agree  in  yet  other  readings,  notably  794,  haste- 
lykynge,  and  1187,  thing-wyght.  Koch's  stemma  can  explain 
these  similarities  only  as  due  to  independent  errors  at  c  and  B 
or  to  the  contamination  of  k  from  Gg  (Koch  chooses  the  latter 
interpretation);  the  alternative  is  to  suspect  that  k  descended 
from  A  along  a  line  independent  of  C. 

It  is  possible,  of  course,  to  explain  the  agreement,  of  Gg 
and  k  in  960/61  and  in  1139  as  due  to  contamination,  for  both 
the  couplet  and  the  verse  were  evidently  missing  from  the 
exemplar  of  B  and  C  (the  b;  c,  and  7  readings  are  obviously 
individual  attempts  to  supply  a  missing  line).  It  is  less  likely 
that  the  scribe  of  k  should  have  substituted  the  colorless  haste 
for  lykynge  (794)  and  thing  for  wyght  (1187).  But  it  is  far 
simpler  to  regard  these  similarities  between  Gg  and  k  as  evi- 
dence of  an  independence  of  k  and  c,  especially  as  the  evidence 
for  their  relation  is  decidedly  weak. 

There  can  be  only  one  interpretation,  however,  of  the 
evidence  for  a  close  relationship  of  k  and  B.  It  consists  of  a 
very  considerable  number  of  B  -\-  Ad3  agreements  in  error  in 
the  last  half  of  the  poem  (see  Koch,  sec.  40),  of  a  smaller  number 
of  similar  errors  of  B  and  k  in  the  first  half  (sees.  38-41),  and 
of  some  striking  similarities  which  Koch  has  overlooked  in 
this  connection,  viz.,  the  confusion  of  B  and  Ad3  in  vv.  2338-39 
and  of  B  and  P  in  vv.  249  and  487.  In  the  first  of  these  cases 
B  and  Ad8  (the  only  k  MS.  which  has  this  part  of  the  text) 
omit  2338,  present  2339  as  2338  and  introduce  the  same  spuri- 
ous line  as  2339.  In  the  second  instance,  P  (the  other  k  MSS. 
do  not  have  this  part  of  the  text)  presents  spurious  lines  for 


112  Amy 

vv.  249  and  487,  the  only  verses  in  the  Prologue  which  are 
omitted  by  Fx,  Bo,  and  Ta;8  the  spurious  lines  in  P  clearly 
indicate  gaps  in  its  exemplar. 

The  absence  of  2338  from  both  B  and  Ad3  and  of  249  and  487 
from  B  and  P  indicate  clearly  the  nature  of  the  relationship 
of  these  MSS.  For  even  if  one  should  grant  Koch's  assump- 
tion that  the  verbal  similarities  are  due  to  contamination 
(which  I  do  not  grant),  one  surely  could  not  grant  that  the 
absence  of  essential  verses  is  due  to  contamination.  Clearly, 
for  the  portions  of  the  text  where  these  gaps  occur,  the  exemplar 
of  Ad3  and  of  P  must  have  been  a  5-type  MS. 

My  interpretation  of  the  position  of  k  on  the  stemma  is 
based  upon  the  conviction  that  k  is  hybrid.  Certain  readings 
mentioned  above  (960-61,  1139,  794,  and  1187)  point  to  an 
independence  of  k  of  both  B  and  C;  others  (2338-9,  249,  and 
487)  are  conclusive  of  a  descent  of  portions  of  k  from  B.  To 
reconcile  these  conflicting  testimonies  one  should  notice  that 
of  the  two  dozen  P  -f  B  agreements  listed  by  Koch  (sec.  38), 
all  but  one  (1357)  are  from  the  Prologue;  that  the  four  PR+5 
agreements  (1151,  1175,  1194,  and  1239)  are  insignificant; 
and  that  the  few  agreements  of  P-f  Ad3+£  and  PR -f  Ad* +5 
are  either  from  the  Prologue  or  from  near  the  end  of  the  P  and 
R  fragments  (i.e.,  after  1300).  One  should  notice,  furthermore, 
that  of  the  long  list  of  Ad3-{-.B  agreements  (sec.  40)  only  two 
occur  before  line  1300  and  that  these  two  are  of  no  significance  in 
themselves,  nere-ne  (997)  and  she  omitted  (1063).  Inasmuch 
as  R  and  Ff  are  undoubtedly  members  of  the  k  group  and — 
as  far  as  their  fragmentary  character  will  allow — corroborate 
the  evidence  submitted  above,6  I  feel  justified  in  regarding  k 
as  a  hybrid  to  which  a  5-type  MSS.  contributed  the  Prologue 
and  the  last  1500  lines  (approximately)  and  a  MS.  standing 
apart  from  both  B  and  c  the  remainder.  Because  of  the  frag- 
mentary and  mutilated  character  of  the  MSS.  it  is  impossible 
to  determine  the  dividing  line;  it  probably  occurs  at  about 
line  1250.  Inasmuch  as  the  B  MSS.  frequently  err  when  the  'B' 

'  Curiously  enough,  these  four  MSS.  figure  in  similar  errors  in  The  Temple 
of  Glass  (which  immediately  precedes  the  Legend  in  P.)  P  presents  three  spuri- 
ous lines  to  take  the  places  of  gaps  in  Fx,  Bo,  and  Ta,  and  omits  one  other 
line  which  is  also  missing  from  them.  (See  Schick,  ed. — E.  E.  T.  S. — p.  xx.) 

'  See  p.  29  ff .  of  my  dissertation. 


Manuscripts  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  113 

portion  of  k  does  not  (see  my  dissertation,  pp.  20-21,  47-8), 
I  conclude  that  that  portion  sprang  not  directly  from  B  but 
from  a  point  between  a  and  B. 

2.  The  question  of  contamination 

Koch's  stemma  differs  from  mine  also  in  that  Koch  indicates 
by  broken  and  dotted  lines  secondary  and,  in  some  cases, 
even  tertiary  influences  upon  most  of  the  MSS.  We  have  already 
seen  that  the  bifurcated  broken  line  connecting  B  with  k  and 
Ad3  should  indicate  kinship  instead  of  contamination,  and 
that  the  dotted  line  from  Gg  to  k  and  k  is  probably  fictitious. 
It  remains  for  us  to  examine  the  evidence  for  the  contamination 
of  the  other  MSS. 

Contamination  is  likely  to  occur  when  an  intelligent  and 
conscientious  scribe,  working  from  an  obviously  faulty  exem- 
plar, has  access  to  another  MS.  It  is  reasonable  to  assume  that 
such  a  person  would  adopt  the  alternative  reading  only  when 
it  is  actually  or  plausibly  better  than  that  of  the  exemplar. 
Stupid,  careless  blunders  in  two  MSS.  not  genealogically  akin 
are  not  likely  to  be  indications  of  contamination ;  such  similari- 
ties are  more  likely  to  be  coincidence.  Thus,  Thynne's  printed 
text  is  a  normal  example  of  the  process.  It  contains  the  ear- 
marks of  B — its  basic  MS. — but  has  obviously  been  corrected 
(or  "contaminated")  from  at  least  one  other  MS.  For  Thynne 
has  filled  in  all  the  gaps  except  the  elusive  960/61  (though 
he  omits  a  couplet  present  in  all  the  MSS.),  printed  the  genuine 
as  well  as  the  spurious  2339,  combined  the  readings  of  a  and  B 
at  1172  and  2452,  obtained  the  correct  spelling  of  Alcathoe 
(1902,  1923),  secured  the  only  acceptable  reading  of  2422 
(Chorus),  and  inserted  the  name  of  Livi  (perhaps  from  a  mar- 
ginal gloss)  in  1721.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  about  a 
dozen  minor  cases  which  Koch  regards  as  evidence  of  an  in- 
fluence from  Gg:217/63,  Laodomia-laudomia,  etc.;  856,  y-fynde- 
fynde;  2615,  of  soun(de}  omitted  by  b  (Tr,  of  son  and  of,  Ad*,  of 
sowtte  and,  S  lost);  1607,  b  omits  the  (Gg  and  Th  awkward); 
1639,  Th  and  Gg,  lefe  or  lothe,  rest,  ne  for  or;  1727,  so  long-to 
long;  2365,  her  susters  hue-  hir  suster  love;  2656,  to  bedde  go- 
to bed  (y)-go;  1071,  braitme-brawnes ;  1132,  to  present-for  to 
present;  2126,  now  omitted  by  Th  and  Gg  [but  Gg  also  Al  for 
And].  These  agreements  I  regard  as  due  to  coincidence.  If 


114  Amy 

Thynne  had  had  access  to  a  Gg  type  MS.,  possessing  not  only 
a  unique  Prologue  but  also  many  excellent,  unique  readings, 
we  should  find  in  Thynne's  text  much  more  striking  similarities 
than  those  quoted  above. 

Koch's  evidence  of  contamination  of  Ta  from  Gg  is  equally 
weak.  It  consists  of  eleven  readings,  of  which  Koch  selects 
three  as  of  special  significance — 638,  Gg  and  Ta,  heterly,  S 
hatirly,  rest,  hertely;  15S5,fals  omitted  by  Fx,  Bo,  and  Th;  738, 
cop  (Gg,  Ff ,  Ta)  for  top.  The  first  of  these  is  merely  a  mistake 
in  spelling;  the  last  may  be  explained  as  independent  errors 
of  the  three  scribes  because  of  the  similarity  of  "c"  and  "t" 
in  most  manuscripts ;  the  other  looks  like  a  Ta  emendation, 
though  not  necessarily  from  Gg.  Surely  such  errors  are  far 
from  being  proof  of  contamination  of  Ta  from  Gg.  To  be 
consistent  Koch's  stemma  should  show  broken  lines  connecting 
Ta  :with  S  and  Ad3  because  they  read  huge  for  meek  or  gret(e) 
in  1613j  and  from  Ta  to  Ad1  and  P  because  of  the  mutual  error 
of  hervest  for  (h)ernest  in  1287,  etc.  If  the  scribe  of  Ta  had  had 
Gg  at  his  elbow,  we  should  have  expected  far  more  significant 
agreements  than  the  few  cited  by  Koch. 

The  so-called  contamination  of  the  c  MSS.  is  of  two  types, 
a  number  of  clear  cases  of  editing  of  individual  MSS. — c,  S, 
and  Ad2  (and  possibly  of  Tr) — and  a  large  number  of  minor 
similarities  between  MSS.  not  genealogically  related — Tr  and 
S,  Ad1  and  S,  etc.  In  the  first  group  are  such  readings  as  the 
following  from  c:  All  the  Cyte  (1902,  1923)  for  the  strange 
word  Alcathoe  (probably  misspelled  in  the  exemplar),  For 
ever  and  ay  (1926,  1941)  for  the  practically  synonymous  From 
yer  to  yer,  and  probably  (though  Ad1  ends  at  1985)  pryncipatty 
for  the  older  aldermost  (2127,  2567,  2635).  In  the  same  category 
I  would  place  the  strange  free  paraphrases  of  the  couplets  1772-3, 
2543-2544,  and  2696-2697  of  Ad2  (see  my  dissertation,  p.  10). 
Though  these  readings  are  valueless  in  themselves,  they  in- 
dicate that  the  scribes  of  these  MSS.  exercised  editorial  pre- 
rogatives. Consequently,  when  I  find  in  c  a  reading  such  as 
thus  lat  I  ryde  (1210) — the  other  MSS.  stumble  over  the  line— 
I  am  more  inclined  to  regard  it  as  a  happy  guess  at  the  truth 
than  as  having  come  from  a  MS.  which  stood  apart  from  the 
existing  MSS.,  especially  as  it  is  the  only  case  in  which  this  MS. 
alone  presents  an  acceptable  reading.  In  the  same  manner 


Manuscripts  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  115 

I  regard  the  S  reading  of  1538  (S  adds  almychti  before  God), 
a  line  which  is  short  in  all  other  MSS.  except  Gg  (Gg  clearly 
emends)  ;7  for  the  scribe  of  S  was  given  to  emending  for  meter. 

The  important  variations  mentioned  above  are  individual 
peculiarities  and  do  not  involve  the  question  of  the  relation- 
ship of  the  existing  MSS.  The  longer  lists  of  minor  "con- 
taminations" cited  by  Koch,  however,  tend  to  upset  the 
established  genealogy  of  the  c  MSS.  Though  space  forbids 
the  examination  of  more  than  one  group  of  these  readings,  I 
have  selected  for  the  purpose  the  longest  and  by  far  the  most 
formidable  looking  group — the  agreements  of  Ad1  and  S. 

Of  the  relationship  of  Tr  and  Ad1  there  can  be  no  doubt;  they 
agree  in  omitting  two  couplets,  in  inverting  another,  and  in 
presenting  a  very  large  number  of  erroneous  readings,  many 
of  them  striking  (see  my  dissertation,  pp.  24-5).  Yet  Koch 
gives  a  list  of  about  half  a  hundred  readings  in  which  Ad1  agrees 
with  S  in  minor  errors  in  which  Tr  does  not  share.  The  list  may 
be  analyzed  as  follows.  Three  must  be  deducted  as  Koch's 
errors — 193,  1263  (It  als  wele),  and  1886.  In  at  least  two  cases 
Tr  does  not  contradict  S  and  Ad1  because  it  is  otherwise  corrupt 
—1029,  Tr  omits  it  (Ad1  and  S,  is  it  for  it  is) ;  1907,  Tr  omits  an 
(Ad1  and  S  on  for  an).  In  another  case  (1729)  the  B  MSS.  agree 
with  Ad1  and  S  in  reading  as  for  with  (Tr,  ys).  Three  lines — i 
1193, 1207,  and  1263 — are  listed  twice.  In  a  few  cases  Ad1  and  S 
are  evidently  trying  to  get  metrical  lines,  for  Tr  is  either  cor- 
rupt or  would  appear  so  to  many  scribes:  e.g.,  52,  96,  186,  303, 
652,  1009,  1119,  1837,  and  (Ad1)  1121.  Several  other  cases 
consist  of  substitutions  of  one  form  of  a  word  for  another,  a 
singular  for  a  plural,  the  past  tense  for  the  present,  differences 
in  spelling,  etc.;  thus,  68/80,  be-beth;  86,  within  (+Th)-*»  with 
(P,  In);  155,  for-of;  136/150,  obseruance  (-\-Th)-obseruaunces; 
257/331,  to  drawe  (Tr,  wtdrawe)-withdrawe;  374,  tirandis(des)- 
tyrauntis;  455,  vpon-on;  688,  counand(S),  cownaunt(Ad1)- 
covenant;  693  (id.);  981,  In-to(S),  in(Adl)-to  in;  1123,  lubye 
(S,  Ad1),  lyby(Tr)-libie;  1193,  ben  o/(PR,  alle  ben)-ys(is)  al; 
1796,  hod-hath;  1566,  repreued-repreueth;  187l,halowed-yhalwed. 
In  704  thus  may  have  been  caught  independently  from  the 

7  Koch  calls  attention  to  a  second  case  in  which  S  alone  appears  to  present 
an  acceptable  reading —  337/61,  S,  away  for  algate  (Gg,  alwey,  P,  attewey}. 
To  my  mind  away  is  clearly  a  mistake  or  an  emendation. 


116  Amy 

preceding  line,  and  in  1398  And  from  the  following.  In  a  few 
cases  the  sign  of  the  infinitive  has  been  inserted  by  both  scribes: 
1407,  to  (ben);  1917,  quhom  to(S),  ells  to(Adl)-ellis.  [One  needs 
more  than  a  vivid  imagination  to  regard  the  last  as  an  indica- 
tion of  contamination.]  In  two  cases  what  may  appear  to  be 
substitution  of  words  may  be  mistakes  in  spelling:  13,  seith- 
seeth;  837,  hiding-bidding.  Two  cases  are  easy  transpositions- 
1193,  ben  al  and  916,  piramus  and  Tisbe.  The  context  clearly 
invites  substitution  in  155,  for-of;  1437,  with  (repeated);  194, 
and-or;  469,  and-or;  879,  or-and;  and  783,  at-in. 

Of  the  entire  list  only  three  or  four  cases  are  in  any  way 
worthy  of  serious  attention-85,  gyeth-wynt;  1207,  gyse(de-gyse)- 
wyse;  and  1401,  realme-regne.  In  addition  Koch  should  have 
noted  that  in  454  S  and  Ad1  read  God  for  Go(o).  In  the  first 
three  cases  S  and  Ad1  probably  present  the  readings  which 
were  in  c,  whereas  Tr  substituted  the  more  modern  form  or 
synonym.  In  454  either  Tr  corrected  or  S  and  Ad1  erred  inde- 
pendently (Goo  and  God  are  not  very  unlike). 

In  thus  looking  microscopically  at  such  a  list  of  agreements 
one  is  very  likely  to  lose  sight  of  the  woods  for  the  trees.  Let 
us  consider  the  possible  explanations  of  these  agreements. 
(I)  They  cannot  be  explained  as  having  descended  to  S  and  Ad1 
from  a  common  ancestor  apart  from  Tr,  for  the  evidence 
binding  Tr  and  Ad1  and  S  and  Ad2  is  incontrovertible.  (II) 
They  are  too  insignificant  to  be  charged  to  contamination: 
if  either  S  or  Ad1  had  had  access  to  the  other,  or  both  to  an- 
other MS.,  we  should  expect  to  find  some  more  significant 
similarities.  (Ill)  The  errors  may  have  occurred  in  c  but 
were  corrected  by  the  scribe  of  Tr.  This  would  account  for 
some  of  the  more  obvious  errors.  (IV)  They  may  be  independ- 
ent transcriptional  errors  of  S  and  Ad1.  This  I  believe  to  be 
true  of  most  of  them,  particularly  as  the  agreements  are  of 
such  a  nature  as  one  is  likely  to  find  between  any  two  MSS. 
not  closely  related.  (The  readings  submitted  by  Koch  as  evi- 
dence of  relationship  of  these  MSS.  to  k  are  of  the  same  general 
nature — see  preceding  section.)  To  regard  either  these  minor 
similarities  or  the  cases  of  'editing'  cited  above  as  proof  of  con- 
tamination from  a  point  between  A  and  O  is  both  unnecessary 
and  unwarranted. 


Manuscripts  of  the  Legend  of  Good  Women  117 

3.  The  nature  of  "A" 

Whether  the  hypothetical  A  was  Chaucer's  original  manu- 
script or  a  manuscript  removed  a  generation  or  more  from  the 
matrix  cannot  be  definitely  ascertained.  The  considerable 
number  of  clear  cases  in  which  the  MSS.  are  linked  in  error 
suggests  a  common  origin  removed  from  Chaucer's  copy. 

But  this  apparently  obvious  interpretation  of  these  mutual 
errors  presents  some  difficulties.  It  assumes,  first,  that  A 
contained  the  two  versions  of  the  Prologue,  one  of  which  was 
taken  by  Gg  and  the  other  by  a.  The  difficulty  of  accepting 
this  explanation  arises  from  two  sources — the  improbability 
of  a  scribe's  transcribing  two  long  passages  which  almost 
duplicate  each  other;  and  the  probability  of  contamination, 
especially  since  some  imperfections  of  the  Gg  text  would  invite 
comparison  with  the  other.  (Koch  recognizes  these  difficulties 
and  suggests  the  possibility  that  A  contained  only  the  Gg 
version  and  that  the  other  came  into  a  through  the  hypothetical 

*) 

Moreover,  one  must  remember  that  inasmuch  as  the  poem 
was  never  completed,  it  is  unlikely  that  it  was  put  into  circula- 
tion as  a  whole — if  at  all — during  Chaucer's  life-time.  It  is 
possible,  of  course,  that  individual  legends,  or  the  Prologue 
and  one  or  more  legends  as  a  unit,  were  put  into  circulation — 
two  such  MSS.  have  come  down  to  us  (Ff,  Thisbe  and  R,  Dido). 
Such  transcriptions  might  later  form  the  basis  of  a  composite 
text.  But  the  agreement  of  the  MSS.  in  the  order  of  the  legends, 
though  only  that  of  the  first  is  stated  by  the  context,  and  the 
conclusive  evidence  furnished  by  a  collation  of  the  text  indicate 
that  if  such  transcriptions  influenced  our  MSS.  at  all,  they  did 
not  do  so  at  a  point  later  than  A . 

That  Chaucer  did  not  'publish'  the  poem  is  further  sug- 
gested by  the  unfinished  state  of  Hypermnestra,  the  last  of  the 
legends.  The  legend  breaks  off  abruptly  with  these  words: 

This  tale  is  seid  for  this  conclusion. 

Each  of  the  other  tales  has  its  'conclusion,'  varying  in  length 
from  a  couplet  to  six  or  seven  lines.  It  is  inconceivable  that 
Chaucer  did  not  write  the  few  lines  necessary  to  finish  the 
legend.  Either  these  lines  were  on  a  separate  sheet  which 
became  detached  from  Chaucer's  MS.  before  a  transcript  was 


118  Amy 

made  or  they  were  lost  in  transmission.  The  former  is  the 
more  likely,  for  Chaucer's  MS.  was  probably  a  pile  of  loose 
leaves  whereas  a  transcript  would  be  a  bound  codex. 

Futhermore,  if  A  represents  Chaucer's  own  MS.,  rather 
than  a  transcript,  we  can  account  for  the  few  striking  cases  of 
agreement  in  erroneous  readings  and  of  confusion  in  all  MSS. 
as  due  to  inaccuracies  and  confusion  in  a  working  copy.  There 
are  a  few  cases  in  which  it  is  pretty  certain  that  Chaucer  left 
verses  metrically  or  logically  unsound:  the  sources  of  1338 
(hexametrical)  and  of  1966  (Of  Athenys  falsely)  indicate  clearly 
that  Chaucer  nodded.8  It  is  not  unlikely  that  other  such  cases 
exist,  but  for  which  no  evidence  can  be  discovered,  Some  of 
the  other  inaccurate  or  imperfect  verses  may  be  accounted  for 
as  due  to  corrections  and  substitutions  written  between  the 
lines  or  on  the  margins  of  his  working  copy — 1126  and  1210, 
for  instance.  If  in  addition  to  A,  there  was  also  an  'O,'  an  'x,' 
and  a  *y/ — as  Koch  suggests — I  doubt  whether  we  should  find 
the  two  types  of  MSS.  agreeing  quite  so  often  in  regard  to 
some  of  these  obviously  inaccurate  lines.  Consequently, 
though  one  cannot  be  dogmatic  on  the  subject,  I  am  inclined 
to  regard  A  as  a  pile  of  manuscript  in  Chaucer's  desk  drawer 
at  his  death,  rather  than  a  bound  codex  in  circulation. 

E.  F.  AMY 
Ohio  Wesleyan  University 

•  See  my  dissertation,  pp.  42,  43. 


LAUTVERSCHIEBUNG  UND  LENIERUNG 

1.  AUSSERE  AHNLICHKEIT.— Zwei  Lautubergange 
konnen  einander  ausserst  ahnlich,  ja  der  Form  nach  geradezu 
gleich  sein  und  trotzdem  aus  ganz  verschiedenen  Ursachen 
hervorgegangen  sein.  So  1st  sowohl  in  f ranz.  nation  <  nationem 
wie  in  hd.  lassen<*lcetan  ein  urspriingliches  /  letzten  Endes  zu  5 
geworden,  und  doch  gibt  es  wenige,  die  Scherer  und  Kauffmann 
darin  zustimmen,  dass  wir  es  hier  mit  wesensgleichen  Laut- 
gesetzen  zu  tun  batten.  Denn  der  franzosische  Lautwandel 
gehort  einer  grossen  Gruppe  von  Palatalisierungsvorgangen  an, 
die  dem  Einflusse  eines  folgenden  Lautes  auf  einen  vorherge- 
henden  entspringen,  wahrend  sich  der  deutsche  einer  allgemeinen 
("spontanen")  Anderung  der  Artikulationsart  von  Verschluss- 
lauten  ohne  Riicksicht  auf  Nachbarlaute  einf  iigt.  Selbst  wenn 
wir  keine  geschichtlichen  oder  mundartlichen  Zwischenstufen 
besassen,  ware  schon  durch  diese  Stellung  innerhalb  grosserer 
Zusammenhange  von  Lautgesetzen  der  Gegensatz  zwischen 
franzosischen  t>s  und  deutschen  t>s  hinreichend  gesichert; 
denn  wir  miissen  mit  Paul,  Prinzipien,3  S.  54  zugeben,  "dass 
die  Richtung,  nach  welcher  ein  Laut  ablenkt,  mitbedingt  sein 
muss  durch  die  Richtung  der  ubrigen  Laute." 

Eine  ahnliche  Ubereinstimmung  findet  sich  bei  der  Behand- 
lung  stimmloser  Verschlusslaute  in  der  germanischen  Sprach- 
gruppe  und  der  irischen  (in  eingeschranktem  Sinne:  der  kelti- 
schen)  Sprache.  In  beiden  werden  unter  geeigneten  Verhalt- 
nissen  idg.  t,  k  zu  p,  x,  vgl.  lat.  frdter,  sequitur:  got.  bropar, 
saihip,  air.  brdihir,  sechitir.  Ferner  entspricht  der  idg.  "aspirier- 
ten  Media"  (die  ich  als  stimmlose  lenis-Spirans  betrachte, 
M.  Ph.  XV,  XVI}  auf  beiden  Gebieten  teilweise  ein  Verschluss- 
laut,  teilweise  ein  Reibelaut,  vgl.  idg.  *^er-t  *\e$-:  got.  bafra, 
giba  =  /yi3a/:  ak.  berim,  gabim  =  / ga.(tim/ . 

Dass  diese  grosse  Ahnlichkeit  dazu  gefiihrt  hat,  fiir  die 
germanische  "Lautverschiebung"  und  die  irische  "Lenierung" 
einen  gleichen,  wohl  gar  einen  gemeinsamen  Vorgang  der 
Artikulationsanderung  anzunehmen,  ist  begreiflich.  Meillet 
stiitzt  sich  in  Caractbres  generaux  des  langues  germaniques 
mehrfach  auf  die  Gleichheit  der  Behandlung  der  aspirierten 
Medien — allerdings  mit  einer  Entgleisung,  indem  er  die  ger- 
manische Spirans,  wie  die  keltische,  als  eine  sekundare  Ent- 

119 


120  Prokosch 

wicklung  aus  dem  Verschlusslaut  betrachtet,  wahrend  doch 
umgekehrt  dieser  sich  in  einem  Teil  der  germanischen  Sprachen 
aus  jener  entwickelt  hat.  Lotspeich  hat  im  17.  Bande  dieser 
Zeitschrift  die  Frage  ausfiihrlich  im  gleichen  Sinn  erortert; 
den  Inhalt  seines  Artikels  hatte  er  1917  fur  einen  Vortrag  vor 
der  Modern  Language  Association  folgendermassen  zusammen- 
gefasst:  "Consonant  shifts  and  umlaut  are  the  result  of  a  mix- 
ing of  two  different  types  of  articulation,  Nordic  (North 
German)  and  Alpine  (in  its  purest  form,  French).  The  Ger- 
manic and  High  German  consonant  shifts  are  in  origin  identical 
with  Celtic  "lenition"  and  arose  from  antagonistic  muscular 
reaction.  This  theory  eliminates  increase  of  force  of  expiration 
as  a  positiv  factor  in  sound  changes."  (Publ.  M.L.A.  XXXIII, 
XLI).  A.  Green  scheint  sich  seiner  Anschauungzunahern,denn 
er  meint  M.L.N.  XXXIII  104:  "What  is  there  against  the 
theory  .  .  .  that  the  older,  Germanic  Shift  originated  from 
such  an  intermingling  of  races?  Celtic  itself,  with  a  phonetic 
'tendency'  in  the  direction  of  aspirated  articulation,  shows  an 
analogous  treatment  of  the  explosives,  cf.  the  spirantization 
of  the  I.  E.  mediae,  as  well  as  c>ch  (x),t>th,p>ph  (f)."  Das 
trifft  im  Grunde  mit  Anschauungen  zusammen,  die  schon  von 
Scherer  ausgesprochen  und  von  Kauffman  u.a.  erneuert  wurden 
(vgl.  den  Schluss  meines  Artikels  Die  deutsche  Lautoerschiebung 
und  die  V  olkerwanderung  im  16.  Bande  dieser  Zs.). 

So  verlockend  diese  Anschauung  auch  erscheinen  mag,  und 
so  anerkennenswert  Lotspeichs  physiologische  Ausfiihrungen 
sind,  liegt  ihr  doch  ein  Missverstandnis  zugrunde.  Aus  der 
ausseren,  isolierten  Ahnlichkeit  des  Lautwandels  t>b,  k>x 
darf  noch  nicht  auf  innere  Gleichheit  geschlossen  werden.  Diese 
wie  alle  andern  Lautgesetze  konnen  nur  im  grosseren  Zusam- 
menhange  der  Sprachen twicklung  verstanden  werden;  auf 
diesen  will  ich  in  den  folgenden  Zeilen  einzugehen  versuchen, 
und  wenn  ich  es  dabei  an  Ausfuhrlichkeit  fehlen  lasse,  so  ge- 
schieht  es  deshalb,  weil  ich  die  physiologische  Seite  der  Frage 
in  einer  Reihe  von  Aufsatzen,  zuletzt  und  am  bestimmtesten  in 
§14  meines  Artikels  iiber  die  idg.  media  aspirata  (M.  Ph.  XV, 
XVI)  hinreichend  erortert  zu  haben  glaube.  Lotspeichs  Aufsatz 
hat  mich  nicht  von  der  Unrichtigkeit  meiner  Auffassung  uber- 
zeugt. 


Lautverschiebung  und  Lenierung 


121 


2.  DIE  IRISCHE  LENIERUNG— Dieser  Lautwandel 
wird  von  Thurneysen,  Handbuch  des  Altirischen,  S.  68,  so  ge- 
kennzeichnet:  "Lenierung  nennen  wir  eine  Veranderung  der 
Konsonanten,  die  urspriinglich  auf  Minderung  der  Energie 
bei  ihrer  Artikulation  beruht."  Lautverschiebung  dagegen 
wird  wohl  immer  noch  von  der  grossen  Mehrheit  der  Forscher 
als  Ergebnis  einer  Artikulationssteigerung  aufgefasst;  Lot- 
speich  jedoch  bezeichnet  sie  (I.e.  172)  geradezu  als  Schwachung: 
"shifting  (weakening)  of  consonants"  lautet  seine  synonymische 
Nebeneinanderstellung. 

Der  Ubersichtlichkeit  halber  stelle  ich  die  wich  tigs  ten  der 
hierher  gehorenden  Lautgesetze  einander  gegeniiber: 


Idg. 

Germ. 

Kelt. 

Air. 

t,k 

Ax 

M 

/,  k,  nach  Vokal  leniert  zu 

Ax 

P 

/ 

V,  &,  X 

M,i 

0,  «,  7 
*,M 

}*,  *,  S 

b,  d,  g,  nach  Vokal 

zu  ft,  8,  7 

leniert 

Vor  allem  geht  aus  dieser  Tabelle  hervor,  dass  die  Lenierung 
irisch,  aber  nicht  keltisch  ist.  Vgl.  gall,  catu-  'Kampf:  air. 
cath;  akymr.  uceint  'zwanzig':  air.  fiche.  Schon  das,  scheint 
mir,  schliesst  einen  wirklichen  Zusammenhang  zwischen 
Lautverschiebung  und  Lenierung  aus.  Dass  zur  Zeit  der  ersten 
Lautverschiebung  eine  Beriihrung  zwischen  den  spateren  Iren 
und  den  Germanen  bestanden  hatte,  ware  eine  abenteuerliche 
Vermutung.  Auf  Grund  von  Lotspeichs  Theorie  konnte  man 
hochstens  annehmen,  dass  eine  Neigung  zur  "Aspiration"  (im 
Sinne  von  Pedersens  Aspirationen  i  Irsk)  den  Kelten  und  Ger- 
manen gemeinsam  gewesen  sei  und  bei  diesen  schon  sehr  friih, 
bei  jenen  aber  spat  und  dann  auch  nur  teilweise  seine  Wirkung 
ausgeiibt  hatte.  Das  Hesse  sich  physiologisch  wohl  zur  Not 
verstehen,  verwickelt  aber  in  unlosbare  chronologische  Wider- 
spriiche. 

3.  GEGENSATZE—  Selbst  wenn  sich  ein  Weg  finden  liesse 
(ich  kann  mir  keinen  denken),  diese  historisch-geographischen 
Schwierigkeit  zu  beseitigen,  so  ware  damit  nichts  gewonnen, 


122  Prokosch 

denn  die  vermeintlichen  Ahnlichkeiten  des  germanischen  und 
das  irischen  Lautwandels  losen  sich  bei  naherer  Betrachtung  in 
Gegensatze  auf.  Das  Folgende  springt  sofort  in  die  Augen: 

1.  Germanisch  /,  k  wird  zu/>,  x  in  alien  Stellungen. 
Irisch  t,  k  wird  zu  p,  %  nur  nach  Vokal. 

2.  Im  Germanischen  unterliegt  auch  p  der  Verschiebung. 
Im  Irischen  schwindet  p  im  allgemeinen. 

3.  Germanisch  b,  d,  g  wird  zu  p,  t,  k. 

Irisch  (Keltisch)  f allt  b,  d,  g  mit  den  sogenannten  aspirierten 
Medien  zusammen,  indem  diese  gemein-keltisch  in  alien  Stel- 
lungen gleichfalls  zu  b,  d,  g  werden.  Nach  Vokalen  werden 
dann  diese  keltischen  Medien  zu  /3,  6,  7  leniert. 

Nur  bei  den  aspirierten  Medien  zeigt  sich  also  eine  betracht- 
liche  Ahnlichkeit  der  Entwicklungsrichtung. 

Welche  Bedeutung  in  Sinne  phonetischer  Tendenzen  haben 
diese  Gegensatze  wie  diese  Ahnlichkeiten?  Welche  Richtung 
der  Sprechgewohnheit  ist  durch  sie  vorgezeichnet? 

4.  WESEN  DER  VERSCHLUSSLOSUNG— Wie  ich  M. 
Ph.  I.e.  ausf  uhre,  ist  der  Ubergang  vom  stimmlosen  Verschluss- 
laut  zum  stimmlosen  Reibelaut  doppeldeutig.     Zur  BildUng 
eines  Verschlusslautes  ist  es  notwendig,  dass  entweder  Atem- 
druck   und    Muskelspannung    (der   Lippen   oder   der   Zunge) 
einander  die  Wage  halten  oder  der  letztere  iiberwiegt.     Ein 
Reibelaut  entsteht  aus  einem  Verschlusslaute,  wenn  entweder 
der  Druck  iiber  ein  gewisses  Mass  zunimmt  oder  die  Spannung 
unter  ein  gewisses  Mass  abnimmt.    Weil  diese  Ausdrucksweise, 
die  mir  immer  klar  genug  schien,  zu  Missverstandnissen  gefiihrt 
hat,   will  ich  hinzufiigen:  Dass  verschiedene  Lautarten  mit 
verschiedener  Starke  des  Druckes  wie  der  Spannung  ausge- 
sprochen  werden,  bezweifelt  wohl  niemand;  eine  Fortis  /  hat 
mehr  Druck  und  mehr  Spannung  der  Mundmuskeln  als  eine 
Lenis  v,  ein  norddeutsches  p  mehr  Druck,  aber  kauin  mehr 
Spannung,  als  ein  franzosisches,  bei  dem  ja,  wenn  mit  Kehl- 
kopfverschluss  gesprochen,  der  Druck  gleich  Null  ist. -Mit  einer 
Weiterfiihrung  von  Jespersens  analphabetischem  System,  also 
mit  einer  symbolisch-willkurlichen,  nicht  einer  mathematischen 
Verwendung  von  Ziffern,  liesse  sich  der  Unterschied  in  folgen- 
den  Formel  ausdriicken: 

Gruppe  tdta:  Druck — norddeutsch  5:1:4:%  franzb'sisch  0:1:0:1 
Spannung         "          5:1:4:3^  "         5:1:4:1. 


Lautverschiebung  und  Lenierung  123 

Das  sind,  ich  betone  es,  Verhaltniszahlen;  sie  geben  lediglich 
an,  in  welchem  Grade  Druck  und  Spannung  eines  Lautes  iiber 
oder  unter  dem  Niveau  der  Nachbarlaute  stehen.  Bei  energi- 
schem  Sprechen  wird  natiirlich  der  absolute  Druck  wie  die 
absolute  Spannung  wachsen,  bei  lassigem  Sprechen  werden  sie 
abnehmen  (wenigstens  im  allgemeinen),  aber  die  Verhaltnisse 
werden  im  Grunde  nicht  verandert. 

Wie  das  Franzosische  zeigt,  mag  die  Spannung  bedeutend 
grosser  werden  als  der  Druck,  und  der  Laut  bleibt  doch  ein 
Verschlusslaut.  Das  bleibt  er  auch,  wenn  beide  Faktoren 
gleichmassig  iiber  das  Niveau  ihrer  Umgebung  hinauswachsen; 
sicher  war  das  der  Fall,  als  idg.  b,  d,  g  im  Germanischen  auf  dem 
Wege  iiber  stimmlose  Lenes  zu  />,  t,  k  wurden — ebenso  sicher,  wie 
Druck  und  Spannung  zunehmen,  wenn  ein  Siiddeutscher  in 
gewahlter  Sprechweise  (Biihnendeutsch)  norddeutsche  Fortes 
fur  seine  gewohnten  Lenes  einsetzt.  (Dass  Lotspeich,  S.  160, 
annimmt,  dass  die  englischen,  norddeutschen  und  danischen 
aspirierten  Fortes  mit  geringerer  Lippen-  und  Zungenspannung 
gesprochen  werden  als  die  stimmlosen  Lenes,  kann  wohl  nur 
als  ein  Versehen  betrachtet  werden.) 

Wachst  aber  der  Druck  mehr  als  die  Spannung — ihm  sind  ja 
weniger  enge  Grenzen  gezogen,  das  er  von  der  kraftigeren 
Rumpfmuskulatur  ausgeht — ,  sodass  sich  das  Verhaltnis  5:5  in 
der  Richtung  nach  6:5  verschiebt,  so  ist  ein  Reibelaut  die  un- 
vermeidliche  Folge;  das  Gleiche  tritt  aber  auch  ein,  wenn  die 
Spannung  abnimmt  (Richtung  nach  5:4).  Im  ersteren  Falle 
ergibt  sich,  wenigstens  vorlaufig,  eine  Fortis,  im  letzteren  Falle 
eine  Lenis,  aber  ein  Reibelaut  entsteht  in  beiden  Fallen. 

Sind  nun  germanische  Lautverschiebung  und  irische  Lenie- 
rung in  derselben  Richtung  erfolgt  oder  nicht?  Mit  andern 
Worten:  Ist  jede  der  beiden  Eerscheinungen  einer  Druck- 
steigerung  oder  einer  Spannungsminderung  zuzuschreiben? 

5.  RICHTUNG  DER  LAUTVERSCHIEBUNG.— Dar- 
iiber  erhalten  wir,  wenn  wir  wollen,  nach  zwei  Richtungen 
Aufschluss,  die  gewissermassen  einen  horizontalen  und  einen 
vertikalen  Durchschnitt  der  beiden  Sprachen  darstellen,  nam- 
lich  durch  einen  Vergleich  gleichzeitiger  Lautveranderungen 
oder  durch  eine  Erwagung  der  spateren  Entwicklung  der 
betreffenden  Laute.  Fur  den  gegenwartigen  Zweck  geniigt  aber 
der  erstere  Weg  vollauf. 


124  Prokosch 

Im  Germanischen  spricht  sowohl  innerhalb  der  ersten  Laut- 
verschiebung  wie  auch  in  der  Folgezeit  alles  in  der  bestimm- 
testen  Weise  fur  Entwicklung  durch  Aussprachesteigerung. 
Der  Ubergang  von  Tenuis  zu  Spirans  ist  nicht  auf  gewisse 
Stellungen  eingeschrankt;  die  Griinde  der  Abweichungen  in 
der  zweiten  Lautverschiebung  habe  ich  JEGPh.  XVI  auseinan- 
dergesetzt.  Der  schon  dadurch  angedeutete  Steigerungsvor- 
gang  wird  durch  die  Medienverschiebung  ganz  ausser  Frage 
gestellt:  Diese  ist  ganzlich  eindeutig,  denn  in  alien  germanischen 
Sprachen  finden  wir  Fortes,  u.z.  grosstenteils  aspirierte  Fortes, 
an  Stelle  der  idg.  b,  d,  g.  Durch  die  Gegenwirkung  von  relativer 
Druckverstarkung,  d.h.  Hebung  des  Druckes  iiber  das  bishe- 
rige  Niveau  der  Nachbarlaute,  und  entsprechende  Spannungs- 
verstarkung,  ergibt  sich  eine  Reihe  von  beispielloser  Folgerich- 
tigkeit,  die  MPh.  I.e.  §  14  (S.  329  f .)  zusammengefasst  ist,  und 
deren  Wiedergabe  an  dieser  Stelle  ich  mir  aus  Rucksicht  auf 
den  Raum  versage. 

6.  RICHTUNG  DER  LENIERUNG  — Diesem  ganzlich 
klaren  Steigerungsvorgang  gegenuber  finden  wir  im  Irischen 
folgende  Entwicklung: 

a.  Lenierung  der  Stimmlosen.  Darauf,  dass  diese  nur  nach 
Vokal  erfolgt,  ware  vielleicht  nicht  allzuviel  Gewicht  zu  legen, 
denn  das  ware  auch  bei  einem  Lautwandel  durch  Steigerung 
denkbar.  Die  Spannung  mag  im  Anlaut  dem  Druck  langer 
Widerstand  leisten  als  im  Inlaut  und  im  Auslaut,  wie  wir  es  bei 
der  zweiten  Lautverschiebung  tatsachlich  sehen,  und  man 
konnte  annehmen,  dass  im  Irischen  (vielleicht  zuf  allig  zu  gleicher 
Zeit  mit  der  hochdeutschen  Lautverschiebung)  ein  ahnlicher 
Vorgang  eingesetzt  habe  aber  aus  unbekannten  Griinden  nicht 
iiber  diesen  Anfang  hinausgegangen  sei. 

Anm.  1:  Den  Wegfall  des  keltischen  p  im  Anlaut  und  zwischen  Vokalen 
(vgl.  air.  athir — lat.  pater)  wage  ich  nicht  zu  beurteilen.  Thurneysen,  Hb.  S. 
137,  meint,  dass  es  zunachst  uberall  zu  bilabialem  /  wurde  und  dann  auf  dem 
Wege  tiber  y  oder  h  schwand.  Im  Armenischen  (lat.  pater — armen.  hajr)  ist 
ein  solcher  Vorgang  kaum  zu  bezweifeln,  aber  dessen  Lautstand  ist  von  dem 
irischen  so  verschieden,  dass  sich  daraus  nichts  schliessen  lasst.  Die  Entwick- 
luag  der  Gruppe  pt  zu  cht  (septem :  air.  sechf)  scheint  Thurneysen  recht  zu  geben. 

Anm.  2:  In  proklitischer  Stellung  (zB.  in  der  Proposition  do,  du  <  to,  tit) 
wird  /  air.  zu  d,  vielleicht  auch  k  zu  g.  t)ber  einen  ahnlichen,  aber  nicht  gleichen 
Vorgang  im  Germanischen  (Gotisch  du,  dis-)  werde  ich  in  einem  Artikel  Rest- 
worter  demnachst  in  dieser  Zeitschrift  handeln. 


Lautverschiebung  und  Lenierung  125 

b.  Die  Lenierung  der  Stimmhaften.  Das  Verhalten  der 
Medien  ist  f  iir  die  ganze  Frage  entscheidend.  Im  Germanischen, 
wie  spater  auch  im  Hochdeutschen,  zeigen  diese  klare  Steige- 
rung.  Im  Irischen  bleiben  sie  im  Anlaut  unverandert  und  wer- 
den  nach  Vokal  zu  den  Spiranten  /3,  8,  7  leniert.  Nun  lasst 
sich  doch  sicher  nicht  annehmen,  dass  im  Germanischen  alle 
Verschlusslaute  verstarkt,  im  Irischen  dagegen  die  einen  ver- 
starkt, die  andern  geschwacht  worden  seien;  vielmehr  ist  dieser 
eindeutige  Lautwandel  als  Schliissel  fiir  den  zweideutigen,  der 
im  Wandel  von  t  zu  p,  k  zu  x  liegt,  zu  verwenden,  sodass  wir 
auch  aus  diesem  Grunde  diesen  fiir  das  Germanische  als  Steige- 
rung,  fiir  das  Irische  aber  als  Minderung  anzusehen  haben. — 
Der  Zusammenfall  der  aspirierten  und  der  nicht-aspirierten 
Medien  hat  mit  der  Lenierung  nichts  zu  tun,  sondern  gehort  in 
eine  sehr  friihe,  gemein-keltische  Periode.  Dariiber  MPh.  XVI 
335.  Die  Ubereinstimmung  in  der  Verteilung  von  alt-irischem 
und  germanischem  6:0,  d:8,  g:y  ist  nur  eine  scheinbare — ein 
Punkt,  den  Meillet,  wie  oben  bemerkt,  aus  dem  Auge  verloren 
hat.  Denn  im  Germanischen  ist  der  Spirant  der  altere  Laut, 
der  erst  nach  der  Lautverschiebung  allmahlich  zum  Ver- 
schlusslaut  wird;  dieser  Wandel  beginnt  im  Anlaut,  der  Stelle 
grosster  Spannung,  und  greift  erst  allmahlich,  und  in  vielen 
Dialekten  iiberhaupt  nicht,  auf  den  Inlaut  iiber,  wie  JEGPh. 
XVI  in  meinem  Aufsatz  iiber  die  deutsche  Lautverschiebung 
ausfiihrlich  besprochen  ist.  Aber  im  Irischen  haben  wir  von 
Verschlusslauten  auszugehen  (will  man  das  fiir  die  aspirierten 
Medien  bestreiten,  so  tut  es  nichts  zur  Sache — fiir  die  reinen 
Medien  ist  es  unbestreitbar),  die  in  Stellen  geringster  Spannung, 
namlich  nach  Vokalen,  zu  Reibelauten  werden.  Auch  hier 
also  zeigt  das  Germanische  eine  Steigerung,  das  Irische  eine 
Minderung. 

Aus  diesen  Erwagungen  scheint  mir  klar  hervorzugehen, 
dass  von  irgend  einer  Art  Zusammenhang  zwischen  Lautver- 
schiebung und  Lenierung  keine  Rede  sein  kann,  sondern  dass 
die  beiden  Erscheinungen,  die  von  einander  vollstandig  unab- 
hangig  sind,  in  einem  einzigen  Punkte,derEntwicklung  von^  und 
X  aus  Verschlusslauten,  eine  aussere  Ahnlichkeit  zeigen,  die  man 
geradezu  eine  zufallige  nennen  muss.  Die  Wege  des  Germa- 
nischen und  des  Irischen  sind  entgegengesetzt,  wenn  sie  auch  auf 
eine  Weile  neben  einander  herzulaufen  scheinen.  Will  man  in 


126  Prokosch 

der  Richtung  dieser  Beweisfiihrung  noch  welter  gehen,  so  mag 
man  auch  die  spatere  Entwicklung  der  "verschobenen"  und 
der  "lenierten"  Laute  in  Betracht  ziehen  und  wird  das  Ergebnis 
biindig  bestatigt  finden.  Das  Germanische  stellt  eine  "Steige- 
rungsreihe"  dar  (t>]>> d>8>5>t),  das  Irische  dagegen,  und 
mehr  oder  weniger  das  Keltische  iiberhaupt,  eine  Minderungs- 
reihe  (t>&>5— ). 

E.  PROKOSCH 
Bryn  Mawr  College 


MILTON'S  VIEW  OF  EDUCATION  IN  PARADISE  LOST 

The  student  of  Milton  may  welcome  the  suggestion  that 
in  Paradise  Lost  the  poet  is  interested  in  the  problems  of  educa- 
tion. If  we  are  already  accustomed  to  regard  the  epic  as  in 
part  an  artistic  embodiment  of  a  constructive  theology,  fulfilling 
the  promise  of  justifying  the  ways  of  God  to  men,  we  may  also 
comprehend  under  that  announced  purpose  an  interest  in  the 
most  universal  problems  of  education.  If  we  think  of  Milton 
as  so  completely  the  master  of  the  epic  conventions  that  they 
become  his  instruments  in  the  expression  of  a  highly  philosophic 
aim,  we  might  also  believe  him  capable  of  presenting  through 
these  conventions  the  idea  of  a  sound  education.  And  we  might 
be  the  more  willing  to  discover  such  an  idea  in  the  poem  if  we  were 
to  find  that  in  Milton's  thought  the  topic  of  education  was 
essentially  connected  with  those  other  dominant  philosophical 
themes  of  the  epic,  theology  and  ethics. 

This  naturally  leads  to  an  examination  of  the  prose  for 
a  record  of  the  poet's  thought  in  the  years  preceding  the  great 
epic.  We  have  long  assumed  in  our  study  that  the  prose  is 
capable  of  throwing  light  upon  the  theology  of  the  fourth  book; 
and  we  have  also  recognized  an  obvious  connection  between 
the  importance  of  liberty  in  the  prose,  and  an  equally  apparent 
insistence  throughout  the  epic  upon  the  the  same  theme.  If  we 
found  that  in  the  prose  the  problems  of  education  were  natur- 
ally related  to  this  basic  topic  of  liberty,  we  might  be  willing 
to  assume  a  similar  tendency  when  the  epic  was  composed. 

We  may  recall  that  as  early  as  1644  in  the  letter  Of  Education 
to  Master  Hartlib  education  has  for  its  most  comprehensive 
aim  "to  repair  the  ruins  of  our  first  parents  by  regaining  to 
know  God  aright."1  The  ideas  advanced  in  this  early  work, 
we  may  add,  he  regards  as  the  "burnishing  of  many  studious 
and  contemplative  years,  altogether  spent  in  the  search  of 
religious  and  civil  knowledge."2  According  to  this  his  early 
thought  is  the  outcome  primarily  of  his  theological  and  political 
thought.  And,  again,  in  the  Second  Defence  of  the  English 
People  the  principles  of  education  are  for  Milton  so  vital  that 

1  Prose  Works  of  John  Milton,  ed.  by  J.  A.  St.  John,  5  vol.,  London,  1901- 
1909,  3.  464. 

127 


128  Bundy 

v  there  can  be  nothing  more  necessary  "to  principle  the  minds 
of  men  in  virtue,  the  only  genuine  source  of  political  and  in- 
dividual liberty,  the  only  true  safeguard  of  states,  the  bulwark 
of  their  prosperity  and  renown."3  The  establishment  thus 
early  in  Milton's  thought  of  so  close  a  relation  between  educa- 
tion, ethics,  and  politics  leads  us  to  wonder  whether  in  the 
work  of  his  mature  genius  concerned  with  religious  and  ethical 
aspects  of  liberty  he  could  have  passed  over  in  silence  a  sub- 
ject of  such  vital  importance  as  education  seemed  to  be.  If 
we  seek  in  the  epic  for  a  conscious  facing  of  the  problems  of 
education,  we-  are  seeking  in  a  great  poem  the  central  theme 
of  which  is  liberty  for  a  description  of  the  process  by  which 
that  ideal  human  state  is  to  be  achieved. 

We  would  reasonably  expect  that  such  a  view  artistically 
embodied  in  the  epic  would  represent  an  advance  over  the 
earlier  view.  We  might  expect  it  to  be  more  philosophic — in 
the  sense  that  Paradise  Lost  is  more  philosophic  than  any  earlier 
work  of  the  poet.  It  would  possess  the  universality  of  the 
highest  poetry.  And,  again,  remembering  how  scanty  the  letter 
to  Hartlib  is  in  hints  relating  to  method,  and  the  proper  temper 
of  the  teacher,  and  the  right  attitude  of  the  scholar,  we  might 
expect  any  conception  in  the  epic  to  round  out  in  certain  im- 
portant respects  the  view  of  1644. 

So  much  by  way  of  anticipation.  At  this  point,  however, 
it  will  suffice  to  keep  in  mind  two  outstanding  facts  concerning 
the  early  work.  The  first  is  that  as  early  as  1644  Milton  had  a 
definitely  utilitarian  view  of  education.  Whether  we  think  of 
the  purpose  of  education  as  the  repairing  of  the  ruins  of  our 
first  parents,  or,  in  the  words  of  that  other  definition,  as  en- 
abling "a  man  to  perform  justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously 
all  the  offices,  both  private  and  public,  of  peace  and  war,"4 
the  practical  character  of  the  theory  remains  the  same. 

The  second  fact  is  that  these  two  definitions  just  quoted 
are  essentially  different;  and  no  attempt  is  made  to  establish 
a  relation  between  them.  The  reforms  in  education  suggested 
are  seemingly  made  in  the  light  of  one  or  of  the  other  of  these 
definitions,  but  hardly  in  the  light  of  both.  They  represent 
quite  different  aims.  The  one  proposes  "to  repair  the  ruins  of 

•Prose  Works,  1.  2S9. 
*Ibid.    3.467. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  129 

our  first  parents  by  regaining  to  know  God  aright,  and  out  of  that 
knowledge  to  love  him,  to  imitate  him,  to  be  like  him,  as  we  may 
the  nearest  by  possessing  our  souls  of  true  virtue,  which  being 
united  to  the  heavenly  grace  of  faith,  makes  up  the  highest 
perfection."  Such  a  view  contemplates  the  pupil  as  by  nature 
sinful  and  therefore  subject  to  discipline,  a  process  of  eradi- 
cating evil,  if  need  be  with  pain.  It  is  the  view  which  one  might 
expect  from  a  Puritan. 

The  other  definition  is  not  necessarily  Puritanical  at  all. 
It  states  simply  that  it  is  the  business  of  education  to  fit  the 
individual  to  perform  justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously 
all  the  offices,  both  public  and  private,  of  peace  and  war. 
According  to  this  view  it  is  the  object  of  education  to  make 
good  citizens.  The  expressed  aim  has  no  reference  to  the 
inherent  sinfulness  of  man's  nature.  It  seeks,  rather,  to 
emphasize  that  other  equally  important  fact,  the  potential 
goodness  of  man's  nature.  Here  in  the  early  treatise  we  have 
two  definitions  of  the  purpose  of  education  based  upon  two  I 
different  conceptions  of  the  nature  of  man.4*  Had  Milton  been 
more  interested  in  this  early  work  in  a  philosophical  theory 
of  education,  a  conflict  between  the  two  views  might  have  be- 
come apparent.  That  this  conflict  was  avoided  was  probably 
due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  mainly  interested  as  an  educational 
reformer  in  offering  certain  specific  suggestions.  The  purpose 
of  the  letter,  not  being  highly  philosophical,  does  not  necessitate 
the  development  of  the  implications  of  the  two  definitions. 

With  Paradise  Lost  it  is  different.  Here,  far  from  being 
interested  in  the  specific  questions  which  were  his  concern  in 
1644,  he  turned  naturally  to  those  more  universal  questions  of 
human  conduct  involved  in  his  presentation  of  our  progenitor* 
Adam.  The  protagonist  is  representative  of  humanity  in  it£ 
most  universal  capacities,  tendencies,  and  problems.  It  would 
not  be  unreasonable  to  think  of  him  also  as  a  kind  of  universal 
pupil.  If  he  were  to  be  regarded  in  this  light,  then  the  two 
views  of  education  implicit  in  the  early  work  would  become 
highly  important. 

Perhaps,  then,  we  shall  be  justfied  in  regarding  the  discourse 
of  Raphael  as  the  artistic  embodiment  of  an  ideal  of  education 

4a  See  Lane  Cooper,  Two  Views  of  Education,  in  The  Sewanee  Review,  July, 
1918. 


130 


Bundy 


which  contemplates  man  as  essentially  good;  and,  in  turn,  the 
discourse  of  Michael  at  the  end  of  the  epic  as  an  equally  pur- 
posive presentation  of  a  kind  of  education  which  assumes  the 
sinfulness  of  man's  nature.  The  one,  Raphael,  we  may  call 
Milton's  ideal  schoolmaster  aiming  to  make  a  potentially  per- 
fect Adam  fit  "to  perform  justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously 
all  the  offices  ...  of  peace  and  war," — of  peace,  let  us  add, 
in  the  worship  of  God,  and  of  war,  in  the  withstanding  of  Satan. 
Michael  is  another  ideal  schoolmaster,  dealing  with  man  after 
the  fall,  after  man  had  sinned  and  come  short  of  the  glory  of 
God.  This  fact  the  teacher  keeps  ever  uppermost  in  mind; 
he  seeks,  in  consequence,  not  the  development  of  Godlike 
capacities,  but  the  repair  of  the  ruin  already  wrought  by  his 
pupil. 

Thus  the  two  discourses,  if  they  could  be  supposed  to  bear 
upon  a  theory  of  education,  would  seem  to  stand  in  a  comple- 
mentary relation.  If  we  say  that  for  Milton  the  aim  of  man 
is  to  be  in  right  relation  with  his  Maker,  then  we  can  say  that 
Raphael  aims  to  help  man  to  achieve  this  end  by  assuming  his 
essential  goodness,  and  Michael  by  assuming  his  essential  sin- 
fulness.  That  there  are  these  two  basic — and  complementary — 
notions  of  the  end  of  education,  dependent,  in  turn,  upon  two 
conceptions  of  the  nature  of  man,  will  perhaps  become  apparent 
as  we  examine  in  some  detail  the  utterances  of  these  two 
angelic  teachers. 

,  We  may  the  better  see  in  these  two  discourses  the  purpose 
of  Milton  to  present  the  methods  of  two  good  teachers  if 
we  try  at  the  beginning  to  determine  their  possible  relation 
to  the  basic  Miltonic  theme  of  liberty.  In  the  famous  autobio- 
graphical passage  of  the  Second  Defence  the  poet  describes  the 
greater  part  of  his  work  up  to  1654,  including  specifically  the 
letter  to  Hartlib,  as  an  endeavor  to  promote  "real  and  sub- 
stantial liberty,  which  is  rather  to  be  sought  from  within  than 
from  without;  and  whose  existence  depends,  not  so  much  on 
the  terror  of  the  sword,  as  on  sobriety  of  conduct  and  integrity 
of  life."6  Here  he  regards  his  early  utterance  on  education, 
along  with  the  tracts  on  divorce  and  the  more  famous  work  on 
the  freedom  of  the  press,  as  documents  concerned  with  the 
subject  of  liberty.  With  that  other  passage  in  mind,  that  there 
•0p.Al.23S. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  131 

can  be  nothing  more  necessary  than  education  "to  principle 
the  minds  of  men  in  virtue,  the  only  genuine  source  of  political 
and  individual  liberty,"6  we  would  be  speaking  in  the  spirit  of 
Milton  if  we  said  that  Raphael's  function  as  a  teacher  was  to 
educate  Adam  to  preserve  his  liberty,  and  that  Michael's  pur- 
pose was  to  help  him  to  regain  it. 

II 

In  the  light  of  this  connection  in  the  poet's  mind  between 
liberty  and  education,  the  commission  to  Raphael  in  the  fifth 
book  of  the  epic  when  he  is  sent  to  instruct  Adam  may  prove 
significant: 

such  discourse  bring  on 
As  may  advise  him  of  his  happy  state — 
Happiness  in  his  power  left  free  to  will, 
Left  to  his  own  free  will,  his  will  though  free, 
Yet  mutable;  whence  warn  him  to  beware 
He  swerve  not,  too  secure.7 

Raphael  is  sent  for  the  express  purpose  of  teaching  Adam  to 
preserve  his  happiness,  i.e.,  to  preserve  his  freedom  by  learning 
to  recognize  the  dangers  involved  in  that  freedom.  It  is,  of 
course,  the  fundamental  paradox  of  Milton's  thought,  with  the 
solution  of  which  we  are  not  here  concerned.  What  does 
immediately  concern  us  is  that  this  commission  is  but  a  re- 
phrasing of  that  comprehensive  aim  which  the  poet  had  set  for 
himself  in  all  of  his  published  work, — of  which  the  letter  on 
education  is  a  part, — "the  promotion  of  real  and  substantial 
liberty,  which  is  rather  to  be  sought  from  within  than  from 
without."  The  aim  set  for  Raphael,  the  angelic  teacher,  is  not 
far  from  the  aim  which  Milton  has  set  for  himself. 

• 

A  second  fact  is  noteworthy:  that  this  commission  involves 
the  idea  of  "discourse,"  a  term  which  for  the  poet  sometimes 
denotes  particularly  the  functioning  of  the  rational  faculty. 
That  the  teacher  interprets  his  task  as  specifically  one  of  stimu- 
lating the  reason  becomes  apparent  at  the  very  beginning  of 
his  pon  versa  tion  with  Adam.  Not  only  does  he  deal  with  sub- 
ject matter  quite  abstract,  the  ability  of  spiritual  beings  to 
assimilate  substance,  and,  again,  the  essential  unity  of  all  sub- 

•Op.cit.  1.  259. 

7  Paradise  Lost,  ed.  by  A.  W.  Verity,  Cambridge,  1910,  5.    233-238. 


132  Bundy 

stance;  but  he  gives  a  significant  turn  to  this  explanation, 
insisting  that  in  this  underlying  unity  there  is  a  progress  from 
body  to  spirit,  from  vegetable  life  to  animal,  finally  to  in- 
tellectual, 

whence  the  soul 

Reason  receives,  and  reason  is  her  being, 
Discursive,  or  intuitive:  discourse 
Is  of  test  yours,  the  latter  most  is  ours, ' 
Differing  but  in  degree,  in  kind  the  same.8 

If  the  teacher  did  not  have  a  very  definite  purpose  in  such  an 
utterance,  he  is  to  be  accused  of  bad  art  in  talking  quite  over 
the  head  of  his  pupil.  It  is  hardly  by  chance  that  Raphael 
insists  at  the  outset  upon  the  distinction  in  the  two  means  of 
attaining  truth,  the  intuitive  insight  of  the  heavenly  teacher, 
and  human  attainment  through  an  act  of  the  reason.  The 
instructor  knows  well  the  object  which  he  has  in  mind  when  he 
thus  begins  by  laying  down  three  axiomatic  principles:  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  teacher  is  of  a  higher  sort  than  that  of  the 
pupil ;  that  the  pupil  has,  however,  a  distinctly  human  capacity 
by  which  he  may  approximate  the  knowledge  of  an  angel;  and 
that  his  power  of  reason  or  "discourse"  differs  only  in  degree 
from  that  higher  gift  of  intuition  or  immediate  insight. 

It  is  also  significant  that  the  ideal  schoolmaster  is  made 
at  the  outset  to  enunciate  an  educational  principle  much 
emphasized  in  Milton's  day: 

High  matter  thou  enjoin'st  me,  O  prime  of  men, 
Sad  task  and  hard;  for  how  shall  I  relate 
To  human  sense  the  invisible  exploits 
Of  warring  Spirits?       .... 

yet  for  thy  good 

I  shall  delineate  so, 

By  likening  spiritual  to  corporal  forms, 
As  may  express  them  best.9 

Let  us  compare  this  with  a  passage  from  the  early  treatise: 

But  because  our  understanding  cannot  in  this  body  found  itself  but  on  sen- 
sible things,  nor  arrive  so  clearly  to  the  knowledge  of  God  and  things  invisible, 

»  as  by  orderly  conning  over  the  visible  and  inferior  creature,  the  same  method  is 

»'  necessarily  to  be  followed  in  all  discreet  teaching.10 

•P.  L.  5.486-490. 
•P.  L.S.  563 S. 

10  Op.  cit.  3.  464. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  133 

This  insistence  upon  the  basic  character  of  knowledge 
gained  through  the  senses  was  a  commonplace  of  the  pedagogi- 
cal theory  of  the  day.  It  is  even  more  evident  in  such  a  theorist 
as  Comenius.11  The  interesting  point  for  us  is  that  such  a 
commonplace  of  contemporary  theory  should  be  found  just  at 
the  beginning  of  the  discourse  of  Raphael  as  a  kind  of  theoretical 
foundation  for  the  instruction.  It  seems  hard  to  believe  that 
Milton  is  not  thinking  in  terms  of  educational  policy. 

That  Milton  intended  these  ideas  to  be  basic  is  evident  from 
the  way  in  which  Adam,  indeed  a  most  promising  pupil,  is 
represented  as  assimilating  his  first  lesson: 

Well  hast  thou  taught  the  way  that  might  direct 
Our  knowledge,  and  the  scale  of  Nature  set 
From  centre  to  circumferetice,  whereon 
In  contemplation  of  created  things, 
By  steps  we  may  ascend  to  God.is 

It  is  an  expression  of  the  aim  of  education  not  far  from  the 
ideal  of  the  modern  scientist  proposing  to  instruct  the  intellect 
in  the  laws  of  nature  that  man  may  learn  to  shape  his  actions 
in  accordance  with  those  laws,— or,  in  the  theological  phrase- 
ology of  Milton,  that  he  may  by  steps  ascend  to  God. 

We  must  agree,  however,  that  Raphael  does  not  lead  his 
pupil  to  the  observation  of  the  same  phenomena  which  our 
modern  scientist  regards  as  the  matter  of  a  good  education. 
We  should  hardly  expect  to  find  in  the  ideal  modern  curriculum 
the  three  great  subjects  of  discourse  which  constitute  the 
substance  of  the  fifth,  sixth,  seventh,  and  eighth  books  of  the 
epic.  The  first  has  to  do  with  the  fall  of  the  disobedient  angels, 
the  second  with  the  Creation,  and  the  third  with  "celestial 
motions."  But  we  may  add  that  for  our  progenitor  as  con- 
ceived by  Milton  these  topics  may  well  stand  in  the  place  of 
certain  modern  studies. 

Let  us  observe  certain  features  which  these  subjects  of  dis- 
course possess  in  common.     First,  each  is  prompted  by  the  \ 
curiosity  of  the  pupil.    The  teacher  conceives  of  his  function, 
in  turn,  as  the  imparting  of  information  always  in  the  light  of  a 
definite  moral  or  intellectual  good  for  the  pupil.    Thus  the  angel, 
possessing  the  knowledge  intuitively,  imparts  it  in  each  in-  \ 
stance  in  a  way  which  exercises  the  rational  powers  of  man. 

11  See  Adamson,  Pioneers  of  Modern  Education,  Cambridge,  1905,  p.  69. 
»  P.  L.  5.  508-512. 


134  Bundy 

We  may  also  observe  that  these  three  topics  constitute 
three  essentially  different  kinds  of  subject  matter.  We  may 
say  that  the  fall  of  the  angels,  a  record  of  superhuman  acts, 
is  a  narrative  which  upon  Adam  has  all  of  the  effects  of  tragedy. 
The  account  of  the  Creation  has,  in  turn,  much  the  relation  to 
the  thought  of  our  first  ancestor  that  the  account  of  the  his- 
torical geologist  has  to  ours.  The  third  matter  of  discourse, 
celestial  motions  or  astronomy,  brings  up,  we  shall  see,  the 
problem  of  the  curbing  of  the  wrongly  motivated  scientific 
impulse.  While  it  may  be  unsafe  to  assume  that  Milton  thus 
purposely  chose  his  fields  to  illustrate  an  admirable  diversity 
of  subject  matter,  it  is  interesting  to  reflect  that  the  poet  bent 
only  upon  justifying  the  ways  of  God  to  men, — interested 
only  in  a  theological  problem  with  little  necessary  relation  to 
pedagogy, — need  not  have  stressed  certain  aspects  of  the  Crea- 
tion, and  need  not  have  discussed  celestial  motions  at  all. 
That  the  pupil  is  represented  as  seeking  information  in  three 
fields  without  necessary  continuity  so  far  as  epic  structure  is 
concerned  may  seem  to  result  from  the  conscious  art  of  the 
poet  in  illustrating  certain  principles  of  a  sound  education. 

The  first  discourse,  we  have  suggested,  has  for  its  aim  the 
moral  effect  of  tragedy — an  effect  such  as  that  intended  for  the 
readers  of  Samson  Agonistes.  We  may  add  that  much  of  the 
preface  to  Milton's  tragedy  seems  to  have  a  pertinent  applica- 
tion to  the  tragedy  which  Raphael  relates  to  Adam.  Indeed, 
if  it  were  our  purpose  to  discuss  the  artistry  of  this  portion  of 
the  narrative,  it  would  not  be  uninteresting  to  observe  how  its 
speeches  assume  much  the  character  of  dramatic  dialogue,  and 
the  function  of  chorus  is  admirably  assumed  by  Raphael 
himself.  Thus,  in  lieu  of  those  "choice  histories,  heroic  poems, 
and  Attic  tragedies  of  stateliest  .  .  .  argument,"13  referred  to  in 
the  early  letter  as  the  proper  reading  for  the  pupil,  we  have  here 
as  the  proper  imaginative  material  for  this  first  pupil  a  narra- 
tive in  obvious  relation  to  his  own  approaching  temptation. 
And  Raphael,  a  kind  of  chorus,  points  out  the  pertinency  of 
the  action  to  the  life  of  the  listener  as  faithfully  as  the  chorus 
of  a  classical  tragedy  establishes  relations  between  the  action 
and  the  universal  problems  of  life  involved  for  the  normal 
spectator  or  reader. 

"  Op.  cit.  3. 473. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  135 

The  reader  may  have  noticed  that  the  appeal  of  Samson 
Agonistes  is  not  solely  to  the  emotions  of  pity  and  fear,  but  as 
well  to  the  rational  powers  by  which  the  reader  recognizes  the 
universal  scope  of  the  moral  problems  involved.  In  like 
manner,  in  the  story  of  the  fall,  Milton,  causing  Raphael  to 
point  out  tie  moral  significance  for  Adam  of  the  action,  at 
least  gives  us  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  r61e  of  the  dra- 
matic artist  as  teacher.  Raphael  becomes  at  times  almost  the 
accompaniment  of  the  action,  pointing  to  that  central  theme 
of  the  epic,  obedience,  and  through  that  obedience,  freedom. 
In  the  first  part  of  the  heavenly  instruction  the  teacher  may 
be  said  to  be  employing  the  highest  conscious  art. 

The  second  portion  of  the  discourse,  the  account  of  the 
Creation,  is  equally  interesting  to  the  student  of  Milton's 
theory  of  education.  Again  Adam  is  represented  as  seeking 
information  in  no  wrong  spirit,  but 

Led  on,  yet  sinless,  with  desire  to  know 
What  nearer  might  concern  him,  how  this  World 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth  conspicuous  first  began; 
When,  and  whereof,  created;  for  what  cause; 
What  within  Eden,  or  without,  was  done 
Before  his  memory.14 

This  is  for  Milton  the  healthy  attitude  in  which  the  desire  for 
knowledge  is  subordinated  to  the  aim  of  life,  the  bringing  of 
the  will  of  the  individual  into  conformity  with  the  Divine  Will. 
In  this  spirit,  and  with  the  thought  uppermost  that  the  account 
of  the  fall  had  been  for  his  moral  good,  the  pupil  seeks  further 
information: 

But,  since  thou  hast  vouchsafed 
Gently,  for  our  instruction,  to  impart 
Things  above  earthly  thought,  which  yet  concerned 
Our  knowing,  as  to  highest  Wisdom  seemed, 
Deign  to  descend  now  lower,  and  relate 
What  may  no  less  perhaps  avail  us  known : 


if  unforbid  thou  may'st  unfold 
What  we  not  to  explore  the  secrets  ask 
Of  his  eternal  empire,  but  the  more 
To  magnify  his  works  the  more  we  know.15 

"  P.  L.  7.  61-66. 
«*  P.  L.  7.  80-97. 


136  Bundy 

So  long  as  Adam  preserves  this  attitude,  Raphael  is  quite 
willing  to  continue  the  instruction : 

Yet  what  thou  canst  attain,  which  best  may  serve 

To  glorify  the  Maker,  and  infer 

Thee  also  happier,  shall  not  be  withheld 

Thy  hearing;  such  commission  from  above 

I  have  received,  to  answer  thy  desire 

Of  knowledge  within  bounds;  beyond  abstain 

To  ask  .   .   .   . 

Then  he  adds: 

But  knowledge  is  as  food,  and  needs  no  less 

Her  temperance  over  appetite,  to  know 

In  measure  what  the  mind  may  well  contain." 

Thus,  as  the  fitting  introduction  to  the  second  narrative  we 
have  this  insistence  that  the  desire  for  knowledge  shall  be 
subordinated  to  the  desire  for  right  conduct,  to  the  ethical  ideal. 
Throughout  the  account  of  the  Creation  the  narrative  is 
constantly  subordinated  to  the  moral  purpose.  This  does 
not  necessarily  imply  an  inartistic  didacticism.  But  there  is 
continual  emphasis  upon  the  preeminent  nature  of  God's  final 
creation,  Man,  and  his  consequent  duty  as  one  made  in  the 
image  of  his  Maker  not  to  fall: 

There  wanted  yet  the  master-work,  the  end 
Of  all  yet  done;  a  creature  who,  not  prone 
And  brute  as  other  creatures,  but  endued 
With  sanctity  of  reason,  might  erect 
His  stature,  and  upright  with  front  serene 
Govern  the  rest,  self-knowing  .  .  .  .  17 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  Raphael  insists  that  man  is  to  be 
distinguished  from  the  lower  animals  through  his  possession 
of  that  very  power  to  which  his  heavenly  instructor  is  con- 
stantly appealing.  Reason,  the  teacher  points  out,  is  properly 
the  ruling  principle;  but  even  in  the  satisfaction  of  reason  a 
proper  temperance  must  be  observed  if  the  individual  is  to  keep 
his  freedom.  Curiosity  must  be  subordinated  to  practical 
aims  and  purposes. 

It  was  this  vital  principle  of  the  intellectual  life  which  was 
soon  to  be  illustrated  in  a  striking  way.  Adam,  not  in  the 

"P.  L.T.  115-128. 
»  P.  L.  7.  505-510. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  137 

least  wearied  by  a  lesson  already  somewhat  long,  inquires 
concerning  celestial  motions.  Now  in  the  portion  of  the  epic 
thus  concerned  with  astronomical  questions,  Milton  is  hardly 
doubting  the  value  of  the  study  of  astronomy;  but  he  evidently 
is  doubting  the  value  of  this  study — and  of  any  study — pursued 
with  certain  aims  and  motives.  The  poet  had  apparently 
approved  of  the  motives  which  had  first  dominated  Adam's 
search  for  knowledge:  the  firm  conviction  that  by  knowledge 
he  might  ascend  to  God.  Listening  in  this  spirit,  he  had  re- 
ceived full  benefit  from  the  narratives  of  the  fall  and  of  the 
Creation.  But  here,  in  the  eighth  book,  he  is  represented  as 
having  lost  sight  of  that  ideal: 

When  I  behold  this  goodly  frame,  this  World 
Of  Heaven  and  Earth  consisting,  and  compute 
Their  magnitudes;  this  Earth,  a  spot,  a  grain, 
An  atom,  with  the  firmament  compared 
And  all  her  numbered  stars,  that  seem  to  roll 
Spaces  incomprehensible    .     .     . 


.     merely  to  officiate  light 
Round  this  opacous  Earth,  this  punctual  spot, 
One  day  and  night,  in  all  their  vast  survey 
Useless  besides;  reasoning  I  oft  admire 
How  Nature,  wise  and  frugal,  could  commit 
Such  disproportions    .     .     .     .    18 

The  state  of  mind  of  the  pupil  is  here  obviously  intended  to 
represent  a  desire  for  knowledge  not  properly  subordinated 
to  a  high  moral  aim.  Adam  just  here  is  a  bad  scientist.  And 
the  attitude  of  tfieteacher  may  well  denote  the  proper  handling 
of  a  vital  problem  in  the  direction  of  all  study,  the  problem 
of  imparting  information  when  the  motive  in  wjhich  it  is  sought 
is  radically  wrong.  Milton,  one  likes  to  imagine,  had  faced 
just  such  a  case;  and  Raphael's  method  is  for  him  just  the 
right  approach. 

The  ideal  teacher  does  not  take  to  task  the  healthy  curiosity 
as  such: 

To  ask  or  search  I  blame  thee  not;  for  heaven 
Is  as  the  Book  of  God  before  thee  set, 
Wherein  to  read  his  wondrous  works,     .     .     .     .    " 

"  P.  L.  8.  15-27. 
l»P.  L.  8.  66  ff. 


138  Bundy 

With  such  a  sentiment  a  scientist  like  Louis  Agassiz  is  in  com- 
plete sympathy.  There  follows,  however,  a  passage  which 
at  first  glance  may  seem  to  argue  the  fruitlessness  of  much 
scientific  investigation.  Yet  we  can  hardly  suppose  that 
Milton,  the  admirer  of  Galileo,  and  the  student  of  the  best 
research  of  his  day,  would  be  thus  hostile  to  the  scientific 
spirit  which  seeks  to  reveal  the  hidden  purposes  of  nature. 
We  ought  rather  to  remember  that  the  reply  of  the  angelic 
teacher  contemplates  not  the  individual  but  the  type,  Man, 
in  a  typical  moral  state.  It  is  Milton's  rebuke  of  the  falsely 
critical  spirit,  and  the  assumptions  underlying  a  criticism  in 
such  a  spirit  of  the  economy  of  nature.  Adam  has  ceased  for 
the  moment  to  be  interested  in  the  understanding  of  the  ways 
of  God  to  men — we  must  ever  keep  in  mind  the  announced 
purpose  of  the  epic — and  has  substituted  for  this  true  motive  a 
censure  of  those  ways  as  inferior  to  those  which  he  himself 
might  have  devised.  The  pupil  has  forgotten  that  his  chief 
business  in  life,  if  he  will  preserve  his  freedom,  his  happy  state, 
is  to  remain  obedient.  To  do  this  he  must  learn  to  bring  his 
desires,  including  his  desire  for  knowledge,  into  subjection  to 
this  dominant  purpose  of  life.  If  he  seeks  knowledge  in  a  spirit 
of  censure  of  God's  ways,  he  is  not  seeking  the  truth  which 
will  make  him  free.  Knowledge  should  make  him  free;  and 
the  knowledge  which  Raphael  up  to  this  time  had  imparted 
had  the  tendency  to  make  him  free  in  this  Miltonic  sense. 
But  a  satisfaction  of  the  desire  just  at  this  point  would  have 
made  him  less  free:  it  would  have  fostered  a  wrong  state  of 
mind,  would  have  fostered  this  tendency  to  assume  equality 
with  the  Maker,  and  hence  would  have  contributed  to  Adam's 
fall.  Much  of  this  Milton  may  have  had  in  mind  in  Raphael's 
interesting  discourse  on  the  limits  of  human  knowledge.  Milton 
the  teacher  may  be  giving  artistic  expression  to  no  unimportant 
aspect  of  his  mature  theory  of  education. 

It  is  also  to  be  noticed  that  the  teacher  is  alive  to  the 
false  processes  of  reasoning  upon  which  the  censures  of  the 
pupil  are  based.  Raphael  is  at  special  pains  to  prove,  for 
instance,  "that  great  or  bright  infers  not  excellence."20  There 
is  another  equally  dangerous  logical  fallacy:  the  notion  that 
Man's  failure  to  understand  a  function  implies  any  lack  of 

*°P.  L,  8.  90-1. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  139 

function  and  hence  a  flaw  in  the  Divine  economy.  It  is  a 
good  thing  in  the  face  of  such  assumptions  to  remember  the 
rebuke  of  Raphael: 

And  for  the  heaven's  wide  circuit,  let  it  speak 
The  Maker's  high  magnificence,  who  built 
So  spacious,  and  his  line  stretched  out  so  far, 
That  Man  may  know  he  dwells  not  in  his  own.a 

It  is  the  poet's  answer  to  arrogance  and  conceit,  his  call  to 
humility,  and  insistence  upon  the  highest  practicality. 

We  shall,  however,  miss  the  point  if  we  assume  that  the 
teacher  refuses  to  satisfy  the  curiosity.  What  follows  is  sub- 
stantially an  account,  in  hypothetical  form,  of  the  Copernican 
theory: 

What  if  the  sun 

Be  centre  to  the  World,  and  other  stars, 

By  his  attractive  virtue  and  their  own 

Incited,  dance  about  him  various  rounds?2* 

In  the  light  of  the  fact  that  the  cosmography  of  the  epic  is 
Ptolemaic,  it  is  interesting, — but  perhaps  not  altogether 
profitable, — to  speculate  concerning  this  newer  astronomy 
from  the  lips  of  the  angelic  teacher.  It  may  be  that  Milton 
recognized  that  the  later  view,  properly  regarded,  might  have 
certain  important  moral  consequences:  that  it  might,  for 
instance,  be  the  means  of  correcting  that  egotism  which  caused 
Adam  to  assume  that  the  earth  was  the  centre  of  the  universe. 
The  rebuke  ends  with  an  exhortation  to  keep  in  mind  con- 
stantly the  central  aim  of  life:  "Think  only  what  concerns 
thee  and  thy  being."23  The  effect  upon  the  pupil  is  immediate. 
The  mind  is  cleared  of  doubt  and  at  the  same  time  chastened.24 
As  on  a  former  occasion  Adam  admirably  sums  up  the  universal 
principle  which  the  teacher  had  in  mind: 

That  not  to  know  at  large  of  things  remote 
From  use,  obscure  and  subtle,  but  to  know 

»  P.  L.  8.  100-103. 
»  P.  L.  8.  122-125. 
»  P.  L.  8.  174. 

M  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Adam  put  the  blame  not  upon  himself  as  an 
individual  but  upon  what  he  assumes  to  be  universal  human  tendencies: 
But  apt  the  mind  or  fancy  is  to  rove 
Unchecked;  and  of  her  roving  is  no  end, 
Till  warned,  or  by  experience  taught,    ...     (8.  188-190) 
It  is  easy  to  blame  our  imaginations  instead  of  our  moral,  responsible  selves! 


140  Bundy 

|  That  which  before  us  lies  in  daily  life, 
Is  the  prime  wisdom:  what  is  more  is  fume, 
Or  emptiness,  or  fond  impertinence, 
And  renders  us  in  things  that  most  concern 
Unpractised,  unprepared,  and  still  to  seek.25 

He  thereupon  proposes  to  descend  a  lower  flight,  and  speak  of 
things  at  hand  useful.  The  poet  seemingly  wishes  the  reader 
to  believe  that  the  methods  of  the  teacher  in  dealing  with  a 
serious  moral  state — a  state  most  dangerous  in  the  light  of  the 
impending  temptation — had  been  most  successful. 

Ill 

We  enter  now  upon  a  new  stage  in  the  education  of  this 
universal  type  of  pupil.  The  teacher  ceases  to  impart  informa- 
tion, and  plays  the  new  r61e  of  willing  listener,  as  Adam  relates 
the  story  of  his  past.  Raphael  could  hardly  have  conceived 
of  his  function  as  an  auditor  as  a  partial  fulfilment  of  his  purpose 
as  a  teacher,  had  he  not  regarded  it  as  a  process  of  developing 
character  through  self-expression — and  correcting,  in  turn, 
the  flaws  which  became  apparent.  Here  the  heavenly  in- 
structor again  displays  sound  methods.  First,  he  knows  how 
to  do  gracefully  what  many  a  teacher  fails  to  do  with  con- 
summate art:  he  can  pretend  a  lack  of  knowledge.  When 
Adam  proposes  his  narrative,  Raphael  can  reply  graciously: 

Say  therefore  on; 
For  I  that  day  was  absent    .     .     .    K 

Such  an  attitude  is  wholesome  beside  the  arrogant  assumption 
of  superior  knowledge  which  often  represses  the  desire  for 
self-expression.  But,  much  more  than  this,  the  teacher  seems 
actually  curious  to  know  what  it  is  that  he  had  missed  because 
of  his  absence  from  the  throne  of  heaven  on  a  certain  day. 
It  is  little  wonder  that  Adam's  narrative  was  part  of  a  good 
education;  the  teacher  knows  how  by  this  means  to  develop 
character. 

All  went  well  with  Adam's  narrative  until  he  felt  impelled 
to  describe  his  adoration  of  Eve: 

Yet  when  I  approach 
Her  loveliness,  so  absolute  she  seems 

»  P.  L.  8. 191-197. 
*  P.  L.  8.  228-229. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  141 

And  in  herself  complete,  so  well  to  know 
Her  own,  that  what  she  wills  to  do  or  say 
Seems  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best: 
All  higher  knowledge  in  her  presence  falls 
Degraded;  Wisdom  in  discourse  with  her 
Loses  discountenanced,  and  like  Folly  shows; 
Authority  and  Reason  on  her  wait, 
As  one  intended  first,     .     .     .    27 

Here  the  teacher  must  step  in:  it  is  no  time  for  mildness, — 
the  traditional  mildness  of  Raphael, — as  he  deals  with  moral 
tendencies  likely  to  prove  fatal  to  Adam's  happiness.  The  pupil 
is  not  actually  sinful;  but  he  is  at  the  moment  failing  to  allow 
the  highest  nature  of  man,  Godlike  Reason,  to  have  supremacy. 
We  have  already  seen  that  Raphael's  instruction  has  been 
essentially  a  training  of  this  reason  to  enable  man  to  preserve 
his  freedom.  The  poet  points  out  that  the  fatal  tendency  just 
here  is  to  deny  to  reason  its  rightful  place;  passion  disturbs 
the  right  balance  of  the  faculties.  "All  higher  Knowledge," 
exclaims  the  rapturous  lover,  "in  her  presence  falls  degraded." 
"Authority  and  Reason  on  her  wait,"  he  declares  in  the  next 
breath.  Now  Milton's  angelic  teacher  would  never  have 
interrupted,  had  the  rapture  been  a  kind  of  hymn  to  heavenly 
beauty,  to  a  spiritual  loveliness  typified  by  the  physical  charms 
of  Eve.  He  had  not  interrupted  that  proper  appreciation  of 
Eve  but  a  few  moments  before: 

Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  Heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love.28 

This  shows  a  right  subordination  of  the  physical  to  the  spiritual, 
and  of  the  mental  powers  which  enable  us  to  apprehend  the 
physical  world  to  those  which  have  to  do  with  supra-mundane 
realities.  But  in  this  other  attitude  there  was  a  depreciation 
of  reason,  and  an  elevation  of  sense  and  feeling.  Milton  would 
say  that  there  was,  indeed,  no  fact  of  sin;  but  there  was  a 
tendency  toward  sin.  When  Adam  is  able  to  declare  that 
Eve  is  in  herself  complete,  he  is  in  grave  danger  of  forfeiting 
his  freedom.  Hence  the  severity  of  the  rebuke: 

Accuse  not  Nature,  she  hath  done  her  part; 
Do  thou  but  thine,  and  be  not  diffident 

"  P.  L.  8.  546-555. 
»  P.  L.  8.  488-9. 


142  Bundy 

Of  Wisdom;  she  deserts  thee  not,  if  thou 
Dismiss  not  her,  when  most  thou  need'st  her  nigh, 
By  attributing  overmuch  to  things 
Less  excellent 2» 

The  censure  is  comprehensive:  it  has  regard  for  the  worship 
of  physical  beauty,  for  the  susceptibility  to  the  emotions,  and 
for  the  failure  to  recognize  in  the  creation  of  God  the  goodness 
and  omnipotence  of  the  Maker.  It  is  essentially  a  call  to 
^  reason.  Raphael  has  constantly  in  mind  the  securing  for  Adam 
of  the  greatest  freedom.  It  is  to  be  gained  in  part  through 
the  suppression  of  passion;  but  more  through  an  elevation  of 
the  reason.  Passion  is  here  not  regarded  so  much  as  an  evil 
principle  in  itself  as  a  source  of  evil  when  not  properly  sub- 
ordinated.  The  attempt  throughout  is  to  develop  the  well- 
balanced  mind — the  right  balance  of  faculties  contemplated 
by  the  best  of  Greek  ethics: 

Take  heed  lest  passion  sway 
Thy  judgment  to  do  aught  which  else  free  will 
Would  not  admit.     .     .     . 

to  stand  or  fall, 

Free  in  thine  own  arbitrement  it  lies. 
Perfect  within,  no  outward  aid  require; 
And  all  temptation  to  transgress  repel.30 

Will,  reason,  passion:  these  are  the  three  chief  terms  in  Milton's 
psychology.  The  aim  is  to  secure  that  relation  of  functions 
which  will  result  in  that  highest  act  of  the  will,  conformity 
to  the  Will  of  God.31  That  end  the  teacher  can  best  attain, 
not  by  treating  the  passions  as  evil  principles  to  be  eradicated, 
but  as  elements  to  be  properly  subordinated  to  the  reason. 
Hence  the  instruction  by  Raphael  is  from  first  to  last  a  training 
of  the  rational  powers. 

Raphael's  discourses  have  an  ideal  unity  of  purpose. 
The  account  of  the  fall,  the  story  of  the  Creation,  the  discourse 
concerning  astronomy,  all  have  to  do  with  the  subordination 

»  P.  L.  8.  561  ff. 

10  P.  L.  8.  635-643. 

"  Vide  supra,  p.  130,  quotation  from  Second  Defence.  See  also  Comenius, 
Great  Didactic,  ed.  by  Keatinge,  London,  1910,  p.  48:  "In  the  movements  of 
the  soul  the  most  importantjwheel  is  the  will;  while  the  weights  are  the  desires 
and  affections  which  incline  the  will  this  way  or  that.  The  escapement  is  the 
reason,  etc." 


Milton1  s  View  of  Education 


143 


of  the  will  through  a  supremacy  of  the  reason  over  the  other 
powers.  Thus  man  is  prepared  for  a  temptation  to  depreciate 
Godlike  reason  for  the  sake  of  a  lower  apparent  good.  Adam's 
narrative,  in  turn,  tends  on  the  whole  to  strengthen  the  reason 
as  he  recounts  to  his  heavenly  visitor  the  goodness  of  God. 
Only  when  in  that  account  there  came  a  depreciation  of  the 
rational  did  Raphael  step  in.  One  might  reasonably  expect 
that  a  pupil  so  disciplined  would  not  become  a  slave  to  passion, 
but  would  remember  that  he  was  above  all  a  rational  creature, 
made  in  the  image  of  his  Maker. 

But  the  teacher  is  hardly  to  be  blamed  because  the  pupil 
fell.  There  was,  of  course,  a  necessity  for  such  a  fall  inherent 
in  the  traditional  material.  Moreover,  experience  has  taught 
us  not  always  to  measure  the  excellence  of  the  instruction  by 
the  conduct  of  the  pupil  whose  mistakes  constitute  an  obvious 
departure  from  that  instruction.  We  hardly  measure  the 
success  of  Socrates  by  the  conduct  of  Alcibiades.  We  could 
not  justly  call  Raphael  a  bad  teacher  because  his  pupil  suc- 
cumbed to  temptation.  Far  from  this,  the  important  fact  is 
that  in  the  light  of  the  temptation  recorded  in  the  ninth  book 
the  methods  of  Raphael  were  in  all  respects  sound. 

He  aimed,  we  have  seen,  to  strengthen  the  reason.  It  is 
significant  that  in  this  discipline  Milton  allows  Eve  little 
share.  She  had  been,  at  best,  but  a  listener,  and  had  departed 
before  the  more  strenuous  discipline  of  the  rational  powers 
had  begun.  Hence  it  is  not  uninteresting  to  notice  that  the 
temptation  which  assailed  her  was  one  made  possible  only 
through  a  faulty  process  of  reasoning  which  resulted  in  a 
temporary — and  fatal — separation  from  Adam.32  To  her 
logical  fallacies  her  husband  does  not  succumb,  but,  rather, 
to  her  appeals  to  emotion,  and  especially  to  a  false  sentiment 
that  possibly  he  is  not  granting  to  her  the  freedom  essential 
to  all  moral  conduct — even  though  it  be  a  freedom  to  arrive  i 
at  wrong  conclusions.33  Thus,  before  the  temptation  he  is  ' 
strong  in  rational  power,  but  is  disposed  to  let  his  better  reason 
be  overcome  by  a  species  of  sentimentality.  As  he  permits  her 


»  P.  L.  9.  322  ff. 
»  P.  L.  9.  372. 


144  Bundy 

departure  it  is  apparent  that  he  has  in  mind  the  substance  of 
the  heavenly  instruction: 

O  Woman,  best  are  all  things  as  the  will 
Of  God  ordained  them;  his  creating  hand 
Nothing  imperfect  or  deficient  left 
Of  all  that  he  created,  much  less  Man, 
Or  aught  that  might  his  happy  state  secure, 
Secure  from  outward  force:  within  himself 
The  danger  lies,  yet  lies  within  his  power; 
Against  his  will  he  can  receive  no  harm. 
But  God  left  free  the  will;  for  what  obeys 
Reason  is  free,  and  Reason  he  made  right, v 
But  bid  her  well  be  ware,  and  still  erect, 
Lest,  by  some  fair  appearing  good  surprised, 
She  dictate  false,  and  misinform  the  will 
To  do  what  God  expressly  hath  forbid.*4 

An  Adam  thus  completely  under  the  influence  of  Raphael's 
instruction  could  hardly  have  succumbed  to  the  temptation. 
An  Eve,  as  Milton  would  have  us  believe,  less  powerful  of 
intellect,  less  able  to  detect  specious  reasoning,  and  to  keep 
her  rational  processes  free  from  the  coloring  of  the  emotions, 
and  receiving  instruction,  as  she  desired,  at  second-hand,  does 
succumb.  By  a  fair  appearing  good  her  reason  is  surprised 
and  dictates  false.  In  other  words,  Eve  is  the  victim  of  the 
artful  tempter  in  just  the  respect  in  which  Adam,  with  his 
comparatively  well-disciplined  reason,  never  could  have  been. 
Eve  is  the  easy  dupe  of  a  skilful  sophist,  able  to  make  the  worse 
appear  the  better  reason,  able  to  cause  her  guilelessly  to  assume 
that  the  flattery  which  she  mistook  for  a  power  of  judgment 
argued  the  possession  by  the  serpent  of  the  power  in  eminent 
degree,  able  to  cause  her  to  assume  that  a  lie  (that  he  had 
partaken  of  the  fruit)  could  constitute  a  basis  for  certain  impor- 
tant deductions,  able  finally  so  completely  to  confuse  her 
rational  processes  that  she  comes  actually  to  believe  that  the 
interdiction  of  the  fruit,  the  necessary  condition  of  her  freedom, 
as  she  well  knows,  constitutes  a  serious  restriction  of  that  free- 
dom. Such  sophistry  practised  upon  Adam  would  have  been 
of  no  avail.  But  Eve  is  a  comparatively  easy  victim: 

He  ended,  and  his  words,  replete  with  guile, 
Into  her  heart  too  easy  entrance  won." 

*P.  L.9.  343-356. 
«  P.  L.  9.  733-4. 


Milton' 's  Vinv  of  Education  145 

Adam,  in  turn,  is  overcome,  not  by  specious  reasoning, 
but  by  that  very  susceptibility  to  passion  of  which  his  master 
had  been  aware  in  the  discourse  concerning  the  charms  of  Eve: 

he  scrupled  not  to  eat, 
Against  his  better  knowledge,  not  deceived, 
But  fondly  overcome  with  female  charm.3* 

The  temptation,  far  from  proving  the  uselessness  of  Raphael's 
instruction,  becomes  a  confirmation  of  its  soundness.  "Many 
there  be,"  says  Milton  in  Areopagitica*'1  "that  complain  of 
divine  Providence  for  suffering  Adam  to  transgress.  Foolish 
tongues!  when  God  gave  him  reason,  he  gave  him  freedom  to 
choose,  for  reason  is  but  choosing;  .  .  .  God  therefore  left  him 
free,  set  before  him  a  provoking  object  ever  almost  in  his  eyes ; 
herein  consisted  his  merit,  herein  the  right  of  his  reward,  the 
praise  of  his  abstinence.  Wherefore  did  he  create  passions 
within  us,  pleasures  round  about  us,  but  that  these  rightly 
tempered  are  the  very  ingredients  of  virtue?" 

IV 

And  because  this  conquest  of  passion  over  reason  introduced 
into  man's  life  an  evil  principle,  Milton  must  consider  another 
kind  of  pupil,  a  second  Adam,  now  in  part  transformed  by  his 
fall;  and  for  his  instruction  henceforth  he  must  introduce 
another  kind  of  teacher  who  will  constantly  keep  in  mind  this 
change  in  character.  This  new  pupil,  having  sinned  and  come 
short  of  the  glory  of  God,  must  needs  repair  his  own  ruin  by 
regaining  to  know  God  aright,  and  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  him. 

We  have  already  seen  how  Raphael,  before  the  entrance 
of  sin  into  the  life  of  his  pupil,  sought  to  develop  the  right 
relation  between  reason  and  passion,  and  as  means  sought 
especially  the  strengthening  of  the  reason.  The  passions  were 
not  essentially  evil;  it  was  only  a  failure  to  subordinate  them 
to  the  Godlike  power  of  reason  which  might  introduce  evil  into 
the  life  of  man.  In  contrast  to  this,  Michael,  the  heavenly 
instructor  of  the  last  two  books,  has  ever  in  mind  this  fact  of 
sin,  the  victory  of  the  carnal  man  over  the  spiritual,  and  a  need 
of  repairing  the  ruin  thus  brought  about.  Thus  his  task  in 

»  P.  L.  9.  997-9. 

»7  Prose  Works,  op.  cit.  2.  74. 


146  Bundy 

part  is  the  eradication  of  the  evil  principle  which  came  to  reside 
in  the  passions.  For  the  execution  of  this  task  he  can  hardly 
have  the  temper  of  a  Raphael.  The  latter  is  the  mild,  affable 
archangel;  the  former  bears  a  two-edged  sword  both  in  word 
and  deed. 

If  we  say  that  the  business  of  Raphael  was  to  reveal  the 
goodness  of  God  and  to  stimulate  a  desire  to  know  his  ways 
and  to  delight  to  walk  in  them,  we  may  also  say  that  Michael's 
duty  is  to  reveal  to  his  pupil  the  evil  created  by  his  own  un- 
bridled will,  which  had  failed  to  obey  reason  and  submit  to 
the  loving  Will  of  the  Almighty.  It  is  this  aspect  of  human 
nature  which  Milton  has  in  mind  in  another  pertinent  passage 
from  Areopagitica:  ,. 

I  cannot  praise  a  fugitive  and  cloistered  virtue  unexercised  and  unbreathed, 
that  never  sallies  out  and  seeks  her  adversary.  .  .  .  Assuredly  we  bring  not 
innocence  into  the  world,  we  bring  impurity  much  rather;  that  which  purifies 
us  is  trial,  and  trial  is  by  what  is  contrary.  That  virtue  therefore  which  is  but 
a  youngling  in  the  contemplation  of  evil,  and  knows  not  the  utmost  that  vice 
promises  to  her  followers,  and  rejects  it.  is  but  a  blank  virtue,  not  a  pure;  .  .  . 

Since  therefore  the  knowledge  and  survey  of  vice  is  in  this  world  so  neces- 
sary to  the  constituting  of  human  virtue,  and  the  scanning  of  error  to  the  con- 
firmation of  truth,  how  can  we  more  safely,  and  with  less  danger,  scout  into 
the  regions  of  sin  and  falsity,  than  by  reading  of  all  manner  of  tractates,  and 
hearing  all  manner  of  reason?  And  this  is  the  benefit  which  may  be  had  of 
books  promiscuously  read.M 

There  follows  the  argument  that  if  books  are  to  be  prohibited 
for  fear  of  the  infection  which  they  may  spread,  then  rightfully 
we  must  prohibit  the  Bible  itself,  "for  that  ofttimes  relates 
blasphemy  not  nicely,  it  describes  the  carnal  sense  of  wicked 
men  not  unelegantly,  it  brings  in  holiest  men  murmuring 
against  Providence  through  all  the  arguments  of  Epicurus."39 
For  these  reasons  in  part,  Milton  continues,  the  Papists  pro- 
hibit the  Bible.  But  it  is  interesting  that  it  is  this  very  material 
in  Holy  Scripture  which  Milton  makes  the  substance  of  the 
instruction  recorded  in  the  last  two  books  of  the  epic.  The 
eleventh  book  records  a  series  of  prophetic  visions  revealing 
the  history  of  man  from  the  time  of  Cain  and  Abel  to  that  of 
Noah.  These  visions,  each  with  its  peculiar  emotional  effect, 
have  as  their  final  total  effect  the  learning  of  true  patience, 

"Op.cit.  2.68. 
» Ibid.  2.  69. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  147 

and  the  tempering  of  joy  with  fear  and  pious  sorrow.40  Thus 
the  contemplation  of  future  good  and  evil  develops  in  Adam, 
now  the  representative  of  sinful  man,  the  quality  of  equal- 
mindedness,  equanimity,  as  he  faces  a  universe  in  which  evil 
has  become  an  essential  element. 

For  instance,  the  first  episode  has  to  do  with  the  murder 
of  Abel,  a  consequence  upon  the  innocent  of  Adam's  sin.  Adam 
is  in  his,  heart  dismayed.  Unable  to  understand  the  cutting 
off  of  the  pious  man,  he  turns  to  his  teacher: 

O  Teacher,  some  great  mischief  hath  befallen 
To  that  meek  man,  who  well  had  sacrificed: 
Is  piety  thus  and  pure  devotion  paid?41 

Whereupon  the  heavenly  instructor  explains  death  as  the 
natural  consequence  of  sin — the  sin  of  Adam.  The  pupil  is 
more  than  dismayed.  But  the  teacher,  far  from  mild  in  his 
methods,  does  not  hesitate  to  add  a  picture  yet  more  dreadful: 
the  vision  of  the  diseased  and  the  maimed.  It  immediately 
produces  the  requisite  moral  effect  in  adding  compassion  to 
dismay.  But  the  compassion,  a  healthy  moral  state,  does 
not  long  persist;  man,  prone  now  to  sin,  is  easily  led  to  question 
the  ways  of  God  to  men: 

Why  is  life  given 

To  be  thus  wrested  from  us?  rather  why 
Obtruded  on  us  thus?*2 

It  is  a  moral  state  which  stands  in  need  of  immediate  discipline : 

"Their  Maker's  image,"  answered  Michael,  "then 
Forsook  them,  when  themselves  they  vilified 
To  serve  ungoverned  Appetite,  .  .  .  ."  tt 

There  follow  precepts  of  temperance. 

Then  comes  a  picture  delightful  to  the  eye:  wise  men  with 
a  high  material  civilization, — caught,  however,  in  the  snares 
of  fair  women.  But  Adam,  already  himself  the  victim  of  such 
a  snare,  now  lacks  the  judgment  necessary  to  discern  between 
real  and  apparent  good.  His  heart  "soon  inclined  to  admit 
delight."  Much  better  seems  this  vision. 

"See  P.  L.  1 1.358  ff. 
«P.  L.  11.450-2. 
«P.  L.  11.502-4. 
•P.  L.  11.515-17. 


148  Bundy 

To  whom  thus  Michael:  "Judge  not  what  is  best 
By  pleasure,  though  to  Nature  seeming  meet, 
Created,  as  thou  art,  to  nobler  end, 
Holy  and  pure,  conformity  divine. 
Those  tents  thou  saw'st  so  pleasant  were  the  tents 
Of  wickedness,  wherein  shall  dwell  his  race 
Who  slew  his  brother."44 

The  teacher  is  never  slow  to  attack  the  moral  flaw  the  tendency 
toward  which  Raphael  had  so  quickly  detected  in  the  ill-advised 
rapture  on  Eve.  But  now  this  impulse  to  think  in  terms  of 
physical  pleasure  had  become  so  pronounced  that  the  new 
instructor  of  sinful  man  must  needs  attack  the  pernicious 
moral  philosophy  which  seeks  to  justify  it:  Michael  attacks 
that  Epicureanism  which  Milton  himself  so  heartily  condemned. 
Such  ethical  teaching  grows  out  of  sin,  out  of  the  victory  of 
the  passions  over  reason.  Milton's  fallen  Adam  is  an  Epicurean 
in  dire  need  of  discipline  of  no  soft  kind.  Hence  Michael 
deliberately  reveals  as  the  next  vision  a  scene  of  universal  war 
and  discord.*5  It  brings  Adam  to  tears, — tears  after  his  great 
delight  in  the  scenes  of  apparent  bliss.  Turning  to  his  teacher 
for  explanation,  he  is  shown  that  the  moral  laxity  characteristic 
of  the  previous  scene — a  laxity  which  the  undiscerning  Adam, 
thinking  in  the  false  terms  of  pleasure,  had  quite  overlooked — 
was  the  source  of  the  discord.  The  teacher  is  obliged  to  point 
out  causal  relations  which  the  pupil  as  yet  in  his  weak,  sinful 
state  is  unable  to  discern  for  himself.  To  point  to  such  relations 
once  is  to  induce  in  the  pupil  the  habit  of  seeing  them  for  him- 
self. A  pupil  trained  to  think  in  terms  of  cause  and  effect 
rather  than  in  the  specious  terms  of  pleasure  and  pain  is  for 
Milton  as  for  Socrates — and  for  our  modern  scientist — a  better 
moral  being.  His  knowledge,  his  powers  of  observation, 
generalization,  and  deduction,  become,  indeed,  a  kind  of 
morality. 

Such  is  but  a  cursory  glance  at  a  kind  of  instruction  of 
profound  ethical  import:  first,  a  vivid  presentation  of  evil; 
then  a  careful  observation  of  the  effect  upon  the  emotions; 
and  then  the  correction,  with  the  attempt  always  to  make  the 

«  P.  L.  11.  603-9. 

*  It  is  interesting  to  notice  the  similarity  in  moral  effect  of  this  vision  and 
that  of  modern  science  of  a  state  of  nature  characterized  by  a  fierce  struggle 
for  existence  in  which  only  the  most  fit  survive. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  149 

pupil  look  upon  the  facts  of  life  dispassionately.  Only  the  truly 
social  impulses  are  left  without  discipline.  The  desire  for  self- 
gratification  is  met  as  it  was  met  in  Milton's  own  day  by 
many  a  stern  Calvinist. 

The  method  of  the  twelfth  book  is  not  essentially  different. 
As  mortal  sight  fails,  the  teacher  resorts  to  direct  narrative. 
Thereupon  follow  the  stories  of  Nimrod,  of  the  building  of 
Babel,  of  the  life  of  Abraham,  of  Moses,  and  finally  of  Christ. 
It  would  be  interesting  in  a  detailed  study  to  trace  in  the  nar- 
ratives relating  especially  to  the  last  three  agents  how  there 
is  again  developed  the  theme  of  perfect  liberty  through  obedi- 
ence, how  the  narrative  of  the  heroic  has  an  essential  place 
in  Michael's  instruction.  The  moral  of  the  teaching  of  this  last 
book,  concerned  for  the  most  part  with  perfect  patterns  of 
right  living,  is  that  through  obedience,  conformity  to  the 
Will  of  God,  man  achieves  salvation,  repairs  the  ruin  accom- 
plished by  his  own  wilful  disobedience. 

'V 

This  instruction  is  complementary  to  that  of  Raphael: 
the  one  strengthened  the  reason;  the  other  furnished  the 
proper  materials  for  a  contemplation  of  virtue  and  vice.  The 
one  thinks  of  education  as  primarily  a  development  of  capacity, 
of  Godlike  reason;  the  other,  unable  to  regard  man  as  longer 
self-sufficient,  puts  the  greater  emphasis  upon  the  matter  of 
instruction,  vice  in  contrast  with  virtue.  He  thus  comes  to 
rely  upon  a  training  of  the  emotions  as  well  as  of  the  reason. 
He  attacks  the  assumption  that  the  pleasurable  is  good,  not 
by  way  of  subtle  reasoning,  but  by  the  presentation  of  facts, 
the  facts  of  sin  and  its  consequences.  He  relies  in  part  upon 
the  emotional  effect. 

This  order  in  the  processes  of  education  is  similar  to  that 
described  in  the  letter  to  Hartlib.  Here  Milton,  after  insisting 
upon  the  development  of  reason  or  the  power  of  judgment, 
proceeds: 

"Then  will  be  required  a  special  reinforcement  of  constant 
and  sound  indoctrinating,  to  set  them  right  and  firm,  instruct- 
ing them  more  amply  in  the  knowledge  of  virtue  and  the 
hatred  of  vice."46  Raphael  was  concerned  with  the  power  of 

«  Op.  tit.  3.  472. 


150  Bundy 

reason  or  " proairesis" ;  Michael  with  setting  the  pupil  right  and 
firm  by  instruction  in  the  knowledge  of  virtue  arid  the  hatred  of 
vice.  Thus  the  methods  of  the  two  heavenly  instructors  may 
be  for  Milton  representative  in  a  comprehensive  way  of  all  good 
method.  Taken  together  they  have  regard  for  both  the  good- 
ness and  the  evil  of  man's  nature,  his  power  of  reason  and  his 
capacity  for  emotional  experiences,  both  vitally  concerned 
with  the  direction  of  the  will.  Not  only  do  they  appeal  to 
reason,  feeling,  imagination,  and  the  senses,  but  they  accomplish 
their  purposes  through  the  subject  matter  both  of  the  arts 
and  the  sciences.  Here  is  the  view  of  a  poet,  both  Puritan  and 
humanist,  which  has  regard  for  the  whole  nature  of  man. 

It  seems  an  ideal  supplement  to  the  earlier  view.  We 
may  recall  that  Milton  had  proposed  in  his  letter  to  Hartlib,  not 
the  whole  art  of  education,  but  the  reforming  of  education, 
the  "voluntary  idea  ...  of  a  better  education,  in  extent 
and  comprehension  far  more  large,  and  yet  of  time  far  shorter, 
and  of  attainment  far  more  certain,  than  hath  been  yet  in 
practice."47  His  purpose  is  obviously  too  controversial  to 
result  in  a  great  theory  as  philosophic  and  constructive  as  we 
might  expect  after  the  poet's  most  mature  reflection.  The  ac- 
complishment of  certain  very  practical  reforms  keeps  him  from 
the  statement  of  views  possessing  the  universality  of  the  highest 
theory.  He  has  much  to  say  concerning  the  reform  of  the 
curriculum;  his  work  is  full  of  specific  suggestions;  but  it  has 
little  to  say  about  the  ethical  bases  of  educational  policy,  and 
even  less  concerning  method,  and  practically  nothing  about 
the  relation  of  education  to  that  basic  theme  of  liberty  through 
perfect  obedience  to  the  Will  of  God. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  the  artistic  utterances  of  Paradise 
Lost — if  we  may  now  think  of  the  expression  of  educational 
ideals  as  in  keeping  with  the  purposes  of  the  scholar-poet — 
supply  those  philosophic  elements  which  the  reader  seeks  in 
vain  in  the  prose  treatise.  Man's  freedom  through  his  obedi- 
ence to  law:  it  is  the  theme  alike  of  the  discourses  of  Raphael 
and  of  Michael.  Education  is  thus  brought  into  proper  relation 
to  theology,  ethics,  and  politics.  The  suggestions  are  now  no 
longer  those  of  a  man  zealous  to  reform  prevailing  methods; 
but  they  aim,  rather,  to  begin  with  those  fundamental  notions 

"Op.cit.  3.463. 


Milton's  View  of  Education  151 

of  the  constitution  of  human  nature,  and  a  right  conception 
of  the  end  of  man.  A  view  which  thus  regards  Adam  as  the 
universal  pupil  is  in  the  highest  sense  universal.  It  is  the 
artistic  expression  of  Milton's  most  mature  contemplation 
of  a  theme  which  he  had  regarded,  at  least  since  1654,  as  essen- 
tially to  be  seen  in  proper  relation  to  that  more  basic  theme 
of  human  liberty. 

This  mature  view,  we  have  said,  makes  the  aim  of  education 
the  achievement  of  true  liberty.  All  of  the  instruction,  both 
of  Raphael  and  Michael,  has  an  eye  to  the  fact  that  this  liberty 
comes  only  through  willing  obedience.  To  this  end  man  was 
taught  that  God  was  omnipotent, — that  Lucifer  could  not  pre- 
vail against  Him.  He  was  made  to  see  the  consequence  of  a 
failure  to  acknowledge  that  supremacy.  Then  there  was 
impressed  upon  Adam  the  great  fact  of  the  freedom  of  the 
will,  the  gift  to  man  of  Godlike  reason,  enabling  the  individual 
to  understand  the  ways  of  God  as  always  right  and  good,  to 
guide  the  will,  strengthen  the  affections,  and  curb  the  passions. 
Finally,  through  Michael's  instruction  there  was  further 
emphasis  upon  the  omnipotence  of  God, — of  a  God  who,  far 
from  being  the  author  of  evil,  makes  man  responsible  for  sin. 
With  the  comprehension  of  this  fact  there  comes  also  the 
recognition  of  the  necessary  pain  in  facing  the  consequences, 
and  also  the  conception  of  a  goal,  a  hope  of  salvation  in  Christ. 

If  we  are  willing  to  regard  this  as  the  expression  of  the 
poet's  maturest  thought  concerning  education,  we  may  examine 
a  view  which  not  only  takes  into  account  the  good  and  evil 
in  man's  nature,  but  also  regards  education  as  a  process  of 
developing  the  proper  delight  in  rational  thought  (such  a 
delight  as  attended  the  discourse  of  Raphael),  and  a  willingness 
to  endure  pain  in  the  correction  of  the  lower  passionate  nature 
(such  pain  as  Adam  endured  at  the  hand  of  Michael).  The 
subject  matter  is  comprehensive,  with  its  record  of  the  fall 
of  the  angels,  partaking  of  the  nature  of  drama,  the  narrative 
of  the  Creation,  the  scientific  account  of  "celestial  motions," 
the  historical  material  of  Old  Testament  narrative,  and  the 
theology  of  the  Atonement.  And,  finally,  the  epic  contains 
an  important  presentation  of  right  method,  wherein  the  functions 
of  the  teacher  and  the  pupil  are  seen  in  complementary  relation, 
the  instructor  at  times  imparting  information  to  satisfy 


152  Bundy 

curiosity,  at  times  listening  to  the  observations  of  the  pupil. 
Sometimes  the  instructor  encourages,  sometimes  cautions, 
but  more  often  is  at  pains  to  indicate  the  relation  between 
facts  already  observed,  thus  making  the  facts  significant. 
Thus,  for  instance,  it  is  Michael  who  points  out  the  relation 
between  the  marriage  of  the  strong  men  to  the  beautiful  women, 
and  the  universal  discord  of  the  succeeding  vision. 

The  two  discourses  also  have  an  underlying  unity  of  pur- 
pose. Both  aim  to  develop  virtue,  to  strengthen  the  will, 
elevate  the  reason,  and  to  keep  all  the  faculties  in  their  proper 
relation.  Neither  teacher  aims  to  repress  feeling;  rather,  both 
aim  to  develop  right  feeling — feeling  in  right  relation  to  reason — 
that  the  whole  man  may  grow  in  the  image  of  his  Maker. 
It  is  the  conception  of  no  narrow  Puritan;  it  is  the  view  of  one 
rightly  called  the  last  of  the  great  Elizabethan  humanists, 

MURRAY  W.  BUNDY 

University  of  Illinois 


VERSUCH  EINER  NEUEN  DEUTUNG  VON  "SUNU 
FATARUNGO"  IM  HILDEBRANDSLIED 


Uber  eine  Mutmassung  kommt  man  beim  Erklaren  eines 
dira£  Xeyopevov  selten  hinaus;  jede  auf  Wahrscheinlichkeits- 
griinde  sich  stiitzende  Vermutung  kann  demnach  eine  Be- 
reicherung  unsrer  Kenntnis  bedeuten  und  ist  jedenfalls 
berechtigt.  Man  darf  jedoch  von  jedem  neuen  Ausleger  ver- 
langen,  dass  er  wenigstens  ebenso  starke  Beweise  bringe,  als 
seine  Vorganger.  Dies  hofife  ich  auch  in  den  folgenden  Zeilen 
getan  zu  haben. 

Bildung  des  Kompositums:  Ahnliches  findet  sich  wohl  in 
andern  germanischen  Sprachen,  nicht  aber  Gleiches. 

Von  Anfang  an  hat  man  sunufatarungo  als  ein  zusammenge- 
setztes  Wort  betrachtet.  Abseits  von  den  anderen  Deutungen 
steht  Greins1  Auflfassung:  er  nimmt  es  als  ein  Adverb,  gebildet 
wie  alts,  darnungo,  fdrungo,  gegnungo  und  die  zahhreichen  ags. 
Adverbien  auf — inga:  "Sohn  und  Vater  zusammen,"  etwa 
sohnvaterlich."  Aus  dem  Ahd.  fiihrt  er  keinen  Beleg  an,  und 
auch  in  den  verwandten  Sprachen  findet  er  nur  analoge  Bildun- 
gen,  nicht  aber  gleiche. 

Sonst  fasst  man  den  Ansdruck  allgemein  als  ein  zusammen- 
gesetztes  Hauptwort:  eine  recht  merkwtirdige,  im  DEUTSCHEN 
ganz  vereinzelte  Wortbildung. 

Weisen  denn  die  verwandten  Sprachen  kein  Seitenstiick 
dazu  auf?  Den  Sanskritforschern  musste  freilich  die  Dvandva 
einf alien;  Beispiel:  candrddityau  aus  candra+dditya+Dualen- 
dung.  Hier  wird  aber  die  Dualendung  unmittelbar  an  zwei 
zusammengekoppelte  Stamme  angehangt;  das  vermutliche  ahd. 
Kompositum  ist  dagegen  mit  einer  Ableitungssilbe  gebildet. 
Befriedigend  konnte  iibrigens  nur  eine  Parallelbildung  aus  einer 
germanischen  Sprache  sein. 

Eine  solche  hatte  schon  Lachmann  ausfindig  gemacht, 
"Das  sonst  schwierige  sunufatarungo,"  meint  er  in  seiner  Mit- 
teilung  iiber  das  Hildebrandslied  an  die  Berliner  Akademie  der 
Wissenschaften  (1833)  ,2  ist  durch  eine  Stelle  im  Heljand  35,  10 
jedem  Aufmerksamen  deutlich  geworden.  Wie  man  sonst  die 

1  Das  Hildebrandslied.    Marburg  1858,  Cassel s  1880.  S.  21. 
«  Kleiner -e  Schriften  I,  S.  418. 

153 


154  Corin 

gebruoder  und  ahnliches  sagt,  so  heissen  hier  die  beiden  Sohne 
Zebedai  mit  ihrem  Vater  "thia  gisunfculer" 

Wie  treffend  der  Vergleich  auch  sein  mochte,  entscheidend 
war  er  nicht,  denn  er  beruhte  nur  auf  Ahnlichkeit,  nicht  auf 
Identitat:  hier,  eine  Vorsilbe;  dort,  eine  Nachsilbe.  Deshalb 
empfand  Lachmann  das  Bediirfnis  mehr  Ahnliches  anzufiihren; 
zugleich  betonte  er  aber  selbst  die  angedeutete  Schwierigkeit: 
"sunufatarungos"  fahrt  er  namlich  fort,  "ist  offenbar  dasselbe, 
denn  die  Bildungssilbe — ung  hat  IM  NORDISCHENS  den  Begriff 
der  Verwandtschaft  (Grimms  Gramm.  2,  359),  und  Grimm  hat 
auch  (S.  363)  ein  ANGELSACHSISCHES  Femininum  Jadrunga 
angefuhrt,  welches  Gevatterin  bedeuten  muss;  OBGLEICH  IM 

ALTHOCHDEUTSCHEN    DIE    ENDUNG    MEISTENS   -ing   lautet,    Und 

SELTEN,  wie  in  truhting,  sodalis,  DIESE  BEDEUTUNG  HAT.  Alte 
niederlandische  Glossen  in  Graffs  Diutisca  2,  209.  207  geben 
mdchlinge  contributes  und  torniringe  commilitones"  usw. 

Spater  hat  man  nichts  Entscheidenderes  gefunden;  das  von 
Kogel4  angefiihrte  mhd.  sachliche  Substantiv:  giswesteride  — 
'Briider  und  Schwester,  Gebriider,  Geschwister,'  hat  doch  weit 
gerjngere  Beweiskraft  als  Lachmanns  gisunfader  und  auch  das 
von  J.  Schmidt5  herbeigeholte  ags.  suhtorgefaderan^NeBe 
und  Oheim  wiegt  nicht  schwerer. 

Um  dem  Sinne  Geniige  zu  tun,  hat  sich  aber  Lachmann 
gezwungen  gef iihlt,  am  iiberlieferten  Text  herumzubessern  und 
nach  seinem  Vorbilde  haben  sich  denn  auch  spatere  Kommen- 
tatoren6  den  Text  nach  ihrem  Geschmack  zurechtgelegt.  So 
merkwiirdig  die  Bildung  des  Wortes,  so  unsicher  ist  namlich 
seine  Flexion. 

Flexion: 
Diese  ist  unsicher. 

a.  gen.  plur. 

b.  nom.  plur. 

c.  nom.  dual. 

d.  nom.  sing.? 

$  Das  Hervorheben  durch  FETTDRUCK  riihrt  von  mir  her;  so  auch  spater. 
4  Liter aturgeschickte  1, 1  S.  214. 

*  Rezension  von  A.  Leskien,  die  Declination  im  SI.  Lit.  usw.  Jenaer  Litstg. 
1877  Nr.  17  S.  269. 

•  So  z.  B.  Rieger.    Germania  9,  S.  318,  1846. 


Eine  neue  Deutung  von  "Sunu  Fatarungo"  155 

J.  Grimm,7  Schmeller8  (und  nach  ihnen  Feussner,9  Kluge,10 
Siebs11)  fassten  sunufatarungo  als  gen.  plur.  eines  a-stammes  auf 
[und  konstruierten  es  zu  heriun  tuem].  Dies  erklarte  Lachmann12 
nicht  zu  verstehen  und  obgleich  er  zugab,  dass  der  Genitiv  viel- 
leicht  zu  rechtfertigen  sei,  fand  er  den  Nominativ  naturlicher 
und  erfand  die  Form  sunufatarungo s,  (nach  Analogic  von 
heridds  V  5?);  die  Handschrift  weist  einen  Strich  iiber  der  Zeile 
und  einen  Punkt  hinter  dem  o,  die  man  allerdings  als  Reste 
eines  langen  s  deuten  konnte.  So  schrieben  denn  mach  ihm 
auch  Miillenhoff  und  Scherer-Steinmeyer.13  Hier  wird  jedoch 
darauf  hingewiesen  dass  die  Textveranderung  nicht  unum- 
ganglich  sei:  im  Isidor  12  ,  18  und  im  Heliand  4,  1  finde  man 
himilo  statt  himila  und  grurio  statt  grurios.14 

Ansprechender  ist  dann  schon  Mollers15  Behauptung,  sunu- 
fatarungo konne  nichts  anderes  als  ein  nom.  dual.  sein. 

In  seiner  Literaturgeschichte  gibt  schliesslich  Kogel  ein 
recht  anschauliches  Bild  von  der  Verworrenheit,  die  in  der 
Auffassung  der  grammatischen  Form  des  Wortes  herrscht: 
I,  2  S.  488  fiihrt  er  es  an  nach  einer  Reihe  von  Mehrzahlformen 
auf  o  statt  a;  hier  deckt  sich  seine  Ansicht  also  mit  der  oben 
mitgeteilten  Mullenhoff-Scheferischen;  I,  1.  S.  215  dagegen 
sieht  er  darin  einen  Nom.  Sing.,  eine  ungewohnliche  Nomina- 
tivform  der  a — stamme  (o — Deklination) ;  es  stiinde  demnach 
statt  *sunufatarunga.  Wohl  steht  das  Zeitwort  in  der  Mehr- 
zahl;  dies  ist  aber  kaum  eine  Schwierigkeit  nach  einem 
Sammelnamen. 

Ausser  Moller  und  Kauffman,16  die  eine  erstarrte  archaist- 
ische  Flexionsform  annehmen,  haben  sich  die  Ausleger  durch- 
gehends  gezwungen  gefiihlt,  das  Wort  zu  verdrehen  oder  seine 
Endung  als  aussergewohnlich  aufzufassen. 

7  Klctne  Schriften  5,  107;  G  D  S.  654. 

8  Heliand  2,  107. 

9  Die  alter  en  alliterierenden  Diclitungsreste.    Hanau.  1845.  S.  24. 

10  Siammbildung  §  26. 

11 Z./.  d.  Ph.  29  S.  412. 
B  a.  a.  0. 

u  Denkmaler  2,  S.  13. 

14  Sie  verweisen  auf  Scherer:  zu  altd.  Sprachpr.1  33,  18. 
"  Zur  ahd.  Alliterations poesie,  Kiel  1888,  S.  86-87. 

18  Philolog ische  Studien.  Festgabe  fur  Ed.  Sievers,  Halle  1896  s.  143  f.; 
nach  ihrem  Beispiele  Wadstein  s.  unten. 


156  Corin 

Bedeutung : 

a.  -ung  bildet  ein  abstraktes  Nomen; 

b.  -ung  statt  -ing  bildet  ein  patronymisches  Hauptwort  oder 

c.  deutet  ganz  allgemein  die  Zugehorigkeit  an. 

Doch  auch  in  der  Sinndeutung  schwanken  die  Erlauterer. 
Fiir  Kogel17  ist  das  Wort  ein  abstraktes18  Substantiv  und  er 
iibersetzt  folglich:  'die  Sohnvaterung  richteten  ihre  RiLstung.' 

Elis  Wadstein19  schreibt  1903:  "Dass  sunufatarungo  ein 
nom.  def  duals  ist,  haben  Moller  (zur  ahd.  Allitterationspoesie 
86)  und  Kauffmann  (Phil.  Studien  143)  in  iiberzeugender 
Weise  gezeigt.  Mit  den  meisten  neuesten  Auslegern  fasse  ich 
dieses  Wort  als  Apposition  zu  Hiltibrant  enti  Hadubrant  v.  3. 
Dies  ist  wohl  schon  deshalb  das  Richtige,  weil  es  passend  war, 
direct  mitzuteilen,  dass  Hildebrand  und  Hadubrand  Vater  und 
Sohn  waren,  da  der  Dichter  doch  auch  zu  Solchen  redete,  die 
dies  nicht  im  voraus  wussten.  .  .  .  Ubrigens  setzt  das  Gedicht 
ja  auf  eine  viel  wirkungsvollere  Weise  ein,  wenn  es  heisst:  "Ich 
horte,  dass  sich  Hildebrand  und  Hadubrand,  Vater  und  Sohn, 
zum  Einzelkampf  herausforderten,"  als  wenn  sunufatarungo 
zu  dem  folgenden  Satze  gehoren  wiirde  .  .  .  ' 

Woraus  folgt,  dass  die  "meisten  Ausleger"  sunufatarungo 
iibersetzen  durch:  sohn  und  vater. 

Rieger20  schreibt  aber  im  Jahre  1906:  "4.  Ich  versteh  nicht, 
wie  man  je,  und  wie  ich  selbst21  die  bildung  sunufatarungo  fiir 
'sohn  und  vater'  nehmen  konnte,  ALS  WARE  ES  DASSELBE  wie 
gisunfader  und  hatte  das  patronymische  suffix  NUR  ZUM  ZIERAT 
anhangen;  als  hatte  nicht  Schmeller  schon  1840  die  erklarung 
gegeben  'hominum  (lies:  virorum?)  quorum  alii  in  patris,  alii  in 
filii  comitatu  sequela,  clientela,  exercitu  sunt,  'Das  wort  ist  weder 
in — os  zu  andern,  noch  mit  Steinmeyer22  fiir  eine  UNGEWOHN- 
LICHE  form  des  nom.  plur.  zu  nehmen;  als  genitiv  construiert  es 
sich  zu  heriun  tuem,  und  die  stilgerechte  brechung  des  verses 
stellt  sich  her." 

Und  zwei  Jahre  spater  meint  Kluge,23  "heute  zweifle  wohl 
niemand  mehr  an  dieser  Deutung"  und  iibersetzt  das  Wort 

17  a.  a.  0. 1, 1.  S.  214.      18  besser  Kollektiv  !  ? 

19  Beitrage  zur  Erklarung  des  Hildebrandsliedes  von  E.  Wadstein.    Goteborg 
1903.  S.  13. 

20  Zeitschr ift  f.  d.  Alt.  48.  1906.    Zum  Hildebrandsliede  S.  2. 

21  Germania  9,  295  fg.  1864.    »  a.  a.  0. 

*Bunie  Blatter.  Freiburg-Bielefeld.  1908  S.  126.  Siehe  jedoch:  Hilde- 
brandslied,  Ludwigslied  und  Merseburger  Zauberspriiche,  Leipzig  1919;  S  9  ff., 
wo  er  sich  O.  Schades  Erklarung,  Ahd.  Worterbuch  896  anschliesst. — Editor. 


Eine  neue  Deulung  von  "Sunu  Fatarungo"  157 

durch:  (zwischen  den  beiden  Heeren)  der  Kriegsleute  von  Voter 
und  Sohn, 

E.  Wadstein24  und  Fr.  Saran25  scheinen  doch  noch  nicht 
dieser  Ansicht  beizupflichten,  denn  dieser  gibt  das  Wort  wieder 
durch  'das  blutsverwandte  Paar  Sohn  und  Vater,'  jener  scheint 
an  seiner  friiheren  Auffassung  festzuhalten. 

Ihnen  schliesse  ich  mich  an  und  iibersetze  sunufatarungo 
durch  'Sohn  und  Vater,'  bemerke  im  Ubrigen,  dass  meine 
Deutung  erlaubt,  es  als  Apposition  zu  Hiltibrant  entiHadubrant 
oder  auch  als  Subjekt  von  rihtun  aufzufassen:  "Sohn  und  Vater 
richteten  ihre  Riistung"  oder  auch:  "Hildebrand  und  Hadu- 
brand  forderten  einander  zum  Kampfe  auf,  Sohn  und  Vater!" 
mit  einem  treffenden  Chiasmus. 

1.  Die  Hs.  trennt  sunu  von  fatarungo. 

Wie  wenig  man  auch  auf  die  Trennung  von  Wortern  in  alten 
Handschriften  bauen  mag,  so  wird  es  mir  doch  erlaubt  sein,  im 
Vorbeigehen  hervorzuheben,  dass  sunu  fatarungo  im  Manu- 
skript  nicht  aneinander  geschrieben  sind;26  Miillerhoff  und 
Scherer  hatten  dies  bemerkt,  denn  in  ihren  Anmerkungen  S.  9 
drucken  sie  rich  tig  sunu  fatarungo  als  zwei  Worter. 

2.  ungo  ist  ein  enklitisches  Bindewort. 

Gezetzt  nun  die  Gleichung:  sunu  fatarungo  =  Sohn  und 
Vater,  worin  uns  bekannt  sind: 

sunu:  Nom.  Sing,  (regelmassige  Form)  eines  u-Stammes 
=  Sohn, 

fatar:  Nom.  Sing,  eines  r-Stammes  Vater,  die  wir  beide 
fortschaffen,  so  kommen  wir  zum  natiirlichen  Ergebnis: 

-ungo  ist  gleich  und. 

-ungo  ware  demnach  ein  enklitisches  Bindewort  gleich  dem 
lat. — que  in  filius  paterque,  dem  griech.  re  in  Alavre  Tempos  re.27 
Freilich  ein  aira£  \fyofjifvov,  denn  das  Ahd.  hat  kein  anderes 
Beispiel  davon.  Doch  brauchen  wir  das  Germanische  Gebiet 

24  Ur  Minneskrift  utgiven  av  Filologiska  Samfundet  i  Goteborg  1920.  Die 
Sprachform  des  Hildebrandliedes. 

36  Das  Hildebrandslied.    Halle  1915.  S. 

26  s.  das  Facsimile  in  Mansion:  Ahd.  Lesebuch.    Heidelberg  1912. 

27  Nach  Analogic  dieses  griechischen  Ausdruckes  vermutet  Moller  a.  a.  O., 
dass  der  Text  urspriinglich  wohl  Hiltibranto  Hadubrand  statt  Hiltibrant  enti 
Hadubrant  entbalten  habe,  dass  enti  fiir  den  Vers  ungut  sei;  in  dieser  Verbindung 
wiirde  aber  das  dem  re  entsprechende  Bindewort  fehlen.     Vollkommenere 
Ahnlichkeit  mit  dem  Griechischen  wiirde  unsere  Wortverbindung  aufweisen, 
wenn  man  annehmen  wollte,  dass  sunu  Dualform  (regelmassig!)  sei,  entsprech- 
end  dem  griechischen  Aia*re. 


1 58  Corin 

nicht  zu  verlassen,  um  ein  genaues  Gegcnstiick,  dafiir  zu  finden: 
ein  jeder  wird  wohl  sogleich  an  das  got.  -uh  gedacht  haben. 

3.  ahd.-M«go  =  got.  -uh. 

Dies  ist  nun,  nach  Streitberg,28  Kluge29  u.a.  aus  *uzhve  ent- 
standen;  durch  Wegfall  des  unbetonten  e,  des  Nasallautes  und 
des  080  erhalt  man  -uh  (das  durch  Kiirzung  in  unbetonter  Silbe 
-uh  ergeben  konnte). 

*uzhve  weist  zuriick  auf  ein  idg.  *mghue.  Enklitische  Worter 
trugen  nun  bekanntlich  den  Wortton  nicht;  silbische  Konso- 
nanten  (hier  m)  nahmen  anderseits  die  Stelle  eines  Vokals  ein; 

o 

so  musste  dem  mg^e  (auch  nach  endbetontem  *p9ttr)  im  Wg., 
nach  Verners  Gesetz,  endlich  p9termgye  ergeben. 

Das  w'ersilbige  *p9termgue  wurde  etwa  zu:  ug.  *fapdrunghve, 
dann  wg.  *fadarungwe 

"In  der  Regel,"  sagt  Wilmanns,31  "zeigt  das  Gotische  dem 
Hochdeutschen  gegeniiber  den  stimmlosen  Laut"  und  er  zitiert 
unter  anderen  Beispielen: 

got.  HtfHftts:  ahd.  HUNgar,  was  lautlich  genau  der  Parallele 
entspricht: 

*-uh:  *-ungwe. 

Bekanntlich  herrschte  ja  im  Gotischen  die  Analogic  fast  unum- 
schrankt  und  es  gab  verhaltnismassig  viele  selbstandige  got. 
Worter,  die  mit  -uh  oder  -h  zusammengestellt  waren: 

«*H,  das  dem  lat.  neQVE,  neQ  genau  entspricht; 

naun  aus  *«M+H; 

thauR  aus  */A0-f  UH  oder  *tho-~R,  wie  lat.  tune  aus  */«W-QUE, 
ahd.  dock. 

Jan  aus  t/a+H,  das  wohl  mit  dem  ahd.  JOH  identisch  ist.82 
In  Verbindungen  von  einzelnen  Wortern  hat  es  iibrigens  das 
enklitische  -uh  vollig  verdrangt :  'fapar  jah  sunus.' 

C.  Der  Auslaut. 

Der  Auslaut  que — entwickelt  sich  sehr  friih  zuko-;  Ahnliches 
ist  fiir  den  Auslaut  von  ungwe  anzunehmen: 

M  Gotisches  Elementarbuch  \  *  §  52,  2,  S.  70. 

u*  Vorgeschichte  der  Al'germ.    Dialekte  §  96. 

30  So  entwickelte  sich  *negye  zu  got.  nih.  Man  vgl.  Hirts  Hypothese  (m — ke) 
in  P.  B.  B.  18.  S.  299:  Grammatische  Miszdlen  D.  zum  pronomen. 

«  Dt.  Gram.  I.  §  23  c. 

w  Ferner  vergleiche  man  noch  die  Fonnen  der  Indefinitpartikel  im  Ahd. 
to  wcfGiN  und  im  Got.-HUN,  lat.-cuNjwc. 


Eine  neue  Deutung  von  "Sunu  Fatarungo"  159 

Apokope  des  auslautenden  e  findet  schon  friih  statt;  man 
vcrgleiche  etwa  das  griech.  ejue-ye  mit  dem  ahd.  mih  oder  das 
lat.  qutnque  mit  dem  ahd  fimf. 

Am  Ende  einer  Silbe  wird  w  regelmassig  in  o  verandert;  man 
denke  an: 

*/o/u>ahd./aJo 

*»«AwA>ahd.  nano 

*swA>ahd.  so 

Nach  Wirkung  dieser  Auslautgesetze  bekamen  wir  denn 
endlich  aus  idg.  *mque  im  ahd.: 

-UNGO 

Somit  ware  meine  Beweisfiihrung  zu  Ende;  doch  soil  nicht 
verschwiegen  werden,  dass  Delbriick  -uh  nicht  auf  urgerm. 
-ughve,  uridg.  -mque  zuriickf  iihrt,  sondern  erklart,  es  sei  aus  « — 
und  -h  zusammengesetzt  und  dass  K.  Brugmann33  in  einer  sehr 
gelehrten  Erorterung  Streitbergs  Ansicht  zu  widerlegen  ver- 
suchte,  ohne  dass  jedoch  weder  des  einen  noch  des  anderen 
Griinde  entscheidende  Kraft  besassen. 

Die  friihere  Auffassung  konnte  vielleicht  in  dieser  ahd. 
Form  eine  neue  Stiitze  finden;  es  ware  wohl  ein  Leichtes,  eine 
Erklarung  fiir  das  Bestehen  einer  (etwa  durch  falsche  Scheid- 
ung)  erweiterten  Form  *m-qye  (die  auch  das  lat.  quicumqwe 
aufwiese?)'1"'"1'  neben  der  kiirzeren  *que  (lat.  que,  gr.  T«)  zu  finden. 
Dies  zu  entscheiden  iiberlasse  ich  den  Indogermanisten. 

Mir  mag  es  geniigen,  gezeigt  zu  haben,  dass  die  schwanken- 
den  Deutungen  der  Bildung,  der  Flexion  und  des  Sinnes  eines 
vermutlichen  Kompositums  *sunufatarungo,  das  Bestehen  eines 
solchen  als  recht  unsicher  erscheinen  lassen;  dass  anderseits  die 
Gleichstellung  eines  ahd.  -ungo  mit  got.  uh,  nach  der  allgemein 
herrschenden  Meinung  keine  Schwierigkeiten  macht;  endlich, 
dass  diese  Deutung  dem  Sinne  vollauf  genug  tut,  ohne  dem 
iiberlieferten  Text  Gewalt  antun  zu  miissen  und  also 

sunu  /atoruNGO 
auf  gleicher  Stufe  steht  mit 

gr.  AlavTf  TfVKpos  re 

lat.  (qui  de)  patre  filioQUE  (procedit). 

A.  L.  CORIN 

Litgc 

"Idg.  Forschungen,  33,  3-4,  S.  173  fg.  1914. 


STEVENSON'S  CONCEPTION  OF  THE  FABLE 

"The  Fabulist's  a  pedant,  whose  profession 
Is,  with  the  plainest  most  precise  expression, 
To  preach  in  all  ways,  unto  all  mankind, 
'Be  wise  and  good!'    Well  for  him,  if  we  find 
Those  speaking  contrasts  in  his  text,  which  spare 
The  preacher's  pains,  and  of  themselves  declare 
The  preacher's  purpose!   Well,  if,  on  his  way, 
One  with  its  load,  the  other  with  its  lay, 
Emmet  and  grasshopper  do  chance  to  pass, 
Or  royal  lion  and  ridiculous  ass, 
Or  crafty  fox  and  over-credulous  crow! 
For  contrasts,  such  as  these,  have  but  to  show 
Their  faces  to  us;  and,  as  soon  as  seen, 
All's  understood. 
> 

But  ah!  not  always  doth  kind  Chance  provide 
Such  fortunate  occurrences  for  him 
Who  pries  not  only  into  corners  dim 
For  secret  treasures,  but  in  field  or  street 
Questions  whatever  he  may  chance  to  meet; 
And  often  for  an  answer  waits  in  vain, 
Or  gets  one  he  is  puzzled  to  explain."1 

— So  Lord  Lytton  suggested  the  difference  between  the  work 
of  the  classical  fabulist  and  his  own  two  volumes  of  "Fables 
in  Song,"  which,  according  to  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  were 
most  successful  when  they  differed  most  widely  from  the  older 
model.  The  question  at  once  arises,  what  does  Lord  Lytton's 
modification  of  the  type  indicate  as  to  its  nature?  Is  the  fable 
capable  of  some  such  variation  as  he  conceived  essential,  or 
must  it,  under  such  treatment,  break  down  and  give  place  to 
some  other  form?  The  "Fables  in  Song"  themselves  give  a 
doubtful  answer;  their  quality  is  not  such  as  to  justify  their 
combination  of  the  old  and  the  new — it  is  distinctly  mediocre. 
But  Stevenson's  criticism  of  the  "Fables  in  Song,"2  and  his 
own  modification  of  the  form  in  accordance  with  the  principles 
of  his  criticism,  give  some  interesting  evidence  as  to  its  possi- 
bilities. 

1  From  Fortune  and  her  Followers,  "Fables  in  Song."  Edward  Robert 
Lytton  Bulwer-Lytton.  1874. 

8  "Lord  Lytton's  Tables  in  Song.'  "  Robert  Louis  Stevenson.  1874. 
(In  "Lay  Morals  and  other  Papers."  Scribner's.  1915.) 

160 


Stevenson's  Conception  of  the  Fable  161 

In  explaining  Lytton's  departure  from  the  norm  Stevenson 
made  suggestive  even  though  inexpert  use  of  the  historical 
method.  He  defined  the  typical  fable,  and  then  tried  to  show, 
in  terms  of  general  human  progress,  how  the  type  was  bound 
to  undergo  important  modifications,  even  while  maintaining 
its  essential  qualities.  "In  the  most  typical  form,"  he  writes, 
"some  moral  precept  is  set  forth  by  means  of  a  conception 
purely  fantastic,  and  usually  somewhat  trivial  into  the  bar- 
gain; there  is  something  playful  about  it,  that  will  not  support 
a  very  exacting  criticism,  and  the  lesson  must  be  apprehended 
by  the  fancy  at  half  a  hint."  This  form  "depended  for  much 
of  its  piquancy  on  the  very  fact  that  it  was  fantastic."  In 
further  accounting  for  its  playfulness  he  suggests  that  "there 
lay,  perhaps,  at  the  bottom  of  this  primitive  sort  of  fable,  a 
humanity,  a  tenderness  of  rough  truths;  so  that  at  the  end  of 
some  story,  in  which  vice  or  folly  had  met  with  its  destined 
punishment,  the  fabulist  might  be  able  to  assure  his  auditors, 
as  we  have  often  to  assure  tearful  children  on  the  like  occasions, 
that  they  may  dry  their  eyes,  for  none  of  it  is  true."  But  as 
time  goes  on,  he  says,  we  should  expect  the  fable  to  be  more 
loosely,  or  largely,  conceived.  The  pleasantry  of  humorous 
inappropriateness  will  become  less  common  as  the  theory  of 
evolution  makes  us  suspect  some  serious  analogy  between 
animals  and  men.  And  even  the  benefit  of  being  able  to  assure 
a  too  sympathetic  audience  that  it  was  all  a  fiction  "becomes 
lost  with  more  sophisticated  hearers  and  authors."  "A  man 
is  no  longer  the  dupe  of  his  own  artifice,  and  cannot  deal  play- 
fully with  truths  that  are  a  matter  of  bitter  concern  to  him 
in  his  life.  And  hence,  in  the  progressive  centralization  of 
modern  thought,  we  should  expect  the  old  form  of  fable  to 
fall  gradually  into  desuetude,  and  be  gradually  succeeded  by 
another,  which  is  a  fable  in  all  points  except  that  it  is  not 
altogether  fabulous." 

This  new  form,  this  non-fabulous  fable,  "still  presents  the 
essential  character  of  brevity";  there  is  still  a  moral  idea, 
"underlying  and  animating  the  brief  action";  and  the  object 
still  is  "to  bring  this  home  to  the  reader  through  the  intellect 
rather  than  through  the  feelings;  so  that,  without  being  very 
deeply  moved  or  interested  by  the  characters  of  the  piece,  we 
should  recognize  vividly  the  hinges  on  which  the  little  plot 


162  Snyder 

revolves."  "But,"  he  continues,  "the  fabulist  now  seeks 
analogies  where  before  he  merely  sought  humorous  situations. 
There  will  now  be  a  logical  nexus  between  the  moral  expressed 
and  the  machinery  employed  to  express  it.  The  machinery,  in 
fact,  as  this  change  is  developed,  becomes  less  and  less  fabulous. 
We  find  ourselves  in  presence  of  quite  a  serious,  if  quite  a 
miniature,  division  of  creative  literature."  Moreover,  "the 
moral  tends  to  become  more  indeterminate  and  large.  It 
ceases  to  be  possible  to  append  it,  in  a  tag,  to  the  bottom  of 
the  piece,  as  one  might  write  the  name  below  a  caricature;  and 
the  fable  begins  to  take  rank  with  all  other  forms  of  creative 
literature,  as  something  too  ambitious,  in  spite  of  its  miniature 
dimensions,  to  be  resumed  in  any  succinct  formula  without 
the  loss  of  all  that  is  deepest  and  most  suggestive  in  it." 

These  attempts  to  generalize  about  the  history  of  the  fable 
possibly  indicate  why  Stevenson  himself,  as  recently  noted  by 
one  of  his  critics,3  called  his  review  of  the  "Fables  in  Song" 
"some  of  the  deedest  rubbish  that  an  intelligent  editor  ever 
shot  into  his  wastepaper  basket."  From  Stevenson's  letters  on 
the  subject  we  know  that  he  felt  hurried  in  writing  the  review; 
doubtless  he  realized  that  the  history  and  analysis  of  the  fable 
type  was  a  bigger  task  than  he  was  making  it.  There  is  much 
in  Stevenson's  historical  generalizations  that  might  well  be 
challenged.  Nevertheless,  his  remarks  serve  as  a  fairly  ade- 
quate comparison  of  the  typical  fable  and  Lord  Lytton's 
modification  thereof.  The  essentials  of  the  type  that  he  found 
persisting  were  its  brevity,  the  moral,  and  the  relatively  un- 
sympathetic— intellectual  rather  than  emotional — manner  of 
presenting  the  moral.  The  modifications  consisted  in  the 
indeterminateness  of  the  moral,  and  the  organic  relation 
between  story  and  moral  replacing  the  half  humorous  parallel- 
ism of  the  typical  form. 

No  one  can  quarrel  with  Stevenson  for  valuing  Lord 
Lytton's  departure  from  the  accepted  model  more  highly  than 
his  occasional  conformity.  The  typical  fable  is  characterized 
by  a  rational  and  a  moral  simplicity  that  Stevenson's  day, 
and  certainly  Stevenson  himself,  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
appreciate.  Granted  any  intellectual  power  or  imaginative 

1  "A  Book  of  R.  L.  S."    George  E.  Brown. 


Stevenson's  Conception  of  the  Fable  163 

insight  whatever,  and  the  fabulist  of  the  1870's  was  bound  to 
be  one  who  often  for  his  answer  looked  "in  vain,"  or  got  one  he 
was  "puzzled  to  explain."  It  is  to  Lytton's  credit  that,  being 
a  fabulist  at  all,  he  was  such  an  one  as  this.  Though  it  is  true 
that  his  fables  not  infrequently  point  out  rather  commonplace 
morals,  yet  on  the  whole  they  leave  the  reader  with  a  sense  of 
knowledge  rather  than  of  precept,  and  of  knowledge  that  is  not 
altogether  easy  to  translate  into  precept.  The  universe  is  not 
made  out  to  be  so  morally  simple  or  rationally  satisfying  as 
in  the  typical  form;  hence  it  is  to  Stevenson  and  his  sontem- 
poraries  a  more  stimulating  universe. 

And  Stevenson  certainly  did  well  to  commend  the  truly 
imaginative  way  in  which  the  characters  of  the  stories  were 
treated,  the  fact  that  they  were  not  arbitrarily  and  half  play- 
fully taken  to  illustrate  some  truth  belonging  to  a  different 
sphere,  but  were  significant  in  themselves.  The  truths  of 
Lord  Lytton's  nature  fables  are  on  the  whole  truths  very 
applicable  to  the  world  of  men,  and  the  application  is  often 
obvious;  but  they  are  also  true  of  the  world  nature.  While 
the  typical  fable  is  true  to  nature  in  as  far  as  the  general  char- 
acteristics of  the  actors  are  concerned,  the  development  of 
situation  and  action  has  only  human  significance.  The  animals, 
as  Lord  Lytton  suggests,  are  paired  in  such  a  way  as  to  serve 
the  preacher's  purpose  most  delightfully,  with  their  ready-made 
"speaking  contrasts,"  but  they  would  scarcely  please  the 
naturalist.  They  are  grouped  so  as  to  teach  certain  lessons 
about  jealousy  or  flattery,  for  example,  that  find  their  meaning 
largely  in  the  field  of  human  relationships.  Lytton,  however, 
places  his  characters  in  fairly  natural  environments.  Moreover, 
the  characters  themselves  are  not  the  conventional  types  of  the 
ordinary  fable.  The  laws  that  he  is  illustrating  are  laws  so 
general  that  they  can  be  illustrated  by  anything  and  every- 
thing, not  simply  cunning  foxes  and  evil  wolves;  they  are 
many  of  them  metaphysical  rather  than  moral — laws  of  attrac- 
tion and  repulsion,  self-expression,  or  the  transformation  of 
energy.  Thanks  to  the  fact  that  his  characters  need  not  be 
stock  types,  and  on  the  whole  are  not,  one  feels  in  reading 
the  fables  that  he  is  to  some  extent  discovering  new  truths 
about  the  persons  of  the  tales,  not  simply  learning  that  certain 
moral  axioms  can  be  illustrated  by  actors  whose  true  natures 


164  Snyder 

are  already  perfectly  known.  His  thistles  and  rain-pools  and 
stars  and  poets  are  of  some  interest  in  themselves. 

But  the  question  remains,  are  these  attempts  at  a  truly 
imaginative  treatment  of  nature  fables?  Stevenson  seems  to 
assume  that  they  manifest  several  essentials  of  the  type,  but 
one  might  well  challenge  his  assumptions  about  their  brevity 
and  the  intellectual  manner  of  presentation.  Many  of  the 
fables  are  elaborated  to  the  point  of  losing  all  effect  of  brevity, 
and  there  is  frequently  a  superfluity  of  sentiment  in  their 
style.  It  would  almost  seem  as  though  Lord  Lytton  were 
trying  to  do  the  impossible;  as  though  poets  nowadays  must 
choose  between  imaginative,  creative  literature  and  the  fable 
form.  It  would  seem  that  in  as  far  as  the  fable  becomes  a 
miniature  division  of  creative  literature,  just  in  so  far  it  ceases 
to  be  a  fable.  But  it  is  here  that  Stevenson's  own  attempts  to 
use  the  fable  form  become  of  interest. 

In  a  number  of  his  own  fables  Stevenson  succeeded  in  doing 
the  very  thing  that  Lord  Lytton  just  failed  of  doing;  he  exem- 
plified the  new  form  that  he  defined  in  the  criticism  of  the 
"Fables  in  Song,"  and  proved  that  an  imaginative  fable  was  a 
possibility,  even  to  his  day  and  generation. 

In  his  edition  of  the  "Fables"4  published  after  Stevenson's 
death  Sidney  Colvin  distinguishes  between  several  kinds  of 
tales  that  Stevenson  himself  called  fables.  Stevenson's  con- 
ception included,  he  says,  his  semi-supernatural  stories  such 
as  "Will  of  the  Mill"  and  "Markheim,"  the  "fables  more  strictly 
so  called,"  "cast  in  the  conventional  brief  and  familiar  form," 
and  others  included  in  the  volume  of  fables  but  "running  to 
greater  length,  and  conceived  in  a  more  mystic  and  legendary- 
vein."  The  fables  that  best  vindicate  Stevenson's  theory  are 
the  "fables  more  strictly  so  called,"  that  is,  those  contained  in 
Colvin's  collection  exclusive  of  "The  House  of  Eld,"  "Some- 
thing in  It,"  "The  Touchstone,"  "The  Poor  Thing,"  and  "The 
Song  of  the  Morrow." 

Reading  these  fables  no  one  can  have  the  least  doubt  that 
they  are — fables.  And  analysis  shows  that  they  have  all  the 
qualities  that  Stevenson  considered  essential  to  the  type:  they 
are  brief,  they  present  a  moral,  and  they  present  it  in  such 

4  "Fables."    Scribner's.    1896. 


Stevenson's  Conception  of  the  Fable  165 

a  way  that  "without  being  very  deeply  moved  or  interested 
by  the  characters  of  the  piece,"  we  yet  "recognize  vividly 
the  hinges  on  which  the  little  plot  revolves."  At  the  same 
time  no  one  can  question  their  right  to  be  called  creative 
literature;  they  are  without  a  doubt  imaginatively  suggestive. 

In  accounting  for  Stevenson's  success  there  are  several 
factors  to  be  considered.  First  as  to  the  moral:  Stevenson's 
fable  has  a  moral,  though  the  whole  can  by  no  means  be 
"summed  up  in  any  succinct  formula,"  on  account  of  the  very 
nature  of  the  truth  presented.  An  early  reviewer6  noted  that  a 
number  of  the  fables  have  for  their  moral  "a  sort  of  inversion 
of  the  copy  book  rule."  And  this  is  exactly  what  we  find  in 
the  majority  of  the  group  being  considered.  The  fables  can 
be  put  in  one  of  two  classes:  they  either  logically  reduce  to  an 
absurdity  some  commonly  accepted  truth  or  morality,  or  else 
parody  or  caricature  some  such  morality. 

A  typical  example  of  the  first  class  is  "The  Sinking  Ship." 
In  this  the  truly  noble  captain,  who  insists  that  the  precarious 
condition  of  the  ship  offers  no  reason  for  going  about  half 
shaved,  is  finally  driven  to  admit,  by  means  of  pure  logic, 
that  there  is  no  difference  at  all  between  shaving  in  a  sinking 
ship  or  smoking  in  a  powder  magazine,  "or  doing  anything  at 
all  in  any  conceivable  circumstances." 

Typical  of  the  second  class  is  "The  Yellow  Paint,"  in  which 
the  claims  of  certain  clergy  are  satirized.  The  yellow  paint, 
which  is  supposed  to  set  men  free  from  "the  dangers  of  life, 
and  the  bondage  of  sin,  and  the  fear  of  death  forever,"  proves 
to  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  After  each  failure  the  physician 
offers  explanations  and  interpretations  which,  while  not  very 
consoling  to  the  victim,  are  only  too  suggestive  of  some  types 
of  religious  parlance. 

There  is  surely  a  real  difference  between  Stevenson's  morals 
and  those  of  the  typical  fabulist.  Another  of  the  early  re- 
viewers,6 to  whom  we  have  to  resort  for  much  significant 
criticism  of  the  fables,  wrote  that  some  of  them  "are  almost 
more  remarkable  than  any  of  his  more  elaborate  compositions. 
They  are  essentially  modern  in  their  structure,  and  go  to  the 


•  "Academy"  1898. 

•  "Spectator"  Sept.  7,  1895. 


166  Snyder 

very  root  of  the  paradox  that  all  the  deep  modern  thinkers 
find  in  human  life,  though  they  do  not  pretend  to  find  any 
solution  of  that  paradox,  but  leave  it  where  they  found  it." 
Of  course  the  ordinary  moral  fable  always  owes  its  point  to 
something  paradoxical.  If  appearances  were  not  deceiving 
there  would  be  no  need  of  morals;  if  swiftness  were  not  appar- 
ently more  effective  than  perseverance  there  would  be  no 
need  of  the  hare  and  the  tortoise  to  prove  the  opposite.  But 
the  ordinary  fable  does  not  leave  the  paradox  where  it  finds  it; 
it  solves  the  problem  by  discounting  one  side,  the  side  of 
superficial  appearances,  and  throws  all  the  weight  on  the  side  of 
the  moral  that  contradicts  these  appearances.  The  interesting 
thing  about  Stevenson's  fables  is  that  they  prove  morals,  not 
appearances,  to  be  deceptive,  and  ask  us  to  invert  them,  as  it 
were.  Since  these  inversions  of  the  copybook  rules  are  truths 
that  have  not  yet  "become  definitely  moral,"  to  use  one  of 
Stevenson's  own  phrases,  his  method  is  negative — and  sugges- 
tive. He  discounts  the  accepted  moral  in  such  a  way  as  to 
leave  us  with  a.  sense  that  the  two  sides  are  fairly  evenly 
balanced,  though  our  sympathies  are  enlisted  on  the  side  of 
the  vaguely  suggested  inversion. 

As  for  the  "machinery"  of  his  fables,  it  is  not  "altogether 
fabulous";  that  is,  form  and  content  are  organically  related. 
The  fables  do  not  owe  their  piquancy  to  the  humorousness 
of  analogies  between  men  and  beasts.  The  characters  them- 
selves are  scarcely  fabulous.  Only  in  "The  Tadpole  and  the 
Frog"  are  the  actors  animals.  In  one  fable  a  distinguished 
stranger  from  another  planet  appears,  in  one  the  devil,  and  in 
one  the  Great  White  Justice  of  the  Peace;  in  "The  Persons  of 
the  Tale"  the  actors  are  the  characters  of  "Treasure  Island" 
come  to  life,  but  in  all  the  rest  they  are  ordinary  human  beings — 
friends,  reformers,  physicians,  sick  men,  firemen,  captains,  and 
such.  And  the  activities  of  these  characters,  while  sometimes 
a  bit  preposterous,  are  not  on  the  whole  supernatural.  If  we 
accept  the  theory  that  animals  are  frequently  used  as  the 
characters  of  fables  because  we  are  supposed  not  to  sympathize 
with  them  as  much  as  we  should  with  real  human  beings,7  it 
would  seem  that  Stevenson's  choice  was  not  legitimate.  And 

7  Lessing's  theory.  See  Francis  Storr  on  Fables.  Encyclopaedia  Britan- 
nica,  eleventh  edition. 


Stevenson's  Conception  of  the  Fable  167 

yet  as  a  matter  of  fact  we  read  about  his  ship  that  blows  up 
with  a  glorious  detonation  without  being  much  moved  by  the 
presence  on  board  of  real  human  beings  instead  of  the  tradi- 
tional foxes  and  wolves.  Stevenson  makes  this  possible  by 
following  the  method  of  the  typical  fabulist  in  not  individu- 
alizing his  characters  any  more  than  is  absolutely  essential 
for  the  half  serious,  half  humorous  point  of  his  tale,  and  by 
giving  no  details  of  environment  that  are  not  equally  essential. 
His  characters  are  natural,  and  they  are  not  stock  types;  but 
they  are  not  real. 

For  example,  "The  Sick  Man  and  the  Fireman"  begins 
quite  abruptly,  "There  was  once  a  sick  man  in  a  burning  house 
to  whom  there  entered  a  fireman."  In  the  course  of  the  tale 
we  learn  that  the  fireman  "was  a  civil  fellow,"  "a  man  of  some 
philosophy,"  with  "nothing  hasty  about  him,"  and  that  he 
was  "eminently  just;"  but  that  is  all.  About  the  sick  man  we 
are  told  nothing  directly,  but  from  his  remarks  we  gather  that 
the  fireman  was  perhaps  right  in  considering  him  something 
of  a  fool.  Given  actors  as  little  individualized  as  these,  actors 
of  whose  past  history,  of  whose  friends  and  relatives,  we  know 
nothing,  we  waste  little  sympathy  or  even  blame  when  we  read 
that  the  fireman  "heaved  up  his  fireman's  axe  .  .  .  and 
clove"  the  sick  man  to  the  bed. 

Again,  all  that  we  know  of  the  Four  Reformers  is  that 
they  met  "under  a  bramble  bush,"  a  place  sufficiently  innocu- 
ous to  keep  us  from  being  very  deeply  concerned  over  their 
final  decision  that  everything  must  be  abolished,  including 
mankind. 

The  world  of  these  fables  is  not  a  supernatural  world,  and 
it  is  not  peopled  with  supernatural  beings,  and  yet  we  do  not 
approach  it  with  any  sense  of  reality.  There  is  no  danger  of 
our  entering  into  the  feelings  of  the  characters  any  more  than 
is  necessary  for  the  intellectual  development  of  the  plot.  We 
are  quite  heart-free  to  smile  at  the  logical  absurdities  and  the 
patness  of  the  outcome. 

As  is  already  evident,  Stevenson's  success  in  making  the  fable 
what  he  would  call  a  miniature  form  of  creative  literature  and 
yet  keeping  it  a  fable,  was  due  in  no  small  measure  to  his 
technique.  The  paradoxes  that  he  so  thoroughly  enjoyed, 


168  Snyder 

and  that  he  developed  almost  lyrically  in  his  intimate  essays,8 
he  presents  here  with  a  poignancy  equally  perfect  in  its  way. 
In  pointing  the  fables  various  devices  serve  as  substitutes  for 
the  neatly  drawn  moral  of  the  typical  form.  The  reductio  ad 
absurdum  fables  could  scarcely  fail  to  be  pointed ;  their  climactic 
structure  is  practically  determined  for  them  by  the  logic  of  the 
case.  The  parodies  might  conceivably  drag;  but  they  do  not. 
Parallelism,  balance,  climax,  inimitable  closing  sentences, 
serve  as  effective  devices  for  giving  the  necessary  piquancy 
to  both  types. — "  'We  must  abolish  property,'  said  one.  'We 
must  abolish  marriage,'  said  the  second.  'We  must  abolish 
God,'  said  the  third."  And  for  conclusive  endings — "  'They 
are  the  people  of  the  greatest  nation  in  the  world,'  said  the 
philosopher.  'Are  they  indeed?'  said  the  stranger.  'They 
scarcely  look  so.'  " — Or  simply  "  'There,'  said  the  innkeeper." 

— after  making  his  noose  and  hanging  the  devil. 
******** 

In  writing  on  fables  in  the  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica"' 
Francis  Storr  says  that  though  the  day  of  the  typical  fable  is 
past  there  are  yet  indications  that  this  form  of  literature  is 
capable  of  "new  and  unexpected  developments."  These 
developments,  it  would  seem,  might  well  be  traced  along  any 
one  of  several  lines,  according  to  what  we  consider  the  sine  qua 
non  of  the  fable.  When  Storr  mentions  the  Jungle  Books  as 
a  modern  form  of  the  fable  it  is  evident  that  he  has  in  mind 
something  quite  different  from  Stevenson's  conception.  In 
tracing  the  evolution — or  devolution — of  literary  types  it  is 
always  of  course  a  question,  what  particular  descendants  shall 
bear  the  patronym.  And  in  this  study  I  do  not  wish  to  suggest 
that  Stevenson's  fables  have  better  claim  to  the  title  than 
others  that  might  be  mentioned.  However,  his  theory  of  the 
fable  as  worked  out  in  his  criticism  of  Lord  Lytton's  "Fables 
in  Song"  and  his  own  success  in  the  group  of  fables  that  best 
exemplify  this  theory,  serve  as  valid  evidence  of  one  of  the 
modern  possibilities  of  the  type. 

ALICE  D.  SNYDER 

Vassar  College 

8  Cf.  the  author's  paper  "Paradox  and  Antithesis  in  Stevenson's  Essays." 
JOUKNAL  OF  ENGLISH  AND  GERMANIC  PHILOLOGY.      October  1920. 

9  Eleventh  edition. 


REVIEWS  AND  NOTES 

MYTHICAL  BARDS  AND  THE  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM 
WALLACE  by  William  Henry  Schofield,  Harvard  Studies 
in  Comparative  Literature,  Volume  V,  Harvard  University 
Press,  Cambridge,  1920. 

There  are  doubtless  many  scholars  who  do  not  need  Pro- 
fessor Schofield's  book  to  convince  them  that  no  blind  man 
could  have  written  the  Wallace.  Bored  almost  to  extinction 
by  the  arguments  pro  and  con  they  may  well  have  fallen  back 
upon  some  swift  intuitive  process  of  attaining  the  truth.  Pro- 
fessor Schofield,  of  course,  had  intuitions  of  his  own;  but  to 
the  support  of  these  he  brought  in  the  book  under  review 
a  carefully  reasoned  argument.  Furthermore,  he  here  convicted 
of  their  error  those  who  have  cried  from  the  depths  of  their 
ennui  that  the  Wallace-frage  was  in  any  case  of  no  importance. 
What,  indeed,  Professor  Schofield  did  was  to  redeem  the 
question  by  raising  it  above  the  level  of  puerile  conjecture. 
Casting  his  net  far  and  wide,  he  reviewed  in  a  highly  suggestive 
way  ideas  of  great  antiquity  and  vitality,  and  he  brought 
out  relations  between  myths  and  folk-lore  on  the  one  hand 
and  critical  theory  on  the  other  that  should  be  of  unusual 
interest  to  students  and  investigators  in  many  fields. 

Blind  Harry,  Professor  Schofield  contends,  is  a  pseudonym 
of  legendary  and  mythical  associations,  which  was  assumed 
by  the  author  of  the  Wallace  that  the  poem  should  have  some- 
thing of  the  character  of  an  inspired  document.  The  only 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  accepting  this  theory  is  the  testimony 
of  the  chronicler  Major  that  "there  was  one  Henry  blind  from 
his  birth  who,  in  the  time  of  my  childhood,  composed  a  whole 
book  about  William  Wallace;"  what  favors  it  is  not  only 
Schofield's  array  of  evidence  and  carefully  conducted  argument 
but  common  sense,  which,  Major  or  no  Major,  simply  declines 
to  accept  the  poem  with  its  descriptive  passages  and  its  Chau- 
cerian echoes  as  written  by  a  poet  congenitally  blind.  Scottish 
patriotism  may  seek  compromises:  the  poet,  though  blind 
was  not  blind  from  birth,  and  Blind  Harry  collaborated  with 
others.  Or,  say  if  you  will,  he  was  blind  in  only  one  eye. 
Many  critics  in  such  ways  have  befogged  an  issue  which  Scho- 
field had  the  sanity  to  see  clearly  and  to  argue  intelligently. 

Here  and  there,  to  be  sure,  our  author  enjoyed  a  conjec- 
ture of  his  own.  Is  Blind  Harry  to  be  identified  not  only 
with  Geradh  mac  Morn  but  with  Guaire  Goll,  Blind  Guaire 
of  the  Colloquy  of  the  Elders?  Is  Master  Blair  of  the  Latin 
book  which  Blind  Harry  cites,  to  be  equated  with  Merlin's 
Master  Blaise?  Whatever  one  might  think  of  these  guesses, 

169 


170  Jones 

Schofield  was  certainly  right  in  giving  the  attention  that  he 
does  in  Chapter  III  to  Dunbar's  "nakit  Blynd  Harry"  in 
The  Droichis  Part  of  the  Play,  who,  unaccoutered  as  he  is,  was 
deliciously  identified  by  Professor  Schipper  with  "the  author 
of  the  famoXis  epic  poem,  William  Wallace, — alluded  to  here 
as  a  popular  personage."  In  reality  he  is  the  son  of  "mickle 
Grow  mac  Morn"  and  therefore  a  brother  of  Blind  Ossian; 
he  looks  a  good  deal,  like  Garaidh  (Garry,  Gairri)  who  appears 
in  Irish  documents  as  a  decrepit  old  man  telling  tales  mourn- 
fully of  the  Fianna  whom  he  has  outlived."  Like  Amergin 
and  Taliessin  he  was  a  shape-shifter,  and  about  all  that  we  are 
told  of  him  there  hangs  the  atmosphere  of  myth.  What  more 
probable  than  that  Blind  Harry,  (like  Blind  Ossian,  like  Merlin 
and  Taliessin  in  other  cases)  should  be  allowed  to  take  the 
place  of  the  true  author  of  the  Wallace?  To  advance  from  this 
position  to  the  contention  that  Blind  Harry  is  really  a  balewise 
spirit  and  that  he  is  in  accord  with  the  savage  patriotism  of 
the  Wallace  is  perhaps  gratuitous.  At  any  rate  one  remembers 
that  the  dwarf  of  Dunbar's  poem  has  been  described  as  a 
"playful  and  wanton  but  beneficent  spirit." 

To  the  real  as  distinguished  from  the  fictive  author  of  the 
Wallace  Professor  Schofield  devoted  some  thirty  pages  of  his 
book.  He  has  little  if  anything  to  add  to  what  must  have  been 
the  impression  of  any  sensible  reader  of  the  poem.  It  appears 
not  u  ilikely  that  the  poet  was  a  herald  or  a  "minstrel";  he 
"was  sympathetic  to  the  higher  classes,  whether  or  not  he 
belonged  to  them  himself";  he  was  "certainly  no  quiet  scholar 
or  amiable,  chivalric  ecclesiastic,  like  Barbour,  but  a  vigorous 
propagandist,  a  ferocious  realpolitiker,  without  principle  when 
it  was  a  question  of  Scotland's  place  in  the  sun,  without  reluct- 
ance to  lie  in  manipulating  history  to  his  end.  He  was  no 
common  strolling  bard." 

The  late  Professor  Schofield  will  be  remembered  for  the 
unfailing  gusto  and  the  spirit  of  adventure  with  which  he 
addressed  himself  to  the  most  baffling  problems  of  research. 
It  is  gratefully  recognized  that  the  play  of  his  imagination 
did  much  to  relieve  the  hard  outlines  of  philological  discipline 
and  to  encourage  a  wider  and  freer  exploration  of  the  realms 
of  literary  scholarship.  His  active  sympathy  and  curiosity 
along  with  his  many  human  contacts  particularly  qualified 
him  for  his  influential  position  as  Professor  of  Comparative 
Literature  at  Harvard  University.  That  he  was  steadily 
broadening  his  field  of  research  and  perfecting  his  method 
is  clear  from  the  book  here  noticed,  the  latest  and  possibly 
the  best  of  his  publications.  It  is  a  reminder  of  the  loss  we  have 
suffered  in  the  untimely  death  of  Professor  Schofield. 

H.  S.  V.  JONES 


Reviews  and  Notes  171 

BETYDNINGSL&RE    (Semasiologi}.      By    Hjalmar    Falk. 
Kristiania,  1920.  11+124  pages. 

This  work  on  sematology  is  a  noteworthy  addition  to  our 
text  books  on  language  study.  As  stated  in  the  preface,  the 
work  grew  out  of  the  need  of  a  suitable  reference  book  on 
sematology  for  Norwegian  candidates  for  the  Doctor's  degree 
in  philology.  The  book  does  not  pretend  any  detailed  analysis 
of  the  phenomena  discussed;  this  is  left  to  the  more  technical 
works  on  this  subject,  the  most  important  of  which  are  men- 
tioned in  the  preface. 

Since  the  work  was  written  expressly  for  Norwegian  stu- 
dents, especial  emphasis  is  necessarily  laid  upon  the  development 
of  meaning  in  Old  Norse  words  (upon  which  the  Norwegian 
riksmal  is  based).  Professor  Falk's  analysis  of  the  Old  Norse 
words  sheds  a  very  interesting  light  upon  the  interpretation  of 
the  Old  Norse  texts. 

For  American  students  of  Germanic  philology  the  work 
may  serve  as  a  valuable  complement  to  our  own  "Words  and 
their  Ways  in  English  Speech"  (Greenough  and  Kittredge,  1902), 
and  we  might  perhaps  wish  that  Professor  Falk  had  chosen  a 
greater  number  of  his  illustrations  from  the  English  language, 
especially  where  English  illustrations  were  near  at  hand.  From 
our  own  viewpoint  also  the  book  could  have  been  enriched  in 
value,  if  Professor  Falk  had  been  more  familiar  with  Modern 
Colloquial  English,  which  in  many  instances  might  have  served 
as  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  laws  under  discussion. 

Altho  any  special  emphasis  upon  the  English  language 
would  be  out  of  place  in  a  text  book  for  Norwegian  students, 
it  is  perhaps  to  be  regretted  that  the  Swedish  language  has  not 
received  more  attention,  inasmuch  as  Swedish  is,  like  Nor- 
wegian, a  Scandinavian  tongue. 

Of  all  the  Germanic  languages  outside  the  field  of  Scan- 
dinavian, German  receives  the  most  attention.  This  is  to  be 
expected  in  view  of  the  great  number  of  German  loan  words 
(especially  Low  German  words)  which  are  found  in  the  Nor- 
wegian riksmdl. 

Of  the  other  Indo-European  languages,  Latin  and  Greek 
naturally  furnish  the  chief  material  for  comment,  while  Sanskrit, 
Old  Irish,  and  Slavic  receive  adequate  treatment  as  less  familiar 
tongues. 

So  far  as  the  Scandinavian  words  are  concerned,  Professor 
Falk's  material  is  accessible  in  his  (i.e.,  Falk  and  Torp's)  Nor- 
wegisch-Danisches  Etymologisches  Worterbuch  (Germanische  Bib- 
liothek,  I.  Sammlung,  IV.  Reihe,  Heidelberg,  1910).  His 
Betydningslare,  therefore,  constitutes  a  very  valuable  supple- 
ment to  his  etymological  dictionary,  in  which  no  explanation 
of  sematological  laws  is  given. 


172  Sturtevant 

Betydningslare  is  divided  into  two  Parts,  the  First  Part 
(p.  1-52)  dealing  with  the  meanings  of  words  in  their  historical 
development  (Ordhistorie)  and  the  Second  Part  (p.  53-124) 
dealing  with  the  reasons  for  such  development  (Arsakene  til 
betydningens  forandringer).  According  to  the  nature  of  the 
phenomena  many  of  the  categories  which  the  author  has  laid 
down  under  these  two  headings,  must  necessarily  overlap  and 
fuse  with  one  another.  In  such  cases  Professor  Falk  is  very 
careful  to  make  this  fact  clear  and  assumes  the  comprehensive 
viewpoint  necessary  in  treating  such  a  complex  phenomenon. 
His  analysis  of  the  psychological  aspects  of  sematology  is  in  the 
nature  of  things  abstract  and  difficult  to  grasp,  but  the  laws 
under  discussion  become  surprisingly  clear  as  soon  as  they  are 
illustrated  by  concrete  examples. 

In  the  following  analysis  of  Professor  Falk's  work  an  effort 
will  be  made  to  emphasize  those  phases  which  ought  to  be  of 
special  interest  to  American  students  of  the  Scandinavian 
languages  or  of  Germanic  philology  in  general. 

FIRST  PART  (p.  1-52) 

I.  Concerning  the  oldest  type  of  name-giving   (Om  den  eldste 
navnegivning,  p.  1-13). 

The  further  back  we  go  in  the  development  of  language, 
the  greater  do  we  find  the  tendency  to  express  an  idea  by  means 
of  some  specific  aspect  connected  with  that  idea.  Abstract  or 
generic  terms  are,  therefore,  far  less  frequent  in  the  earlier 
than  in  the  later  stages  of  language  growth.  This  fact  explains, 
for  instance,  why  in  Old  Norse  there  exists  such  a  large  number 
of  synonyms  for  the  simple  idea  of  fire;  thus  eldr  =  'newly  lighted 
fire,'  hyr^=  'charcoal  fire,'  funi,  ftirr,  fyr  =  'purifying  fire*  (cf. 
Lat.  pur-us}.  The  Old  Germanic  languages  had  many  words 
for  insects  and  for  different  kinds  of  color,  but  no  word  for  insect 
(the  species)  or  for  the  generic  term  color. 

II.  How  sensation  and  mental  functions  are  denoted  (Hvor- 
ledes  sansningen  og  sjelens  funksjoner  betegnes,  p.  14—26). 

In  contrast  to  the  oldest  types  of  words,  terms  for  sensation 
and  the  mental  functions  (i.e.,  thought,  feeling,  and  the  will) 
are  by  nature  secondary  or  metaphorical  in  character,  in  so  far 
as  these  terms  represent  some  specific  aspect  (i.e.,  cause,  e/ect, 
means,  etc.)  of  these  physical  or  mental  states  transferred  to  the 
state  itself.  Words  denoting  sensation,  for  instance,  are  often 
derived  from  the  word  representing  the  organ  (i.e.,  means) 
of  sensation;  thus  Grk.  dxouw  'hear'  (>*ak-ausS,  cf.  Germanic 
haus-jan)  is  connected  with  ovs  'ear,'  and  Lat.  audio  with  auris 
(p.  15);  cf.  Angs.  hlystan  (Eng.  listen)  and  O.  N.  hlust  'ear.' 
As  an  illustration  of  this  development  in  living  speech  Professor 
Falk  might  have  cited  the  English  phrase  'give  ear  to  someone'; 
cf.  Mark  Anthony's  'lend  me  your  ears'  (  =  'audlte  me/  Julius 
Caesar,  III,  2). 


Reviews  and  Notes  .      173 

The  Lat.  supercilium  (p.  22)  denotes  a  raising  of  the  eye- 
brows as  an  expression  of  disdain  (cf.  the  Eng.  supercilious). 
Professor  Falk  notes  the  parallel  metaphor  in  the  Germ,  mil 
hohen  Augenbrauen  dasitzen  (Faust)  in  which  surprise  or  ex- 
pectation is  expressed.  But  a  still  closer  parallel  in  modern 
speech  is  the  colloquial  English  term  high  brow,  which  has  not 
only  the  same  metaphor  but  also  the  same  meaning  as  super- 
cilious. ' 

III.  Professional  -words  (De  faglige  scersprogsrolle,  p.  27-42). 
In  this  chapter  Professor  Falk  treats  the  history  of  those 

words  which  had  their  origin  in  the  technical  vernacular  con- 
nected with  the  various  activities  of  man,  such  as  law,  religion 
and  mythology,  agriculture,  hunting  and  fishing,  sea-faring, 
commerce,  the  technical  industries,  military  activities,  medicine, 
witch-craft  and  superstition,  etc. 

Under  the  head  of  astronomical  superstitions  Professor 
Falk  mentions  (p.  42)  the  tradition  (common  to  both  the  Old 
Norse  and  classical  antiquity)  regarding  the  moon  as  the  cause 
of  periodic  mental  and  physical  derangements.  Norw.  manesyk 
(p.  42) 'periodically  mad'  renders  the  Med.  Lat.  lunaticus, 
but  no  mention  is  made  of  the  English  word  lunatic  'mad,' 
'insane'  (cf.  'moon-struck'),  which  is  derived  directly  from  the 
Latin  lunaticus. 

IV.  Results  of  competition  between  words  (Ordkonkurransens 
virkninger,  p.  42-47). 

In  the  competition  between  words  synonymous  meanings 
play  a  very  important  part.  If  words  are  wholly  or  in  part 
synonymous,  one  word  either  effects  a  restriction  in  the  usage 
or  in  the  meaning  of  the  other  word  or  finally  drives  out  the 
other  word  entirely  from  the  language.  Foreign  loan  words 
in  particular  have  thus  affected  the  meaning  of  synonymous 
native  Norwegian  words  and  in  many  cases  entirely  superseded 
them. 

As  an  interesting  example  of  the  restriction  of  meaning 
due  to  synonymous  words  Professor  Falk  mentions  (p.  44) 
the  Modern  Norwegian  verb  kvede,  which  originally  meant 
'speak/  'say'  (O.  N.  kveda)  but  which  now  is  restricted  to  poetic 
usage  in  the  sense  of  'sing.'  "Av  de  0vrige  germ,  sprog,"  he 
continues,  "har  bare  engelsk  (quoth,  bequeath)  levninger  av 
ordet."  By  the  phrase  "av  de  0vrige  germ,  sprog"  is  meant, 
of  course,  "of  the  other  Germanic  languages  outside  the  field 
of  Scandinavian."  It  might  perhaps  have  been  an  advantage 
to  the  student  if  Professor  Falk  had  here  added  the  fact  that 
the  Swedish  verb  kvada  still  retains,  along  side  of  the  meaning 
'sing'  (  =  Norw.  kvede),  the  original  sense  of  'say'  (  =  Eng.  quoth). 
The  restriction  in  the  Swedish  and  the  English  is  in  usage  rather 
than  in  meaning. 


1 74  Sturtevant 

V.  Why  old  terms  are  discarded  and  how  substitutions  take 
place  (Hvorfor  gamle  betegnelser  opgis  og  hvorledes  de  erstattes, 
p.  47-53). 

One  of  the  chief  reasons  why  old  terms  are  discarded  is  the 
fact  that  specific  designations  have  had  to  give  way  to  the  more 
general.  Also,  as  civilization  progressed,  many  foreign  terms, 
cultural  and  scientific  words  were  introduced  into  the  (Nor- 
wegian) language,  displacing  the  corresponding  native  words 
because  of  the  more  cosmopolitan,  cultural  or  technical  char- 
acter of  the  former.  The  general  tendency  to  view  foreign 
words  as  having  a  higher  cultural  value  may  explain  (p.  51) 
why,  for  instance,  O.  N.  *skammr  was  driven  out  by  kort,  *frjals 
by  fri  or  *djmi  by  eksempel.  The  popularity  of  French  Ro- 
mances accounts  (p.  51)  for  O.  N.  kcerr,  which  finally  succeeded 
in  entirely  driving  out  ljufr  from  the  Norwegian  riksmal  (cf. 
Swed.  ljuv,  ljuvlig).  O.  N.  gamall  (p.  52)  in  place  of  Common 
Germanic  *alps  is  due  to  the  fact  that  *albs  became  in  O.  N. 
*allr,  which  then  had  the  same  form  as  allr  'all.' 

SECOND  PART  (p.  53-124) 
Reasons  for  changes  in  meaning 

There  are  three  categories  of  transition  in  the  meaning  of 
words,  viz.,  'generalization'  (overordning) ,  'specialization'  (un- 
derordning)  and  'transference  of  meaning'  (sideordning).  These 
transitions  are  due  to  various  causes,  the  first  of  which  is  treated 
under  the  head  of  bertfringsassociasjon  (p.  57-70). 

I.  Ber firings as sociasj 'on. 

By  berjringsassociasjon  is  meant  an  association  of  elements 
which  taken  together  form  a  complex  concept,  or  an  association 
of  the  whole  concept  with  one  of  its  component  parts.  The 
laws  governing  bertfringsassociasjon  are  the  same  as  those  gov- 
erning the  association  of  ideas  in  general.  Transference  of 
meaning  from  one  object  to  another  thru  berjringsassociasjon 
is  due  to  that  constant  relation  which  exists  between  these 
two  objects.  The  direction  of  this  transference  is  usually 
from  cause  to  effect.  Thus,  the  word  tongue  comes  to  mean 
language,  because  the  tongue  is  used  in  the  articulation  of  lan- 
guage sounds.  In  the  field  of  the  senses  this  type  of  association 
is  especially  productive  of  derived  meanings.  Thus,  the  idea  of 
'vapor,'  'fog,'  'dust,'  'mist,'  etc.  has  in  the  I.  E.  languages 
resulted  in  the  derived  senses  of  'stupid,'  'dumb,'  'deaf,'  etc. 
(p.  60);  cf.  Grk.  T^OJ  'smoke':  ™£X6s  'blind,'  Norw.  djv  'deaf,' 
dum  'stupid,'  Eng.  dumb,  etc.  The  original  idea  is  associated 
with  certain  physical  or  mental  states  and  the  word  then  passes 
over  from  the  meaning  of  'something  which  is  associated  with 
or  causes  this  state'  to  'the  state  itself  (fog> stupid).  We  may 
perhaps  be  permitted  to  add  here  that  in  English  we  still  speak 


Reviews  and  Notes  175 

of  a  'befogged  brain,'  of  'dim  (cf.  Swed.  dimnta  'fog')  percep- 
tions' and  of  'misty  or  hazy  ideas.' 

Physical  sensations  are  sometimes  the  same  from  opposites 
causes,  thus  the  sensation  caused  by  intense  cold  may  resemble 
that  caused  by  intense  heat.  This  accounts  for  the  fact  (p.  61) 
that  many  words  originally  denoting  heat  have  come  to  denote 
cold.  Thus,  O.  N.  svidkaldr  'burning  cold'  (Norw.  sviende  hold, 
cf.  brennkald  (dial.));  Lat.  pruna  'live  or  burning  coal'  and  Ger- 
manic *freus  belong  to  the  I.  E.  root  *preus  'burn';  cf.  Lat. 
caleo  'burn'  and  O.  N.  hela  'frost,'  etc.  As  an  illustration  of 
this  law  of  association  between  the  idea  of  heat  and  of  cold 
Professor  Falk  might  have  made  reference  to  the  Greek  verb 
broKald)  'burn  off,'  which  Xenophon  in  his  Anabasis  (IV,  5,  3 
and  VII,  4,  3)  uses  in  the  sense  of  'frost-bite';  thus  (VII,  4,3) 
teal  T&V  'EXXiJi'coj'  iro\\uv  nai  fivts  airoKaiovro  xai  WTO,  'the  noses 
and  ears  of  many  of  the  Greeks  were  'burned  off'  (i.e.,  frost- 
bitten).' So  also  Latin  adurere  (Verg.  Georg.  I,  93)  and  torrere 
(Varr.  ap.  Non.  452,  11).  On  the  whole,  it  seems  to  the  reviewer 
that  it  might  have  been  of  greater  advantage  to  the  student, 
if  Professor  Falk  had  more  often  availed  himself  of  examples 
in  which  transitions  of  meaning  are  still  apparent. 

Of  the  different  types  of  berjringsassociasjon  not  the  least 
important  is  the  relation  of  cause  to  effect  and  vice-versa  (p.  69). 
As  an  example  of  this  type  of  association  Professor  Falk  men- 
tions Norw.  last  'vice,'  which  originally  meant  simply  'fault,' 
'blemish,'  'defect'  (O.  N.  iQstr,  cf.  Goth,  lahan  'reproach'). 
Why  not  call  attention  to  the  parallel  development  in  the 
English  work  vice  from  Lat.  vitium  'flaw,'  'defect'? 

II.  Likhetsassociasjon  (p.  70-87). 

For  the  expression  of  new  ideas  language  has  recourse  to 
words  already  used  for  expressing  older  ideas.  Thus,  the  word 
used  for  the  expression  of  the  new  idea  necessarily  undergoes 
a  change  in  meaning.  Between  the  old  and  the  new  idea  there 
must  exist  some  sort  of  similarity  (likhetsassociasjon)  which 
suggested  the  use  of  the  word  in  the  new  sense;  such  a  similarity 
may  be  either  wholly  or  partly  identified  (total  eller  partiell 
identifisering) . 

This  type  of  association  necessarily  results  in  an  extension 
of  meaning  (Betydningsutvidelse,  p.  71-80)  in  the  new  word, 
which  may  have  entirely  lost  its  association  with  the  word  in 
its  older  sense.  Thus,  for  example,  O.  N.  veggr,  Angs.  wag 
'wall'  (p.  75)  goes  back  to  an  I.  E.  root  *vei  'wind'  (cf.  Germ. 
Wand:  winden).  The  primitive  Germanic  method  of  making 
walls  consisted  in  winding  the  limbs  of  trees;  thus,  the  old  idea 
of  'winding'  went  over  into  the  new  idea  of  'wall."  After  this 
primitive  method  of  making  walls  was  abandoned,  there  no 
longer  existed  any  conscious  relation  between  the  original  sense 


176  Stur  levant 

of  the  word  (i.e.,  'wind')  and  the  derived  or  new  sense  (i.  e., 
'wall').  Similarly,  Eng.  weep  (p.  76)  is  identical  with  Goth. 
•wdpjan,  O.  N.  fipa,  which  latter  verbs,  however,  meant  'cry 
out,'  'shriek'  (exclamare,  vocare).  In  a  more  advanced  stage  of 
civilization  when  this  primitive  method  of  lamentation  was  less 
frequently  resorted  to,  the  English  verb  weep  came  to  denote 
simply  'shed  tears.'  As  an  illustration  of  this  extension  of 
meaning  (due  to  likhetsassociasjon}  in  living  speech  Professor 
Falk  might  have  added  Eng.  cry  (  —  exclamare:  plangere};  cf. 
the  colloquial  Eng.  bawl  = 'cry  out  in  a  loud  or  rude  manner' 
(cf.  'bawl  out  a  name'):  'weep  aloud.' 

As  an  illustration  of  the  figure  of  speech  (due  to  likhetsassoci- 
asjon) contained  in  Norw.  fatte,  begripe  (Lat.  capere,  compre- 
hendere}  Professor  Falk  cites  (p.  80)  the  Norwegian  colloquial- 
ism "jeg  kunde  ikke  fa  tak  i  hans  mening."  We  might  add  here 
the  corresponding  colloquialism  in  English,  viz.,  catch  on 
(  —  'grasp,'  'understand'). 

Likhetsassociasjon  may  also  result  in  'the  transference  of  mean- 
ing by  analogy'  (NavneoverJ 'firing  ved  analogi  (sammenligning} ,  p. 
80-87) .  This  category  necessarily  fuses  with  that  of  berfiringsas- 
sociasjon.  The  word  tongue  can  mean  not  only  'language' 
(i.e.,  cause  to  effect,  cf.  above  I)  but  also  'projecting  point  of 
land'  (cf.  Germ.  Landzunge,  Norw.  landtunge}  by  reason  of  the 
similarity  in  shape  between  these  two  objects  (i.e.,  between 
the  old  and  the  new  idea),  cf.  tongue  and  tong.  Very  often 
transference  of  meaning  by  analogy  may  take  place  from  the 
inanimate  to  the  animate;  thus,  O.  N.  drengr  (p.  84)  =  originally 
'thick  stick'  then  'brave,  young  warrior,'  cf.  Dan.  pog  'boy' 
and  Norw.  pdk  'stick,'  'cane.'  We  might  add  here  the  colloquial 
Eng.  stick  —  'stiff,  stupid  person'  (cf.  block-head}. 

III.  Association  as  a  result  of  connected  discourse,  limitation 
of  meaning  (Associasjon  bevirket  av  tales  ammenhen  gen  (betyd- 
ningsinnskrenkning} ,  p.  87-97). 

Under  this  category  Professor  Falk  treats  those  changes 
of  meaning  which  are  due  to  influences  outside  the  word  in 
question,  as  conditioned  by  the  relation  of  this  word  to  other 
words  in  the  sentence  (i.e.,  'syntactical  changes  in  meaning,' 
p.  89).  By  reason  of  the  special  relation  of  the  word  in  question 
to  other  words  in  the  sentence  a  special  significance  becomes 
attached  to  this  word,  whereby  it  suffers  a  restriction  of  mean- 
ing. But  in  such  cases  there  occurs  only  a  restriction  of  meaning 
and  no  actual  change  in  meaning,  in  the  sense  that  a  new  idea 
is  expressed.  Often  that  part  of  the  expression  is  omitted  with 
which  the  word  was  originally  associated  (Tankeellipse,  p.  90- 
93).  This  is  particularly  often  the  case  in  technical  vernacular 
where  the  omitted  element  was  once  easily  supplied.  For 
example,  from  the  huntsman's  vernacular  we  have  Eng.  deer 
(originally  = 'animal,'  Germ.  Tier}  in  the  sense  of  a  specific 


Reviews  and  Notes  177 

type  of  animal,  because  other  types  of  animals  were  seldom 
hunted  by  the  English  in  olden  days.  We  might  add  here 
Eng.  hound  —  a  type  of  'hunting-dog,'  cf.  Germ.  Hund,  Scan. 
hund. 

If  the  word  in  question  is  an  integral  part  of  a  phrase  and 
comes  to  stand  for  the  whole  phrase  itself,  there  occurs  a 
'syntactical  ellipsis'  (Syntaktisk  ellipse,  p.  93-97).  As  an  ex- 
ample of  this  category  Professor  Falk  cites  (p.  94)  O.  N.  at 
mins  fqdur  (scil.  husi  el.  lign.),  Lat.  ad  Martis  (templum). 
We  might  add  here  parallels  in  modern  speech,  viz.,  Eng.  at 
my  father's  (scil.  house),  and  the  more  colloquial  Swed.  hos 
Wahlins,  till  Bergstroms,  etc. 

IV.  Word  association  due  to  similarity  in  form  or  meaning 
(Ordassociasjon  begrunnet  i  likhet  i  form  eller  betydning,  p.  97- 
107). 

Similarity  (either  in  form  or  in  meaning)  between  words 
may  result  in  the  establishment  of  a  relation  between  them, 
which  originally  never  existed.  Changes  (in  form  and  meaning) 
due  to  this  type  of  word  association  do  not  necessarily  take 
place  according  to  the  regular  phonetic  and  sematological 
laws.  Hence  result,  for  instance,  contaminated  forms  and  so- 
called  'folk-etymologies.'  As  an  example  of  attraction  between 
words,  due  to  similarity  of  both  form  and  meaning,  Professor 
Falk  cites  (p.  105)  O.  N.  velkominn  for  *vilkominn  and  Eng. 
welcome  (cf.  Angs.  wilcuma).  Possibly  the  association  between 
wel-  and  wil-  in  the  English  word  welcome  was  favored  by  the 
example  of  O.  N.  velkominn  or  of  the  French  bien  venu.  At 
any  rate,  in  connection  with  Eng.  welcome  Professor  Falk 
might  have  called  attention  to  the  French  bien  venu.  Modern 
Norw.  darlig  (p.  105)  originally  meant  'foolish'  (cf .  dare,  Germ. 
Tor),  but  because  of  the  association  with  O.  N.  daligr,  Norw. 
(landsmal)  daleg,  it  has  now  come  to  mean  'bad,'  'evil,'  'ill,'  etc. 
In  this  connection  it  might  have  been  of  advantage  for  Nor- 
wegian students,  if  Professor  Falk  had  called  attention  to  the 
Swedish  language,  where  the  two  words  darlig  and  dalig  are 
still  kept  distinct  from  each  other  both  in  form  and  meaning. 

V.  Changes  of  meaning  due  to  emotional  elements  (AJfektive 
betydningsforandringer,  p.  107-124). 

The  associations  between  words  thus  far  treated  are  the 
result  of  the  representative  or  reflective  faculties  (forestillings- 
begrep).  But  within  the  sphere  of  association  we  must  also 
include  the  purely  emotional  element  as  an  accessory  cause  or 
factor  in  the  transition  of  meaning.  The  emotional  element  con- 
nected with  words  asserts  itself  in  two  ways,  viz.,  unconsciously 
(millet)  by  virtue  of  that  ethical  valuation  which  is  immediately 
connected  with  the  word  in  question,  and  consciously  (villet)  by 
means  of  an  arbitrary  strengthening  or  weakening  of  the  ex- 
pression. While  the  ethical  value  of  words  is  most  often  the 


178  Sturtevant 

result  of  the  prevalent  social,  religious  and  ethical  views  of 
the  time,  the  intensity  of  feeling  connected  with  this  ethical 
value  is  generally  the  result  of  a  momentary  state  of  emotion. 
Under  the  head  of  conscious  or  arbitrary  ethical  valuation 
of  words  Professor  Falk  treats  the  following  categories:  Meta- 
phor, Euphemism,  Irony  and  Hyperbole. 

Professor  Falk's  Betydningslcere  has  done  much  towards 
satisfying  a  long  needed  requirement  for  a  text  book  on  sema- 
tology.  The  work  indicates  an  advance  over  former  works 
on  this  subject,  at  least  in  so  far  as  Professor  Falk  here  presents 
the  first  systematic  exposition  of  the  whole  field  of  sematology. 
For  American  teachers  of  the  Scandinavian  languages  and 
literature  the  book  ought  to  serve  as  a  very  helpful  guide  in 
explaining  the  fine  shades  of  meaning  in  Scandinavian  words, 
particularly  in  poetic  or  dialectic  words.  Since  the  work  is 
intended  for  use  as  a  text  book,  its  practical  value  could  have 
been  greatly  enhanced  if  the  book  had  been  provided  with 
an  index.  In  a  purely  scientific  reference  book  of  this  nature 
an  index  is  greatly  to  be  desired,  for  otherwise  the  reader  has 
no  guide  (except  his  own  faulty  memory)  to  the  individual 
words  treated  in  the  text. 

The  following  misprints  have  been  noted;  for  mhty.  schel 
(p.  20)  read  mty.  schel,  for  mnt.  vdtboge  (p.  72)  read  mnty. 
vdtboge  (cf .  index  to  abbreviations,  mty.  =  middelhtfitysk,  mnty.  — 
middelnedertysk) . 

Ags.  medrece  (p.  98)  should  read  m$drece.  There  is  a  form 
mtderce  (Ms.  J.,  cf.  Bosworth-Toller's  Angs.  Diet,  under 
my'drece}  but  this  is  hardly  the  form  which  Professor  Falk  had 
in  mind,  for  the  metathesis  of  the  r  in  mlderce  destroys  the 
similarity  between  the  last  syllable — derce  of  the  Angs.  and  the 
O.  N.  drekka. 

That  even  a  printer  has  difficulty  with  the  Greek  accent, 
is  proved  by  the  following:  for  rds  6<f>pvs  (p.  22,  twice)  read 
rds  6<£pDs,  for  irvtbuo.  (p.  25,  twice)  irvevna,  for  /9i/8Xta  (p.  92) 
/3i/3Xia,  for  nygre.  TTOVTIKOS  (p.  82)  irovTii(6s. 
.  Professor  Falk  makes  frequent  reference  to  Low  German 
(nty.)  words  which  went  over  into  the  Norwegian  riksmdl. 
Most  of  these  words,  however,  were  loaned  during  the  Middle 
Low  German  period,  and  it  might,  therefore,  have  been  of 
greater  advantage  to  the  student,  if  in  such  cases  the  words 
had  been  designated  as  mnty.  instead  of  nty.,  cf.,  e.g.,  nty. 
schreve  (p.  29),  nty.funderen  (p.  99),  nty.  st$f-(p.  106),  etc. 

ALBERT  MOREY  STDRTEVANT 

Kansas  University 


Reviews  and  Notes  179 

INVOLUTION  PSYCHOLOGIQUE  ET  LA  LITERA- 
TURE EN  ANGLETERRE  (1660-1914)  par  Louis  Caza- 
mian,  Maltre  de  Conferences  a  la  Sorbonne,  I  vol.  in-16, 
9  frcs,  Paris.  (LIBRAIRIE  FELIX  ALCAN).  1920. 

Through  English  Literature,  as  through  the  literary  output 
of  other  nations,  runs  a  psychological  rhythm  caused  by  the 
recurrent  rise  and  fall  of  two  dominants:  one  emotional,  the 
other  intellectual.  Or — to  apply  terms  rendered  familiar  by 
traditional  psychology — by  "feeling"  and  "intellect."  Their 
obedience  to  the  law  that  conditions  their  ebb  and  flow  is  not 
the  result  of  determinable  forces,  but  seems  to  be  autonomous. 
When  studied  in  the  light  of  history,  however,  this  rhythm 
appears  constantly  crossed  by  various  outside  influences, 
such  as  social  factors,  "collective  memory"  (i.e.  the  conscious- 
ness on  the  part  of  a  given  generation  of  the  literary  accomplish- 
ments of  the  past — a  consciousness  which  tends  to  muffle  the 
vitality  of  a  new  movement),  etc.  Furthermore,  the  individu- 
ality of  each  nation  cannot  help  affecting  the  operation  of  the 
rhythm,  so  that  the  manifestations  of  the  latter  are  bound  to 
differ  in  different  countries.  For  instance,  modern  English 
literature  finds  in  Romanticism — i.e.  in  predominantly  emotional 
forms— its  full  and  natural  expression;  while  modern  French 
literature  is  drawn  as  by  a  magnet  to  Classicism,  i.e.  to  forms 
colored  predominatingly  by  the  intellect,  and  only  there  is 
perfectly  at  home. 

Despite  its  complexity,  the  functioning  of  this  oscillation — 
one  is  tempted  to  speak  with  Goethe  who  recognized  a  similar 
law  in  all  nature,  and  say,  of  this  systole  and  diastole — is  by 
no  means  a  thing  imponderable  to  criticism.  In  fact  its  study 
proves  fruitful  in  several  directions,  (pp.  4-23).  The  method 
here  applied  is  plainly  a  blend — not  lacking,  however,  in 
elements  of  originality — of  the  theory  of  environment  formu- 
lated by  Taine  and  more  recent  ideas  promulgated  by  Bru- 
netiere,  by  M.  Cazamian  himself  in  his  "Etudes  de  psychologic 
litteraire"  1913,  by  Professor  W.  A.  Neilson  in  his  "Essentials 
of  Poetry"  1912  (pp.  1-4)  and  by  others,  among  whom  the 
name  of  Dilthey  ("Das  Erlebnis  und  die  Dichtung"  7th  ed. 
1921)  should  certainly  not  have  been  lacking.  In  his  premises 
M.  Cazamian  naturally  finds  himself  at  variance  with  some 
of  the  principles  underlying  Prof.  H.  A.  Beers'  "History  of 
English  Romanticism  in  the  Eighteenth  Century"  (p.  142). 

The  author  begins  with  the  year  1660,  i.e.  with  the  Restora- 
tion. For,  since  English  literature  first  became  conscious 
of  itself  during  the  preceding  period,  the  age  of  Elizabeth, 
which  was  a  time  of  exuberant  Romanticism,  the  Restoration 
marks  the  first  swing  of  the  rhythm.  Between  the  time  of 
Shakespeare  and  our  own  the  rhythm  has  operated  only  two 


180  Klenze 

and  a  half  times.  We  can  distinguish  five  principal  phases. 
First  the  age  of  Elizabeth,  second  the  period  of  the  pseudo- 
Classicism  that  came  with  the  Restoration,  third  the  great 
reaction  in  favor  of  emotion  and  imaginativeness  during  the 
eighteenth  and  the  early  nineteenth  centuries,  fourth  the 
decades  between  1830  and  1880  when  the  reign  of  science  by 
fostering  fidelity  to  truth  and  self-control  brought  about 
something  like  a  second  "classicism,"  and  fifth  and  last  the 
advent  of  a  third  period  of  Romanticism  since  1880  in  which 
mysticism,  intuition,  and  imagination  have  again  claimed  a 
large  share  of  attention  (pp.  11-13). 

To  prove  his  thesis,  M.  Cazamian  in  chapters  two  to  eleven 
traces  in  detail  the  gradual  approach  and  recession  of  the  two 
dominants  "feeling"  and  "intellect"  turn  and  turn  about, 
exhibiting  especial  care  and  skill  in  discussing  the  operation 
of  social  forces.  Thus  the  contrast  is  well  brought  out  between 
the  effect  on  English  literature  of  the  rise  of  the  merchant 
class  about  1680  (pp.  70  ff.)  and  the  increase  in  power  of  the 
same  social  group  in  1780  (p.  150).  In  the  seventeenth  century 
the  bourgeoisie  compounded  with  the  nobility — a  fact  clearly 
reflected  in  Pepys'  Diary  (p.  77).  Further,  precisely  because 
of  its  bourgeois  qualities,  this  new  class  so  far  from  encouraging 
a  swing  of  the  pendulum  in  the  direction  of  Romanticism 
contributed  to  balance  and  self-control  by  insisting  on  the 
purification  of  morals  and  in  a  round-about  way  of  literary 
taste.  One  hundred  years  later,  the  bourgeoisie  had  grown 
to  be  the  natural  enemy  of  prevalent  tenets  social  and  aesthetic 
and  hence  became  the  chief  buttress  of  revolution. 

No  less  interesting  are  the  chapters  dealing  with  the  decades 
preceding  the  Romanticism  of  1800-30  in  which  the  comparative 
slowness  of  the  emotional  swell  is  attributed  to  the  continued 
power  of  the  aristocracy  and  its  ally,  the  high  bourgeoisie. 
The  treatment  of  the  second  period  of  English  Classicism 
(1850-1880),  the  generation  of  Matthew  Arnold  with  its 
striking  analogies  to  the  age  of  Pope  and  the  subtle  yet  funda- 
mental differences  that  divide  the  two  (pp.  218  ff.),  and  the 
closing  chapter  (pp.  242  ff.)  which  discusses  the  growing  com- 
plexity in  contemporaneous  letters,  are  perhaps  the  richest 
in  ideas.  We  are  made  aware  that  in  the  last  thirty 
years  the  literary  movement  could  not  swing  full  circle  on 
account  of  the  ever  increasing  weight  of  collective  memory 
which  reduced  the  carrying  power  of  the  swing  towards  neo- 
Romanticism  and  caused  almost  a  stagnation  of  the  rhythm. 
Under  the  circumstances  the  realism  of  today  is  bound  often 
to  be  glamoured  with  romance  and  our  presdtit  day  Roman- 
ticism to  reveal  powerful  substrata  of  realism,  and  frequently 
the  same  individuals  must  be  exponents  of  both.  Although, 


Reviews  and  Notes  181 

as  the  author  shows,  "contamination  of  type"  began  more  than 
a  hundred  years  ago,  the  generation  that  could  produce  Yeats 
and  Galsworthy,  Pater  and  Gissing  (p.  253)  far  outstrips  all 
its  predecessors  in  many-sideness,  and  lacks  sharpness  of 
silhouette.  The  very  children  born  into  an  aging  nation  are 
born  old  (p.  258).  Yet  we  need  not  on  that  account  lose  cour- 
age. Many  forces  are  at  work  to  prolong  the  youthfulness  of 
modern  peoples  (p.  260),  one  of  the  most  powerful  in 
English  life  being  the  colonies  and  the  countries  like  the  United 
States  of  America  that  grew  out  of  them  (p.  260  f.). 

Here  and  there  I  find  myself  at  variance  with  the  author. 
So  I  feel  that  more  should  have  been  made  of  Horace  Walpole 
as  a  typical  representative  of  the  transition  from  Rationalism 
to  Romanticism.  For  not  only  did  this  "aristocrat"  (p.  107) 
in  "The  Castle  of  Otranto"  forestall  the  tales  of  horror  of  later 
times  (p.  125),  but  "this  lucid  person"  (p.  125)  was  also  a 
forerunner  of  the  Romanticists  in  his  love  of  moonlit  scenes 
and  of  Ruskin  in  his  admiration  of  medieval  architecture. 
In  a  letter  to  Bentley  he  tells  of  the  charming  venerable  "Gothic 
scene"  on  a  moonlit  night  among  the  buildings  of  Oxford. — 
In  discussing  the  rise  of  the  proletariat  towards  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  M.  Cazamian  says  nothing  of  the  changes 
in  the  life  of  the  peasantry  and  the  resultant  effects  upon  litera- 
ture. Miss  Patton's  illuminating  treatise  "The  English  Village, 
a  Literary  Study  1750-1850,"  (N.  Y.  1919)  might  have  fur- 
nished him  with  important  material.  The  references  to  Words- 
worth (pp.  157  ff.  and  170  ff.)  do  not  bring  out  the  complexity 
of  Wordsworth's  message.  One  is  apt  to  overlook  the  fact 
that  this  Romantic  poet  anticipated  Dickens'  "American 
Notes"  (1842)  by  his  strictures  on  the  young  Republic  ("The 
Excursion,"  Book  III,  written  about  1800)  at  a  time  when  the 
experiment  in  Democracy  and  the  simplicity  of  manners  in 
these  western  communities  were  setting  half  the  world  agog 
with  joy;  and  that  the  Indian  whom  Chateaubriand  had  just 
apotheosized  and  whom  Cooper  twenty  years  later  was  to  make 
for  the  immature  of  all  countries  a  synonym  for  nobility 
and  self-control,  appears  in  Wordsworth's  "Excursion"  (Book 
III)  stigmatized  as  "a  creature  squalid,  vengeful  and  impure." 
In  other  words,  Wordsworth,  foremost  representative  of  English 
Romanticism,  anticipated — far  more  than  M.  Cazamian  leads 
us  to  suppose — the  next  generation  by  his  reverence  for  fact  as 
a  severe  but  beneficent  resolvent. — How  far  the  age  of  Ruskin  in 
its  social  ideals  had  moved  away  from  its  predecessors  might  have 
been  brought  out  by  the  contrast  between  him  and  his  fore- 
runner, Horace  Walpole.  Neither  yielded  to  the  other  in  love 
of  beauty  and  distinction,  but  while  Walpole  observed  the  chill 
reserve  of  class  and  caste,  the  author  of  "Stones  of  Venice" 


182  Klenze 

wrote  letters  as  to  an  equal  to  "Mr.  Thomas  Dixon,  a  working 
stone-cutter."  Nothing  could  better  illustrate  the  new  orienta- 
tion in  English  life  and  that  growing  complexity  which  in- 
creasingly disturbs  the  functioning  of  the  rhythm. 

In  discussing  the  influence  of  the  theory  of  evolution  on 
thought  and  letters  during  the  period  of  neo-Classicism  (1850- 
1880)  the  .fact  should  have  been  stressed  that  this  theory  not 
merely  encouraged  belief  in  the  existence  of  continuity  and 
rationality  in  the  universe  (p.  224),  but  by  being  interpreted 
as  evidence  of  steady  growth  towards  higher  forms,  both  physical 
and  spiritual,  contributed  towards  an  easy  meliorism  and  a  loose 
optimism  oddly  at  variance  with  scientific  thinking  though 
growing  directly  out  of  it.  Here  again  a  form  of  Romanticism 
crossed  the  path  of  Realism  and  helped  to  check  the  normal 
swing  of  the  rhythm. 

At  the  close  of  the  volume,  in  the  paragraphs  dealing  with 
the  Romantic  elements  in  modern  English  life,  we  miss  any 
mention  of  Du  Maurier's  "Trilby"  and  the  flood  of  novels 
since  its  appearance  (1894)  treating  the  subconscious;  or  of  the 
small  but  significant  group  of  works  inspired  by  the  tenets 
of  Christian  Science  whose  spread  M.  Cazamian  notes  on  p.  251. 
In  both  types,  Romantic  strains  blend  with  elements  supposedly 
derived  from  science  in  a  manner  possible  to  no  generation 
previous  to  our  own — not  even  to  the  age  of  Cagliostro. 

The  author  opens  a  fascinating  vista  to  the  student  of 
comparative  literature  by  pointing  out  (pp.  266  f.)  that  the 
same  rhythm,  but  with  striking  differences,  runs  through  the 
prose  and  poetry  of  virtually  all  European  nations.  So,  for 
instance,  no  one  has  to  my  knowledge  described  the  close 
analogy  between  the  tide  of  eighteenth  century  Romanticism 
in  England  and  in  Germany,  and  at  the  same  time  has  hazarded 
an  explanation  for  the  surprisingly  early  volcanic  burst  of 
emotionalism  in  the  latter  country — during  the  brief  "Storm 
and  Stress"  period  about  1770 — as  contrasted  with  the  com- 
parative sluggishness  of  the  emotional  wave  in  Great  Britain. 
Again,  nobody  has  called  attention  to  the  odd  mixture  of 
intellectuality  and  throbbing  imaginativeness  in  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge  on  the  one  hand,  and  Jean  Paul  and  Tieck  on 
the  other,  or  to  the  "contamination  of  types"  in  the  English 
Romanticists  and  at  the  same  time  in  Chateaubriand,  Alfred 
de  Vigny  and  Victor  Hugo  (cf.  E.  Barat:  "Le  style  poetique 
et  la  revolution  romantique."  Paris  1904) ;  or,  lastly,  to  the  ele- 
ments that  affiliate  and  those  that  separate  Matthew  Arnold, 
the  Parnassiens  and  the  Heyse  group.  How  close  again  is  the 
similarity — though  in  fifty  details  they  may  be  poles  apart — 
between  Dickens  and  Gogol,  and  how  striking  the  marriage  of 
mysticism  and  realism  in  Strindberg  and  Hauptmann. 


Reviews  and  Notes  183 

The  age  of  Relativity  upon  which  we  have  entered  i»  likely 
to  prove  impatient  of  distinctions  between  "Romanticism" 
and  "Classicism"  and  to  emphasize  similarities  instead  of 
differences.  Readers  who  share  such  impatience — the  reviewer 
is  not  one  of  them — might  find  this  book  not  guiltless  of  arti- 
fice. But  even  those  who  cannot  put  unreserved  endorse- 
ment upon  every  detail  of  it,  or  who  feel — and  this  time  with 
the  reviewer — that  it  would  have  gained  by  the  elision  of  much 
material  already  familiar,  will  grant  its  wealth  of  suggestion 
and  its  importance  for  all  students  of  modern  letters. 

CAMILLO  VON  KLENZE 

College  of  the  City  of  New  York 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  THE  EDDAS  by  Halldor  Hermanns- 
son.    Islandica,  XIII,  Ithaca,  N.  Y.,  1920,  pp.  95. 

This  last  addition  to  the  very  valuable  series  Islandica, 
published  at  Cornell  University,  will  be  welcome  to  all  students 
of  Old  Norse.  Earlier  bibliographies  are  incomplete  or  out 
of  date,  and  it  will  be  a  great  help  to  the  work  in  Old  Norse 
in  general  to  have  the  bibliography  of  this  important  part  of 
the  field  brought  down  to  the  present  in  this  convenient  form. 

The  compiler  has  included  all  editions  and  translations 
of  the  Eddas  as  well  as  those  of  individual  poems;  even  para- 
phrases have  been  included.  With  regard  to  writings  on  the 
Eddas,  it  was  naturally  difficult  often  to  know  what  not  to 
include  of  the  whole  literature  on  Norse  mythology,  for  which 
the  two  Eddas  are  the  chief  source.  The  author  has  drawn 
the  line  here  so  as  to  include  only  such  writings  as  deal  directly 
with  the  history  of  the  Eddas,  their  language,  style,  and  meter, 
textual  criticism,  and  special  commentaries.  The  work  is 
of  course  not  confined  to  that  which  is  contained  in  the  Fiske 
Collection,  but  aims  to  be  .complete  within  the  field  chosen. 
I  have  not  had  the  time  to  examine  titles  minutely  with  regard 
to  this  point,  but  after  such  an  examination  as  I  have  given 
it  I  may  say  that  I  have  found  very  few  omissions.  I  would 
mention  Olive  Bray's  The  Elder  or  Poetic  Edda,  I,  Mythological 
Poems,  which,  with  the  translation  on  the  right  hand  page, 
contains  the  Old  Norse  text  on  the  left-hand  page.  The 
Bibliography  has  this  only  under  translations;  it  seems  to  me 
it  should  also  have  been  included  under  editions.  Also  Hajgstad 
and  Torp's  Gamalnorsk  Maallcera  might  have  been  listed  with 
Readers  on  page  9,  as  it  has  the  Baldrs  draumar  and  a  con- 
siderable part  of  the  Hdvamdl.  Also  I  would  have  added 
among  translations  Av  Litteraturen  fjr  1814  by  Haegstad  and 
Skard,  Christiania,  1911.  This  contains  the  Vqluspd,  pryms- 
kvi'da,  the  Second  Helgi  Hundingsbane  lay,  and  much  of  the 


184  Uhlendorf 

Hdvamdl,  pp.  1-22;  and  it  contains  several  sections  from  the 
Prose  Edda.  Among  the  translations  are  to  be  included 
DuChaillu's  of  the  Hdvamdl  (complete),  in  The  Viking  Age, 
II,  pp.  401-411,  which  also  has  some  of  the  Sigrdrifumdl 
pp.  412-413,  and  all  of  the  Godrunarkvfda,  pp.  417-421. 

I  have  found  very  few  errors:  Friedrich  H.  von  der  Hagen's 
Die  Eddalieder  von  den  Nibelungen,  1814,  was  published  at 
Breslau,  not  at  Berlin  (it  was  dedicated,  by  the  way  to  R.  Nye- 
rup  and  P.  E.  Miiller).  In  the  Index  the  references  to  this 
work  p.  15,  should  be  p.  16.  We  are  glad  to  note  the  intention 
to  supply  a  bibliography  also  of  Norse  Mythology. 

GEORGE  T.  FLOM 

Urbana,  May  31 


ENGLAND  AND  THE  ENGLISHMAN  IN  GERMAN 
LITERATURE  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 
By  John  Alexander  Kelly,  Ph.D.,  New  York,  Columbia 
University  Press,  1921,  156pp. 

ANSCHAUUNGEN  VOM  ENGLISCHEN  STAAT  UND 
VOLK  IN  DER  DEUTSCHEN  LITERATUR  DER 
LETZTEN  VIER  JAHRHUNDERTE.  1.  Teil  von 
Erasmus  bis  zu  Goethe  und  den  Romantikern.  (Sitzungs- 
ber.  d.  k.  bayr.  Akad.  d.  Wiss.,  Philos.-philol.  u.  hist.  Kl., 
Jahrg.  1918).  By  Franz  Muncker.  162  pp. 

If  to  any  nation  is  due  especial  honor  for  making  herself 
acquainted  with  the  manners  and  customs,  the  laws  and 
institutions  of  other  countries,  it  is  to  Germany.  About 
two  centuries  ago  German  travelers  in  larger  numbers  began 
to  visit  foreign  lands  in  order  to  gather  there  information  on 
the  life  of  nature  and  man.  The  resultant  descriptive  works 
are  worthy  of  study  not  only  because  they  had  a  definite  share 
in  the  liberal  education  of  the  German  of  the  better  class, 
but  also  because  they  furnish  source  material  to  the  ethno- 
grapher and  student  of  history.1 

To  present  a  digest  of  the  opinions  of  Germans  concerning 
eighteenth  century  England  is  the  task  that  Dr.  John  Alexander 
Kelly  set  himself  in  the  present  monograph.  The  author  uses 

1  Cf.  Archenholz'  Annalen  der  Brittischen  GeschicJite  v.  XVI,  pp.  111-112. 
"Only  a  long  series  of  years  taken  together  can  furnish  material  for  a  history  of 
morals  and  customs;  the  annalist  can  only  render  contributions,  to  which  the 
philosopher,  the  'moralist'  and  every  thinking  reader  is  not  indifferent,  and 
which  are  of  the  utmost  significance  to  the  historian.  The  constant  reiteration 
of  virtues  and  vices,  of  follies  and  crimes,  of  foolish  wagers  and  peculiar  testa- 
ments, of  robbery  and  murder,  of  luxury  and  amusements,  points  to  traits 
which,  though  individual  and  peculiar  in  themselves,  furnish,  nevertheless, 
results  of  national  significance." 


Reviews  and  Notes  185 

the  term  "German  literature,"  as  it  appears  in  the  title,  in 
the  very  widest  sense  of  the  word;  in  fact,  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  his  bibliography  is  made  up  of  works  of  description, 
diaries,  and  annals,  which  could,  with  but  few  exceptions, 
be  found  with  little  difficulty.2  Had  the  writer  entered  deeper 
into  the  polite  literature  of  Germany,  he  would  have  found  an 
abundance  of  material,  which,  though  not  always  based  upon 
personal  observation,  was  nevertheless  instrumental  in  forming 
public  opinion.  This  shortcoming  would,  however,  be  far 
more  regrettable  did  we  not  have  the  excellent  work  of  an 
eminent  German  scholar  to  fill  the  gap  left  open  by  Mr.  Kelly's 
otherwise  painstaking  and  readable  dissertation. 

In  the  midst  of  the  great  war  Professor  Franz  Muncker 
published  his  comprehensive  monograph  which  covers  not 
only  the  eighteenth  century,  but  goes  back  as  far  as  the  time 
of  Erasmus.  As  Mr.  Kelly  was  apparently  not  acquainted  with 
this  work,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  here  to  summarize  its 
chief  results.  The  investigator  confesses  that  he  experienced 
some  difficulty  in  presenting  a  composite  picture  of  the  widely 
scattered  opinions  gathered  in  his  study.  Many  of  the  writers, 
moreover,  had  never  visited  the  British  Isles;  some  were  in- 
terested primarily  in  the  humanistic  sciences,  others  in  moral 
conditions  and  legal  institutions,  and  others  again  in  the  study 
of  philosophy  and  religion;  many  were  biased  by  their  esthetic 
and  literary  views,  and  others  by  political  prejudices.  But 
some  traits,  recognized  by  most  writers,  stand  out  in  bold 
relief. 

The  Englishman  according  to  Professor  Muncker  is  described 
as  being  cold  and  unapproachable  like  his  foggy  isles,  often 
displeasingly  demure,  never  losing  sight  of  the  practical  and 
material  side  of  life,  acquiring  in  early  childhood  a  sense  of 
reality,  which  guides  the  youth  into  channels  of  a  rationalistic 
mode  of  thought.  He  ranks  high  in  scientific  attainments, 
and  especially  in  their  application  to  the  mechanical  arts  and 
to  manufacturing.  An  innate  desire  for  wealth  gained  often 
at  the  expense  of  ideals  and  of  moral  standards,  has  advanced 
English  trade  to  such  an  extent  that  it  assumed  immense 
proportions.  To  be  masters  of  the  seas,  to  establish  and  main- 
tain colonies,  regardless  of  the  means  employed  and  incon- 
siderate of  the  rights  of  other  countries,  are  the  chief  endeavors 
of  the  English  as  a  nation.  An  excessive  patriotic  pride, 
which  has  accomplished  wonders  in  their  history,  makes  them 
at  the  same  time  self-sufficient  and  unsympathetic  toward 

2  Among  the  material  overlooked  by  Mr.  Kelly  are  the  letters  on  English 
conditions  and  tlie  English  character  by  such  keen  observers  as  Justus  Erich 
Bollmann  contained  in  Friedrich  Kapp's  monograph  Justus  Erich  Bottmann, 
Ein  Lebensbild  aus  zwei  Weltteilen.  Berlin  1880,  and  Helferich  Peter  Sturz, 
Schriflen,  Leipzig,  1779.— Editor. 


Uhlendorf 

foreign  countries.  Enjoying  greater  political  freedom  than  the 
Germans,  they  often  incited  envy  among  German  writers, 
many  of  whom  admired  them  without,  however,  loving  them; 
and  again,  considered  them  praiseworthy  as  a  people  but 
not  as  a  nation.  It  is  furthermore  a  strange  fact  that  some 
of  Germany's  greatest  writers  had  in  their  youth  nothing 
but  praise  for  England,  while  in  later  years  they  began  a  cru- 
sade against  Anglomania  in  Germany.  Many  claimed  that 
Germany  need  learn  only  one  trait  from  Great  Britain — national 
pride,  and  the  resultant  appreciation  of  their  own  national 
attainments. 

The  greater  part  of  these  traits  are  recorded  also  in  Mr. 
Kelly's  work.  However,  this  author  seems  to  have  a  preference 
for  the  mere  juxtaposition  of  statements  not  infrequently  dis- 
connected, in  the  choice  of  which  he  appears  to  have  been 
guided  by  predilection  rather  than  by  impartial  judgment. 
In  his  reading  he  must  have  met  with  remarks,  descriptions, 
and  statistical  data  which  evidently  were  not  to  his  liking, 
and  which  he  consequently  disregarded.  Before  me  I  have 
twenty-two  volumes  of  the  works  of  Archenholz,  a  scholar, 
who  no  doubt  was  more  familiar  with  English  conditions 
than  any  German  writer  of  his  time.  He  was,  in  fact,  occasion- 
ally quoted  with  approval  by  English  papers,3  and  was  frequently 
reproiached  in  Germany  with  partiality  for  England.4  From 
these  twenty-two  volumes  a  special  dissertation  might  be 
written  that  would  have  very  little  resemblance  to  Mr.  Kelly's 
study.  There  is  indeed  so  much  unused  material  of  vital 
interest  to  be  found  in  these  volumes  that  one  would  readily 
forget  to  expatiate,  as  Mr.  Kelly  has  done,  in  a  separate  long 
chapter  on  a  trip  from  Harwich  to  London,  or  to  devote  two 
and  one-half  pages  to  landscape  gardening. 

England  was  commonly  praised  for  the  liberty  prevailing 
there,  and  no  doubt,  much  of  this  praise  was  justified.6  Yet 
there  is  at  least  one  writer  who  has  good  reasons  to  record 
the  following:  (Annalen  V,  408-9):  "It  is  incredible  with 
how  much  shortsightedness  even  respectable  German  scholars 
view  the  steadily  growing  despotism  in  England,  and  how 
they  can  still  conceive  of  British  liberty  as  it  was  a  generation 
ago.  No  reader  of  these  annals  will  fall  into  this  error,  since 
striking  incidents,  compiled  by  the  hundreds,  give  incontestable 
proof  of  the  extraordinary  restrictions  placed  upon  English 

» Annalen  v.  X,  pp.  267-8. 

4  Ibid.  v.  I,  p.  328;  v.  IX,  p.  437. 

5  How  any  German  writer  could  refrain  from  censuring  the  abominable 
custom  of  "pressing,"  especially  when  it  happened  frequently  that  a  father  was 
torn  from  his  family  (Cf.  England  und  I  (alien,  2.  ed.  Ill,  388-9;  Annalen  V, 
44-57)  the  reviewer  is  at  a  loss  to  understand. 


Reviews  and  Notes  187 

liberty,  once  so  righteously  praised."6  One  of  the  results 
of  this  regime,  curtailing  the  Englishman's  liberty,  is  the 
restriction  of  the  freedom  of  the  press.  "Never  have  those 
in  power,"  says  Archenholz  (V,  120),  "tried  so  zealously  to 
punish  bold  opinions,  and  to  prosecute  writers  on  libel  charges, 
as  in  the  present  period."  (1790.)7  The  fact  that  the  publisher 
of  Paine's  Rights  of  Men  was  sentenced  to  four  years'  imprison- 
ment in  1793  may  suffice  as  an  example  (XI,  41).  While  in  the 
American  colonies  the  freedom  of  the  press  had  been  successfully 
championed  by  Johann  Peter  Zenger,  a  German  printer  of 
New  York,  as  early  as  1735,  the  English  bill,  granting  similar 
freedom  was  not  passed  until  1792. 

Mr.  Kelly's  summary  of  German  opinion  concerning  English 
administration  of  justice  must  also  be  taken  cum  grano  salis. 
Archenholz,  whom  the  author  mentions  as  one  of  his  three 
most  freely  quoted  sources,  points  amongst  many  others 
to  the  following  significant  example:  During  the  April  session  at 
Warwick  the  court  pronounced  ten  death  sentences,8  five  of 
which  were  passed  on  boys  between  the  ages  of  fourteen  and 
nineteen.  Four  convicted  prisoners,  thirteen  to  seventeen 
years  of  age,  were  sentenced  to  be  transported  to  Botany 
Bay,9  that  most  horrible  colony  of  criminals,  where  entire 
shiploads  of  prisoners  were  dumped,10  without,  however, 
diminishing  crime  of  every  description  in  the  home  country.11 
According  to  the  court  registers  there  were  in  Newgate  alone 
during  the  fiscal  year  of  1785  no  less  than  1796  inmates  held 
for  criminal  offenses.  Of  these  68  were  sentenced  to  death. 
During  the  following  year  the  number  increased  to  2007,  87 
of  whom  were  sentenced  to  the  gallows.  In  October  1789  there 
were  16,409  inmates  in  English  prisons.  A  very  large  number 
of  these  were,  to  be  sure,  imprisonments  for  debt  amounting 
to  more  than  five  pounds  (Cf.  V,  183;  VI,  67;  IX,  86-97).  In 
order,  however,  to  comprehend  the  evil  in  its  full  magnitude, 
it  must  be  remembered  that  in  most  prisons  both  sexes  were 
thrown  together  promiscuously. 

In  1792  Archenholz  describes  the  moral  conditions  in  Eng- 
land as  follows  (IX,  399):  "The  British  virtues,  which  formerly 
stood  out  so  brilliantly  in  the  moral  history  of  Europe,  have  for 
the  greater  part  ceased  to  exist  as  a  cause  for  admiration  of 
that  nation.  The  love  for  a  life  of  pleasure  and  luxury,  which  is 
steadily  growing  more  prevalent  in  England,  the  great  diminu- 
tion of  individual  liberty,  and  the  general  retrogression  of 

•Cf.  Annalen  V,  120;  VII,  5;  VIII,  379;  IX,  33-36;  X,  437;  XIII,  462. 
7Cf.  Ibid.  V,  119-128;  IX,  129-140. 
8  Cf.  Ibid.  IX,  157,  160,  182,  184. 
•  Cf.  Ibid.  XI,  351. 

10  Cf.  Ibid.  IV,  248;  VIII,  352-62;  IX,  433. 

11  Cf.  Ibid.  Ill,  258,  VI,  67;  VII,  226. 


188  Griffith 

culture,  cause  the  distinct  and  well-defined  virtues,  once  the 
pride  of  Britain,  to  be  but  rare  phenomena  now.  There  remain 
only  mediocre  virtues;  the  vices,  however,  are  assuming  extra- 
ordinary proportions,  so  that  we  are  forced  to  record  them  more 
fully."  Again  scores  of  examples  might  be  cited  to  prove  that 
corruption  and  theft,  assaults  and  murder,  child  stealing, 
adultery  and  prostitution,12  etc.  had  increased  to  such  dimen- 
sions toward  the  close  of  the  century,  that  the  reviewer  wonders 
what  reason  Mr.  Kelly  had  to  pass  them  over  in  silence. 

Mr.  Kelly  further  cites  a  number  of  cases  in  support  of  the 
view  that  religious  tolerance  was  reigning  supreme  in  Great 
Britain.  He  seems  to  be  ignorant  of  the  persecutions  under 
which  the  so-called  dissenters  suffered  in  the  eighties  and  nine- 
ties. Archenholz  refers  to  cases  of  fanaticism  that  are  quite 
medieval  in  character.13 

I  have  mentioned  in  the  foregoing  some  of  the  phases 
entirely  overlooked  by  the  author.  Others  mentioned  by  Mr. 
Kelly  appear  in  a  different  light  to  the  reviewer  after  spending 
weeks  with  Archenholz. 

In  conclusion  it  should  be  remembered  that  a  work  like  the 
one  under  discussion  requires  not  only  extensive  reading,  but 
above  all  sound  judgment  and  critical  ability.  To  state  that 
two  authors  agree  on  a  certain  point  while  a  third  writer  dis- 
agrees, does  not  suffice;  it  is  necessary  to  make  at  least  an 
attempt  to  discover  the  reason  for  this  difference  of  judgment. 
Moreover,  the  opinion  which  one  nation  forms  of  another  is 
a  matter  of  relativity.  In  order  fully  to  comprehend  German 
opinion  of  England  and  Englishmen  in  the  eighteenth  century 
it  is  necessary  to  know  a  great  deal  more  about  contemporary 
German  conditions,  the  basis  of  comparison,  than  Mr.  Kelly 
has  chosen  to  convey  to  his  readers. 

B.  A.  UHLENDORP 

University  of  Illinois 


TONY  ASTON'S  FOOL'S  OPERA 

In  discussing  the  date  of  the  Fool's  Opera  in  his  brochure 
on  Tony  Aston  (1920,  pp.  41,  f),  Dr.  Nicholson  conjectures 
that  publication  occurred  in  the  year  1730.  Professor  Graves, 
in  his  running  comment  upon  Dr.  Nicholson's  book  (Jour.  E. 
and  G.  Phil.  July,  1921),  devotes  a  paragraph  to  the  date 
without  settling  it,  quoting  several  authorities,  who  hover 
between  1730  and  1731. 

The  date  can  be  fixed.  The  Fool's  Opera  was  published 
on  April  1,  1731 — whether  the  joke  was  accidental  or  inten- 

aEng.  undltal.  II,  173-232;  Annalen  V,  98,  132-139,  173,  332,  341-9;  VII> 
12-14;  IX,  433;  XI,  375-89,  XII,  148-160;  XIII,  359,  365. 
» Ibid.  VII,  102  ff,  153,  157;  IX,  76-79,  402-5. 


Reviews  and  Notes  189 

tional.  Both  the  Grub-street  Journal  and  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine  in  their  lists  of  new  books  place  the  Opera  first  of 
the  three  books  published  that  day.  (I  think  the  Magazine 
merely  cribbed  Grub's  list,  in  this  case.)  Both  give  the  title 
in  a  very  brief  form,  and  state  the  price,  6d. 

The  Monthly  Chronicle  arranges  the  notices  in  its  "Register 
of  Books"  in  groups  under  subject  headings,  not  chronologically. 
In  the  April  list  No.  50  is:  "The  Fools  Opera:  Or,  The  Taste 
of  the  Age.  Written  by  Mat.  Medley.  And  perform'd  by 
his  Company  in  Oxford.  Humkinbuz,  Pollickemin,  Bam- 
boosleos,  Gayrichem,  alwrong.  To  which  is  prefix'd,  A  Sketch 
of  the  Author's  Life,  written  by  himself.  Printed  for  T.  Payne; 
price  6d."  The  information  supplied  here  is  slightly  fuller 
than  that  in  the  "full  title"  quoted  by  Dr.  Nicholson.  The 
Tom  Thumbish  cognomens  (probably  the  members  of  "his 
Company")  look  like  the  dramatis  personae  of  the  Opera, 
but  they  vary  from  the  list  of  Dr.  Nicholson. 

The  Chronicle  had  an  elaborate  system  for  indicating 
whether  a  book  was  a  second  or  later  edition,  part  of  a  con- 
troversy, etc.  It  leaves  the  Fool's  Opera  unmarked,  indicating 
thus  that  this  was  the  first  edition. 

R.  H.  GRIFFITH 

The  University  of  Texas 


DIE  HEIMAT  DER  ADRESSATEN 
DES  HELIAND 


WAS  SAGEN  PRAEFATIO  UND  VERSUS  UBER  DIE 
HEIMAT  DER  ADRESSATEN? 

Ein  geheimnisvolles  Stuck,  diese  Praefatio,  so  recht  ein 
Eris-Apfel  der  Germanisten,  seit  ihrer  Auffindung  bis  jetzt. 

Die  fiir  unsere  Untersuchung  der  "Echtheit"  der  Praefatio, 
d.h.  ihrer  Zusammengehorigkeit  mit  dem  Heliand,  wichtigsten 
Stellen  der  Praefatio  seien  hier  zunachst  abgedruckt,  (und  zwar 
nach  Behaghel,  Heliand  und  Genesis,  Halle  1910),  um  die 
Moglichkeit  zu  gewahren,  die  Behauptungen  der  Forscher  und 
unsere  eigenen  Schritt  fiir  Schritt  an  der  Quelle  nachzupriifen. 
Der  Kiirze  und  Einfachheit  halber  bezeichnen  wir  den  Prosateil 
der  Praefatio  mit  A,  die  Versus  mit  V,  teilen  aber  A  wiederum 
in  zwei  Unterteile,  deren  letzter,  A  2,  mit  "Ferunt"  beginnt. 

PRAEFATIO  IN  LIB  RUM  ANTIQUUM  LINGUA 
SAXON  1C  A  CONSCRIPTUM: 

DER  TEXT 

A. 

1.  ...  Nam  cum  divinorum  librorum  solummodo  literati 
atque  eruditi  prius  notitiam  haberent,  eius  studio  atque  imperil 
tempore,  sed  Dei  omnipotentia  atque  inchoantia  mirabiliter 
auctum  est  nuper,  ut  cunctus  populus  suae  ditioni  subditus, 
Theudisca  loquens  lingua,  eiusdem  divinae  lectionis  nihilominus 
notionem  acceperit. 

Praecepit  namque  cuidam  viro  de  gente  Saxonum,  qui  apud 
suos  non  ignobilis  vates  habebatur,  ut  vetus  ac  novum  Testa- 
mentum  in  Germanicam  linguam  poetice  transferre  studeret, 
quatenus  non  solum  literatis,  verum  etiam  illiteratis,  sacra 
divinorum  praeceptorum  lectio  panderetur.  Qui  iussis  Imperi- 
alibus  libenter  obtemperans  nimirum  eo  facilius,  quo  desuper 

191 


192  Metzenthin 

admonitus  est  prius,  ad  tarn  difficile  tanque  arduum  se  statim 
contulit  opus,  potius  tamen  confidens  de  adiutorio  obtemperan- 
tiae,  quam  de  suae  ingenio  parvitatis.  Igitur  a  mundi  creatione 
initium  capiens,  iuxta  historiae  veritatem  queque  excellen- 
tiora  summatim  decerpens,  interdum  quaedam  ubi  commo- 
dum  duxit,  mystico  sensu  depingens,  ad  finem  totius  veteris  ac 
novi  Testament!  interpretando  more  poetico  satis  faceta 
eloquentia  perduxit.  Quod  opus  tarn  lucide  tamque  eleganter 
iuxta  idioma  illius  linguae  composuit,  ut  audientibus  ac  intelli- 
,  gentibus  non  minimam  sui  decoris  dulcedinem  praestet.  Iuxta 
morem  vero  illius  poematis  omne  opus  per  vitteas  distinxit, 
quas  nos  lectiones  vel  sententias  possumus  apellare. 

2.  Ferunt  eundem  Vatem  dum  adhuc  artis  huius  penitus 
esset  ignarus,  in  somnis  esse  admonitum,  ut  Sacrae  legis  prae- 
cepta  ad  cantilenam  propriae  linguae  congrua  modulatione 
coaptaret.  Quam  admonitionem  nemo  veram  esse  ambigit, 
qui  huius  carminis  notitiam  studiumque  eius  compositoris  atque 
desiderii  anhelationem  habuerit.  Tanta  namque  copia  ver- 
borum,  tantaque  excellentia  sensuum  resplendet,  ut  cuncta 
Theudisca  poemata  suo  vincat  decore.  Clare  quidem  pronun- 
ciatione,  sed  clarius  intellectu  lucet.  Sic  nimirum  omnis  divina 
agit  scriptura,  ut  quanto  quis  earn  ardentius  appetat,  tanto 
magis  cor  inquirentis  quadam  dulcedinis  suavitate  demulceat. 
Ut  uero  studiosi  lectoris  intentio  facilius  quaeque  ut  gesta  sunt 
possit  invenire,  singulis  sententiis,  iuxta  quod  ratio  huius  operis 
postularat,  capitula  annotata  sunt. 

Versus  de  poeta  et  interprete  huius  codicis. 

1     Fortunam  studiumque  viri  laetosque  labores, 

carmine  privatam  delectat  promere  vitam, 

qui  dudum  impresso  terram  vertebat  aratro, 

intentus  modico  et  victum  quaerebat  in  agro, 
5    contentus  casula  fuerat,  cui  culmea  testa, 

postesque  acclives  sonipes  sua  lumina  nunquam 

obtrivit,  tantum  armentis  sua  cura  studebat. 

o  foelix  nimium  proprio  qui  vivere  censu 

praevaluit  fomitemque  ardentem  extinguere  dirae 
10    invidiae,  pacemque  animi  gestare  quietam. 

gloria  non  ilium,  non  alta  palatia  regum, 

divitiae  mundi,  non  dira  cupido  movebat. 

invidiosus  erat  nulli  nee  invidus  illi. 

securus  latam  scindebat  vomere  terram 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  193 

15    spemque  suam  in  modico  totam  statuebat  agello. 

cum  sol  per  quadrum  coepisset  spargere  mundum 

luce  sua  radios,  atris  cedentibus  umbris, 

egerat  exiguo  paucos  menando  iuvencos 

depellens  tecto  vasti  per  pascua  saltus. 
20    laetus  et  attonitus  larga  pascebat  in  herba, 

cumque  fatigatus  patulo  sub  tegmine,  fessa 

convictus  somno  tradidisset  membra  quieto, 

mox  divina  polo  resonans  vox  labitur  alto, 

"o  quid  agis  Vates,  cur  cantus  tempora  perdis? 
25    incipe  divinas  recitare  ex  ordine  leges, 

transferre  in  propriam  clarissima  dogmata  linguam." 

nee  mora  post  tanti  fuerat  miracula  dicti. 

qui  prius  agricola,  mox  et  fuit  ille  poeta: 

tune  cantus  nimio  Vates  perfusus  amore, 
30    metrica  post  docta  dictavit  carmina  lingua. 

coeperat  a  prima  nascentis  origine  mundi, 

quinque  relabentis  percurrens  tempora  secli, 

venit  ad  adventum  Christi,  qui  sanguine  mundum 

faucibus  eripuit  tetri  miseratus  Averni. 

Der  Fundort 

Die  Praefatio  findet  sich  zuerst  erwahnt  in  der  2.  Ausgabe, 
S.  93  f.,  der  bekannten  Schrift:  "Catalogus  testium  veritatis," 
v.  Jahre  1562,  des  Flacius  Illyricus,  eines  Schulers  Luthers  und 
Melanchthons,  der  iibrigens  auch  Otfrids  Krist  kannte — ,  aber 
ohne  Angabe  seiner  Quelle.  Windisch  und  andere  nehmen  an, 
dass  Flacius  bei  seinen  Forschungsreisen  durch  die  Kloster- 
bibliotheken  eine  Handschrif  t  des  Heliand  gesehen  habe,  sicher 
nicht  den  Cottonianus,  der  stets  in  England  blieb,  schwerlich 
auch  eine  der  anderen  uns  bekannten,  jedoch  ohne  sie  zu  lesen. 

Spater  finden  wir  die  Praefatio  ofters  erwahnt,  zunachst  i.J. 
1615  in  den  "Opusc.  et  Epist.  Hincmari  Remensis  Archiepi- 
scopi"  des  Cordesius  (Paris)  S.  634  ff.,  und  dann  an  drei  anderen 
Stellen,  deren  letzte  des  Joh.  G.  Eccard  "Commentarii  de  Rebus 
Franciae  Orientalis  et  Episcopatus  Wirceburgensis" — Wirce- 
burgi  1729  II  325 — ist.  Diese  Praefatio  gibt  sich, — so  lesen  wir 
in  Heynes  Besprechung  des  Windischen  Werkes,  "Der  Heliand 
und  seine  Quellen,"1  "als  das  Vorwort  eines  unbekannten  Zeit- 
genossen  Ludwigs  des  Frommen  zu  der  Abschrift  eines  grossen 
altsachsischen  biblisch-epischen  Werkes  aus  und  erzahlt,  dass 

»Z./.  d.  Ph.,  I,  276. 


194  Metzenthin 

Ludwig  der  Fromme  auf  den  Gedanken  gekommen  sei,  den 
Ungelehrten  seines  Volkes,  die  nur  die  deutsche  Sprache  spra- 
chen,  die  Heilige  Schrift  naher  zu  bringen;  in  Ausfiihrung 
dieser  Absicht  habe  er  sich  an  einen  Mann  aus  dem  Volke  der 
Sachsen  gewandt,  der  bei  den  seinen  fiir  einen  nicht  unberiihm- 
ten  Dichter  gegolten  habe,  denselben  beauftragend,  sowohl  das 
Alte  wie  das  Neue  Testament  in  seine  Sprache  poetisch  zu 
iibertragen.  Der  Dichter,  der  schon  vorher  eine  Mahnung 
von  oben  bekommen,  habe  sich  deshalb  um  so  bereitwilliger  auf 
des  Kaisers  Geheiss  sogleich  an  das  schwierige  und  muhevolle 
Werk  gemacht,  habe  mit  der  Weltschopfung  begonnen  und 
alles  bedeutende  in  seinen  Hauptpunkten,  der  geschichtlichen 
Wahrheit  gemass,  dargestellt,  bisweilen  auch  einiges,  wo  es 
ihm  passend  erschienen,  mystisch  behandelt.  So  habe  er  die 
poetische  Bearbeitung  des  ganzen  Alten  und  Neuen  Testaments 
gliicklich  zu  Ende  gefiihrt  und  ein  Werk  geschaffen,  welches 
sich  durch  Anmut  und  Schonheit  der  Darstellung,  durch 
Fiille  der  Worte  und  Vortrefflichkeit  d<er  Gedanken  so  aus- 
zeichne,  "ut  audientibus  ac  intelligentibus  non  minimam  sui 
decoris  dulcedinem  praestat."  Nach  seiner  Weise  habe  der 
Dichter  das  ganze  Werk  in  "vitteas"  eingeteilt,  welches  Wort 
der  unbekannte  Vorredner  durch  "lectiones  vel  sententias" 
iibersetzt.  Ausserdem  teilt  derselbe  Vorredner,  aber  nur  als 
Sage,  mit,  dass  die  vorhin  erwahnte  Mahnung  von  Oben  dem 
Dichter  als  Mahnung  im  Schlafe  zugekommen  sei,  und  zwar  zu 
einer  Zeit,  wo  er  der  Dichtkunst  noch  ganz  unkundig  gewesen." 

tiber  die  "Versus"  spricht  sich  Heyne  sodann  folgender- 
massen  aus: 

"Unmittelbar  auf  diese  Praef atio- f olgt  in  dem  "Catalogus" 
des  Flacius  unter  der  Uberschrif  t  "versus  de  poeta  et  interprete 
huius  codicis"  ein  Lobgedicht  in  Hexametern  auf  jenen  biblisch- 
epischen  Dichter  von  einem  ebenfalls  unbekannten  Verfasser. 
In  diesem  Gedichte  hat  die  in  der  Praefatio  erwahnte  Sage 
schon  eine  Veranderung  und  Erweiterung  gefunden,  bei  welcher 
die  Aufforderung  des  Kaisers  an  den  sachsischen  Dichter 
ganzlich  verschwunden  ist,  indem  aus  dem  "viro  de  gente 
Saxonum  qui  apud  suos  non  ignobilis  vates  habebatur,"  ein 
schlichter  Ackersmann  geworden  ist,  welcher  einst  beim  Weiden 
seiner  wenigen  Kinder  auf  einer  Waldtrift  unter  dem  Schatten 
eines  Baumes  eingeschlafen  und  im  Schlafe  durch  eine  Stimme 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  195 

vom  Himmel  aufgefordert  sei,  die  gottlichen  Gesetze  in  seiner 
eigenen  Sprache  zu  besingen.  Nach  der  Schilderung  seines 
einfachen  landwirtlichen  Lebens  und  jener  Traumerscheinung, 
die  ihn  zu  dem  heiligen  Gesange  aufgefordert,  schliesst  das 
Gedicht," — namlich  mit  den  wichtigen  Versen  28-34. 

Die  Beurteilung 

Die  grosse  Streitfrage  ist  von  Anfang  an  gewesen:  ob  und 
inwieweit  die  Praefatio  sich  auf  den  Heliand  bezieht;  eine 
untergeordnete  die:  ob  und  inwieweit  Interpolationen  in  der 
Praefatio  anzunehmen  sind  oder  ob  gar  die  ganze  Praefatio  eine 
Falschung  des  16.  Jahrhunderts  sei. 
a.  Ansichten  fiber  die  Praefatio  VOR  Windisch: 

Bezweifler  oder  Gegner  der  Zugehorigkeit  der  Praefatio 
zum  Heliand  sind  Schmeller,  doch  ohne  durchschlagenden 
Grund,  Puening2  ihm  folgend,  und  Kone,  in  seiner  Heliand- 
Ausgabe,  sich  auf  Puening  stiitzend;  ferner  Ensf elder,  dessen 
franzosische  Dissertation3  sich  wissenschaftlich-skeptisch  auch 
gegen  die  Liutger-Hypothese  Schmellers  und  gegen  einen 
Laiendichter  des  Heliand  (vates,  skop)  aussprach.4 

Alle  anderen  Germanisten  glaubten  an  die  wenigstens  teil- 
weise  Echtheit  der  Praefatio:  als  erster  Eccard  selbst,  auch 
Klopstock,  der  sich  mit  grossen  Planen  liber  den  Heliand  trug5 
sowie  die  Altmeister  Grimm,  Lachmann  und  Middendorf6  mit 
Beschrankung  auf  den  Prosateil  auch  Griinhagen,7  der  betont, 
dass  es  undenkbar  sei,  dass  ein  Meisterwerk,  wie  es  in  der 
Praefatio  geschildert  ist,  ganzlich  verloren  gegangen  sei,  der 
aber  die  alttestamentliche  Dichtung  fur  ein  zu  gewaltiges 
Unternehmen  neben  der  neutestamentlichen  halt,  als  dass  ein 
Verfasser  beide  hatte  vollenden  konnen. 

Zarncke8  halt  die  Versus  und  den  zweiten  Teil  des  Prosa- 
stiicks  fiir  Interpolationen;  letzterer  sei  hinzugefiigt,  um  den 

1 1851,  im  Programm  des  Gymnasiums  zu  Recklinghausen. 

1  Strassburg  1853. 

4  vgl.  dariiber  Windisch,  a.  a.  O.,  S.  3. 

6  s.  Sievers  Einl.  S.  16,  Anm.  3. 

*  Miinster,  1862,  t)ber  die  Zeit  der  Abfassung  des  Heliand. 

7  In  seinem  "Otfrid  und  Heliand,  eine  historische  Parallele,"  v.  J.  1855, 
Schulprogr. 

8  "Berichte  der  Koniglichen  Gesellschaft  der    Wissenschaften,"    1865, 
"t)ber  die  Praefatio  und  die  Versus  de  poeta." 


196  Metzenthin 

ersten  Teil  in  Einklang  zu  bringen  mit  den  Versus,  die  er  fiir 
eine  Nachahmung  der  Beda-Erzahlung  (Hist.  Eccl.  IV  24) 
betr.  Caedmon  erklart.  Jedoch  halt  er  an  dem  Gedanken 
fest,  dass  unser  Heliand-Dichter  auch  das  Alte  Testament, 
gemass  der  Praefatio,  bearbeitet  habe,  doch  sei  diese  Dichtung 
verloren  gegangen. 

b.  Ansichten  iiber  die  Praefatio  SEIT  Windisch. — 

Zarnckes  Anregung  verdanken  wir  z.  T.  Ernst  Windisch's 
fur  die  ganze  Heliand-Forschung  grundlegende  Arbeit  v.  J. 
1868,  "Der  Heliand  und  seine  Quellen,"  welche  auch  das  Problem 
der  Praefatio  eingehend  erortert.  Er  erwahnt9  die  Vermu- 
tung  Eccards,  dass  Badurad,  der  zweite  Bischof  von  Pader- 
born,  ein  in  Wuerzburg  ausgebildeter  Sachse,  der  Verfasser  des 
Heliand  sei.  Er  sucht  nachzuweisen,10  wie  nichts  in  den  nicht- 
interpolierten  Zeilen  der  Praefatio  unserm  Heliand  widerspricht, 
ausser  der  Bemerkung,  dass  der  Heliand-Dichter  auch  das  Alte 
Testament  bearbeitet  habe.  Letzeres  erklart  er  fiir  ausge- 
schlossen,  u.  a.  hinweisend  auf  Heliand  v.  2886  -8  u.  v.  38  ff., 
wo  Gottes  Sohn  auch  als  Schopfer  Himmels  und  der  Erden 
sowie  als  Lenker  der  Weltschicksale  dargestellt  wird,  was 
offensichtlich  dem  Alten  Testament  widerspricht.  Ich  fiige 
hinzu,  dass  es  auch  dem  Neuen  Testament  widerspricht  und 
sogar  Joh.  1,  wo  der  "Logos"  doch  nur  als  Vermittler  der  Schop- 
fung  geschildert  wird,  aber  nicht  als  bleibender  Weltregierer. 
Auch  ist  mir  unzweifelhaft,  dass  unser  Heliand-Dichter,  der 
systematisch  alle  Anspielung  auf  das  Alte  Testament  vermeidet, 
der  die  Juden  viel  unsympatischer  als  selbst  die  roemischen 
Gegner  Jesu  schildert,  der  nicht  nur  die  Ftihrer  und  Verf  iihrer 
der  Juden  streiten  lasst  mit  dem  Heiland,  sondern  das  ganze 
Volk  als  seine  wuterfiillten  Gegner  darstellt, — dass  dieser 
Heliand-Dichter  unmoglich  das  Alte  Testament  bearbeitet 
haben  kann,  wo  die  Juden  als  das  "auserwahlte  Gottes volk" 
erscheinen,  die  mit  mehr  oder  weniger  Berechtigung  alle  anderen 
Volker  als  "unrein"  und  widergottlich  verachten. — 

Auf  S.  23  jedoch  erklart  Windisch,  dass  der  Verfasser  der 
Praefatio,  ein  Franke,  niemals  den  sachsischen  Heliand  gesehen 
hat,  daher  seine  Inhalts-Anga.be  des  Heliand  fiir  uns  ganz 

•  a.  a.  O.,  S.  10. 
10  a.  a.  O.,  S.  12-16. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  197 

wertlos  sei.  Ausserdem  irre  ja  auch  die  Praefatio  in  ihrer 
Behauptung  betreffs  des  "ganzen  Neuen  Testaments,"  falls 
nicht,  was  undenkbar  sei,  auch  noch  ein  dritter  Teil  des  Heliand, 
enthaltend  die  Apostelgeschichte  und  die  Briefe  des  Neuen 
Testaments,  existiert  habe. 

Windisch  schliesst  (S.  24)  mit  der  Behauptung,  dass  der 
Verfasser  der  Versus  wenigstens  den  Anfang  des  Heliand  gelesen 
habe,  dass  aber  durch  den  angelsachsischen  Bearbeiter  der 
Praefatio  Legenden  liber  Caedmon  mit  Sagen  iiber  den 
Heliand-Dichter  vermischt  oder  vertauscht  wurden,  wobei 
Windisch  ausdriicklich  auf  seine  Ubereinstimmung  mit  Griin- 
hagen11  hinweist. 

Moritz  Heyne  in  seiner  Besprechung  des  Windischen 
Buches12  erklart  die  beiden  Stiicke  der  Praefatio  (A  und  V) 
fur  echt,  d.h.  nicht  Falschungen  des  16.  Jahrhunderts,  doch 
scheidet  er  mit  Zarncke  und  Windisch  eine  Reihe  von  Satzen 
als  Interpolationen  aus.  Auch  haben  nach  ihm  A  und  V  ver- 
schiedene  Verfasser,  die  beide  aus  der  Tradition  schopfen  und 
nicht  urkundliche  Nachricht  geben.  Die  Hauptfrage 
jedoch,  namlich,  ob  die  Praefatio  sich  auf  den  Heliand  bezieht, 
bejaht  Heyne,  sowohl  fiir  A  als  fur  V.  A  sei  von  einem 
Franken  verfasst,  der  als  solcher  mehr  Interesse  an  dem  fran- 
kischen  Kaiser  als  an  dem  sachsischen  Dichter  nahm,  iibrigens 
das  Gedicht  bloss  von  Horensagen  kenne. 

"Was  aber,"  so  schreibt  Heyne13  "beide  Dokumente  (A  und 
V)  von  dem  Gedichte  (dem  Heliand)  selbst  berichten,  muss  als 
historisch  angenommen  werden"  (!)  und:14  "Die  Praefatio  sowohl 
wie  die  Versus  gehen  auf  den  Heliand.  Sie  berichten  unabhangig 
von  einander  ungenaues  iiber  das  Gedicht,  nach  Massgabe 
ihrer  eigenen  ungeniigenden  Kenntnis  da  von."  Auffallend  1st 
nun,  dass  Heyne,  trotz  dieser  Pramissen  und  gegen  Windisch, 
den  Dichter  des  Heliand  fiir  einen  Geistlichen,  und  zwar  aus 
Fulda,  erklart,  im  scharfsten  Gegensatz  zu  dem,  was  die 
Praefatio  selbst  deutlich  sagt. 

11  vgl.  sein  friiher  erwahntes:  "Otfrid  und  Heliand"  v.  J.  1855. 
"Z.  f.  d.  Ph.,  1,275-91. 
»  a.  a.  O.,  S.  282. 
14  S.  287. 


198  Metzenthin 

Seit  Windisch  ist  der  Streit  weitergegangen.  Fur  die 
Praefatio  haben  sich  nach  ihm  die  folgenden  Gelehrten  ausge- 
sprochen:  neben  Scherer  und  Riickert,  Wackernagel15  mit  der 
Annahme,  dass  der  Schreiber  der  Versus  einen  Codex,  worin 
unser  Heliand  mit  der  Genesis  vereinigt  war,  vor  sich  hatte; 
beide  Stiicke  stammten  aber  von  verschiedenen  Dichtern. 
Interessant  ist  seine  Idee,  dass  die  Einleitung  zum  Wessobrunner 
Gebet  den  Anfang  des  verlorenen  alttestamentlichen  Epos 
gebildet  habe;  wogegen  iibrigens  Schulte  sich  ausspricht.16 

Bei  der  Wichtigkeit  der  Praefatio  f  iir  unsere  Untersuchung 
verlohnt  es  sich,  in  Kiirze  auf  Wackernagels  Artikel  einzugehen. 
Er  fragt17  in  etwas  gewundenem  Satzbau,  gegen  Windisch:18 
"Wenn  nun,  was  diese  zwei  Hauptpunkte:  die  Personlichkeit 
des  Dichters  und  die  Zeit  des  Abfassung  betrifft,  die  Praefatio 
und  die  Versus  der  Wahrheit  entsprechen, — weshalb  sollen  sie 
inbetreff  eines  dritten,  des  Umfanges  namlich,  den  das  Gedicht 
in  seiner  Vollstandigkeit  gehabt,  so  ganzlich  unglaubwiirdig 
sein?" 

Auf  diese  Frage  erwidern  wir  folgendes:  erstens  entspricht 
das,  was  Praefatio  und  besonders  die  Versus  iiber  den  einen 
Hauptpunkt,  die  Personlichkeit  des  Dichters,  sagen,  durchaus 
nicht  der  Wahrheit;  zweitens  entspricht  die  Beschreibung  des 
Heliand  in  den  Versus  unserm  wirklichen  Heliand  so  wenig,  dass 
kein  Mensch,  der  nur  die  Versus  lesen  wiirde,  von  sich  aus 
auch  nur  auf  den  Gedanken  kommen  wiirde,  dass  die  Versus 
von  unserm  Heliand  reden. 

Beides  werden  wir  weiter  unten  aus  der  Praefatio  und  den 
Versus  beweisen,  wenn  wir  am  Schluss  dieser  Ubersicht  iiber  die 
sich  widerstreitenden  Aufstellungen  der  Gelehrten  unser 
eigenes  Urteil  zu  begriinden  versuchen. 

Wackernagel19  bezeichnet  das  Alte  Testament  auch  als  einen 
durchaus  geeigneten  Gegenstand  fur  einen  epischen  Dichter, 
der  zur  Bekehrung  der  Sachsen  schreibt,  gerade  so  wie  es  fur 
die  Goten  (Ulfilas)  und  die  Angelsachsen  (Caedmon)  war, 
natiirlich  "mit  Auswahl  des  episch-anziehendsten  und  typisch 
bedeutungsvollsten."  Wenn  wir  nun  aber  in  unserer  Praefatio 

«  vgl.  "die  altsachsische  Bibeldichtung"  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I,  291  ff. 
"Z.f.d.Ph.IV,62. 

17  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I,  292. 

18  "Der  Heliand  und  seine  Quellen,"  S.  12. 

19  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I,  293. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  199 

A  2  lesen,  dass  der  Vates  im  Traume  beauftragt  wurde:  "ut 
Sacrae  legis  praecepta  .  .  .  coaptaret,"  so  diirfen  wir  mit 
Recht  fragen,  ob  irgend  jemand  mit  Wackernagel  gerade  die 
Gesetzesvorschriften,  welche  als  "typisch  bedeutungsvollstes" 
hier  in  der  Praefatio  einzig  erwahnt  waren, —  man  denke  an  die 
Ritualgesetze  der  Juden, —  wirklich  als  das  fur  uns  oder  gar  fur 
die  vor  kurzem  noch  sich  heidnischer  Gesetzesfreiheit  erfreu- 
enden  Sachsen  "episch-anziehendste"  (!  !)  bezeichnen  mochte. 
Oder  sollte  wirklich  jemand  das,  was  die  Verse  25-26  als  Inhalt 
des  Heliand  angeben,  sich  als  Gegenstand  gerade  eines  Epos 
vorstellen  konnen? 

Noch  fester  als  Wackernagel  ist  Grein  von  der  absoluten 
Echtheit  und  Zuverlassigkeit  der  Praefatio  einschliesslich  der 
Versus  iiberzeugt,  gemass  der  Einleitung  zu  seiner  poetischen 
tibersetzung  des  Heliand.20  Bei  aller  Anerkennung  der  Vor- 
trefflichkeit  dieser  seiner  Ubersetzung  sehen  wir  uns  doch 
genotigt,  seine  Anschauung  iiber  die  Praefatio  als  unhaltbar 
zu  bezeichnen.  Fur  unsere  Untersuchung  des  Wortlautes  der 
Praefatio  und  der  Versus  wollen  wir  nur  seine  Behauptung  im 
Sinne  behalten:  "Diese  Charakteristik  des  grossen  altsachsi- 
schen  Epos  passt  Wortfiir  Wort  genau  auf  den  Heliand."  Ja, 
Grein  geht  soweit  in  seinem  Vertrauen  auf  die  Glaubwiirdigkeit 
der  Praefatio  und  Versus,  dass  er  aus  ihnen,  besonders  aus  v. 
32  der  Versus,  folgert:  "wir  diirfen  mit  Recht  annehmen,erselbst 
(der  Heliand-Dichter)  habe  dieselben  (die  fiinf  vergangenen 
Weltalter)  bereits  in  der  alttestamentlichen  Geschichte  seinen 
Horern  vorgefiihrt,"  und  dass  er  anfiigt:  "Nach  allem  diesem 
scheint  es  mir  keinem  Zweifel  zu  unterliegen,  dass  jene  Vorrede 
nebst  den  lateinischen  Versen  liber  den  Dichter  sich  wirklich 
auf  den  Heliand  bezieht." 

Fur  die  Echtheit  der  Praefatio,  d.h.  insoweit,  dass  sie  keine 
nachtragliche  Falschung,  etwa  des  Humanismus  sei,  traten 
ferner  ein  Riickert  und  Wagner,  von  denen  der  erstere  eine 
Falschung  fur  unmoglich  erklart,  der  letztere21  die  Praefatio 
wegen  ihres  Stils  und  Reimes  dem  zehnten  beziehungsweise 
elften  Jahrhundert  zuweist.  Er  glaubt  nicht  an  Interpolationen, 
sondern  an  beabsichtigte  Wiederholungen.  Er  erkennt  in  der 

M  Cassel  1869,  S.  179-181. 

n  i.  J.  1881  in  einem  bemerkenswerten  Aufsatze  (Z.  f.  d.  A.  25,  173). 


200  Metzenthin 

endgiltigen  Zusammenstellung  der  verschiedenen  Teile  die  Hand 
eines  kritiklosen  und  unwissenschaftlichen  Kompilators.  Er 
erklart  nicht  nur  die  poetische  Behandlung  des  Alten  Testa- 
ments durch  den  Heliand-Dichter  fiir  durchavfs  unglaubwiir- 
dig,22  sondern  sogar  die  Beziehung  zwischen  Kaiser  Ludwig  und 
der  Heliand-Dichtung,  die  sonst  meist  als  zweifellos  betrachtet 
wird,  fiir  weit  entfernt  von  Wahrscheinlichkeit. 

Zahlreich  sind  jedoch  auch  die  Gegner  der  Praefatio,  die 
wenigstens  den  grossten  Teil  als  Falschung  beziehungsweise 
Interpolation  ansehen.  Riickert  lehnt,  trotz  seiner  obener- 
wahnten  Verteidigung  ihrer  Echtheit,  doch  die  Glaubwiirdig- 
keit  der  Praefatio  entschieden  ab.23  J.  W.  Schulte24  erklart  sich 
gegen  die  Theorie  von  Interpolationen,  bezeichnet  vielmehr 
die  ganze  Praefatio  als  Falschung  des  Flacius  selbst  oder  eines 
seiner  literarischen  Mitarbeiter  im  sechzehnten  Jahrhundert. 
Gegen  diese  Ansicht  spricht  sich  Sievers25  aus,  wegen  des  Aus- 
drucks  "Uitteas,"  der  einem  Gelehrten  des  sechzehnten  Jahr- 
hunderts  nicht  bekannt  sein  konnte.  Er  schreibt  beide  Teile 
der  Praefatio  einem  Angelsachsen  zu,  der  weder  sachsich  noch 
iiberhaupt  deutsch  verstand.  Doch  glaubt  er,  dass  das  Alte 
Testament  von  unserm  Dichter  auch  bearbeitet  sei,  aber  freilich 
spater,  nach  dem  Neuen  Testament. 

Letztere  Bemerkung  enthalt  sicher  viel  Uberzeugendes, 
wenn  die  Praefatio  in  ihrer  Aussage  betreffs  des  Alten  Testa- 
ments glaubwiirdig  ware,  da  es  gewiss  fiir  den  Dichter  in 
jeder  Weise  naher  lag,  mit  dem  Neuen  Testament  zu  beginnen, 
das  erstens  kiirzer  und  verstandlicher,  zweitens  wichtiger  und 
niitzlicher  fiir  die  Missionstatigkeit  ist  (man  denke  an 
Luther's  Bibeliibersetzung  und  die  der  spateren  Missionare, 
die  alle  mit  dem  Neuen  Testament  anfangen). 

Roediger26  findet  noch  weitere  Interpolationen  in  der  Prae- 
fatio und  setzt  sie  ins  zehnte  bzw.  elfte  Jahrhundert. 

*  a.  a.  O.,  S.  180. 

M  S.  Jostes  i.  Z.  f.  d.  A.  40  (1896)  S.  343. 

« Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  IV,  49,  1873,  "Zum  Heliand"  und  Schulprogramm  Sagan 
1872. 

**  Einleitung  S.  25  ff.,  wo  man  nahere  Einzelheiten  findet. 

*  A.  f.  d.  A.  V,  178  v.  J.  1879. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  201 

Gieseke27  entdeckt  noch  eine  grossere  Anzahl  von  Ein- 
schiebseln  und  weist  die  Praefatio  einem  Angelsachsen  in 
Deutschland  zu. 

Rieger28  erklart,  dass  der  Dichter  der  Versus  zur  Verherr- 
lichung  seines  nicht  mit  Caedmon  identischen  Helden  nur  das 
allgemeinste  aus  der  Erzahlung  iiber  Caedmon  herausgenom- 
men  habe,  aber  in  alien  Details  mit  Absicht  moglichst  davon 
abweichend.  In  v.  27  beginne  ein  Stumper  seine  Arbeit. 

A.  Wagner29  erklart  irgendwelche  Beziehungen  zwischen 
Kaiser  Ludwig  und  dem  Heliand  fur  hochst  unwahrscheinlich 
und  die  Praefatio  f iir  das  Werk  eines  skrupellosen  Kompilators. 

Neben  Kogel30  ist  ein  Bezweifler  der  Praefatio  auch  Jostes30* 
welcher  Front  macht  gegen  die  Annahme,  dass  die  Praefatio 
ein  Vorwort  zum  Heliand  sei,  erklarend  auch,  dass  sie  nicht 
von  einem  Teutonen  herriihre. — 

Fur  unsere  gegenwartige  Untersuchung  ist  ja  nur  eigent- 
lich  die  eine  Frage  von  Bedeutung:  was  sagt  die  Praefatio  iiber 
die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  des  Heliand?  Bevor  wir  jedoch  das 
zusammenstellen,  was  dariiber  in  der  Praefatio  zu  finden  ist, 
mussten  wir  die  Frage  beantworten:  ist  die  Praefatio  iiber haupt 
glaubwiirdig?  d.h.  diirfen  wir  die  Angaben  der  Praefatio  iiber 
die  Adressaten  des  Heliand  ganz  oder  teilweise  als  geschichtliche 
Wahrheit  ansehen?  Und  deshalb  ist  es  fur  uns  notig  gewesen, 
die  Anschauungen  der  Forscher  iiber  die  Echtheit,  bzw. 
Glaubwiirdigkeit  der  Praefatio  im  allgemeinen  und  im  einzelnen 
zu  skizzieren. 

c.   Unsere  Kritik  und  Ablehnung  der  Praefatio: 

Da  jedoch,  wie  wir  gesehen,  die  Forscher  selbst  durchaus 
nicht  ubereinstimmen,  so  miissen  wir  uns  wohl  oder  iibel  ein 
eigenes  Urteil  zu  bilden  suchen.  Wir  schliessen  uns  dabei 
ausserlich  an  den  iibersichtlichen  Gang  der  Untersuchung  bei 
Windisch  und  Heyne  an,  wobei  wir  uns  jedoch  genotigt  sehen 
werden,  die  Behauptungen  dieser  beiden  Gelehrten  fast  iiberall 

17  Erfurter  Progr. 

»  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.,  VII,  115  (1875). 

M  Z.  f.  d.  A.,  XXV,  S.  173-181,  1881. 

30  Sowohl  in  Paul's  Grundriss  v.  J.  1893  als  auch  in  seiner  Literaturge- 
schichte  v.  J.  1894.  Doch  erklart  Koegel  den  echten  Teil  fur  vollig  glaub- 
wiirdig! 

">*  Z.  f.  d.  A.  XL,  341-68;  "Der  Dichter  des  Heliand." 


202  Metzenthin 

erheblich  einzuschranken.  Beide  Germanisten  heben  die 
folgenden  sechs  Punkte  hervor,  in  denen,  nach  ihrer  Uberzeu- 
gung,  die  Praefatio  unsern  Heliand  richtig  charakterisiert: 

1.  Der  Heliand  ist  in  der  Tat,  wie  die  Praefatio  angibt,  zur 
Zeit  Ludwigs  des  Frommen  entstanden  und  durch  seine  Anre- 
gung. 

Bisher  hat  leider  noch  niemand  den  ernsthaften  Versuch 
gemacht,  aus  dem  Gedicht  selbst  irgend  welche  Beziehungen 
auf  Kaiser  Ludwig  oder  seine  Zeit  zu  erweisen.  Bis  das  ge- 
schieht,  kann  diese  Behauptung — trotz  ihrer  Wahrscheinlich- 
keit,  besonders  im  ersten  Teile-noch  nicht  als  Axiom 
angenommen  werden. 

2.  Der  Heliand  hat  ersichtlich,  genau  wie  es  die  Praefatio 
sagt,  zum  Zwecke:  die  Verbreitung  des  Christentums  unter 
den  Sachsen. 

Auch  hierfiir  fehlt  irgend  ein  direcktes  Zeugnis  im  Heliand 
selbst.  Noch  ist  bis  jetzt  die  Handschriften-Forschung  ein- 
wandsfrei  zu  dem  Resultat  gekommen,  dass  der  Urheliand,  der 
uns  ja  leider  noch  immer  fehlt,  tatsachlich  gerade  ftir  sachsiche 
Leser  oder  Horer,  und  fiir  solche  ausschliesslich,  bestimmt 
gewesen  sei. 

Aber  selbst  dies  als  wahrscheinlich  oder  als  feststehend 
angenommen,  spricht  sich  denn  die  Praefatio  iiber  diesen  Punkt, 
dass  der  Heliand  eine  sachsiche  Bekehrungsschrift  sein  sollte, 
wirklich  unzweideutig  aus? 

Wir  lesen  in  der  Praefatio31  als  Absicht  Ludwigs  und  Zweck 
des  Heliand:  "ut  cunctus  populus  suae  ditioni  subditus,  Theu- 
disca  loquens  lingua,  eiusdem  divinae  lectionis  nihilo minus 
notionem  acceperit.  Praecepit  namque  cuidam  viro  de  gente 
Saxonum,  qui  apud  suos  non  ignobilis  vates  habebatur,  ut  vetus 
ac  novum  Testamentun  in  Germanicam  linguam  poetice  trans- 
ferre  studeret,  quatenus  non  solum  literatis,  verum  etiam  illi- 
teratis,  sacra  divinorum  praeceptorum  lectio  panderetur." 

Wer  diese  Zeilen  ohne  Vorurteil  und  ohne  den  Gedanken 
an  den  Heliand  liest,  kann  sie  nicht  anders  als  so  verstehen: 
Kaiser  Ludwig  wiinschte  eine  poetische  Bearbeitung  des 
Alten  und  Neuen  Testaments  in  der  deutschen  ("Theudisca" 
bzw.  Germanica.  !  !),  der  Gesamtheit  seiner  Untertanen 

11  vgl.  Praef.,  A.  1,  Z.  4  ff. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  203 

("cunctus  populus  suae  dilioni  subditus")  verstandlichen 
Sprache;  also  nicht  in  irgend  einem  Dialekt,  auch  nicht  in  dem 
altsachsichen,  der  gerade  um  Aachen  und  den  Kaiserhof  herum 
schwerlich  verstanden  wurde,  und  in  einer  Form,  die  nicht 
nur  den  "literatis,"  sondern  auch  den  Ungebildeten  die  Bibel 
eroffnete.  Letzteres  schliesst  auch  die  vielfach  als  Verlegen- 
heits-Aushilfe  angenommene  "Kunstsprache"  entschieden  aus. 

Da  Teil  Al  den  niichternsten  Eindruck  der  Praef.  macht 
und  in  seiner  Sachlichkeit  sich  vorteilhaft  von  A2  und  V. 
abhebt,  so  wiegen  diese  Satze  aus  Al,  die  ausserdem  auch  von 
den  scharfsten  :Kritikern  nicht  als  mogliche  "Interpola- 
tionen"  angesehen  werden,  besonders  schwer.  Wo  steht,  so 
frage  ich,  auch  nur  ein  Wort  von  einer  "altsachsischen"  Bear- 
beitung  oder  von  der  Absicht  des  Kaisers,  das  Evangelium 
gerade  unter  den  Sachsen  zu  verbreiten,  wieWindischbehauptet? 
Dass  der  Auftrag  des  Kaisers  "viro  de  gente  Saxonum"  zu  teil 
wird,  das  allein  beweist  doch  gar  nichts  iiber  den  Dialekt. 
Im  Gegenteil:  wenn  Al  ausdriicken  wollte,  dass  das  poetische 
Werk  in  altsachsisch  verfasst  sein  sollte,  so  musste  dies  zwei- 
fellos  besonders  ausgesprochen  werden  und  konnte  es  leicht 
durch  die  Ersetzung  eines  einzigen  Wortes,  namlich,  statt  des 
"Germanicam"  neben  linguam,  "suam"  linguam!" 

Ob  man  nun  A2.  und  V.  fur  echt  und  glaubwiirdig  halt 
oder  nicht, — jedenfalls  geben  sie  auch  nicht  die  Spur  eines 
Anhaltes,  dass  das  Gedicht  in  sachsischem  Dialekt  oder  fur 
die  Sachsen  verfasst  werden  sollte.  Im  Gegenteil:  wir  finden 
auch  in  A2,  statt  irgend  einer  Erwahnung  der  sachsischen 
Abkunft  des  Dichters,  noch  einmal  den  Ausdruck:  "Theudisca 
poemata"  und  in  v26  der  Versus:  "propriam  linguam,"  welch' 
letzteres  sich  nur  auf  die  wiirdige,  d.  h.  wohl  poetische  Form, 
nicht  auf  den  Dialekt  bezieht. 

So  mussen  wir,  bei  allem  Respekt  vor  der  Gelehrsamkeit 
des  grossen  Germanisten  Windisch  und  seiner  Gesinnungsge- 
nossen,  mit  Entschiedenheit  bestreiten,  dass  die  Praefatio 
selbst  als  Zweck  der  Bibeldichtung  irgendwie  die  Verbreitung 
des  Christentums  "unter  den  Sachsen"  bezeichnet. 

3.  Windisch  und  Genossen  behaupten  ferner,  dass  die 
Praefatio  den  Heliand  korrekt  charakterisiere  als  von  einem 
Sachsen  verfasst,  und  zwar  von  einem  beriihmten  Volksdichter.- 
Auch  hier  ist  Einschrankung  geboten.  Erstens  ist  die  Zahl  und 


204  Melzenthin 

das  Ansehen  der  Forscher,  die  in  dem  Verfasser  des  Heliand 
einen  Kleriker,  und  nicht  einen  Laien  sehen,  zu  gross,  als  dass 
man  das  Ergebnis  als  zweifellos  hinstellen  diirfte,  als  ob  mit 
dem  Worte:  "Vates"  die  Praefatio  eine  unantastbare  Charak- 
teristik  des  Heliand-Dichters  gabe. 

Zweitens  aber  bezeichnet  nur  Al  den  Dichter  als  einen 
"apud  suos  non  ignobilis  vates,"  wahrend  A2  sowohl  als  V 
dieser  Bezeichnung  aufs  scharfste  widerspricht:  A2  namlich 
betont,  dass  dieser  selbe  Vates:  "adhuc  artis  huius  penitus 
ignarus"  war,  und  V  schildert  den  Verfasser  zur  Zeit  des 
gottlichen  Auf trages  in  idyllischer  Weise  als  einen  kleinen  Land- 
mann  und  Viehhirten,  ohne  ein  Wort  von  seiner  Beriihmtheit 
als  Vates  zu  sagen.  Entsprechend  ihrem  Charakter  als 
Legenden,  denen  doch  die  Wissenschaft  nicht  kritiklos  Glaub- 
wiirdigkeit  zuerkennen  kann  bemiihen  sich  beide,  das 
Wunder  der  gottlichen  Inspiration  gerade  dadurch  um  so 
hoher  hinaufzuschrauben,  dass  sie  jede  dichterische  Tatigkeit 
oder  eigene  Befahigung  des  Inspirierten  vor  dem  gottlichen 
Auftrag  ausdriicklich  in  Abrede  stellen.32 

4.  Windisch  und  andere  finden  als  viertes  Charakteristi- 
kum  des  Heliand,  dargeboten  in  der  Praefatio,  den  Punkt, 
dass  "der  Inhalt  des  Neuen  und  Alten  Testaments"  vom 
Dichter  in  seiner  Mundart  dargestellt  sei  mit  eingestreuten 
mystischen  Erklarungen.  Abgesehen  von  den  "mystischen 
Erklarungen,"  die  im  Heliand  doch  wohl  zu  vereinzelt  sind,  um 

32  Vgl.  hierzu  die  verbliiffend  ahnliche,  aber  sehr  unheilige  Legende  im 
Iten  Gedicht  aus  "Die  Streiche  des  Pfaffen  Ameis  von  dem  Strieker"  (Beginn 
des  13ten  Jahrh.):  Der  schlaue  Ameis  narrt  dort  (v.  1410-21),  einen  wunder- 
glaubigen  Probst  durch  den  Bericht  von  der  dreimaligen  Ermahnung  eines 
bisherigen  Handarbeiters  durch  einen  Engel,' — entsprechend  unseren  Versus 
24  ff.,- — sofort  als  Schriftgelehrter  und  amtierender  Priester  offentlich  aufzu- 
treten.  Und  der  "torhaf te"  Probst  glaubt  dieses  Marchen,  weil  (v.  1442-47) : 

"Es  saget  uns  so  manches  Buch  (d.h.  fur  uns  bier:  Praefatio  und  Versus) 

Von  manchem,  der  da  nimmerdar 

Zu  einer  Schul'  gekommen  war, 

Vielmehr,  dass  Gott  ihn  nur  erkannte 
Und  seinen  Geist  bin  zu  ihm  sandte 

Als  Lehrer,  der  in  kurzer  Stund' 

Ihm  die  Weisheit  machle  kund." — 

Solche  und  ahnliche  Wundermaren  waren  im  Mittelalter  so  verbreitet  und 
teriichtigt,  dass  sie  zum  Gegenstand  des  Spottes  im  Volke  wurden,  trotz  der 
Leichtglaubigkeit  der  urteilslosen  Menge. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  205 

durch  die  Worte  von  Al  "ubi  comraodum  duxit"  richtig 
bezeichnet  zu  sein;  und  abgesehen  davon,  dass,  wie  wir  schon 
unter  No.  2  gezeigt  haben,  die  Praefatio  mit  keinem  Wort  auf 
eine  Darstellung  in  der  besonderen  Mundart  des  sachsischen 
Dichters  deutet,  sie  vielmehr  direkt  ausschliesst;  ja  auch 
abgesehen  davon,  dass  Windisch  selbst  (freilich  nicht  alle  For- 
scher,)33  die  Abfassung  emer  fl//testamentlichen  Bibeldichtung 
durch  den  Verfasser  des  Heliand  im  strikten  Widerspruch  zu 
der  von  ihm  sonst  glaubig  angenommenen  Praefatio,  entschieden 
ablehnt; — von  alle  dem  abgesehen,  ergiebt  sich  bei  genauer 
Priifung  der  Praefatio,  dass  nicht  einmal  das,  was  sie  iiber  das 
Neue  Testament  als  Gegenstand  der  Dichtung  des  Vates  an- 
deutet,  der  Wirklichkeit  und  unserem  Heliand  entspricht. 
Damit  fallt  natiirlich  dieser  ganze  Punkt  4  dahin. 

Was  sagt  denn  die  Praefatio  iiber  den  neutestamentlichen  In- 
halt  des  vermeintlichen  Heliand?  Wir  stellen  die  einzelnen 
Ausdriicke  zusammen: 

a.  Al.  "ut  vetus  ac  novum  Testamentum  poetice  trans- 
ferre  studeret,"  und  A2:  "omnis  divina  agit  scriptura." 

Zum  Neuen  Testament  und  zur  "omnis  scriptura"  gehoren 
doch  auch  die  Apostel-Geschichte,  all'  die  Episteln  und  die 
Offenbarung  St.  Johannis,  welche  in  unserem  Heliand  gar  nicht 
erwahnt  sind,  obgleich  sie  16/29,  also  noch  iiber  die  Halfte, 
des  "novum  Testamentum"  ausmachen. 

b.  Al:  "Quatenus   sacra    divinoium    praeceptorum   lectio 
panderetur."     V.   25-26:  "Incipe  divinas  recitare  ex  ordine 
leges.     Transferre  in   propriam  clarissima  dogmata  linguam" 
(v.  26).     Wenn  nun  irgend  etwas  uns  erfreut  im  Heliand,  so 
ist  es  die  Kunst,  mit  welcher  der  Dichter  als  einechter  Epiker, 
im  Gegensatz  zum  lyrisch-doktri  naren  Otfrid,    die   Ereignisse 
und  Taten  im  Leben  Jesu  den  praecepta  und  leges  und  dogmata 
iiberordnet,  mit  Ausnahme  der  Bergpredigt;  wie  er  die  Lehr- 
reden,  besonders  im  Joh.  Evangelium,  nach  Moglichkeit  kiirzt 
oder   iibergeht  und  wie  er    fiir    "dogmata"    so    wenig  Ver- 
standnis  zeigt,   dass  gerade  deshalb    eine    Reihe  namhafter 
Forscher  es  fiir  undenkbar  erklaren,  dass  ein  "Kleriker"  den 
Heliand    verfasst    habe.      Und    selbst    diejenigen    Forscher, 
welche  aus  anderen  Griinden  an  der  Urheberschaft  oder  doch 

M  vgl.  Zarncke  und  Wackernagel— Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I,  291. 


206  Metzenthin 

Mitwirkung  eines  Geistlichen  festhalten,  sind  einig  darin,  dass  er 
wohlweislich  alle  theoretischen,  theologischen  Auseinander- 
setzungen,  alles,  was  an  "dogmata"  erinnert,  aufs  ausserste 
eingeschrankt  hat.  Wie  kann  man  dann  noch  mit  Windisch 
behaupten,  dass  die  Praefatio  den  Inhalt  des  Heliand  korrekt 
wiedergegeben  habe?  Vielmehr  wird  man  einraumen  mtis- 
sen,  dass  der  Verfasser  der  Praefatio  entweder  garnicht  von  un- 
serm  Heliand  und  seinem  Dichter  spricht,  sondern  von 
der  a/^testamentlichen  Bibeldichtung  eines  f riiheren  Bauern  bzw. 
eines  beriihmten  Vates,  oder  dass,  falls  er  von  unserm  Heliand 
redet,  diesen  auch  nicht  im  geringsten  kannte  oder  verstand. 
Die  Zuverlassigkeit,  oder  richtiger  "Unzuverlassigkeit,"  der 
Praefatio  ware  in  beiden  Fallen  die  gleiche. 

c.  In  Versus  31-34  lesen  wir,  dass  der  bisherige  Ackerbauer 
metrische  Gedichte  in  einer  gelehrten  Sprache  (docta  lingua!) 
diktierte  und  dabei: 

v.  31,  "coeperat  a  prima  nascentis  origine  mundi, 
quinque  relabentis  percurrens  tempera  secli, 
venit  ad  adventum  Christi,  qui  sanguine  mundum 
faucibus  eripuit  tetri  miseratus  Averni." 

Was  hat  nun  der  Scharfsinn  von  anerkannten  Meistern  der 
Sprachforschung  aus  diesen  vier  Versen  herausgelesen,  nur, 
um  die  ganz  unmogliche  Hypothese  aufrecht  zu  erhalten,  dass 
diese  vier  Verse  auf  unsern  Heliand  gemiinzt  seien?  Wir  mils- 
sen  bei  diesem  Schlussabschnitt  etwas  langer  verweilen,  weil  wir 
ihn  als  den  Schlusstein  unserer  Beweisfuhrung  fiir  die  vollige 
Unzuverlassigkeit  der  Praefatio  inbezug  auf  den  Heliand  be- 
nutzen  wollen. 

Zunachst  geben  wir  eine,  von  keines  Gedankens  Blasse 
angekrankelte,  d.  h.  von  keiner  vorgefassten  Meinung  beein- 
flusste  Ubersetzung  dieser  schlichten  Verse: 

"Er  (der  Dichter-Bauer  oder  Bauer-Dichter)  begann  mit 
dem  ersten  Ursprunge  der  entstehenden  Welt  (v.  31), 
Fiinf  Zeiten  des  zuriickfallenden  Zeitalters  durchlaufend  (v.  32). 
Er  kam  bis  zur  Ankunf t  Christi,  welcher  durch  sein  Blut  die  Welt 

(v.  33) 

Aus  dem  Rachen  der  grasslichen  Unterwelt  (Holle)  mitleidsvoll 
herausriss."  (v.  34) 

Um  diese  Verse  zu  verstehen,  bedarf  esbloss  einer  Erklarung, 
namlich  des  in  v.  32  benutzten  Ausdruckes,  iiber  dessen  Bedeu- 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  207 

tung  gliicklicher  Weise  fast  alle  Forscher  einig  sind.  Die 
dort  erwahnten  fiinf  Zeiten  oder  flinf  Zeitalter  bedeuten  in  der 
Kirchen-  und  Gelehrtensprache  des  Mittelalters:  die  gesamte 
vorchristliche  Weltgeschichte  von  der  Schopfung  bis  zu  Christi 
Geburt. 

Versuchen  wir  nun,  uns  einmal  auf  den  Standpunkt  zu  stellen, 
als  ob  wir  noch  nie  etwas  vom  Heliand  gehort  oder  gelesen,  und 
konstruieren  wir  uns,  lediglich  auf  Grund  der  Angaben  dieser 
vier  Verse,  den  Inhalt  der  Dichtung,  die  sie  beschreiben  wollen. 
Jeder  von  uns  wiirde  ihn  dann  nicht  anders  als  folgendermas- 
sen  konstruieren: 

"Coeperat"   d.h.   Beginn   der   Dichtung:  Ursprung   der   Welt 

(Schopfung). 

"Percurrens"  d.h.  Fort  gang  der  Dichtung:  Fiinf  Zeitalter  von 

Adam  bis  Christi  Geburt. 

"Venit  ad"  d.h.  Schluss  der  Dichtung:  Ankunft  Christi. 
Man  sollte  denken,  dass  sich  auch  dem  voreingenommensten 
Auge  dies  als  der  Inhalt  der  in  v.  31-34  beschriebenen  Bibel- 
dichtung  ergibt  Diese  biblische  Dichtung  fing  an  mit  der 
Schopfung  und  erstreckte  sich  bis  an  die  Ankunft  Christi. 
Das  kann  doch  unmoglich  etwas  anderes  heissen,  als  dass  sie 
eben  den  Inhalt  des  Alien  Testaments  poetisch  darstellte,  bis 
zum  Anfang  des  Neuen  Testamentes.  Dies  scheint  so  einfach 
und  selbstverstandlich,  dass  man  sich  eigentlich  scheut,  soviel 
Worte  dariiber  zu  verlieren.  Und  doch  sind  wir  dazu  ge- 
zwungen,  weil  eine  Reihe  der,  auch  von  uns,  hochstgeschatzten 
Germanisten  behaupten,  dass  diese  selben  Verse  sich  dennoch  auf 
unseren  neutestamentlichen  Heliand  beziehen,  trotzdem  der 
Inhalt  dieses  unseres  Heliand  jedem  einzelnen  der  in  v.  31-34 
klar  angegebenen  Bestimmungen  ebenso  klar  widerspricht, 
indem  unser  Heliand 

weder  1.  mit  der  Schopfung  der  Welt  anfangt, 

noch    2.  die  fiinf  alttestamentlichen  Zeitalter  durchlauft, 

noch    3.  mit  der  Ankunft  Christi  schliesst, — sondern  viel- 

mehr  damit  anfangt. 

Wie  aber  vollbringen  jene  Germanisten  das  Wunder  der 
I dentifizierung  des  im  Heliand  vorhandenen  wewtestamentlichen 
Epos  mit  der  in  diesen  Versus  skizzierten  afttestamentlichen 


208  Metzenthin 

Bibeldichtung?  Noch  Zarncke,34  verstand  die  obigen  vier 
Verse  genau  wie  wir35  und  erklarte  sie  durch  die  Annahme,  dass 
der  Verfasser  der  Versus  nur  eine  Handschrift  des  a//testament- 
lichen  Teiles  der  Bibeldichtung  vor  sich  gehabt  habe.  Aber 
Windisch  selbst  wendet  sich35a  dagegen,  mit  den  Worten: 

"Und  dennoch  beziehen  sich  die  letzten  vier  Verse  .  .  . 
einzig  und  allein  auf  den  Heliand.  Eine  genaue  Vergleichung 
namlich  hat  mich  iiberzeugt,  dass  der  Verfasser  der  Versus  in 
seiner  Inhaltsangabe  weiter  nichts  mitteilt  als" — und  nun 
kommt  die  tJberraschung, — "ein  Exzerpt  der  Verse  des  Heliand 
38-53.  Hier  stehen  ganz  dieselben  Gedanken  fast  mit  denselben 
Wendungen.  (vgl.  auch  S.  24:  "Denn,  wie  wir  nachgewiesen 
haben,  hatte  der  Verfasser  der  Versus  wenigstens  den  Anfang 
des  Heliand  gelesen.") 

Die  Einzelheiten  seiner  Beweisfiihrung  haben  keine  direkte 
Beziehung  auf  unser  Thema;  ihr  Resultat  aber  ist  von  so 
vielen  unserer  bedeut.endsten  Germanisten  acceptiert  worden, 
dass  wir  uns  doch  damit  auseinandersetzen  mtissen.  Zu  dem 
Zwecke  drucken  wir  hier  die  Verse  aus  dem  Heliand  ab  (v. 
38-53),  welche  nach  Windisch  dem  Versus-Dichter  die  falsche 
Vorstellung  vom  Inhalt  der  Bibeldichtung  gegeben  haben,  und 
schliessen  die  hierher  gehorigen  Urteile  der  Nachfolger  von  Win- 
disch an. 


38    "all  so  he  it  fan  them  anginne  thuru  is  enes  craht 

uualdanid  gisprak,  thuo  hie  erist  thesa  uuerold  giscuop 
40    endi  thuo  all  bifieng  mid  £nu  uuordo, 

himil  endi  erda  endi  al  that  sea  bihlidan  egun 

giuuarahtes  endi  giuuahsanes:  that  uuard  thuo  all  mid  uuordon 
godas 

fasto  bifangan,  endi  gifrumid  after  thiu, 

huilic  than  liudscepi  landes  scoldi 
45    uul  dost  giuualdan,  eftho  huar  thiu  uueroldaldar 

endon  scoldin.    En  uuas  iro  thuo  noh  than 

firio  barnun  biforan,  endi  thiu  fibi  uuarun  agangan: 

scolda  thuo  that  sehsta  saliglico 

cuman  thuru  craft  godes  endi  Cristas  giburd, 


34  In  seinem  Aufsatze  v.  J.,  1865. 

*  vgl.  auch  Windisch  "Der  Heliand  und  seine  Qudlen,"  1868  S.  13-14. 

360  a.  a.  O.,  S.  14  ff. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  209 

50    helandero  best,  helagas  gestes 

an  thesan  middilgard  managon  te  helpun, 
firio  barnon  ti  frumon  uuid  fiundo  nid, 
uuid  dernero  duualm. 
(Handschrift  Monacensis,  Ausgabe  von  O.  Behaghel,  Halle,  1910 

Moritz  Heyne  findet  in  seiner  obenerwahnten  ausfiihrlichen 
Besprechung  von  "Der  Heliand  und  seine  Quellen"36  die 
tibereinstimmung  beider  Denkmaler,  d.h.  der  Versus  31-34 
und  des  Heliand  v.  38-53,  "durchschlagend  fur  die  Annahme 
von  Windisch,  dass  der  Versus-Dichter  von  der  in  seinen 
Handen  befindlichen  Handschrift  des  Heliand  nur  diese  Verse  las 
und  in  ihnen  eine  Angabe  des  Inhaltes  des  Heliand  erblickte." 

Wm.  Wackernagel31  zweifelt,  ob  v.  31-34  der  Versus,  wie 
Windisch38  u.a.  annehmen,  in  der  Art  ihrer  Fassung  auf  den 
Versen  38-53  unseres  Heliand  beruhen  und  greift  damit  das 
Fundament  der  Beweisfiihrung  von  Windisch  an.  Aber  auch  er 
sieht  in  den  Versus  31-34  eine  korrekte  Inhaltsangabe  des 
"zweiten  neutestamentlichen  Teils  der  Dichtung,  namlich  der 
Geschichte  des  Herrn  von  seiner  Geburt  bis  zum  Erlosungstode, 
also  eben  bloss  der  Evangelien."3* 

Durch  welche  Hilfsmittel  der  Interpretation  Wackernagel's 
Auffassung  unserer  Versus:  "ab  origine  mundi — ad  adventum 
Christi"  als  eine  Wiedergabe  des  Inhaltes  der  wewtestament- 
lichen  Evangelien  dem  schlichten  Menschenverstande  klar 
gemacht  werden  konnte,  vermogen  wir  nicht  zu  erkennen. 

Auch  Sievers40  meint,  dass  "das  Bedenken  gegen  die  Schluss- 
verse  durch  Windisch  hinlanglich  aus  dem  Wege  geraumt  ist, 
indem  dieser  zeigte,  dass  jene  Worte  nur  aus  der  Einleitung 
unseres  Heliand  zusammengestoppelt  sind."  Wir  fragen  er- 
staunt,  mit  welchem  Rechte  Sievers  diese  Verse  (47b-53a)  als 
"Einleitung  bezeichnen  kann,  indem  er  die  natiirlich  mit  v.  1 
beginnende  wirkliche  Einleitung  vollig  ignoriert  und  nur  einer 
Theorie  zu  liebe  diese  nicht  einmal  auf  der  ersten  Seite  der 
Handschriften  stehenden  Verse  dafiir  substituiert?  Sievers 

»  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I,  282. 

«  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I,  291  ff. 

M  a.  a.  O.  S.  14  ff. 

"  S.  292  f. 

40  In  der  Einleitung  zu  seinem  "Heliand"  (S.  37). 


210  Metzenthin 

schreibt  ferner:  "Dem  Verfasser  der  Versus  lag  nur  der  Heliand, 
nicht  auch  die  alttestamentlichen  Stiicke  vor." 

Endlich  lesen  wir  in  Wagner  s  "Die  Heliand  Vorreden"41 
"Ich  behaupte  mil  Windisch,  dass  sich  die  Verse  31-34  nicht  nur 
auf  den  Heliand  beziehen,  sondern  direkt  aus  demselben  hervor- 
gegangen  sind.  Ich  halte  sie  fur  ein  misslungenes  Exzerpt 
der  Heliand-Verse  38-53.  Die  Ausdriicke  coeperat  (v.  31)  und 
percurrens  (v.  32)  lassen  keinen  Zweifel,  dass  er  im  Heliand 
v.  38-53  eine  Inhaltsangabe  vor  sich  zu  haben  wahnte  und 
demgemass  berichtete.  Entweder  lag  ihm  nur  der  Anfang  des 
Heliand  vor,  oder  er  las  nicht  weiter:  in  jedem  Falle  glaubte  er, 
der  Dichter  habe  das  Alte  und  das  Neue  Testament  behandelt." 

Der  Unterschied  zwischen  Wackernagel  und  Wagner  besteht 
einzig  darin — aber  dies  ist  ein  wichtiger  Punkt — ,  dass  letzterer 
in  unsern  Versus  die  Inhaltsangabe  einer  die  ganze  Bibel  (Altes 
Testament  und  Neues  Testament)  umfassenden  Dichtung 
erkennt,  wahrend  ersterer  nur  unseren  neutestamentlichen 
Heliand  darin  abgespiegelt  sieht. 

Jedenfalls  sehen  wir:  es  fehlt  diesen  Versus  31-34  nicht  an 
stattlichen  und  selbstsicheren  Kronzeugen  dafiir,  dass  diese 
Verse  den  Inhalt  des  uns  erhaltenen  Heliand  angeben  wollen. 
Und  obwohl  nun  diese  Inhaltsangabe  Wort  fur  Wort  dem 
wirklichen  Inhalt  unsers  Heliand  wider spricht,  bringt  das  diese 
Kronzeugen  in  keine  Bedenken  oder  Zweifel,  weil  sie  dieser 
Widerspriiche  Lb'sung  glauben  gef  unden  zu  haben  in  der  wunder- 
baren  Hypothese,  dass  der  Versus-Dichter  bei  seiner  kargen 
Inhaltsangabe  sich  nur  auf  v.  47-53  des  Heliand,  die  er  zufallig 
aufschlug  und  fur  eine  Inhaltsangabe  der  Dichtung  hielt  (!!), 
gestiitzt  habe. 

Wir  kb'nnen  nicht  verhehlen,  dass  wir  dieser  psychologi- 
schen  Erklarungskunst  verstandnislos  gegeniiberstehen,  aucfi 
in  ihrem  zweiten  Wunderwerk,  der  Losung  des  Problems;  dass 
es  uns  unbegreiflich  ist,  wie  irgend  jemand  mit  gesunden  Sinnen 
den  Inhalt  des  Heliand,  wie  er  uns  vorliegt,  mit  diesen  Worten 
beschreiben  konnte,  selbst  wenn  er,  was  an  sich  hochst  unwahr- 
scheinlich  ware,  gerade  auf  die  Verse  47-53  bei  seinem  Herum- 
schlagen  des  Cottonianus-Pergaments  stiess.  Lehrreich  ist 
es,  zum  Vergleiche  heranzuziehen  die  Art,  wie  Klopstock,  der 

«  Z.  f.  d.  A.  XXV,  177  ff. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  211 

schwerlich  mehr  Altsachsisch  verstand  als  der  Versus-Dichter, 
den  Inhalt  des  Heliand  so  zutreffend  und  doch  so  ganz  ver- 
schieden  von  den  Versus  angab:42  "Das  Fragment  fangt 
von  Christ!  Geburt  an  und  geht  bis  auf  das  Gesprach  mit  den 
Jungern  von  Emmaus." 

Stellen  wir  uns  die  Sache  menschlich-natiirlich  vor:  Nach 
der  Annahme  dieser  Germanisten  hatte  der  Versus-Dichter,  ein 
der  lateinischen  Sprache  machtiger  Mann,  die  Handschrift 
Cottonianus  unseres  Heliand,  mit  Kapitel-Einteilung  (!)  vor 
sich,  wusste  von  des  Dichters  unliterarischer  Vergangenheit 
und  seiner  himmlischen  Berufung  zum  Bibeldichter  und  war 
begeistert  von  dieses  Dichters  Werk,  sei  es  durch  Horensagen, 
sei  es  durch  eigene  Lektiire,  wenn  auch  nur  im  engsten  Masse. 
Dieser  Versus-Dichter  will  nun  sein  Lobgedicht  schliessen  mit 
ein  paar  Versen,  die  den  Inhalt  dieses  so  bewunderungs- 
wiirdigen  Gedichtes,  unseres  Heliand,  angeben  sollen.  Die 
Moglichkeit  erscheint  ausgeschlossen,  dass  er  den  Dialekt  des 
Cottonianus  beherrschte:  denn  dann  mussten  ein  paar  Minu- 
ten  geniigen,  ihm  zu  einer  richtigeren  Einsicht  des  Inhaltes  zu 
verhelfen  als  sie  sich  in  v.  31-34  offenbart.  Da  er  nun,  wie 
allgemeine  Ansicht  der  Gelehrten  zu  sein  scheint,  als  Angelsach- 
se  oder  Franke  oder  Romane,  des  altsachsischen  Dialektes  von 
C  gar  nicht  oder  doch  nur  teilweise  machtig  war,  so  gab  es  fur  ihn 
drei  Wege:  entweder  nichts  mehr  iiber  den  Inhalt  hinzuzufii- 
gen  und  mit  v.  30  abzuschliessen,  oder  einen  Sachverstandigen  zu 
Rate  zu  ziehen  oder  sich  seJbst  aus  dem  Werk  nach  Moglichkeit 
zu  orientieren.  Das  erste  w$re  wohl  berechtigt  gewesen, 
da  der  Inhalt  schon  kurz  vorher,  v.  25-26,  im  allgemeinen 
skizziert  war;  das  zweite  war  um  so  leichter,  als  da,  wo  das 
kostbare  Manuskript  C  sich  befand,  sicher  wenigstens  ein 
Mensch  zu  finden  sein  musste,  der  es  entweder  selbst  lesen 
konnte  oder  doch  von  dem  Inhalte  der  Dichtung  eine  Kenntnis 
hatte,  die  der  Wahrheit  naher  kam,  als  unsere  Verse.  Gesetzt 
aber  den  Fall,  dass  keiner  dieser  ersten  zwei  Wege  gangbar 
war  fur  den  Versus-Dichter,  so  konnte  er  sich,  selbst  bei  sehr 
mangelhaftem  Verstandnis  des  altsachsischen  Idioms,  doch 
nicht  allzuschwer  aus  dem  Manuskript,  das  ihm  ja  vorlag,43 

42  Vgl.  Sievers  Enleitung  S.  17  Anm.  3. 

43  Vgl.  Heyne,  Sievers  u.  a. 


212  Metzenthin 

selbst  bessere  Information  tiber  seinen  Inhalt  holen,  als  v.  31-34 
enthalten.  Solche  Selbstinformierung  nehmen  ja  auch  Win- 
disch  und  seine  Nachfolger  an. 

Aber  was  fur  ein  sinnwidriges  und  undenkbares  Verfahren 
muten  sie  ihm  zu!  Jeder  vernunftbegabte  Mensch,  der  den 
Anfang  einer  Dichtung,  geschrieben  in  einer  ihm  nur  wenig 
bekannten  Sprache,  angeben  soil,  wiirde  natiirlich  zunachst  die 
erste  Seite  des  Werkes  ansehen  und  zu  entziffern  suchen. 
Hatte  der  Versus-Dichter  dies  nachstliegende  getan,  so  hatte  er 
gleich  im  ersten  Satze  unseres  Heliand  (v.  3)  erkannt,  dass  vom 
"riceo  Crist"  die  Rede  ist  und  nicht  von  der  "Schopfung  der 
Welt,"  und  hatte  gewiss  seinem  "coeperat"  nicht  die  Worte: 
*'a  prima  nascentis  origine  mundi"  folgen  las  sen,  zumal  selbst 
einem  nicht  Altsachsisch  noch  auch  Deutsch  beherrschenden, 
sowie  ungelehrten  Dichter  die  bald  folgenden  Worte:  "lera 
Cristes"  (v.  6),  "craft  fan  Criste"  (v.  12),  "euangelium"  (v.  13), 
"Matheus  endi  Marcus"  (v.  18),  "Lucas  endi  Johannes"  (v.  19) 
klar  machen  mussten,  dass  hier  wohl  schwerlich  von  der 
Schopfung  der  Welt  (!!)  die  Rede  sei,  sondern  von  Christus, 
von  den  bekannten  vier  Evangelisten  und  von  dem  Anfange 
des  Evangeliums  St.  Luka.  Nach  der  Meinung  jener  Germa- 
nisten  aber  hatte  er  gegen  all'  diese  selbst  fur  einen  Auslander 
verstandlichen  und  sicher  jedem  Christen  wohlbekannten 
Namen  vollig  blind  sein  miissen,  nur  urn  dann  auf  einmal  bei 
v.  38  doppelt  scharf sichtig  zu  werden  und  gerade  diese  fiir  jeden 
tibersetzer  schwierige  Stelle  plotzlich  aufzugreifen  und  poetisch 
wiederzugeben. 

Ebenso  unbegreiflich  erscheint,  woher  der  Versus-Dichter 
sich  das  Material  fiir  seine  Bemerkung  tiber  den  Schluss  des 
Heliand  ("ad  adventum  Christi")  verschafft  hat.  Es  ware  wie- 
derum  das  einzig  praktische  gewesen,  sich  die  letzten  Verse  oder 
Seiten  der  Dichtung  anzusehen,  um  zu  erfahren,  womit  die 
Dichtung  endet.  Und  wiederum  bedurf te  er  nur  einer  geringen 
Kenntnis  des  Altsachsischen,  wie  sie  wohl  von  jedem  gebilde ten 
Franken  oder  Angelsachsen  damaliger  Zeit  zu  erwarten  war, 
zumal  falls  er  sich  fur  eine  altsachsische  Dichtung  wie  den 
Heliand  interessierte,  um  ihn  zu  uberzeugen,  dass  am  Schlusse 
des  Werkes  (v.  5939-68)  weder  vom  alttestamentlichen 
Israel  noch  von  der  "adventus  Christi,"  sondern  von  Emmaus 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  213 

(v.  5958)  und  dem  Zusammentreffen  des  kiirzlich  gekreuzigten 
Christus  mit  zwei  Jungern  die  Rede  ist. 

Und  wenn  es  dann  dem  Versus-Dichter  noch  immer  un- 
moglich  war,  sich  vorzustellen,  was  wohl  zwischen  dem  Anfang 
des  Evangeliums  St.  Luka  und  dem  Ende  (Begegnung  der 
Emmaus-Jiinger)  in  der  Bibeldichtung  beschrieben  sein  mochte, 
— obwohl  jedes  Kind  sich  das  denken  konnte, — so  brauchte  er 
ja  nur  die  Anfange  einiger  Kapitel,  in  die,  wie  die  Praefatio 
selbst  bezeugt,  die  ihm  vorliegende  Handschrift  geteilt  war, 
anzusehen,  um  sich  auch  dartiber  geniigend  zu  informieren. 
Gar  schnell  und  leicht  hatten  ihn  z.  B.  zu  Beginn  des  cap.  II 
Namen  wie  Zacharias  (v.  96)  Hierusalem  (v.  97)  Gabriel 
(v.  120)  belehrt,  dass  auch  hier  keinesfalls  von  der  Welt- 
schopfung,  sondern  von  der  Botschaft  des  Erzengels  Gabriel 
an  den  Priester  Zacharias  in  Jerusalem  die  Rede  sei.  Oder 
sollen  wir  uns  den  Versus-Dichter  so  vollig  baar  jeder  christ- 
lichen  Bildung  vorstellen,  dass  er  z.  B.  im  5.  Kapitel  des  Heliand 
bei  den  schon  damals  "international"  bekannten  Namen: 
Rdmuburg  (339),  Octauianas  (340),  kesure  (342),  loseph 
(357),  Bethlehem  (359),  Mariun  (361),  Davides  (363)  auf  die 
alttestamentliche  Anfangsgeschichte  des  Menschengeschlechtes 
(Adam  und  Eva,  Kain  und  Abel,  Noah  und  Henoch)  geraten 
hatte,  anstatt  sofort  das  jedem  Getauften  auch  damals  schon 
wohlbekannte  Weihnachtsevangelium  von  der  Geburt  Christi 
darin  zu  erkennen. 

Doch  genug  der  Einzelheiten.  Sie  waren  notig,  weil  die 
durch  sie  zu  widerlegenden  Behauptungen  von  einem  so 
hoch  angesehenen  Germanisten  wie  Windisch  aufgestellt  und, 
soviel  sich  ersehen  lasst,  ohne  nennenswerten  Widerspruch 
immer  aufs  neue  wiederholt  worden  sind. 

Es  sollte  eigentlich  nicht  notig  sein,  sich  des  Langeren  mit 
dem  Einwand  zu  befassen,  den  nur  die  Verlegenheit  eingeben 
konnte,  dass  "a(}ventus  Christi"  hier  nicht  die  "Ankunft 
Christi  ins  Fleisch,"  sondern  die  "Wiederkunft  Christi  zum 
jiingsten  Gericht"  bedeute.  Gegen  letztere  Erklarung  sprechen 
vier  entscheidende  Griinde: 

a.  Die  Wiederkunh  Christi  liegt  am  Ende  des  sechsten 
Zeitalters  und  nicht  des  fiinften.  Der  Verfasser  der  Versus  hat 
aber  in  den  vorhergehenden  Versen  deutlich  ausgesprochen, 
dass  den  Bibeldichter  das  Durchlaufen  der  "fiinf"  Zeitalter 


214  Metzenthin 

nur  "ad  adventum  Christ!"  gefiihrt  habe.  Wollte  er  mit 
"adventus  Christi"  die  s.  g.  Wiederkunft  Christi  bezeichnen,  so 
hatte  er  unbedingt  in  v.  32  schreiben  miissen:  "sex  .  .  . 
percurrens  tempera."  Schon  dieser  eine  Grund  geniigt  vollig 
zum  Beweise,  dass  "adventus  Christi,"  als  am  Schluss  des 
funften  Zeitalters,  nichts  anderes  als  die  Geburt  Christi,  mit 
welcher  das  sechste  Zeitalter  begann,  bedeuten  kann.  Doch 
mogen  die  anderen  Gegengriinde  noch  kurz  angefiihrt  werden: 

b.  "Adventus  Christi"  kann  zwar  unter  gewissen  Umstanden 
auch  von  der  Wiederkunft  Christi  verstanden  werden,  aber  nur 
wenn  durch  den  ganzen  Zusammenhang,  oder  durch  ein  hinzu- 
gefiigtes  "secundus"  oder  "tertius"  irgend  eine  Verwechslung 
mit  dem  "primus  adventus"  ausgeschlossen  ist,  z.  B.  wenn 
Christus  selbst  zu  seinen  Lebzeiten  von  seiner  kilnftigen  "ad- 
ventus" redet  oder  die  Apostel  und  die  Kirche  nach  Christi 
Himmelfahrt  von  seiner  "adventus"  sprechen.     In  den  ganzen 
Versus  wird  aber  Christus,  sein  Leben  und  Sterben  und  Himmel- 
fahrt  kein  einziges  Mai  erwahnt,  ausser  hier  in  dem  Ausdruck 
''adventus"   Christi,   der  deshalb   hier  einzig   und  allein   die 
Ankunft  Christi  im  Fleisch,  d.h.  seine  Menschwerdung,  be- 
zeichnen kann. 

c.  "Adventus"  kann  auch  deshalb  hier  unmoglich  "Wieder- 
kunft" bedeuten,  weil  dann  der  von  den  Versus  angegebene 
Inhalt  der  Dichtung  weit  iiber  die   Grenzen  einer  "Bibeldich- 
tung"  hinauswiese.     Denn  dann  hatte  diese  Dichtung  ausser 
dem  Alten  Testament  (v.  31-32)  nicht  nur  das  irdische  Leben 
Jesu,  sondern  die  ganze  Weltgeschichte  bis  zur  Wiederkunft 
Christi  beschrieben,  einschliesslich  zum  mindesten  der  Apostel- 
geschichte,  der  Episteln  und  der    Offenbarung   St.   Johannis, 
d.h.  sie  ware  ein  Werk  gewesen,  dessen  Gewaltigkeit, — beson- 
ders  wenn  verglichen  mit  der  Leistungsfahigkeit  eines  altsach- 
sischen   "Bauerndichters" — ,   uns  denn  doch  zu  weit  in  die 
mystischen  Hohen  mittelalterlicher  Heiligenlegenden  versetzen 
wiirde. 

d.  Der  Schlusssatz   (v.   33  u.   34)  iiber  die  Errettung  der 
Welt  von  der  Holle  durch  sein  Blut"  wurde  durchaus  unpassend 
sein  als  Erganzung  zu  der  "Wiederkunft  Christi."     Wo  immer 
von  dieser  Wiederkunft  die  Rede  ist,  da  folgt  als  Zusatz,  fast 
mechanisch,  die  Zweckbestimmung:  "zu  richten  die  Lebendigen 
und  die  Toten,"oder  eine  Beziehung  auf  "das  Sitzen  zur  Rechten 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  215 

Gottes,"  aber  niemals  ein  Ruckblick  auf  das,  was  Christus, 
Jahrtausende  vorher,  im  Stande  seiner  Erniedrigung,  durch  sein 
Blut  zur  Erlosung  der  Welt  voilbracht  hat. 

Wenn  wir  nun  gezeigt  haben,  dass  gar  keine  Moglichkeit 
besteht,  das  "adventus"  auf  die  "Wiederkunft"  Christ!  zu 
deuten  und  durch  diese  neue  Kunstelei  des  Einschlusses  des 
Lebens  Jesu  den  in  den  Versus  angegebenen  Inhalt  fur  unsern 
Heliand  zurechtzustutzen,  so  ist  damit  wohl  der  Schlussstein 
gelegt  zu  dem  Beweise,  dass  diese  game  Inhaltsangabe  der 
Versus  zwar  auf  eine  alttestamentliche  Bibeldichtung  passen  mag, 
aber  nie  und  nimmer  auf  unsern  Heliand.  Nehmen  wir  noch 
dazu  die  Personlichkeit  jenes  Bauerndichters,  wie  sie  uns  in  den 
Versus  vor  die  Augen  tritt,  und  vergleichen  sie  mit  dem  Dichter 
des  Heliand,  wie  er  sich  uns  mit  jedem  tieferen  Eindringen 
deutlicher  offenbart  als  ein  reichbegabter,  sozial  hochstehender 
Mann  mit  weitestem  Horizont,  wohlvertraut  mit  der  Welt  in  al- 
ien ihren  Erscheinungen,  mit  den  Menschen  in  ihren  ver- 
schiedensten  Standen  und  Berufen, — so  werden  wir  keinen 
Augenblick  daran  zweifeln,  dass  diese  beiden  Personlichkeiten 
unmoglich  mit  einander  identisch  sein  konnen.  Damit  aber 
fallen  fur  unsern  Heliand  die  Versus  als  ganzlich  unzuverlassig 
aus.  Ebenso  aber  auch  A2,  das  ja  nur  den  Versuch  darstellt, 
eine  kiinstliche  Briicke  zu  schlagen  zwischen  dem  in  den  nicht 
interpolierten  Teilen  von  Al  gegebenen  nlichternen  Bericht 
und  den  in  den  Versus  iibermittelten,  wohl  dem  angelsach- 
schen  Caedmon-Cyklus  angehorenden  Legenden. 

Wir  kehren  nun  zuriick  zu  dem  Schema  der  Windischen  Be- 
weisfiihrung,  dass  die  Praefatio  in  fiinf  von  sechs  Punkten  die 
Wahrheit  iiber  den  Heliand  angebe  (s.  o.  S.  202).  Punkt  4 
(s.  o.  S.  204)  hatte  uns  Anlass  zu  dieser  langeren  Auseinander- 
setzung  gegeben,  weil  er  fur  unser  Thema  von  grosserer  Bedeu- 
tung  war.  Wir  hatten  bestreiten  mtissen,  dass  die  Versus  sich 
auf  unseren  Heliand  oder  irgend  eine  wgwtestamentliche  Dich- 
tung  beziehen,  und  diese  Versus  daher  ganzlich  abgelehnt,  soweit 
irgendeine  Heliand-Forschung  in  Betracht  kommt. 

Die  letzten  Punkte:  5  und  6,  in  denen  nach  Windisch  die 
Praefatio  den  Heliand  richtig  schildert,  sind  nicht  von  Be- 
deutung,  am  wenigsten  fur  unser  Thema.  Doch  wollen  wir  sie 
der  Vollstandigkeit  halber  in  aller  Klirze  behandeln. 


216  Metzenthin 

Punkt  5.  Dieser  betrifft  die  Angaben  der  Praefatio  iiber 
die  Einteilung  der  Bibeldichtung  in  Kapitel,  "vitteae."  Solche 
Kapitel-Einteilung  finden  wir  nun  in  der  Tat  im  Cottonianus, 
aber  in  keiner  anderen  uns  erhaltenen  Handschrift.  Es  lasst 
sich  nichts  dagegen  einwenden,  dass,  falls  die  Praefatio  sich 
auf  den  Heliand  bezog,  sie  hochst  wahrscheinlich  dem  Codex 
Cottonianus  zugehort  haben  muss,  wofiir  auch  andere  Anzeichen 
sprechen  wiirden.  Dann  muss  aber  eine  a//testamentliche 
Bibeldichtung,  und  zwar  von  demselben  Dichter  herriihrend, 
unbedingt  mit  dem  Cottonianus  und  der  Praefatio  (zu  einem 
Bande)  verbunden  gewesen  sein,  weil  sonst  alle  die  in  Al  und  2 
und  in  V  erhaltenen  Inhaltsangaben  nicht  mit  dem  Codex  in 
Ubereinstimmung  zu  bringen  waren  (s.  o.  S.  202  ff.).  Die  ver- 
schiedensten  Vermutungen  sind  nun  betreffs  dieser  alttesta- 
mentlichen  Bibeldichtung  aufgestellt  worden:  Teile  von  ihr 
seien  in  ags.  Ubertragung  in  den  Genesis-Fragmenten  gerettet; 
oder:  ihre  ersten  Verse  seien  in  den  Einleitungsversen  zum 
Wessobrunner  Gebet  bewahrt;  oder:  unser  Heliand-Dichter 
habe  selbst  diese  a^testamentliche  Dichtung  verfasst,  aber 
nach  dem  wewtestamentlichen  Heliand, — was  jedoch  mit  den 
Angaben  der  Praefatio  (bes.  Versus  25  und  31)  schwer  in  Ein- 
klang  zu  bringen  sein  wiirde:  denn  eine  Besingung  der  jiidischen 
Geschichten  des  Alten  Testaments  ware  schwer  vereinbar 
sowohl  mit  den  Anschauungen  eines  altsachsischen  "skop"  als 
auch  mit  den  Zwecken  einer  Missionsschrift  zur  Gewinnung  der 
alten  Sachsen.  Wir  iibergehen  die  Begriindung  bzw.  Zuriickwei- 
sung  dieser  und  ahnlicher  Hypothesen  als  ausserhalb  unsers 
Themas  liegend,  mussten  sie  jedoch  erwahnen,  um  zu  zeigen, 
auf  wie  schwachen  Fiissen  sogar  die  Angaben  der  Praefatio  iiber 
die  Bearbeitung  des  Alten  Testamentes  stehen. 

Punkt  6.  Dieser  bezieht  sich  auf  die  Bemerkungen  der 
Praefatio  iiber  die  hohe  Anerkennung,  welche  die  Bibeldichtung 
gefunden  "bei  denen,  die  sie  verstandenl"  (letztere  Worte  mit 
Recht  von  Windisch  bzw.  Sievers  als  Interpolation  bezeichnet). 
Wenn  die  Forschung  ehrlich  sein  will,  so  muss  sie  bekennen,  dass 
irgendwelche  historischen  Zeugnisse  auch  fur  diesen  Punkt 
nicht  vorhanden  sind.  Es  besteht  viel  mehr  Grund  zu  der  An- 
nahme,  dass  zur  Zeit  Ludwigs  des  Frommen  weder  die  hohere 
Geistlichkeit  noch  die  Monche  in  der  uns  im  Heliand  vorliegen- 
den  Form  der  Bibeldichtung  das  Ideal  einer  Missionsschrift  gese- 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  217 

hen  haben,  da  es  in  Sprache  und  Lebensanschauung  doch  gar 
zu  sehr  von  dem  kirchlich  approbierten  Stil  der  Missionspredig- 
ten  abstach  und  zu  wenig  von  dem  kirchlich  sanktionierten 
"dreifachen  Schriftsinn"  (vgl.  Otfrid)  enthielt.  Auch  die 
Geschichte  der  Manuskripte  des  Heliand  spricht  eher  gegen  als 
fur  eine  so  hohe  Anerkennung  und  Bewunderung,  wie  sie  in  der 
Praefatio  ausgedriickt  sind.  (Vgl.  auch,  was  Thegan  in  seinem 
"Leben  Ludwigs  d.  Frommen"  uber  dessen  Verachtung  der 
Volksgesange  sagt,  S.  11). 

Uberblicken  wir  noch  einmal  den  etwas  langen  Weg  unserer 
Untersuchung  liber  die  Praefatio,  so  ko'nnen  wir  unser  Urteil 
dahin  ziisammenfassen: 

Trotz  aller  Versuche  hat  sich  bisher  eine  Beziehung  der 
Praefatio  auf  unsern  Heliand  nicht  beweisen  lassen.  Insbeson- 
dere  erscheint  die  Zuverlassigkeit  der  Praefatio  in  ihren 
Angaben  iiber  den  Zweck  des  Heliand  sowie  iiber  die  Person- 
lichkeit  seines  Dichters  bei  tieferem  Eindringen  immer  zweifel- 
hafter.  Deshalb  miissen  wir  auch  bei  unserer  Frage  nach  der 
Heimat  der  Adressaten  des  Heliand  auf  die  Praefatio  als  Er- 
kenntnisquelle  in  alien  ihren  Teilen  verzichten. 

II 

WAS  KANN  ACTS  DEM  HELIAND  SELBST  ERSCHLOSSEN  WfiRDEN? 

Zwar  ist  unser  Epos  schon  verschiedentlich  auf  Anzeichen 
untersucht  worden,  aus  denen  der  Forscher  etwas  iiber  die 
Personlichkeit  des  Dichters,  seinen  Stand,  seine  literarische  und 
theologische  Vorbildung,  oder  uber  die  Heimat  der  Dichtung 
und  des  Dichters  kiihn  erraten  oder  wissenschaftlich  erschlies- 
sen  konnte.  Jedoch  war  der  Erfolg  bisher  wenig  befriedigend, 
und  zwar,  wie  es  scheint,  z.  T.  aus  folgenden  Griinden: 

Erstens  ist  bei  dem  s.g.  Heimats-Pfoblem  vielfach  nicht 
scharf  genug  in  der  Fragestellung  unterschieden  worden  zwischen 
der  Heimat  des  Dichters,  der  Heimat  der  Dichtung  und  der 
Heimat  der  Adressaten.  Es  ware  natiirlich  theoretisch  denk- 
bar,  dass  alle  drei  zusammenfielen,  dass  z.  B.  der  Dichter  aus 
der  Essener  Gegend  stammte,  in  einem  benachbarten  Kloster 
das  Werk  verfasste  und  es  auch  fur  seine  sachsischen  Volksge- 
nossen  im  angrenzenden  Ruhrgebiet  oder  doch  in  Westfalen 
bestimmte.  Wir  konnen  die  Moglichkeit  einer  solchen  Identitat 


218  Metzenthin 

nicht  fur  ausgeschlossen  erklaren,  ebensowenig  aber  die  entge- 
gengesetzte,  namlich,  dass  der  Dichter  zwar  in  der  Essener 
Gegend  sein  Werk  verfasste,  deshalb  aber  durchaus  nicht  dort 
seine  eigene  Heimat  hatte,  und  dass  sein  Werk  fiir  einen  weit 
entfernten  Teil  des  Sachsenlandes  bestimmt  war.  Und  die 
ganzen  damaligen  Zeitverhaltnisse  in  Kirche  und  Staat,  die 
Zustande  in  Klosterschulen  und  Bibliotheken,  sprechen  viel 
mehr  fiir  die  letztere  Moglichkeit  als  fiir  die  Identitats-Theorie. 

Gerade  um  diese  Identitats-Theorie  von  vornherein  zu  ver- 
meiden,  beschrankt  sich  unsere  Arbeit  gemass  ihrem  Titel  auf 
die  Untersuchung  der  Frage  nach  der  Heimat  allein  der  Adres- 
saten,  wobei  wir  uns  wohl  bewusst  bleiben,  dass  auch  bei  dieser 
scharfen  Sonderung  in  der  Untersuchung  und  bei  Nichtiiber- 
einstimrmmg  der  "drei  Heimaten:"  des  Werkes,  des  Dichters 
und  der  Adressaten — ein  gegenseitiger  Einfluss  der  einen  Heimat 
auf  die  andere  nur  naturgemass  ware,  in  der  Weise,  dass  der 
Dialekt  der  Handschriften  eine  Mischung  der  Dialekte  der  drei 
Heimaten  oder  zweier  derselben  sein  konnte  oder  dass  der  Jand- 
schaftliche  Hintergrund  des  Gedichtes  durch  die  Landschafts- 
verhaltnisse  in  zwei  oder  drei  Heimaten  seine  Farben  erhielt. 

Zweilens  scheint  manchmal  ein  gewisser  Lokalpatriotismus 
oder  die  zufallige  intimere  Bekanntschaft  mit  dem  Dialekt  einer 
besonderen  Gegend,  vielleicht  unbewusst,  die  Untersuchung 
beeinflusst  zu  haben.  Sonst  wiirde  die  uberreiche  Buntscheckig- 
keit  der  gefundenen  "Resultate"  schwer  erklarlich  sein. 
Gibt  es  doch  kaum  eine  Gegend  im  damaligen  Mittel-Europa, 
auf  die  nicht  hingewiesen  ist  als  die  wahrscheinliche  "Heimat 
des  Heliand,"  von  England  selbst  her,  iiber  Holland,  Ostfries- 
land,  entlang  der  Nordseekiiste  bis  Hamburg  und  Schleswig; 
sowie  weiter  siidlich,  von  Werden  a.d.  Ruhr  iiber  Hildesheim 
und  Halberstadt  bis  Magdeburg,  oder  auf  der  Linie  von  Mainz, 
Wiirzburg,  Bamberg,  Merseburg, — ganz  zu  schweigen  von 
Reichenau. 

Von  irgend  einer  Einigkeit  oder  auch  nur  einer  iiberwiegen- 
den  Meinung  kann  bisher  durchaus  noch  keine  Rede  sein. 
Dabei  darf  nicht  geleugnet  werden,  dass  jede  Anschauung 
hervorragend  tiichtige  Vertreter  gefunden  hat,  die,  ein  jeder 
an  seinem  Teile,  wichtige  Bausteine  zur  endgiltigen  Losung 
herbeigetragen  haben.  Von  einer  solchen  aber  sind  wir  noch 
immer  weit  entfernt.  Sollte  drittens  und  letztens  der  Haupt- 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  219 

grund  daf  iir  nicht  in  der  bisherigen  Vernachlassigung  der  litera- 
rischen  Seiteliegen?  Kann  nicht  der  Inhalt  der  Dichtung,  neben 
und  iiber  der  Form,  viel  mehr  noch  ausgebeutet  werden  auf  An- 
zeichen  hin,  die  uns  das  dunkle  Heimatsproblem  erhellen? 

Wenn  wir  unter  diesen  Umstanden  ausschliesslich  vom 
philologischen  Standpunkt  aus  an  das  Heimatsproblem  heran- 
treten,  so  haben  wir  mit  schier  uniiberwindlichen  Schwierigkeiten 
zu  kampfen  und  miissen  uns  vorderhand  begniigen  mit  dem 
Versuch,  zuerst  die  Frage  zu  beantworten:  in  welchem  Dialekt 
und  wo  ist  die  Handschrift  M1  oder  C1  oder  V1  aigeschrieben 
von  ihrer  Vorlage?  Mit  der  Beantwortung  dieser  Frage  hatten 
wir  immer  erst  das  Heimatsproblem  dieser  einen  Handschrift 
gelost,  aber  noch  lange  nicht  das  des  Heliand  selbst.  Da  ferner 
die  Philologen  auch  darin  einig  sind,  dass  unsere  Manuskripte 
samtlich  nicht  vom  Original  abgeschrieben  sind,  so  scheint  es 
in  der  Tat  ein  fast  hoffnungsloses  Unternehmen,  den  Dialekt  des 
Originals  mit  wissenschaftlicher  Sicherheit  festzustellen,  solange 
uns  weder  das  Original  noch  sogar  eine  originale  erste  Abschrift 
des  Originals  vorliegt  (Naheres  hieriiber  wird  in  Kapitel  III  zu 
sagen  sein). 

Es  ist  deshalb  keine  Verkleinerung  der  Verdienste  der 
Philologen  um  die  Heliandsprobleme,  wenn  wir  aus  vorstehen- 
dem  folgern,  dass  inbezug  auf  unser  Heimatsproblem  von  der 
Philologie  allein,  angesichts  des  Fehlens  des  Originals  des 
Heliand,  eine  endgiltige  Losung  nicht  zu  erwarten  ist. 

Etwas  aussichtsvoller  aber  steht  die  Sache  fiir  die  Litera- 
turhistoriker,  die,  statt  aus  der  Form,  aus  dem  Inhalt  des 
Heliand  eine  Losung  des  Heimatsproblems  und  insbesondere 
eine  Antwort  auf  die  Frage  nach  der  Heimat  der  Adressaten 
zu  gewinnen  suchen.  Denn  uber  den  urspriinglichen  Inhalt 
kann  kein  Zweifel  bestehen;  den  haben  wir  ja  wohlbewahrt 
in  wenigstens  2  von  unseren  Handschriften,  gesichert  und 
gleichmassig,  vor  uns. 

Wenn  wir  nun  hier  versuchen,  aus  dem  Inhalt  des  Heliand 
Anhaltspunkte  fiir  die  Bestimmung  der  Heimat  der  Adressaten 
zu  gewinnen,  so  muss  sich  unsere  Untersuchung  auf  das  be- 
schranken,  worin  die  Darstellung  des  Heliand  sich  von  der  ur- 
spriinglichen und  ihm  zu  Grunde  liegenden  Darstellung  der  Bibel 

*M  =  Monacensis  (Miinchen);  C  =  Cottonianus  (London);  V  =  Vati- 
canus  (Rom). 


220  Metzenthin 

bzw.  des  Tatian'schen  Diatessaron  oder  anderen  seiner   Quellen 
unterscheidet. 

Dabei  diirfen  wir  freilich  nicht  ausser  Acht  lassen,  dass  die 
Griinde  fiir  solche  Anderungen  sehr  verschiedenartiger  Natur 
sein  konnten.  Es  ist  z.B.  schon  ofters  und  mit  Recht  darauf 
hingewiesen  worden,  dass  der  Dichter,  der  ein  Epos  verfassen 
wollte,  natiirlich  die  biblischen  Stoffe  danach  scheiden  musste, 
wie  weit  sie  fiir  diese  besondere  Dichtungsart  geeignet  waren 
oder  nicht,  dass  er,  um  sie  dem  epischen  Stil  anzupassen, 
Zusatze  und  Auslassungen  sich  erlauben,  Umstellungen  und 
mannigfache  Anderungen  vornehmen  musste.  Vgl.  dazu 
u.a.  Eduard  Lauterburg  "Heliand  und  Tatian"  Diss.  1896; 
Edmund  Behringer  "Zur  Wurdigung  des  Heliand,"  Schulprogr. 
Wiirzburg  1863  (S.  22),  Windisch  (a.a.O.  S.  32).  Es  ist  ferner 
als  richtig  anerkannt  worden,  dass  der  Verfasser,  um  seine n 
deutschen  Lesern  des  9ten  Jahrhunderts  verstandlich  zu  wer- 
den,  Namen,  Sitten,  Anschauungen  und  Formen  des  Juden- 
tums  zur  Zeit  Christi  nicht  einfach  iibertragen,  sondern  der 
Auffassungsfahigkeit  seiner  Adressaten  anahneln  musste.  Aber 
es  scheint,  als  ob  die  Germanistik  bis  heute  diese  richtige 
Erkenntnis  noch  nicht  energisch,  konsequent  und  griindlich  zur 
Anwendung  und  Ausfiihrung  gebracht  hat.2  Wir  konnen  uns 
hier  auf  das  Urteil  eines  solchen  Kenners  wie  Ernst  Windisch 
berufen,  der  sich  folgendermassen  ausgesprochen  hat.8 

"Merkwiirdiger  Weise  fehlt  immer  noch  vor  Allem  eine 
grundliche  Untersuchung  des  Werkes  selbst,  etwa  in  ahnlicher 
Weise,  wie  sie  von  Kelle  liber  Otfrids  Krist  angestellt  ist,  obwohl 
eine  solche  doch  gerade  beim  Heliand  so  notwendig  ist,  da  uns 
dieses  Werk  bekanntlich  ohne  Titel,  iiberhaupt  ohne  irgend 
welche  aussere  Nachricht  iiberliefert  ist,  und  dieser  Mangel  nur 
durch  mehr  oder  minder  kuhne  Combinationen,  die  eben  erst, 
um  glaubwiirdig  zu  werden,  anderweitiger  Unterstiitzung  be- 
dlirfen,  ersetzt  werden  kann." 

Auffallenderweise  schrankt  Windisch  spater,  auf  S.  31, 
seine  eigene  Ausserung  gerade  inbezug  auf  die  von  ihm  mit  so 
vorbildlicher  Griindlichkeit  bearbeiteten  "Auslassungen"  selber 
ein  mit  den  Worten,  die,  scharf  genommen,  seine  eigene  Arbeit 

2  Vgl.  hierzu  auch  JeUinek  A.  f.  d.  A.  XXI  204 ff.  (1895)  und  Jostes  Z.  f.  d.  A. 
XL  349  ff.  (1896). 

3  S.  1  seines  "Der  Heliand  und  seine  Quellen." 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  221 

als  zweck-  und  wertlos  verurteilen:  "Es  ware  eine  unnotige 
Verschwendung  von  Zeit  und  Miihe,  wollte  man  bei  jedem 
einzelnen  weggelassenen  Stiicke  nach  der  Ursache  fragen." 
Auch  Bruckner4  erklart:  "Die  Motive  (fiir  die  Anderungen) 
entziehen  sich  unserer  Kenntnis."  Und  doch  gibt  gerade  die 
Arbeit  von  Windisch  mit  dem  Verzeichnis  aUer,  auch  der 
kleinsten  Auslassungen  und  Anderungen  eine  so  treffliche 
Grundlage  fiir  die  Priifung  der  Grande  des  Dichters,  dass  wir 
fiir  iiber  90%  der  Auslassungen  solche  Griinde  erkennen  oder 
doch  mit  grosster  Wahrscheinlichkeit  mutmassen  konnen. 

Fiir  unsere  Aufgabe  haben  wir  es  natiirlich  zu  tun  mit 
solchen  Anderungen,  von  denen  anzunehmen  ist,  dass  sie  ihren 
Grund  in  der  Riicksicht  auf  das  Verstandnis  oder  den  Ge- 
sichtskreis  der  Adressaten  haben.  Freilich  gibt  es  auch  hier 
nicht  immer  Gewissheiten,  und  Manchem  mag  das  Fundament 
hier  noch  schwankender  erscheinen,  als  bei  den  philologischen 
Schlussfolgerungen.  Dennoch  glauben  wir  allsei+ig  Zustim- 
mung  zu  finden  mit  folgenden  Satzen,  die  wir  als  Pramissen 
unseren  Einzeluntersuchungen  voranstellen  wollen: 

1.  Der  Verfasser  des  Heliand  hat  die  schwierige  Aufgabe 
iibernommen  und  nach  einstimmigem  Urteile  aller  Kenner  treff- 
lich  durchgefiihrt:  die  seinem  Publikum  vielfach  fremdartigen 
und     schwerverstandlichen     neutestamentlichen     Geschichten 
demselben  doch  anschaulich  und  begreiflich  zu  machen,  indem 
er  sie  aus  dem  Orient  in  den  Occident,  aus  der  jiidischen  in  die 
germanische  Atmosphare,  aus  der  Zeit  Christi  in  die  Zeit  der 
Bliite  der  Karolinger  iibertrug. 

2.  Es  ist  deshalb  als  sicher  anzunehmen,  dass  der  Dichter 
alles,    was   seinem   Publikum   vertraut   und  verstandlich  war 
oder  gemacht  werden  konnte — sei  es  eine  Sitte  oder  Tatigkeit, 
eine  nationale,  landschaftliche  oder  geographische  Eigenart, 
Bezeichnungen  von  Gebrauchsartikeln  oder  Ortschaften,  eine 
Lehre   Christi  oder   die   Bedeutung  eines   Gleichnisses — ohne 
Anderung  beibehielt,    schon    aus    Ehrfurcht  vor  der  heiligen 
Uberlieferung,  und  dass  er  nur  das  zu  andern  sich  fur  berechtigt 
und  verpflichtet  hielt,  was  seinen  Adressaten  fremdartig  oder 
fernerliegend  oder  gar  vollig  unbekannt  war. 

3.  Selbstverstandlich  musste  des  Dichters  Grundsatz  dabei 
sein,  solch'  fremdartige  Ziige,  Bezeichnungen,  Bilder  und  Vor- 

4  In  seiner  Diss.  "Der  Heliand-Dichter  ein  Laie"  S.  14. 


222  Metzenthin 

stellungen  durch  seinen  Lesern  zweifellos  wohlvertraute,  ihrem 
Gesichtskreis  naheliegende  zu  ersetzen. 

Zur  Veranschaulichung  dieser  rein  theoretischen  und  des- 
halb  zunachst  in  sich  noch  nicht  iiberzeugenden  Satze  fiige  ich 
gleich  ein  praktisches  Beispiel  bei: 

Der  Dichter  weiss  aus  der  Bibel  oder  dem  Tatian  genau, 
dass  der  Leichnam  Jesu  in  ein  Felsengrab  gelegt  wurde.  Er 
berichtet  nun  die  Grablegung  getreulich,  weicht  aber  von  seiner 
Quelle  ab,  indem  er  spricht  von  dem 

"graf  an  theson  griote"  (v.  5824), 

wahrend  die  Evangelisten  es  samtlich,  und  mit  Recht,  als  ein 
Felsengrab  bezeichnen. 

Ware  nun  seinen  Lesern  solch  ein  Felsengrab  irgendwie  ver- 
standlich  oder  bekannt  gewesen,  so  hatte  ihm  gewiss  schon  sein 
Glaube  an  die  Inspiration  der  biblischen  Berichte  und,  falls  er 
ein  Laie  war,  der  ihm  anerzogene  Respekt  vor  der  kirchlichen 
tiberlieferung  davon  abgehalten,  irgendeine  Anderung  zu 
unternehmen.  Wenn  er  es  dennoch  tat,  so  ist  es  fur  uns  ein 
sicherer  Beweis  dafiir,  dass  seinen  Lesern  ein  Felsengrab  etwas 
vollig  fremdartiges  war.  So  lebhaft  und  allbeherrschend  war 
aber  sein  Wunsch,  das  fur  seine  Leser  unverstandliche  ihnen  ver- 
standlich  zu  machen,  dass  er,  sogar  auf  die  Gefahr  bin,  gewis- 
sermassen  den  Kern  der  biblischen  Erzahlung  zu  zerstoren — 
man  denke  an  die  Szenen  bei  Schliessung  des  Grabes  durch 
die  Felsplatte  sowie  bei  seiner  Offnung  am  Ostermorgen: — , 
das  Felsengrab  in  ein  Sandgrab  verwandelt.  Und  hierdurch 
verrat  er  uns  schon,  dass  diese  Leser  nicht  in  einer  Gebirgsge- 
gend  mit  Felsen  und  Hohlen,  sender n  in  einer  Sandgegend  zu 
suchen  sind,  d.  h.  nicht  in  Ober-  oder  Mitteldeutschland,  son- 
dern  im  nordischen  Flachlande. 

Zur  Gewissheit  aber  wird  diese  Schlussfolgerung,  wenn  wir 
betreffs  der  Kreuzigung  Christi  lesen: 

v.  5532:  Thuo  sia  thar  an  griete  galgon  rib  tun 
An  them  felde  uppan,  folc  Judeono, 

und  dass  auch  das  Grab  Johannis  des  Taufers  in  dem  Sande 
angelegt  ist  (v.  2795:  endi  ine  an  sande  bigrobun). 

Dies  Beispiel  wird  zur  Veranschaulichung  unserer  obigen 
Pramisse  ausreichen  und  zugleich  die  Art  unserer  Beweisflih- 
rung  im  allgemeinen  kennzeichen. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  223 

Zur  besseren  tJbersicht  und  scharferen  Heraushebung  der 
Hauptpunkte  teilen  wir  die  von  uns  zu  behandelnden  Ab- 
weichungen  des  Heliand  von  seinen  Quellen  unter  folgende 
Hauptgesichtpunkte : 

A.  Naturprodukte : 

Weizen,  Senfkorn,  Salz,  Siisswasser. 

B.  LandschaftlicheEigenarten: 

Sand,  Berg,  Wald,  Wurd,  See,  Fluss,  Westwind. 

C.  Berufsarbeiter: 

Weinbauern,  Pferdeknechte,  Fischer,  Seefahrer. 

D.  Ortsbezeichnungen 

auf:  burg,  wik,  holm,  klif. 

E.  Verschiedenes. 

Alle  Zitate,  aus  dem  Heliand,  der  Praefatio  und  der  versus 
in  der  vorliegenden  Studie  sind  entnommen  aus  Otto.  Be- 
haghel,  Heliand  und  Genesis,  2.  A.  Halle  a/S.  1910. 

A.  NATURPRODUKTE: 
1.  Korn  statt  Weizen: 

Es  ist  auffallend,  dass  der  Heliand  nicht  einmal  das  doch 
in  den  Evangelien  und  bei  Tatian  wiederholt  zu  findende 
"Weizen"  (ahd:  uueizi)  gebraucht,  obwohl  doch  das  alts.  Wort 
"hweti"  durchaus  bekannt  war.  So  lesen  wir  im  Gleichnis 
vom  "Unkraut  unter  dem  Weizen"  v.  2542:  hluttar  hr^ncorni, 
v.  2550:  hluttar  corn,  oder  dafiir  v.  2556  fruhtio  (vgl.  v.  2390: 
hrencorni)  statt  des  biblischen:  Weizen. 

Das  kann  weder  zufallig  noch  absichtslos  geschehen  sein. 
Was  fiir  einen  Grund  kann  der  Verfasser  dafiir  gehabt  haben? 
Falls  seinen  Adressaten  Weizen  eine  bekannte  Frucht  war, 
wiirde  der  Ersatz  des  hw£ti  durch  korn  unmotiviert  und 
irrefiihrend  gewesen  sein.  Nur  fiir  den  Fall,  dass  in  ihrem 
Ackerbau  Weizen  unbekannt  oder  doch  weniger  bekannt  als 
Korn  war,  hatte  der  Dichter  die  Berechtigung,  ja  die  Pflicht, 
es  durch  etwas  ihnen  vertrauteres  zu  ersetzen. 

Nun  wissen  wir,  dass5  "der  Roggen  mehr  im  Norden  als  im 
Siiden  Deutschlands  gebaut  wurde,"  und  zwar  durch  die  Kor- 
veyer  Heberollen,  wo  Roggen  haufig  unter  den  Gef alien  er- 

*  S.  Theo.  Sommerlad,  "Die  wirtschaf tliche  Tatigkeit  der  Kirche  in  Deutsch- 
land,"  Leipzig,  1900  und  1905,  IS.  65  Anm.  2. 


224  Metzenthin 

scheint.6  Wasliegt  dann  naher  alszufolgern:  Also  war  der  He- 
liand  nicht  fur  den  Siiden  Deutschlands  bestimmt,  wo  Weizen 
wohlbekannt  war,  besonders  nicht  fiir  Siidostsachsen,  Merseburg 
oder  Hassegau  und  Friesenfeld,  wo  schwerer  Weizenboden  vor- 
handen  war. 

2.  Senfkorn: 

Ebenso  auffallend,  wenn  auch  auf  den  ersten  Blick  scheinbar 
nur  eine  "quantite  negligeable,"  ist  es,  dass  der  Heliand  in  dem 
Gleichnisse  vom  Senfkorn  (Matthaus  13,  31)  den  biblischen 
Ausdruck:  "granum  sinapis"  bzw.  den  Tatian'schen:  "corn 
senafes"  ganzlich  vermeidet  und  ihn  durch  die  verallgemei- 
nernde  Bezeichnung 

luttiles  huat  (v.  2625) 

wiedergibt.  Um  so  auffallender,  erstens,  weil  er  mit  diesem 
unbestimmten  Ausdruck  gegen  den  epischen  Grundsatz  klarer 
Anschaulichkeit  und  Bestimmtheit  groblich  verstosst;  zweitens, 
weil,  wie  wir  aus  Karls  des  Grossen  "Capitulare  de  villis" 
positiv  wissen,  Senf  sowohl  auf  den  Krongiitern  hergestellt  als 
auch  in  den  kaiserlichen  Garten  angebaut  wurde.7 

Wenn  also  der  Heliand  f  iir  irgendeinen  der  mit  Kaiserlichen 
Krongiitern  durchsetzten,  in  hoher  landwirtschaftlicher  Kultur 
befindlichen  Distrikte  des  Frankenreiches  bestimmt  gewesen 
ware,  hatte  er  keine  ersichtliche  Veranlassung  gehabt,  dies 
Gleichnis  seines  Kernwortes  zu  berauben,  ebensowenig  wie  Ta- 
tian  es  fur  angezeigt  hielt.  Da  der  Dichter  es  nun  doch  getan 
hat,  muss  etwas  vorgelegen  haben,  das  ihn  aus  Riicksicht  auf 
seine  Adressaten — denn  ihm  selbst  konnte,  gemass  den  obigen 
Zitaten,  die  Senfpflanze  nichts  unbekanntes  gewesen  sein — 
bewog,  das  "Senfkorn"  in  "luttiles  huat"  zu  verandern  und 
unter  dem  Zwange  dieser  Verallgemeinerung  auch  den  Rest 
dieses  kurzen  Gleichniss-Wortes  abzuflachen  und  seine  Eigenart 
zu  zerstoren  Sein  Grund  wird  schwerlich  ein  anderer  gewesen 
sein,  als  der  oben  fur  den  Ersatz  des  "Weizen"  durch  "Korn" 
erschlossene,  namlich  der,  dass  seine  Adressaten  in  ihrer  Land- 
und  Gartenwirtschaft  die  Senfpflanze  eben  nicht  kannten  und 

8  Vgl.  auch  Kniili. 

7  Vgl.  Franz  v.  Loher,  "Kultur-Geschichte  der  Deutschen  im  Mittelalter," 
Miinchen  1896,  II  214  und  215;  O.  Lauffer:  Gottinger  Diss.  "Das  Landschaft- 
bild  Deutschlands,"  S.  36,  und  Karls  "Breviarium,"  S.  72  und  78. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  225 

deshalb  Jesu  Gleichnis  nicht  verstanden  hatten.  Seine  Leser 
konnen  also  nicht  auf  dem  hochentwickelten  Kulturboden 
des  Frankenreiches  gewohnt  haben,  sondern  in  einem  noch 
unkultivierten  und,  fiigen  wir  hinzu,  rauheren  Bezirk,  den  wir 
am  ersten  im  aussersten  Nordosten  des  Reiches  suchen  konnen. 
Da  wir  ausserdem  wissen,  dass  die  Klostergarten  auf  hoher 
Kulturstufe  standen,  den  Krongiitern  nacheiferten  und  fur  die 
angrenzende  Landwirtschaft  mustergiltig  waren,  so  diirfen 
wir  uns  die  Leser  des  Heliand  nicht  "im  Schatten  der  Kirchen," 
in  der  Nachbarschaft  solcher  Klostergarten  wohnhaft  denken, 
weshalb  wir  die  Hypothesen  derjenigen  Germanisten  ablehnen 
miissen,  welche  den  Heliand  als  fur  irgendwelchen  alteren 
Bischofs-  oder  Klosterbezirk  bestimmt  ansetzen. 
3.  Salz: 

In  der  Bergpredigt  (Lc.  6,  27,  Mt.  5,  13)  lesen  wir: 
"Vos  estis  sal  terrae.  Quodsi  sal  evanuerit,  in  quo  salietur? 
Ad  nihilum  valet  ultra,  nisi  ut  proiciatur  foras  et  conculcetur  ab 
hominibus."  Tatian  gibt  dies  so  wieder  (c.  24,  2,  3):  "Ir  birut 
salz  erda.  Oba  thaz  salz  aritalet,  in  hiu  selzit  man  iz  thanne?  Zi 
niouuihtu  mag  iz  elihor,  nibi  thaz  man  iz  uzuuerphe,  inti  si 
furtretan  fon  mannun."  Was  macht  der  Heliand  daraus?  Wir 
zitieren: 

v.  1370:  "than  is  im  sd  them  salte,  the(m)  man  bi  se(w)es  stade 
uuido  teuuirpit,   than  it  te  uuihte  ni  d6g, 
ac  it  firiho  barn  f6tun  spurnat, 
gumon  an  greote. 

Der  Dichter  fiihrt  hier  in  das  Gleichnis  einen  ganz  neuen  und 
iiberraschenden  Zug  ein,  sicherlich  mit  der  Absicht,  es  fiir  seine 
Leser  anschaulicher  zu  machen.  Denken  wir  uns  diese  Leser 
nun  mit  den  meisten  Germanisten  im  Innern  Deutschlands, 
fern  der  Seektiste,  lebend,  so  stehen  wir  hier  vor  einem  Ratsel. 
Denn  der  Dichter  wiirde  fiir  solche  Leser  etwas  ihnen  ganz 
fremdartiges  hineintragen,  was  nur  geeignet  war,  das  Gleichnis 
ihnen  zu  verdunkeln  durch  die  ganz  unmotivierte  Verlegung 
der  Situation  an  das  Meeresgestade.  Um  so  unberechtigter, 
als  Jesus  diese  Worte,  auch  nach  dem  Bericht  des  Heliand,  in 
der  .Sergpredigt  gesprochen  hat.  Was  konnte  des  Dichters 
Blicke  vom  Berg  aufs  Meer  gerichtet  haben?  Es  gibt  keine 
andere  Erklarung,  als  die,  dass  ihm  selbst  bzw.  seinen  Lesern 
das  Meer  etwas  vollig  vertrautes  war  und  dass  die  Erwahnung 


226  Metzenthin 

des  Salzes  seine  Gedanken  unwillkiirlich  auf  die  Static,  wo  es, 
fur  ihn  und  seine  Leser,  gewonnen  wurde,  lenkte. 

Damit  aber  haben  wir  einen  neuen  und  sehr  starken  Grund 
gewonnen  fur  die  Annahme,  dass  die  Adressaten  des  Heliand 
nirgends  im  Innern  Deutschlands  gesucht  werden  diirfen,  son- 
dern  an  der  Kuste  oder  doch  nicht  fern  davon.  Ganz  besonders 
spricht  aber  die  Einfiihrung  des  Seegestades  und  des  Seesalzes 
gegen  die  Hypothese,  fur  die  eine  Reihe  von  Germanisten  mit 
sonst  recht  starken  Grunden  eintreten,  dass  die  Adressaten  des 
Heliand  im  mittleren  oder  siidlichen  Ostfalen  anzusetzen  sind. 
Denn  gerade  dort  wurde  das  Salz  schon  in  altester  Zeit  von 
Steinen  gewonnen,  so  dass  den  dortigen  Sachsen  der  Gedanke 
an  Sees&lz  besonders  fern  lag.  Dort  haben  wir  den  Ort  Saltwe- 
dili  schon  auf  einer  Karte  v.  J.  1000;  woraus  sich  erschliessen 
lasst,  dass  dort  schon  lange  vorher  Steinsalzlager  vorhanden 
waren  und  benutzt  wurden.  Wir  haben  dort  den  "Salzigen  See" 
bei  Walsleben,  20  km.  westlich  von  Halle  a/S.  Wir  finden  ein 
Salzgut  erwahnt  bei  Stassfurt,  nahe  Nienburg  und  Bernburg, 
32  km.  siidlich  von  Magdeburg,  bereits  i.  J.  1151;  auch  bei 
Aschersleben,  15  km.  siid westlich  von  Stassfurt,  wurde  Salz 
gewonnen.  G.  Steinhausen  bestatigt:8  "Salzquellen  waren  im 
innern  Deutschland  friih  von  grosser  Wichtigkeit;  man  kampfte 
sehr  heftig  um  sie  und  weihte  ihnen  auch  wohl  besondere 
Verehrung."  Auch  der  Name  des  siidostsachsischen  Flusses 
"Saale"  deutet  auf  das  Vorkommen  von  Salz  in  jener  Gegend. 

Wie  aber  ware  es  denkbar,  dass  ein  Meister  epischer  An- 
schaulichkeit,  dessen  Grundsatz  ersichtlich  uberall  war,  im 
Interesse  des  besseren  Verstandnisses  seines  Publikums,  fremd- 
artiges  durch  bekannteres  zu  ersetzen,  hier  gerade  das  Gegen- 
teil  getan  hatte,  namlich  die  seinen  Lesern,  wie  den  Juden, 
unbekannte  Seesalzgewinnung  einzufiigen  da,  wo  davon  garnicht 
die  Rede  war  in  seinen  Vorlagen,  wahrend  doch  seinen  Adressa- 
ten, falls  sie  in  Ostfalen  lebten,  das  Steinsalz  ein  wohlvertrautes 
Produkt  ihres  heimischen,  fern  vom  Meere  gelegenen  Bodens 
war. 

Von  mehreren  Heliand-Forschern  ist  daher  diese  Stelle 
schon  mitbenutzt  worden,  um  darauf  die  Annahme  zu  griinden, 
dass  die  Heimat  des  Heliand  an  der  Kiiste  zu  suchen  ist,  beson- 
ders von  Jostes  und  Jellinghaus.  Ersterer  sucht  die  Heimat  be- 
kanntlich  in  Nordalbingien,  nicht  fern  iibrigens  von  der  Gegend, 

•  In  "Gennanische  Kultur  der  Vorzeit,"  (S.  124). 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  227 

wohin  wir  sie  auch  verlegen;  letzterer  aber  in  Holland,  bei 
Deventer.  Jedoch  ist  letztere  Gegend  noch  immer  40  km.  von 
dem  Zuider  See,  und  noch  viel  weiter  vom  Meere  selbst  entfernt, 
und  sie  entbehrt  des  Sand-Charakters,  der,  wie  wir  schon  oben 
sahen  und  bald  noch  volliger  begrunden  werden,  in  der  Land- 
schaf  t  des  Heliand  so  vorherrschend  ist. 

Eine  Bestarkung  unserer  Hinneigung  zur  holsteinischen 
Kiiste  als  der  Heimat  der  Heliand-Adressaten  finden  wir  auch 
in  dem  Namen  des  die  Ostkiiste  Holsteins  bespulenden  Meeres, 
den  uns,  auf  Grund  der  "Monumenta  historica  Germaniae," 
Scriptores  195  anno  808,  O.  Lauffer9  liefert:  "Orientalis  maris 
sinus,  quern  illi  (namlich  die  Holsteiner)  Ostersalt  dicunt" — 
man  beachte  das  Jahr  808,  also  etwa  20  Jahre  vor  der  Abfassung 
unseres  Heliand! 

Fur  diese  Anwohner  der  Ost-  oder  Westkiiste  Holsteins 
konnte  daher  die  eigentiimliche  Wendung  der  Salz-Parabel  auf 
das  "Seegestade"  hin  keine  Verdunkelung,  sondern  nur  eine 
Erhellung  bedeuten,  wogegen  sie  fiir  Binnenlandbewohner 
gerade  das  Umgekehrte  sein  musste. 
4.  Susses  Wasser: 

Wahrend  wir  in  Nr.  3  wahrscheinlich  eine  wohlbeabsichtigte 
Anderung  des  Dichters  annehmen  diirfen,  macht  die  Ande- 
rung,  welche  wir  jetzt  zu  betrachten  haben,  den  Eindruck  des 
absichtslosen  und  fast  unbewussten. 

Es  handelt  sich  um  die  Wiedergabe  einer  der  wenigen  Reden 
aus  dem  Johannis  Evangelium,  die  unser  epischer  Dichter  als 
geeignet  fiir  sein  Werk  aufgenommen  hat ;  die  meisten  Streit- 
reden  Jesu  bei  Johannes  mochten  ihm  wohl  mit  Recht  "zu 
hoch,"  d.h.  zu  spirituell  und  mystisch  fur  seine  Naturkinder 
erscheinen.  Wir  horen  den  geheimnisvollen  Ruf  Jesu,  Joh.  7, 
37:  Qui  sitit  veniat  ad  me  et  bibat!  v.  38:  Qui  credit  in  me, 
sicut  dicit  scriptura,  flumina  de  ventre  eius  fluent  aquae  vivae. 

Die  letzten  uns  hier  allein  angehenden  Worte  "fluent  aquae 
vivae"  sind  bei  Tatian  (c.  129,  5)  ahd.  wiedergegeben  mit 
"fluzzi  fliozzent  lebentes  uuazares." 

Im  Heliand  ist  die  Szene  breit  ausgemalt,  wobei  gegen  diejeni- 
gen,  welche  aus  dem  Schwelgen  des  Heliand  in  aristokratischen 
Ausdriicken  eine  antidemokratische  Gesinnung  des  Dichters 
zu  folgern  geneigt  sind,  die  Verse  3901-6,  betreffs  des  verschie- 
denen  Verhaltens  der  "smale  thioda"  und  der  "rikeon  man" 

9  In  seiner  obengenannten  Dissertation  S.  48  Anm.  2. 


228  Metzenthin 

zu  Jesu,  die  Volksfreundlichkeit  unseres  Dichters  zu  beweisen 
geeignet  sein  diirften.  Bei  dieser  breiten  Ausmalung  gefallt 
sich  der  Heliand  in  immer  neuen  Ausdriicken  fiir  das  "lebentes 
uuazares"  oder  "aquae  vivae"  des  Tatian.  Wir  finden  v. 
3917:  libbiendi  fl6d,  v.  3918:  irnandi  uuater,"  "ahospring 
mikil,"  v.  3919:  "quica  brunnon;"  alles  dies  den  Gegensatz  zum 
"stehenden  Wasser''  (Pfuhl,  Pfiitze,  Zisterne)  nach  verschiede- 
nen  Richtungen  bin  charakterisierend.  Dies  stimmt  ganz  mit 
den  Worten  und  Absichten  Jesu  zusammen,  der  hier  gerade  diese 
Uberlegenheit  des  lebendigen  Quellwassers  iiber  das  leblose 
Zisternenwasser  als  Gleichnis  benutzt  zur  Veranschaulichung 
der  Uberlegenheit  personlichen,  lebendigen  Glaubens  iiber 
unbewegliche  Tradition  und  lebloses  Dogma.  Was  aber  konnte 
nun  den  Dichter  veranlassen,  abweichend  von  seinen  Quellen, 
in  v.  3914  den  Ausdruck  "suoties  brunnan'  einzufiihren,  der 
ohne  Frage  das  ganze  Bild  verschiebt  und  das  Gleichnis  seiner 
Pointe  beraubt?  Denn  der  Gegensatz  zum  Siisswasser  ist  nicht 
lebloses,  stehendes  Wasser,  sondern  Salzwasser. 

Fiir  wen  hat,  so  fragen  wir,  der  Ausdruck  "Siisswasser" 
iiberhaupt  einen  Sinn?  Gebrauchen  wir  dies  Wort  einem 
Bauern  in  Binnenlande  gegeniiber,  so  wfrd  er  uns  erstaunt  an- 
blicken  und  nicht  begreifen,  was  fiir  Wasser  das  iiberhaupt  sei. 
Reden  wir  aber  zu  einem  Kiistenbewohner  vom  Siisswasser,  so 
denkt  er  sofort  im  Gegensatz  dazu  an  sein  salziges  Seewasser. 
Ja,  fiir  ihn  gibt  es  iiberhaupt  nur  diese  beiden  Arten  von 
Wasser:  Seewasser  und  Siisswasser;  "lebendiges"  Wasser  aber 
sind  sie  beide  fiir  ihn. 

Bei  einem  mit  der  See  vollig  unbekannten  und  fiir  Binnen- 
lander  schreibenden  Dichter  ware  dieser  ''lapsus  linguae"  oder 
"pennae"  unbegreiflich  und  unentschuldbar.  Fiir  die  Be- 
wohner  der  Hallige  an  der  Nordsee-Kiiste  aber  lag  ein  schoner, 
tiefer  Sinn  in  der  Verheissung  einer  unerschb'pflich  sprudelnden 
•SwwwasserquelJe,  die  fiir  diese  rings  von  Salzwasserfluten  um- 
gebenen  Inseln  von  unschatzbarem  Werte  ist. 

So  weisen  beide:  das  friiher  besprochene  "Seesalz"  und  das 
soeben  behandelte  "Siisswasser,"  uns  beim  Suchen  nach  den 
Adressaten  des  Heliand  in  ein  und  dieselbe  Richtung,  namlich 
ans  Meer. 

(To  be  continued) 

Brown  University  E.  C.  METZENTHIN 


THE  LATIN  PSEUDO-ARISTOTLE  AND  MEDIEVAL 
OCCULT  SCIENCE 

The  immense  influence  of  Aristotle  upon  medieval  learning 
has  long  been  recognized,  and  sometimes  unduly  emphasized. 
The  tendency  to  speak  of  it  in  sweeping  generalities  has  been 
largely  due  to  a  lack  of  detailed  research  on  the  subject  based 
upon  the  medieval  manuscripts  themselves.  Take,  for  example, 
the  medieval  Latin  translations  of  the  works  of  Aristotle  gener- 
ally received  as  genuine.  The  only  investigation  of  the  problem 
as  a  whole  is  that  of  Jourdain  made  a  century  ago  and  now  quite 
inadequate.1  Since  then  the  translations  of  two  or  three  individ- 
ual works  have  been  separately  investigated,2  but  the  recent 
work  of  Grabmann,3  while  more  general  in  scope,  omits  the 
twelfth  century  entirely  and  is  in  the  main  a  disappointing 
compilation.  If  so  little  real  attention  has  been  given  to  trans- 
lations of  the  genuine  works  of  Aristotle,  still  less  have  the 
writings  of  the  Pseudo- Aristotle  been  satisfactorily  investigated 
and  surveyed.4  In  this  article  I  propose  to  give  some  account — 
based  chiefly  upon  the  medieval  manuscripts  themselves, 
although  in  some  cases  the  works  have  been  printed  in  early 
editions — of  those  works  of  the  Pseudo-Aristotle  which  deal 
with  natural  and  more  especially  occult  science.  It  is  these  that 
are  most  closely  connected  with  the  Alexander  legend  and  from 
which  the  vernacular  literature  on  Alexander  doubtless  borrowed 

1  Amable  Jourdain,  Recherches  critiques  sur  I'age  et  Vorigine  des  traductions 
latines  d'Aristote,  Paris,  1819;  2nd  edition,  1843. 

2  Such  as  P.  Duhem,  "Du  temps  ou  la  scolastique  latine  a  connu  la  physi- 
que d'Aristote,"  in  Revue  de  philosophic,  (1909)  pp.  163-78;  and  C.  H.  Haskins, 
"Medieval  Versions  of  the  Posterior  Analytics,"  in  Harvard  Studies  in  Classical 
Philology,  XXV  (1914)  pp.  87-105. 

3  Martin  Grabmann,  Forschungen  uber  die  lateinischen  Aristoteles-Ueberset" 
zungen  des  XIII  Jahrhunderts,  Miinster,  1916.    He  gives  but  three  pages  to  the 
Pseudo-Aristotle. 

4  The  works  of  V.  Rose,  Aristoleles  Pseudepigraphus  and  De  ordine  et  aue- 
toritate  librorum  Aristotelis;  Munk's  article,  "Aristote"  in  La  France  litterairc; 
Schwab,  Bibliographic  d'Aristote,  Paris,  1896;  R.  Shute,  History  of  the  Aris- 
totelian Writings,  Oxford,  1888;  are  largely  limited  to  antiquity  and  in  so  far 
as  they  deal  with  the  Pseudo-Aristotle  at  all,  scarcely  reach  the  middle  ages. 

229 


230  Thorndike 

some  of  its  stories.5  It  is  indeed  very  difficult  to  distinguish 
works  of  occult  science  ascribed  to  Alexander  from  those  attrib- 
uted to  Aristotle  or  to  distinguish  the  stories  told  of  Alexander 
in  the  works  of  the  Pseudo- Aristotle  from  those  found  elsewhere. 
I  shall  therefore  include  some  of  both  of  these.  I  do  not, 
however,  intend  to  include  here  the  early  medieval  stories  of 
Alexander  and  Nectanebus  in  the  Pseudo-Callisthenes,  Julius 
Valerius  and  his  epitomes,  the  Letter  of  Alexander  to  Aristotle 
on  the  marvels  of  India,  and  so  on.  These  early  medieval 
Greek  and  Latin  bases  of  the  medieval  Alexander  legend  have 
been  much  studied  and  discussed.  My  study  is  rather  of  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  century  Latin  treatises  ascribed  to  Aristotle  and 
Alexander  which  have  been  largely  neglected.6 

It  is  not  surprising  that  many  spurious  works  were  attributed 
to  Aristotle  in  the  middle  ages,  when  we  remember  that  his 
writings  came  to  them  for  the  most  part  indirectly  through 
corrupt  translations,  and  that  some  writing  from  so  great  a 
master  was  eagerly  looked  for  upon  every  subject  in  which  they 
were  interested.  It  seemed  to  them  that  so  encyclopedic  a 
genius  must  have  touched  on  all  fields  of  knowledge  and  they 
often  failed  to  realize  that  in  Aristotle's  time  the  departments 
of  learning  had  been  somewhat  different  from  their  own  and  that 
new  interests  and  doctrine  had  developed  since  then.  There 
was  also  a  tendency  to  ascribe  to  Aristotle  any  work  of  unknown 
or  uncertain  authorship.  At  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century 
Alexander  Neckam7  lists  among  historic  instances  of  envy 
Aristotle's  holding  back  from  posterity  certain  of  his  most 
subtle  writings,  which  he  ordered  should  be  buried  with  him. 
At  the  same  time  he  so  guarded  the  place  of  his  sepulcher, 
whether  by  some  force  of  nature  or  power  of  art  or  prodigy  of 

6  Ch.  Gidel,  "La  Legende  d'Aristote  au  moyen  age,"  in  Assoc.  des  etudes 
grecques,  (1874)  pp.  285-332,  except  for  the  Pseudo-Callisthenes  uses  only  the 
French  vernacular  literature  or  popular  legends  concerning  Aristotle.     Similar 
in  scope  is  W.  Hertz,  "Aristoteles  in  den  Alexanderdichtungen  des  Mittelalters," 
in  Abhandl.  d.  philos.-philol.  Classe  d.  k.  bayr.  Akad.  d.  Wiss.,  XIX  (1892) 
pp.  1-103;  revised  in  W.  Hertz,  Gesammelte  Abhandlungen,  1905,  pp.  1-155. 

•  G.  H.  Luquet,  who  wrote  on  "Aristote  et  I'universit6  de  Paris  pendant 
le  XIHe  siecle"  in  Bibl.  hautes  etudes,  Sciences  relig.,  XVI,  2,  1904,  announced 
a  general  work  on  the  knowledge  of  Aristotle's  writings  and  teachings  in  the 
middle  ages,  but  it  does  not  seem  to  have  appeared. 

7  De  naturis  rerum,  II,  189. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  231 

magic  is  uncertain,  that  no  one  has  yet  been  able  to  approach  it, 
although  some  think  that  Antichrist  will  be  able  to  inspect  these 
books  when  he  comes.  Roger  Bacon  in  the  thirteenth  century 
believed  that  Aristotle  had  written  over  a  thousand  works  and 
complained  bitterly  because  certain  treatises,  which  were  prob- 
ably really  apocryphal,  had  not  been  translated  into  Latin.8 
Indeed,  some  of  the  works  ascribed  to  Aristotle  in  the  Oriental 
and  Mohammedan  worlds  were  never  translated  into  Latin, 
such  as  the  astrological  De  impressionibus  coelestibus  which 
Bacon  mentions,  or  the  Syriac  text  which  K.  Ahrens  edited  in 
1892  with  a  German  translation  as  "Das  Buch  der  Naturgegen- 
stande,"  or  first  appeared  in  Latin  guise  after  the  invention  of 
printing,  as  was  the  case  with  the  so-called  Theology  of  Aristotle,9 
a  work  which  was  little  more  than  a  series  of  extracts  from  the 
Enneads  of  Plotinus.10  Some  of  the  treatises  attributed  to 
Aristotle  which  were  current  in  medieval  Latin  do  not  bear 
especially  upon  our  investigation,  such  as  the  Grammar  which 
Robert  Grosseteste  is  said  to  have  translated  from  the  Greek.11 
For  our  purposes  the  Pseudo-Aristotelian  writings  may  be 
sub-divided  under  seven  heads:  experiment,  alchemy,  astrology, 
spirits,  occult  virtues  of  stones  and  herbs,-  chiromancy  and 
physiognomy,  and  last  the  famous  "Secrets  of  Secrets."  Under 
the  first  of  these  heads  may  be  put  a  treatise  on  the  conduct  of 
waters,  which  consists  of  a  series  of  experiments  in  syphoning 
and  the  like  illustrated  in  the  manuscript  by  lettered  and  colored 
figures  and  diagrams.12  In  a  Vatican  manuscript  it  is  perhaps 
more  correctly  ascribed  to  Philo  of  Byzantium. 

8  Compendium  Studii  Pkilosophiae,  ed.  Brewer,  (1859)  p.  473. 

•It  was  translated  into  Arabic  about  840  A.D.;  an  interpolated  Latin 
paraphrase  of  it  was  published  at  Rome  in  1519,  by  Pietro  Niccolo  de'  Castel- 
lani, — Sapientissimi  Aristotdis  Stagiritae  Theologia  sive  mistica  philosophia, 
secundum  Aegyptios  noviter  reperta  et  in  latinam  castigatissime  redacta;  a 
French  version  appeared  at  Paris  in  1572  (Carra  de  Vaux,  Avicenne,  p.  74). 
F.  Dieterici  translated  it  from  Arabic  into  German  in  1883,  after  publishing  the 
Arabic  text  for  the  first  tune  in  1882.  For  divergences  between  this  Arabic 
text  and  the  Latin  one  of  1519,  and  citation  of  Baumgartner  that  the  Theology 
was  known  in  Latin  translation  as  early  as  1200,  see  Grabmann  (1916),  pp. 
245-7. 

10  Indeed  Carra  de  Vaux,  Avicenne,  p.  73  says,  "Tout  un  livre  qui  ne 
contient  en  realite'  que  des  extraits  des  Enneades  IV  a  VI  de  Plotin." 

11  See  Arundel  MS.  165, 14th  century. 
"Sloane  MS.  2039,  fols.  110-13. 


232  Thorndike 

From  experiment  to  alchemy  is  an  easy  step,  for  the  alche- 
mists experimented  a  good  deal  in  the  period  which  we  are  now 
considering.  The  fourth  book  of  the  Meteorology  of  Aristotle, 
which,  if  not  a  genuine  portion  of  that  work,  at  least  goes  back 
to  the  third  century  before  Christ,13  has  been  called  a  manual 
of  chemistry,14  and  apparently  is  the  oldest  such  extant.  Its 
doctrines  are  also  believed  to  have  been  influential  in  the 
development  of  alchemy;  and  there  were  passages  in  this  fourth 
book  which  led  men  later  to  regard  Aristotle  as  favorable  to  the 
doctrine  of  the  transmutation  of  metals.  Gerard  of  Cremona 
had  translated  only  the  first  three  books  of  the  Meteorology; 
the  fourth  was  supplied  from  a  translation  from  the  Greek  made 
by  Henricus  Aristippus  who  died  in  1162;  to  this  fourth  book 
were  added  three  chapters  translated  by  Alfred  of  England  or 
of  Sarchel  from  the  Arabic,15  apparently  of  Avicenna.16  These 
additions  of  Alfred  from  Avicenna  discussed  the  formation  of 

13  Hammer- Jensen,  "Das  sogennante  IV  Buch  der  Meteorologie  des  Aristote- 
les,"  in  Hermes,  vol.  50  (1915)  pp.  113-36,  argues  that  its  teachings  differ  from 
those  of  Aristotle  and  assigns  it  to  Strato,  his  younger  contemporary.    Not 
content  with  this  thesis,  which  is  easier  to  suggest  than  to  prove,  Hammer- 
Jensen  contends  that  it  was  a  work  of  Strato's  youth  and  that  it  profoundly 
influenced   Aristotle  himself  in  his  last  works.      "The   convenient    Strato!" 
as  he  is  called  by   Loveday  and    Forster  in   the  preface   to   their   trans- 
lation of  De  coloribus  (1913)  vol.  VI  of  The  Works  of  Aristotle  translated  into 
English  under  the  editorship  of  W.  D.  Ross. 

14  So  Hammer- Jensen,  p.  1 13  and  earlier  Heller  (1882)  1, 61. 

14  Niirnberg  Stadtbibliothek  (centur.  V,  59,  membr.  13th  century) — cited 
by  Rose,  Hermes  1,385' — "Completus  est  liber  metheororum  cuius  tres  primes 
libros  transtulit  magister  Gerardus  Lumbardus  summus  philosophus  de  arabico 
in  latinum.  Quartum  autem  transtulit  Henricus  Aristippus  de  greco  in  lati- 
num.  Tria  ultima  capitula  transtulit  Aluredus  Anglicus  sarelensis  de  arabico 
in  latinum." 

Steinschneider  (1893)  pp.  59  and  84;  (1905)  p.  7;  and  others,  including 
Hammer- Jensen,  give  the  name  of  the  translator  of  the  fourth  book  from  the 
Greek  as  Hermann  and  of  the  last  three  chapters  as  Aurelius,  whom  Stein- 
schneider is  more  correct  in  describing  as  "otherwise  unknown."  On  the  other 
hand,  we  know  that  Aristippus  and  Alfred  translated  other  Aristotelian  trea- 
tises. Evidently  Steinschneider  and  the  others  have  followed  MSS  where  the 
copyist  has  corrupted  the  proper  names. 

16  Steinschneider  and  Hammer-Jensen  quote  from  MSS,  "tria  vero  ultima 
Avicennae  capitula  transtulit  Aurelius  de  arabico  in  latinum."  Albertus 
Magnus,  Mineral.  Ill,  i,  9,  also  ascribed  the  passage  to  Avicenna;  others  have 
suggested  that  it  is  by  disciples  of  Avicenna.  See  J.  Wood  Brown  (1897) 
pp.  72-3,  for  a  similar  passage  from  Avicenna's  Sermo  de  generatione  lapidum. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  233 

metals  but  attacked  the  alchemists.17  Vincent  of  Beauvais13 
and  Albertus  Magnus19  were  both  aware,  however,  that  this 
attack  upon  the  alchemists  was  probably  not  by  Aristotle.  The 
short  treatise  On  colors,™  which  is  included  in  so  many  medieval 
manuscript  collections  of  the  works  of  Aristotle  in  Latin,21  by 
its  very  title  would  suggest  to  medieval  readers  that  he  had  been 
interested  in  the  art  of  alchemy,  although  its  actual  contents 
deal  only  in  small  part  with  dyes  and  tinctures.  Its  form  and 
contents  are  not  regarded  as  Aristotle's  but  it  was  perhaps  by 
someone  of  the  Peripatetic  school.  Thus  Works  which,  if  not 
by  Aristotle  himself,  at  least  had  been  written  in  Greek  long 
before  the  medieval  period,  gave  medieval  readers  the  impres- 
sion that  Aristotle  was  favorable  to  alchemy. 

It  is  therefore  not  surprising  that  works  of  alchemy  appeared 
in  medieval  Latin  under  Aristotle's  name.  The  names  of  Plato 
and  Aristotle  had  headed  the  lists  of  alchemists  in  Greek 
manuscripts  although  no  works  ascribed  to  Aristotle  have  been 
preserved  in  the  same.  Berthelot,  however,  speaks  of  a  pseudo- 
Aristotle  in  Arabic,23  and  in  an  Oxford  manuscript  of  the  thir- 
teeth  century  under  the  name  of  Aristotle  appears  a  treatise 
On  the  twelve  waters  of  the  secret  river  said  to  be  "translated 

17  They  were  printed  at  Bologna,  1501,  as  Liber  de  mineralibus  Aristotelis 
and  also  published,  sometimes  as  Geber's  sometimes  as  Avicenna's,  under  the 
title,  Liber  de  congelatione. 

BN  16142  contains  a  Latin  translation  of  the  four  books  of  the  Meteorology 
with  an  addition  dealing  with  minerals  and  geology  which  is  briefer  than  the 
printed  Liber  de  mineralibus  Aristotelis,  omitting  the  passage  against  the  alche- 
mists: published  by  F.  de  Mely,  Rev.  des  fctudes  grecques,  (1894)  p.  185  et 
seq.  (cited  Hammer- Jensen,  131). 

18  Speculum  naturale,  VIII,  85. 

19  See  note  16  above. 

10  Greek  text  by  Prantl,  Teubner,  1881;  English  translation  by  Loveday 
and  Forster,  1913.  See  also  Prantl,  Aristo'eles  iibcr  die  Farben,  1849. 

21  Just  a  few  examples  are:  Mazarine  3458  and  2459,  13th  century;  3460 
and  3461,  14th  century;  Arsenal  748A,  15th  century,  fol.  185;  BN  6325,  14th 
century,  No.  1;  BN  14719,  14-15th  century,  fol.  38-;  BN  14717,  end  13th 
century;  BN  16633,  13th  century,  fol.  102-;  S.  Marco,  13th  century,  beautifully 
illuminated,  fols.  312-17;  Assisi  283,  14th  century,  fol.  289-;  Volterra  19,  14th 
century,  fol.  196-. 

22  Berthelot  (1885)  p.  143,  "Platon  et  Aristote  sont  mis  en  tete  de  la  liste  des 
alchimistes  oecumeniques  sans  qu'aucun  ouvrage  leur  soit  assigne." 

23  Berthelot  (1888)  I,  76;  citing  Manget,  Bibl.  Chemica,  1, 622. 


234  Thorndike 

from  Arabic  into  Latin."24  In  the  preface  the  author  promises 
that  whoever  becomes  skilled,  adept,  and  expert  in  these 
twelve  waters  will  never  lose  hope  nor  be  depressed  by  want. 
He  regards  this  treatise  as  the  chief  among  his  works,  since 
he  has  learned  these  waters  by  experiment.  They  are  all 
chemical  rather  than  medical;  a  brief  "chapter"  or  paragraph 
is  devoted  to  each.  In  another  manuscript  at  the  Bodleian 
two  brief  tracts  are  ascribed  to  Aristotle;  one  describes  the 
seven  metals,  the  other  deals  with  transmutation.25  In  a  single 
manuscript  at  Munich  both  a  theoretical  treatise  in  medicine 
and  alchemy  and  a  Practica  are  attributed  to  Aristotle,  and 
in  two  other  manuscripts  he  is  credited  with  the  Book  of 
Seventy  Precepts  which  sometimes  is  ascribed  to  Geber.26 
Thomas  of  Cantimpre  cites  Aristotle  in  the  Lumen  lumi- 
num  as  saying  that  the  best  gold  is  made  from  yellow  copper 
ore  and  the  urine  of  a  boy,  but  Thomas  hastens  to  add  that 
such  gold  is  best  in  color  rather  than  in  substance.27  The 
translation  of  the  Lumen  luminum  is  ascribed  both  to  Michael 
Scot  and  brother  Elias.28  Aristotle  is  quoted  several  times 
in  De  alchimia,  ascribed  to  Albertus  Magnus,  but  only  in 

MDigby  162,  13th  century,  fols.  lOv-llv,  "Incipit  liber  Aristotelis  de 
aquis  secret!  fluminis  translatus  ab  arabico  in  latinum."  In  the  margin  the 
twelve  waters  are  briefly  designated:  1  rubicunda,  2  penetrativa,  3  mollificativa, 
et  ingrediente,  4  de  aqua  eiusdem  ponderis  et  magnitudinis,  5  ignita,  6  sul- 
phurea,  7  aqua  cineris,  8  aurea,  etc.  In  one  or  two  cases,  however,  these  heads 
do  not  quite  apply  to  the  corresponding  chapters. 

25  Ashmole  1448,  15th  century,  pp.  200-202,  de  "altitudinibus,  profundis, 
lateribusque,"    metallorum   secundum   Aristotelem    (name   in   the   margin). 
It  opens,  "Plumbum  est  in  altitudine  sua  ar.  nigrum."     It  takes  up  in  turn 
the  altitudo  of  each  metal  and  then  discusses  the  next  quality  in  the  same  way. 

Ibid.,  pp.  239-44,  opens,  "Arestotilus,  Cum  studii  etc.  Scias  preterea 
quod  propter  longitudines" ;  at  p.  241  it  treats  "de  purificatione  solis  et  lune" 
(i.  e.  gold  and  silver),  at  p.  243,  "de  separatione  solis  et  lune."  It  ends  with  a 
paragraph  about  the  composition  of  a  golden  seal. 

26  CLM  12026,  15th  century,  fol.  46-,  "Alchymia  est  ars  docens.    ../... 
Explicit  dicto  libri  (sic)  Aristotelis  de  theorica  in  rebus  naturalibus;  fol.  78, 
Liber  Aristotelis  de  practica  summae  philosophiae,  "Primo  de  separatione  salis 
communis.  .  .  ." 

CLM  25110,  15th  century,  fols.  211-45,  Liber  Aristotelis  de  70  preceptis. 
CLM  25113,  16th  century,  fols.  10-28,  A.  de  alchimia  liber  qui  dicitur  de 
70  preceptis. 

27  Egerton  1984,  fol.  141  v;  in  the  De  natura  rerum. 

28  Riccardian  MS.  119,  fols.  35v  and  166r. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  235 

the  later  "Additions"  to  it,  where  Roger  Bacon  also  is  cited, 
is  the  specific  title  Liber  de  perfecto  magisterio  given  as  Ari- 
stotle's.29 Sometimes  works  of  alchemy  were  very  carelessly 
ascribed  to  Aristotle,  when  it  is  perfectly  evident  from  the  works 
themselves  that  they  could  not  have  been  written  by  him.30 
The  alchemical  discoveries  and  writings  ascribed  to  Aristotle 
are  often  associated  in  some  way  with  Alexander  the  Great  as 
well.  In  one  manuscript  John  of  Spain's  translation  of  the 
Secret  of  Secrets  is  followed  by  a  description  of  the  virtues  and 
compositions  of  four  stones  "which  Aristotle  sent  to  Alexander 
the  Great."31  It  seems  obvious  that  these  are  philosopher's 
stones  and  not  natural  gems.  The  Liber  ignium  of  Marcus 
Grecus,  composed  in  the  thirteenth  or  early  fourteenth  century, 
ascribes  to  Aristotle  the  discovery  of  two  marvelous  kinds  of  fires. 
One,  which  he  discovered  while  traveling  with  Alexander  the  king, 
will  burn  for  a  year  without  cessation.  The  other,  in  the  compo- 
sition of  which  observance  of  the  dog-days  is  requisite,  "Aristotle 
asserts  will  last  for  nine  years."32  A  collection  of  chemical 
experiments  by  a  Nicholas,  perhaps  de  Bodlys  and  of  Poland 
and  Montpellier,  gives  "a  fire  which  Aristotle  discovered  with 
Alexander  for  obscure  places."33  A  letter  of  Aristotle  to  Alex- 
ander in  a  collection  of  alchemical  tracts  is  hardly  worth  noting, 
as  it  is  only  seven  lines  long,  but  it  is  interesting  to  observe  that 
it  cites  Aristotle's  Meteorology,34  Perhaps  by  a  mistake  one  or 

29  Caps.  22  and  57.     It  was  printed  with  further  "Additions"  of  its  own 
in  1561  in  Verae  alchemiae  artisque  metaUicae  citra   aenigmata,  Basel,  1561, 
11,  188-225. 

30  Thus  in  Auriferae   artis   quam   chemiam    vacant  antiquissimi  author  es, 
Basel,  1572,  pp.  387-99,  a  treatise  which  cites  Morienus,  Rasis,  and  Avicenna 
is  printed  as  Tractatulus  Aristotelis  de  Practica  lapidis  phttosophici.     Appar- 
ently the  only  reason  for  ascribing  it  to  Aristotle  is  that  it  cites  "the  philosopher" 
in  its  opening  sentence,  "Cum  omne  corpus  secundum  philosophum  aut  est 
elementum  aut  ab  elementis  generatum." 

31  Laud  Misc.  708,  15th  century,  fol.  54. 
»  Berthelot  (1893)  1,105  and  107. 

33  Ashmole  1448,  15th  century,  p.  123. 

34  Ashmole  1450,  15th  century,  fol.  8,  "Epistola  ad  Alexandrum.    O  Alex- 
ander rector  hominum.  ../...  et  audientes  non  intelligant." 

Harleian  3703,  14th  century,  fols.  41r-42r,  Aristoteles  ad  alexandrum. 
"In  primo  o  elaxandor  tradere  tibi  volo  secretorum  maximum  secretum.  .  .," 
is  a  similar  treatise. 


236  Thorndike 

two  alchemical  treatises  are  ascribed  to  Alexander  rather  than 
Aristotle.35 

Aristotle's  genuine  works  give  even  more  encouragement  to 
the  pretensions  of  astrology  than  to  those  of  alchemy.  His 
opinion  that  the  four  elements  were  insufficient  to  explain 
natural  phenomena  and  his  theory  of  a  fifth  essence  were 
favorable  to  the  belief  in  occult  virtue  and  the  influence  of  the 
stars  upon  inferior  objects.  In  his  work  on  generation36  he  held 
that  the  elements  alone  were  mere  tools  without  a  workman; 
the  missing  agent  is  supplied  by  the  revolution  of  the  heavens. 
In  the  twelfth  book  of  the  Metaphysics  he  describes  the  stars 
and  planets  as  eternal  and  acting  as  intermediaries  between  the 
prime  Mover  and  inferior  beings.  Thus  they  are  the  direct 
causes  of  all  life  and  action  in  our  world.  Charles  Jourdain 
regarded  the  introduction  of  the  Metaphysics  into  western 
Europe  at  the  opening  of  the  thirteenth  century  as  a  prin- 
cipal cause  for  the  great  prevalence  of  astrology  from  that 
time  on,  the  other  main  cause  being  the  translation  of  Arabian 

35  Ashmole  1384,  mid  14th  century,  fols.  91v-93r,  "Incipit  Epistola  Allex- 
andri.  Dicunt  philosophi  quod  ars  dirivata  sit  ex  creatione  hominis  cui  omnia 
insunt  .../...  ex  omni  specie  etcolore  nomine.  Explicit  epistola  Alexan- 
dri."  In  the  text  itself,  which  is  written  in  the  manner  of  a  master  to  a  dis- 
ciple, there  is  nothing  to  show  that  the  work  is  by  Alexander  rather  than 
Aristotle. 

The  following  is  apparently  the  same  treatise  but  the  closing  words  are  dif- 
ferent. 

Riccard.  1165,  15th  century,  fols.  161-3,  Liber  Alexandri  in  scientia  secre- 
torum  nature.  "Dicitur  quod  hec  ars  derivata  sit  ex  creacione  hominis  cui 
omnia  insunt  .../...  et  deo  annuente  ad  optatum  finem  pervenies." 

The  next  would  seem  to  be  another  treatise  than  the  foregoing. 

Arezzo  232,  15th  century,  fols.  1-14,  "Liber  transmissus  ab  Alexandro  rege 
ex  libro  Hermogenis." 

Hermogenes,  who  is  cited  on  the  subject  of  the  philosopher's  stone  in  at 
least  one  MS  of  the  Secret  of  Secrets  (Bodleian  67,  fol.  33v,  "Et  pater  noster 
Hermogenes  qui  triplex  est  in  philosophia  optime  philosophando  dixit"),  is 
apparently  none  other  than  Hermes  Trismegistus.  He  is  also  mentioned  in  a 
brief  work  of  Aristotle  to  Alexander;  Harleian  3703,  14th  century,  fols.  41r-42r, 
".  .  .  hermogenes  quod  (sic)  egypti  multum  commendunt  et  laudant  et  sibi 
attribuant  omnem  scientiam  secretam  et  celerem  (?)."  The  use  of  the  re- 
flexive pronoun  in  this  sentence  to  refer  to  Hermogenes  I  would  have  the 
reader  note,  as  it  appears  to  illustrate  a  fairly  common  medieval  usage. 

38 II,  9. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  237 

astrological  treatises.37  Jourdain  did  not  duly  appreciate  the 
great  hold  which  astrology  already  had  in  the  twelfth  century, 
but  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  in  the  new  Aristotle  astrology 
found  further  support. 

Astrology  crops  out  here  and  there  in  most  of  the  spurious 
works  extant  under  Aristotle's  name,  just  as  it  does  in  the 
medieval  learning  everywhere.  One  section  of  a  dozen  pages  in 
the  Theology  discusses  the  influence  of  the  stars  upon  nature 
and  the  working  of  magic  by  making  use  of  these  celestial  forces 
and  the  natural  attraction  which  things  have  for  one  another.  It 
regards  artificial  magic  as  a  fraud,  but  natural  and  astrological 
magic  as  a  reality.  However,  it  is  only  the  animal  soul  which  is 
affected  by  magic  and  the  man  of  impulse  who  is  moved  thereby; 
the  thinking  man  can  free  himself  from  its  influence  by  use  of 
the  rational  soul.  In  the  treatise,  De  porno,33  which  seems  not  to 
have  been  translated  into  Latin  until  the  thirteeth  century 
under  Manfred,89  Aristotle  on  his  death  bed,  holding  in  his  hand 
an  apple  from  which  the  treatise  takes  its  title,  is  represented  as 
telling  his  disciples  why  a  philosopher  need  not  fear  death  and 
repudiating  the  doctrines  of  the  mortality  of  the  soul  and  eter- 
nity of  the  universe.  He  also  tells  how  the  Creator  made  the 
spheres  and  placed  lucid  stars  in  each  and  gave  them  the  virtue 
of  ruling  over  this  inferior  world  and  causing  good  and  evil  and 
life  or  death.  They  do  not,  however,  do  this  of  themselves,  but 
men  at  first  thought  so  and  erroneously  worshiped  the  stars 
until  the  time  of  Noah  who  was  the  first  to  recognize  the  Creator 
of  the  spheres.40 

17  Excursions  historiques,  etc.,  p.  562. 

u  I  have  read  it  in  an  incunabulum  edition  numbered  IA.49867  in  the 
British  Museum. 

89  Ibid.,  fols.  21v-23r,  "Nos  Manfredus  divi  augusti  imperatoris  frederici 
filius  dei  gratia  princeps  tharentinus  honoris  mentis  sancti  angeli  dominus  et 
illustris  regis  conradi  servi  in  regno  sicilie  baiulus  .  .  .  quern  librum  cum 
non  inveniretur  inter  cristianos,  quoniam  eum  in  ebrayco  legimus  translatum  de 
arabico  in  hebreum,  sanitate  rehabita  ad  eruditionem  multorum  et  de  hebrea 
lingua  transtulimus  in  latinam  in  quo  a  compilatore  quedam  recitabilia  inser- 
untur.  Nam  dictum  librum  aristotiles  non  notavit  sed  notatus  ab  aliis  extitit 
qui  causam  hylaritatis  seu  mortis  discere  voluerunt  sicut  in  libri  serie  contine- 
tur." 

«  Edition  No.  IA.49867  in  the  British  Museum,  fols.  25v-26r. 


238  Thorndike 

There  are  also  attributed  to  Aristotle  treatises  primarily 
astrological.  A  "Book  on  the  Properties  of  the  Elements  and  of 
the  Planets"  is  cited  under  his  name  by  Peter  of  Abano  at  the 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century  in  his  work  on  poisons,41  by  Peter 
d'Ailly  in  his  Vigintiloquium42  written  in  1414,  and  by  Pico  della 
Mirandola,  who  declares  it  spurious,  in  his  work  against  astrol- 
ogy written  at  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century.  D'Ailly  and 
Pico  cite  it  in  regard  to  the  theory  of  great  conjunctions;  Abano, 
for  a  tale  of  Socrates  and  two  dragons  which  we  shall  repeat 
later.  It  is  probable  that  all  these  citations  were  from  the  para- 
phrase of  and  commentary  on  the  work  by  Albertus  Magnus43 
who  accepted  it  as  a  genuine  writing  of  Aristotle. 

In  a  manuscript  of  the  Cotton  collection  in  the  British 
Museum  is  a  work  of  some  length  upon  astrology  ascribed  to 
Aristotle.44  After  a  discussion  of  general  principles  in  which  the 
planets,  signs,  and  houses  are  treated,  there  are  separate  books 
upon  the  subjects  of  nativities,45  and  of  elections  and  interroga- 
tions.46 In  a  Paris  manuscript  a  treatise  on  interrogations  is 
ascribed  in  a  marginal  heading  to  "Aristoteles  Milesius,  a 
Peripatetic  physician."47  In  the  Cotton  Manuscript  in  commen- 
taries which  then  follow,  and  which  are  labelled  as  commentaries 
"upon  the  preceding  treatise"  Ptolemy  is  mentioned  rather 
than  Aristotle.48  In  an  astrological  manuscript  of  the  fifteenth 
century  at  Grenoble  written  in  French,  works  of  Messahala  and 

41  Cap.  4. 
41  Verbum  4. 

43  De  causis    ct    proprictatibus    dcmetitorum,    IX,    585-653   in  Borgnet's 
edition  of  Albert's  works;  Albert  himself  in  his  treatise  on  Minerals  cites  the 
title  as  "Liber  de  causis  proprietatum  elementorum  et  planetarum." 

44  Cotton  Appendix  VI,  fol.  8r,  "liber  iste  est  aristotelis  in  scientia  ipsius 
astronomic." 

46  fol.  llv,  "Alius  liber  de  nativitatibus";  opens,  "Superius  prout  potuimus 
promissorum  partem  explevimus." 

46  fol.  13r,  "De  electionibus  alius  liber;"  opens,  "Unde  constellationibus 
egyptios  imitantes  nativi tales  satis  dilucide  dixerimus."    This  book  intermin- 
gles the  subjects  of  interrogations  and  elections,  and  ends  at  fol.  20v,  "Finit 
liber  de  interrogationibus." 

47  BN  16208,  fol.  76r — ,  "liber  arystotelis  milesii  medici  perypathetici  in 
principiis  iudiciorum  astronomorum  in  interrogationibus." 

4>  Cotton  Appendix  VI,  fol.  20v,  "Incipit  commentum  super  praemissa 
scilicet  praedictum  librum"  fol.  23v,  "Expositio  ad  litteram  superioris  tractatus. 
Ptolomaeus  summus  philosophus  et  excellentissimus  egyptiorum  rex.  .  .  ." 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  239 

Zae  translated  for  Charles  V  of  France  are  preceded  by  "a  book 
of  judicial  astrology  according  to  Aristotle,"  which  opens  with 
"the  preface  of  the  last  translator,"  and  is  in  four  parts.49 
Perhaps  both  the  above-mentioned  manuscripts  contain,  like  a 
third  manuscript  at  Munich,  "The  book  of  judgments  which  is 
said  by  Albert  in  his  Speculum  to  be  Aristotle's."50  This  work 
also  occurs  in  a  manuscript  at  Erfurt.51  Roger  Bacon  was  much 
impressed  by  an  astrological  treatise  ascribed  to  Aristotle 
entitled  De  impressionibus  coelestibus,  and  told  Pope  Clement  IV 
that  it  was  "superior  to  the  entire  philosophy  of  the  Latins  and 
can  be  translated  by  your  order."52 

A  treatise  found  in  two  manuscripts  of  the  Bodleian  Library 
bears  the  titles,  Commentary  of  Aristotle  on  Astrology  and  The 
book  of  Aristotle  from  two  hundred  and  fifty-five  volumes  of  the 
Indians,  containing  a  digest  of  all  problems,  whether  pertaining  to 
the  sphere  or  to  genethlialogy™  From  the  text  itself  and  the 
preface  of  Hugh  Sanctellensis,  the  twelfth  century  translator 
from  Arabic  into  Latin,  addressed  to  his  lord,  Michael,  bishop 
of  Tarazona,  we  see  that  the  work  is  neither  entirely  by  Aristotle 
nor  from  the  books  of  the  Indians  but  is  a  compilation  by  some- 
one who  draws  or  pretends  to  draw  from  some  250  or  255  books54 
of  the  philosophers,  including  in  addition  to  treatises  by  both 
Aristotle  and  the  Indians,  13  books  by  Hermes,  13  by  Doronius 
(Dorotheus?),  4  by  Ptolemy,  one  by  Democritus,  two  by  Plato, 
44  by  the  Babylonians,  7  by  Antiochus,  and  others  by  authors 
whose  names  are  unfamiliar  to  me  and  probably  misspelled  in 

49  Grenoble  814,  fols.  1-24.  "Cy  commence  le  livre  de  jugemens  d'astrolo- 
gie  selon  Aristote.  Le  prologue  du  derrenier  translateur.  Aristote  fist  un 
livre  de  jugemens.  .  .  ." 

M  CLM  25010,  15-16th  century,  fols.  1-12,  "liber  de  iudiciis  qui  ab  Alberto 
in  Speculo  suo  dicitur  esse  Aristotelis." 

61  Amplon.  Quarto  377,  14th  century,  fols.  25-36,  de  iudiciis  astrorum. 
Schum  identifies  it  with  the  work  ascribed  to  Aristotle  by  Albert  in  the  Specu- 
lum aslronowiae. 

82  Bridges  (1897)  I,  381,  389-90;  Brewer  (1859)  p.  473. 

M  Digby,  159,  14th  century,  fols.  87,  mutilated  at  the  end.  "Liber  Aristo- 
tilis  de  ducentis  Ivque  Indorum  voluminibus,  universalium  questionum  tarn 
genecialium  quam  circularium  summam  continens."  At  fol.  5v,  "Explicit 
prologus.  Incipit  Aristotelis  commentum  in  astrologiam."  This  is  the  MS 
which  I  have  chiefly  followed. 

Savile  Latin  15  (Bernard  6561),  15th  century,  fols.  185-204v,  is  similar. 

M  In  the  text  the  number  is  given  as  ccl;  see  Digby  159,  fol.  2r. 


240  Thorndike 

the  manuscripts.  In  one  of  the  works  of  Aristotle  of  which  the 
present  work  is  supposed  to  make  use,  there  are  said  to  have 
been  described  the  nativities  of  twelve  thousand  men,  collected 
in  an  effort  to  establish  an  experimental  basis  for  astrology.66 
It  is  not  so  surprising  that  the  present  work  bears  Aristotle's 
name,  since  Hugh  had  promised  his  patron  Michael,  in  the  pro- 
logue to  his  translation  of  the  Geometry  of  Hanus  ben  Hanne,56 
that  if  life  endured  and  opportunity  was  given  he  would  next 
set  to  work  as  ordered  by  his  patron,  not  only  upon  Haly's 
commentaries  on  the  Quadripartite  and  Almagest  of  Ptolemy, 
but  also  upon  a  certain  general  commentary  by  Aristotle  on  the 
entire  art  of  astrology. 

The  Secret  of  Secrets  of  the  pseudo- Aristotle  is  immediately 
followed  in  one  manuscript  by  chapters  or  treatises  addressed  to 
Alexander  and  entitled,  Of  ideas  and  forms,  Of  the  impression  of 
forms,  and  Of  images  and  rings.57  The  theory,  very  like  that  of 
Alkindi,  is  maintained  that  "all  forms  are  ruled  by  supercelestial 
forms  through  the  spirits  of  the  spheres"  and  that  incantations 
and  images  receive  their  force  from  the  spheres.  The  seven 
planets  pass  on  these  supercelestial  ideas  and  forms  to  our 
inferior  world.  By  selecting  proper  times  for  operating  one 
can  work  good  or  ill  by  means  of  the  rays  and  impressions  of  the 
planets.  The  scientific  investigator  who  properly  concentrates 
and  fixes  intent,  desire,  and  appetite  upon  the  desired  goal  can 
penetrate  hidden  secrets  of  secrets  and  occult  science  both 
universal  and  particular.  The  writer  goes  on  to  emphasize  the 
importance  of  understanding  all  the  different  positions  and  rela- 
tionships of  the  heavenly  bodies  and  also  the  distribution  of 
terrestrial  objects  under  the  planets.  He  then  describes  an 
astrological  image  which  will  cause  men  to  reverence  and  obey 
you,  will  repel  your  enemies  in  terror,  afflict  the  envious,  send 
visions,  and  perform  other  marvelous- and  stupefying  feats  too 
numerous  to  mention. 

»  Digby  159,  foL  2r. 

««  Savile  15,  fol.  205r. 

67  Bodleian  67  (Bernard  2136),  14th  century,  fol.  54r,  De  ydeis  et  formis; 
fol.  54v,  De  impressione  formarum;  fol.  56v,  De  ymaginibus  et  annulis.  This 
last  item,  though  noted  in  Bernard,  is  or  was  omitted  in  the  proof  sheets  of  the 
new  Summary  Catalogue  of  Bodleian  MSS  now  in  preparation. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  241 

As  the  Speculum  astronomiae  of  Albertus  Magnus  listed  a 
Book  of  Judgments  by  Aristotle  among  deserving  works  of 
astronomy  and  astrology,  so  in  its  list  of  evil  books  dealing  with 
necromantic  images  appear  a  treatise  by  Hermes  addressed  to 
Aristotle  and  opening,  "Aristotle  said,  'You  have  seen  me,  O 
Hermes,'  "  and  a  treatise  ascribed  to  Aristotle  with  the  sinister 
title,  Death  of  the  Soul,  opening,  "Said  Aristotle  to  King  Alex- 
ander, 'If  you  want  to  perceive.' '  This  treatise  the  Speculum 
calls  "the  worst  of  all"  the  evil  books  on  images.  Roger  Bacon, 
too,  alludes  to  it  by  title  as  filled  with  figments  of  the  Magicians, 
but  does  not  name  Aristotle  as  author.58  Peter  of  Abano  in  his 
Lucidator  follows  the  Speculum  astronomiae  in  listing  it  among 
depraved,  obscene,  and  detestable  works.59 

Alexander  himself,  as  well  as  Aristotle,  had  some  medieval 
reputation  as  an  astrologer.  In  the  tenth  and  eleventh  century 
manuscripts  of  the  Mathematica  of  Alhandreus,  supreme  astrolo- 
ger, "Alexander  of  Macedon"  was  more  than  once  cited  as  an 
authority,  and  there  were  also  given  "Excerpts  from  the  books 
of  Alexander,  astrologer,  king,"  and  a  "Letter  of  Argafalan  to 
Alexander."  Different  from  this,  moreover,  was  the  Mathe- 
matica of  Alexander,  supreme  astrologer,  found  in  a  thirteenth 
century  manuscript,  in  which  from  the  movements  of  the 
planets  through  the  signs  one  is  instructed  how  to  foretell  pros- 
perous and  adverse  journeys,  abundance  and  poverty,  misfor- 
tune or  death  of  a  friend,  or  to  discover  stolen  articles,  sorceries, 
buried  treasure  and  so  forth.60  A  treatise  on  seven  herbs 
related  to  the  seven  planets  is  sometimes  ascribed  to  Alexander,61 

68  Brewer  (1859)  p.  532,  De  secretis,  cap.  3. 

"  BN  2598,  foL  lOlr,  "liber  quern  Aristoteles  attribuit  Alexandra  et  quern 
nonnulli  mortis  intitulent  anime." 

M  Ashmole  369,  late  13th  century,  fols.  77-84v,  "Mathematica  Alexandri 
summi  astrologi.  In  exordio  omnis  creature  hems  huranicus  inter  cuncta 
sidera  xii  maluit  signa  fore  /  nam  quod  lineam  designat  eandem  stellam  occupat. 
Explicit."  Cap.  x,  de  inveniendo  de  prospero  aut  adverso  itinere;  xi,  de  copia 
et  paupertate;  xiv,  de  nece  aut  casu  amici;  xvi,  de  latrocinio  inveniendo;  xxiv, 
de  pecunia  in  terra  defossa;  xxxviii,  de  noscendis  maleficiis. 

41  In  the  preface  to  the  Kiranides;  in  Montpellier  277,  15th  century; 
and  in  Ashmole  1448,  15th  century,  pp.  44-45,  "Virtutes  7  herbarum  a  septem 
planetis  secundum  Alexandrum  Imperatorem."  It  is  also  embodied  in  some 
editions  and  MSS  of  the  Liber  aggregations  or  Experimenta  attributed  to 
Albertus  Magnus,  where  it  is  entitled,  "Virtutes  herbarum  septem  secundum 
Alexandrum  Imperatorem." 


242  Thorndike 

but  perhaps  more  often  to  Flaccus  Africanus,  and  at  least  once 
to  Aristotle.62 

The  association  of  astrological  images  with  spirits  of  the 
spheres  in  one  of  the  above-mentioned  works  ascribed  to  Ari- 
"stotle  has  already  brought  us  to  the  border-line  of  our  next 
topic,  Aristotle  and  spirits.  Under  this  caption  may  be  placed  a 
work  found  in  a  fifteenth  century  manuscript.63  It  also  is  in  part 
astrological  and  is  associated  with  the  name  of  Hermes  as  well 
as  of  Aristotle.  Its  title  runs,  The  book  of  the  spiritual  works  of 
Aristotle,  or  the  book  Antimaquis,  which  is  the  book  of  the  secrets  of 
Hermes:  wonderful  things  can  be  accomplished  by  means  of  this 
book  and  'tis  the  ancient  book  of  the  seven  planets.  The  treatise 
opens,  "To  every  people  and  clime  pertains  a  group  of  spirits." 
It  then  maps  out  these  regions  of  different  spirits  in  accordance 
with  the  planets  and  signs  of  the  zodiac.  Apparently  this  is  the 
same  work  as  that  which  Hunain  ibn  Ishak  translated  into 
Arabic  and  of  which  he  says,  "Among  the  works  of  Aristotle 
which  we  have  found  and  translated  from  Greek  into  Arabic  was 
The  book  of  the  Causes  of  Spirituals  which  has  Hermes  for 
author.  ...  It  is  the  book  in  which  Aristotle  treats  of  the 
causes  of  spirituals,  talismans,  the  art  of  their  operation,  and 
how  to  hinder  it,  ordered  after  the  seven  climates."64  It  was 
probably  some  such  spurious  work  that  William  of  Auvergne  had 
in  mind  when  he  spoke  of  Aristotle's  boast  that  a  spirit  had 
descended  unto  him  from  the  sphere  of  Venus.65 

No  genuine  work  of  Aristotle  on  vegetables  or  minerals  has 
come  down  to  us  to  accompany  his  celebrated  History  of  Ani- 
mals, but  supposititious  writings  were  soon  found  by  the  Arabs  to 
fill  this  gap.  On  plants  a  brief  treatise  by  Nicolaus  Damascenus 
passed  for  Aristotle's.  Alfred  of  Sarchel  translated  it  from 
Arabic  into  Latin,66  presumably  before  the  close  of  the  twelfth 

82  Ashmole,  1741,  late  14th  century,  fol.  143,  "Incipiunt  virtutes  septem 
herbarum  Aristotilis.  Et  has  quidam  virtutes  habent  ipse  septem  herbe  ab 
ab  influentia  7  planetarum.  Nam  contingit  unamquamque  recipere  virtutem 
suam  a  superioribus  naturaliter.  Nam  dicit  Aristotelis  quod  corpora  inferiora 
reguntur  per  superiora. 

63  Sloane  3854,  15th  century,  fols.  105v-110. 

64  E.  Blochet,  "fitudes  sur  le  Gnosticisme  musulman,"  in  Rivista  degli  studi 
orientali,  IV,  76. 

65  De  universo,  II,  ii,  39  and  98;  II,  iii,  6. 

86  One  MS  is  Harleian  3487,  14th  century,  No.  11. 


The  Latin  Pseudo-Aristotle  243 

century,  since  he  dedicated  it  to  Roger  of  Hereford,  and  Albertus 
Magnus  expanded  its  two  short  books  into  seven  long  ones  in 
his  De  vegetabilibus  et  plantis.  There  also  existed  in  Arabic  a 
Lapidary  ascribed  to  Aristotle,67  which  was  cited  as  early  as 
the  ninth  century  by  Costa  ben  Luca.  Ruska  believes  the  work 
to  be  of  Syrian  and  Persian  origin,68  although  one  Latin  text 
professes  to  have  been  originally  translated  from  Greek  into 
Syriac.69  Valentin  Rose  regarded  it  as  the  basis  of  all  subse- 
quent Arabic  mineralogy,  but  found  only  two  Latin  manuscripts 
of  it.70  Albertus  Magnus  in  his  Minerals  confesses  that,  although 
he  had  sought  diligently  in  divers  regions  of  the  world,  he  had 
seen  only  excerpts  from  Aristotle's  work.  But  another  writer 
of  the  thirteenth  century,  Arnold  of  Saxony,  cites  translations 
of  Aristotle  on  stones  both  by  "Diascorides,"  which  would  seem 
sheer  nonsense,  and  by  Gerard,  presumably  of  Cremona. 
Gerard's  translation  occurs  in  one  of  Rose's  manuscripts;  the 
other  seems  to  give  a  version  translated  from  the  Hebrew. 

In  Gerard's  translation,  a  work  marked  by  puerile  Latin 
style,  the  Lapidary  of  Aristotle  is  about  equally  devoted  to 
marvelous  properties  of  stones  and  tales  of  Alexander  the 
Great.  After  some  general  discussion  of  stones  and  their  won- 
derful properties,  particular  gems  are  taken  up.  The  gesha 
brings  misfortune.  Its  wearer  sleeps  poorly,  has  many  worries, 
many  altercations  and  law-suits.  If  it  is  hung  about  a  boy's 

67  V.  Rose,  "Aristoteles  de  lapidibus  und  Arnoldus  Saxo,"  in  Zeitschrift  fur 
deutsches  Alterthum,  XVIII  (1875)  321  et  seq.    More  recently  the  Lapidary 
of  Aristotle  has  been  edited  by  J.  Ruska,  Das  Steinbuch  des  Aristoteles,  nach 
der  arabische  Handschrift,  Heidelberg,  1912,  who  gives  both  the  Latin  of  the 
Liege  MS  and  the  text  of  the  translation  into  Arabic  by  Luca  ben  Serapion 
from  BN  2772,  with  a  German  translation  of  it. 

68  Ruska  (1912)  p.  43. 

89  Ibid.  p.  183,  "Et  ego  transfero  ipsum  ex  greco  sermone  in  ydyoma  su(r)- 
orum  vel  Syrorum." 

70  Liege  77,  14th  century;  printed  by  Rose  (1875)  pp.  349-82. 

Montpellier  277, 15th  century,  fol.  127-;  printed  by  Rose  (1875)  pp.  384-97. 

The  following  treatises,  also  ascribed  to  Aristotle,  I  have  not  examined: 
Sloane  2459,  15th  century,  fols.  9v-16,  de  proprietatibus  herbarum  et  lapidum; 
Vienna  2301,  15th  century,  fob.  81-2,  "Isti  sunt  lapides  quorum  virtutes  misit 
Aristo tiles  in  scriptis  maximo  imperatori  Alexandra. "  Perhaps  the  last  may 
have  reference  to  philosopher's  stones,  like  the  similar  treatise  of  Aristotle  to 
Alexander  noted  above  in  our  discussion  of  the  pseudo-Aristotelian  alchemical 
treatises. 


244  Thorndike 

neck,  it  makes  him  drivel.  "There  is  great  occult  force"  in  the 
magnet,  and  instructions  are  given  how  to  set  water  on  fire  with 
it.  Several  stones  possess  the  property  of  neutralizing  spells 
and  counteracting  the  work  of  demons.  With  another  stone  the 
Indians  make  many  incantations.  Vultures  were  the  first  to 
discover  the  virtue  of  the  stone  filcrum  coarton  in  hastening 
delivery.  When  a  female  vulture  was  near  death  from  the  eggs 
hardening  in  her  body,  the  male  flew  off  to  India  and  brought 
back  this  stone  which  afforded  instant  relief.  Another  stone  is 
so  soporific  that  suspended  about  the  neck  it  induces  a  sleen 
lasting  three  days  and  nights,  and  the  effects  of  which  are 
thrown  off  with  difficulty  even  on  the  fourth  day,  when  the 
sleeper  will  awake  but  act  as  if  intoxicated  and  still  seem  sleepier 
than  anyone  else.  Another  stone  prevents  a  horse  from  whinny- 
ing, if  suspended  from  his  neck. 

Other  gems  suggest  stories  of  Alexander.  Near  the  frontier 
of  India  in  a  valley  guarded  by  deadly  serpents  whose  mere 
glance  was  fatal  were  many  precious  gems.  Alexander  disposed 
of  the  serpents  by  erecting  mirrors  in  which  they  might  stare 
themselves  to  death,  and  he  then  secured  the  gems  by  employing 
the  carcasses  of  sheep  in  a  manner  already  described  by  Epi- 
phanius.  A  somewhat  similar  tale  is  told  of  Socrates  by  Albertus 
Magnus  in  his  commentary  on  the  pseudo-Aristotelian  work  on 
the  properties  of  the  elements  and  planets.71  In  the  reign  of 
Philip  of  Madsedon,  who  is  himself  described  as  a  philosopher 
and  astronomer,  the  road  between  two  mountains  in  Armenia 
became  so  poisoned  that  no  one  could  pass.  Philip  vainly 
inquired  the  cause  from  his  sages  until  Socrates  came  to  the 
rescue  and,  by  erecting  a  tower  as  high  as  the  mountains  with  a 
steel  mirror  on  top  of  it,  saw  two  dragons  polluting  the  air.  The 
mere  glance  of  these  dragons  was  apparently  not  deadly,  for 
men  in  air-tight  armor  went  in  and  killed  them.  The  same  story 
is  told  by  William  of  St.  Cloud,  who  composed  astronomical 
tables  based  upon  his  own  observations  from  about  1285  to 
1321,  in  which  he  detected  errors  in  the  earlier  tables  of  Thebit, 
Toulouse,  and  Toledo.72  In  Peter  of  Abano's  treatise  on  poi- 

71  De  causis  elementorum,  etc.,  II,  ii,  1  (Borgnet,  IX,  643). 

72  Histoire  Litteraire  de  la  France,  XXV,  65. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  245 

sons,73  however,  although  he  too  cites  the  pseudo-Aristotle  on 
the  causes  of  the  elements,  the  mirror  has  become  a  glass  cave  in 
which  Socrates  ensconces  himself  to  observe  the  serpents.  A 
Lapidary  dedicated  to  King  Wenzel  II  of  Bohemia  tells  of 
Socrates'  killing  a  dragon  by  use  of  quicksilver.74  That  Socrates 
also  shared  the  medieval  reputation  of  Aristotle  and  Plato  for 
astrology  and  divination  is  seen  from  the  Prenostica  Socratis 
Basilei,  a  mode  of  divination  found  in  the  manuscripts. 

Similar  to  Abano's  tale  of  Socrates  in  the  glass  cave  is  the 
story  told  a  century  earlier  by  Alexander  Neckam  of  Alexander 
himself.  So  sedulous  an  investigator  of  nature  was  the  Mace- 
donian, says  Neckam,  that  he  went  down  in  a  glass  vessel  to 
observe  the  natures  and  customs  of  the  fishes.  He  would  seem 
to  have  remained  submerged  for  some  time,  since  Neckam 
informs  us  that  he  took  a  cock  with  him  in  order  to  tell  when  it 
was  dawn  by  the  bird's  crowing.  This  primitive  submarine  had 
at  least  a  suggestion  of  war  about  it,  since  Neckam  goes  on  to 
say  that  Alexander  learned  how  to  lay  ambushes  against  the 
foe  by  observing  one  army  of  fishes  attack  another.  Unfor- 
tunately, however,  Alexander  failed  to  commit  to  writing  his 
observations,  whether  military  or  scientific,  of  deep-sea  life; 
and  Neckam  grieves  that  very  few  data  on  the  natures  of  fishes 
have  come  to  his  attention.75 

Neckam's  account  differs  a  good  deal  from  the  story  as 
told  by  the  Arabian  historian,  Mas'udi,  in  the  tenth  century. 
There  we  read  that,  when  Alexander  was  building  the  city  of 
Alexandria,  monsters  came  from  the  sea  every  night  and  over- 
threw the  walls  that  had  been  built  during  the  day.  Night 
watchmen  proved  of  no  avail,  so  Alexander  had  a  box  made  ten 

73  De  venenis,  ca.  5;  probably  written  in  1316. 

14  Aristotle,  Lapidarius  et  Liber  de  physionomia,  Merszborg,  1473,  p.  8. 

76  De  naturis  rerum,  II,  21.  In  an  illustrated  13th  century  MS  of  the 
vernacular  Romance  of  Alexander  three  pictures  are  devoted  to  his  submarine. 
CU  Trinity  1446,  1250  A.  D.,  fol.  27r,  "Comment  Alisandre  vesqui  suz  les 
ewes;  a  covered  ship  with  windows  under  green  water,  Alexander  and  three 
men  in  it;  fol.  27v,  Des  nefs  ke  sont  apelees  colifas;  a  similar  ship  in  the  water, 
no  one  visible  in  it;  Coment  Alisandre  encercha  la  nature  de  pessons;  Alexan- 
der and  two  men  in  the  ship,  fish  and  mermaid  below."  I  have  quoted  James' 
description  of  the  MS  (III,  488).  See  also  the  volume  of  Lacroix  on  Science 
and  Literature  in  the  Middle  Ages,  fig.  87,  for  a  view  of  Alexander  descending 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  in  a  glass  cask,  from  a  13th  century  MS. 


246  Thorndike 

cubits  long  and  five  wide,  with  glass  sides  fastened  into  the 
frame  work  by  means  of  pitch  and  resin.  He  then  entered  the 
box  with  two  draughtsmen,  who,  after  it  had  been  let  down  to 
the  bottom  of  the  sea,  made  exact  drawings  of  the  monsters,  who 
had  human  bodies  but  the  heads  of  beasts.  From  these  sketches 
Alexander  had  images  constructed  and  placed  on  pillars,  and 
these  magic  figures  served  to  keep  off  the  monsters  until  the  city 
was  completed.  But  the  effect  apparently  began  to  wear  off 
and  talismans  had  to  be  added  on  the  pillars  to  prevent  the  mon- 
sters from  coming  and  devouring  the  inhabitants,  as  they  had 
begun  to  do  again.76  Another  Arab,  Abu-Shaker,  of  the  thir- 
teenth century,  repeats  a  current  tradition  that  Aristotle  gave 
Alexander  a  box  of  wax  soldiers  which  were  nailed,  with  inverted 
spears  and  swords  and  severed  bow-strings,  face-downwards  in 
the  box,  which  in  its  turn  was  fastened  by  a  chain.  As  long  as 
the  box  remained  in  Alexander's  possession  and  he  repeated  the 
formulae  which  Aristotle  taught  him  whenever  he  took  the  box 
up  or  put  it  down,  he  would  triumph  over  his  foes  in  war.77 
This  reminds  one  of  the  methods  of  warfare  employed  by  Alex- 
ander's fabled  natural  father,  Nectanebus. 

While  we  are  speaking  of  military  matters,  it  may  be  noted 
that  in  a  manuscript  of  the  thirteenth  century  which  once 
belonged  to  an  Albertus  Bohemus  or  Beham,  dean  of  the  church 
at  Padua  and  seems  to  have  been  his  note-book,  we  find  between 
the  Secret  of  Secrets  of  the  pseudo- Aristotle  and  a  treatise  on  the 
significations  of  the  moon  in  the  signs  "a  delineation  of  a  brazen 
horn  made  with  marvelous  art  by  which  Alexander  in  time  of 
war  summoned  his  army  from  a  distance  of  sixty  miles."78 

But  to  return  to  other  tales  of  Alexander  in  the  Lapidary. 
Once  he  saw  afar  enchanters  and  enchantresses  who  slew  and 
wounded  the  men  of  his  army  by  their  diabolical  power  until 
Alexander  prayed  to  God  who  revealed  two  stones  which  coun- 
ter-acted the  sorcery.  On  another  occasion  when  by  Alexander's 
order  his  barons  had  carried  off  certain  gems,  during  the  night 
following  they  suffered  much  insult  from  demons  and  were  sore 
afraid,  since  sticks  and  stones  were  thrown  about  the  camp  by 

78  Budge,  Egyptian  Magic,  1899,  pp.  152-6;  Mas'ud!,  Les  Prairies  d'Or,  ed. 
B.  de  Maynard  and  Pavet  de  Courteille,  1861,  II,  425  ff. 
"  Budge  (1899)  pp.  95-6. 
78  CLM  2574b,  bombyc.  13th  century,  fol.  69v. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  247 

unseen  hands  and  men  were  beaten  without  knowing  whence 
the  blows  came.  It  thus  became  apparent  that  the  demons 
cherished  those  gems  as  their  especial  property  and  were  accus- 
tomed to  perform  occult  operations  with  them  of  which  they  did 
not  wish  men  to  learn  the  secret.  Alexander  found  that  these 
gems  would  protect  him  from  any  beast,  serpent,  or  demon, 
although  the  nocturnal  experience  of  his  barons  would  scarcely 
seem  to  support  this  last  point.  On  a  third  occasion  his  army 
were  held  motionless  and  gazed  open-mouthed  at  certain  stones, 
until  a  bird  fluttered  down  and  covered  the  gems  with  its  out- 
stretched wings.  Then  Alexander  had  his  followers  close  their 
eyes  and  carry  the  stones  away  under  cover  and  place  them  on 
top  of  the  wall  of  one  of  his  cities  so  that  no  one  might  scale  the 
wall  to  spy  upon  the  town. 

Yet  another  curious  story  of  Alexander  and  a  stone  is 
repeated  by  Peter  of  Abano  in  his  work  on  poisons  from  a  treatise 
"On  the  Nature  of  Serpents"  which  he  ascribes  to  Aristotle. 
Alexander  always  wore  a  certain  stone  in  his  belt  to  give  him 
good  luck  in  his  battles,  but  on  his  return  from  India,  while 
bathing  in  the  Euphrates,  he  removed  the  belt,  whereupon  a 
serpent  suddenly  appeared,  bit  the  stone  out  of  the  belt,  and 
vomited  it  into  the  river.  Deprived  of  his  talisman,  Alexander 
presently  met  his  death.79 

Another  Lapidary,  printed  as  Aristotle's  at  Merseburg  in 
1473,  is  really  a  compilation  of  previous  medieval  works  on  the 
subject  with  the  addition  of  some  items  derived  from  the  per- 
sonal knowledge  or  experience  of  the  author.  It  was  composed 
"to  the  honor  of  almighty  God  and  the  glory  and  perpetual 
memory  of  that  virtuous  and  most  glorious  prince,  Wenzel  II, 
King  of  Bohemia"  (1278-1305).  As  the  treatise  itself  states, 

79  Very  similar  is  the  story  in  the  Gilgamesh  epic,  a  work  "far  more  ancient 
than  Genesis,"  of  a  serpent  stealing  a  life-giving  plant  from  Gilgamesh  while  he 
was  bathing  in  a  well  or  brook.  The  plant,  which  had  been  revealed  to  Gilga- 
mesh by  the  deified  Ut-napishtim,  "had  the  miraculous  power  of  renewing  youth 
and  bore  the  name  'the  old  man  becomes  young.'  "  Sir  James  Frazer  (Folk-Lore 
in  the  Old  Testament,  1918,  I,  50-51)  follows  Rabbi  Julian  Morgenstern  ("On 
Gilgamesh-Epic,  XI,  274-320,"  in  Zeitsc hrift  f.  Assyriologie,  XXIX,  1915,  p. 
284  ff.)  in  connecting  this  incident  with  the  serpent  and  tree  of  life  in  the 
Biblical  account  of  the  fall  of  man,  and  gives  further  examples  from  the  folk- 
lore of  primitive  peoples  of  other  jealous  animals,  such  as  the  dog,  frog,  duck, and 
lizard,  perverting  divine  good  tidings  or  gifts  to  man  to  their  own  profit. 


248  Thorndike 

"the  Lapidary  of  Aristotle  in  the  recent  translation  from 
the  Greek"  is  only  one  of  its  sources  along  with  Avicenna, 
Constantinus  Africanus,  Albertus  Magnus,  and  others. 

Another  work  which  claims  Aristotelian  authorship  only  in 
its  title  is  the  Chiromancy  of  Aristotle,  printed  at  Ulm  in  1490, 
which  quotes  freely  from  Albertus  Magnus  and  Avicenna. 
There  are  also  brief  tracts  on  chiromancy  ascribed  to  Aristotle 
in  manuscripts  of  the  thirteenth  or  fourteenth  century,80 
Forster  has  identified  Polemon  as  the  author  of  the  Greek  treatise 
on  physiognomy  ascribed  to  Aristotle.81  The  art  of  physignomy 
of  course  professed  to  read  character  from  the  face  or  other 
parts  of  the  body,  and  chiromancy  which  we  have  just  mentioned 
is  really  a  branch  of  it.  In  Latin  translation  the  treatise  was 
accepted  as  Aristotle's  by  such  medieval  schoolmen  as  Albertus 
Magnus  and  Duns  Scotus.  There  are  many  manuscripts  of  it 
in  the  British  Museum,  including  one  which  perhaps  dates 
back  to  the  twelfth  century.82  Its  popularity  continued  long 
after  the  invention  of  printing,  as  is  shown  by  separate  editions 
of  it  brought  out  at  Paris  in  1535  and  at  Wittenberg  in  1538, 
and  by  commentaries  upon  it83  published  at  Paris  in  1611,  at 
Bologna  in  1621,  and  at  Toulouse  in  1636.  Besides  such  separate 
manuscripts  and  editions  of  it,  it  was  also  regularly  embodied 
in  the  numerous  copies  of  the  pseudo-Aristotelian  work  to 
which  we  next  turn. 

Most  widely  influential  upon  the  medieval  mind  of  all  the 
spurious  works  attributed  to  Aristotle  was  the  Secret  of  Secrets. 
Forster  enumerated  two  hundred  and  seven  Latin  manuscripts 
of  it  and  his  list  is  probably  far  from  complete.84  Gaster  calls  it 

80  Sloane  2030,  fols.  125-26;  Additional  15236,  fols.  154-60:  BN,  7420A 
(14th  century)  No.  16. 

81  Richard  Forster,  De  Aristotelis  quae  fcruntur  physio  gnomonicis  recen- 
cendis,  Kiliae,  1882;  De  translat.  latin,  physiognom.,  Kiliae,  1884;  Scriptores 
Physiognomici  Lipsiae,  1893-1894. 

ffi  Cotton  Julius  D-viii,  fol.  126  ff.;  Harleian  3969;  Egerton  847;  Sloane 
2030,  fol.  95-103;  Additional  15236,  fol.  160  (in  abbreviated  form);  Sloane 
3281,  fols.  19-23;  Sloane  3584;  Egerton  2852,  fol.  115v.  et  seq. 

83  There  is  a  manuscript  copy  of  a  commentary  on  it  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury at  Erfurt,  Amplon.  Quarto  186.     See  Schum's  catalog  for  MSS.  of  the 
Physiognomia  itself  in  the  Amplonian  collection. 

84  R.  Forster,  De  Aristotelis  quae  feruntur  seer  eta  secretorum  Commentatio, 
Kiliae,  1888;  Handschriften  und  Ausgaben  des  pseudo-Aristotelischen  Secre- 
tum  secretorum,  in  Centralblalt  f.  Bibliothekswesen,  VI  (1889)  1-22,  57-76. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  249 

"The  most  popular  book  of  the  middle  ages.83  This  is  not 
surprising  since  it  purports  to  sum  up  in  concise  form  what  the 
greatest  of  ancient  philosophers  deemed  it  essential  for  the 
greatest  of  ancient  rulers  to  know,  and  since  under  the  alluring 
pretense  of  revealing  great  secrets  in  parable  and  riddle  it  really 
masses  together  a  number  of  the  best-tested  and  most  often 
repeated  maxims  of  personal  hygiene  and  practical  philosophy, 
and  some  of  the  superstitious  to  which  men  have  shown  them- 
selves most  inclined.  Every  European  library  of  consequence 
contains  a  number  of  copies  of  it.  It  was  translated  into  almost 
every  European  language  and  was  often  versified,  as  in  Lyd- 
gate's  and  Burgh's  Secrees  of  old  Philiso/res.8*  Albertus  Magnus 
cited  it  as  Aristotle's;87  Roger  Bacon  wrote  a  rather  jejune 
commentary  upon  it.88  It  was  printed  a  number  of  times  before 
1500.89 

86  M.  Caster,  in  his  Introduction  to  a  Hebrew  version  of  the  Secret  of 
Secrets,  in  the  Journal  of  the  Royal  Asiatic  Society,  (1908,  part  2),  pp.  1065- 
84;  for  the  Hebrew  text  and  an  English  translation,  Ibid.  (1907)  pp.  879-913 
and  (1908,  part  1)  pp.  111-62. 

*  Ed.  Robert  Steele,  EETS  LXVI,  London,  1894.  Volume  LXXIV  con- 
tains three  earlier  English  versions.  There  are  numerous  MSS  of  it  in  Italian 
in  the  Riccardian  and  Palatini  collections  at  Florence. 

87  De  somno  el  vigilia,  1,  ii,  7. 

88  Tanner  116,  13th  century;  Corpus  Christi  149,  15th  century.     Recently 
edited,  together  with  Bacon's  peculiar  arrangement  of  the  text,  by  Robert  Steele, 
1902,  as  Fasc.  V  of  his  Opera  hactenus  inedita  Rogeri  Baconi. 

89  There  are  considerable  discrepancies  between  the  different  early  printed 
editions,  which  differ  in  length,  order  of  arrangement,  tables  of  contents,  and 
number  of  chapters.    And  in  the  same  edition  the  chapter  headings  given  in  the 
course  of  the  text  may  not  agree  with  those  in  the  table  of  contents,  which  as  a 
rule,  even  in  the  MSS,  does  not  fully  cover  the  subject-matter  of  the  text. 
The  different  printers  have  probably  used  different  manuscripts  for  their  edi- 
tions  rather   than   made   any  new  additions  of  their  own.    The  following 
editions  are  those  to  which  references  will  be  made  in  the  following  pages. 

An  edition  printed  at  Cologne  about  1480,  which  I  examined  at  the  Har- 
vard University  Library,  divides  the  text  into  only  thirty  chapters  and  seems 
imperfect. 

An  edition  of  about  1485,  which  I  examined  at  the  British  Museum,  where 
it  was  numbered  IA.  10756,  has  74  chapters,  and  the  headings  of  its  25th  and 
30th  chapters,  for  instance,  agree  with  those  of  the  llth  and  13th  chapters  in 
the  Harvard  copy. 

A  third  edition  of  Paris,  1520  has  no  numbered  chapters  and  contains 
passages  not  found  in  the  two  earlier  editions. 

As  a  check  upon  these  printed  texts  I  have  examined  the  three  following 
MSS,  two  of  the  13th,  and  one  of  the  14th  century.  Of  these  Egerton  2676 


250  Thorndike 

The  Secret  of  Secrets  is  believed  to  be  the  outcome  of  a 
gradual  process  of  compilation  from  very  varied  sources,  and  to 
have  reached  something  like  its  present  form  by  the  seventh  or 
eighth  century  of  our  era.  But  its  chapters  on  physiognomy, 
as  we  have  seen,  go  back  to  Polemon's  treatise,  and  part  of  its 
medical  discussion  is  said  to  be  borrowed  from  Diocles  Caristes 
who  wrote  about  320  B.C.  Some  Graeco-Persian  treatise  is 
thought  to  be  the  basis  of  its  discussion  of  kingship.  It  is  also 
believed  to  have'  appropriated  bits  from  popular  literature  to 
its  own  uses.  In  Arabic  there  is  extant  both  a  longer  and  a 
shorter  version,  and  Gaster  has  edited  a  Hebrew  text  which  is 
apparently  derived  from  a  different  Arabic  original  than  any 
Latin  text.  The  process  of  successive  compilation,  or  at  least, 
re-editing  and  repeated  translation  which  the  work  underwent 
is  suggested  by  a  series  of  prologues  which  occur  at  the  begin- 
ning. Following  the  preface  of  the  Latin  translator  and  the 
table  of  contents  comes  what  is  called  "the  prologue  of  a  certain 
doctor  in  commendation  of  Aristotle,"90  in  which  omnipotent 
God  is  prayed  to  guard  the  king  and  some  anonymous  editor 
states  that  he  has  executed  the  mandate  enjoined  upon  him  to 
procure  the  moral  work  on  royal  conduct  called  The  Secret  of 
Secrets,  which  Aristotle,  chief  of  philosophers,  composed.  After 
some  talk  about  Aristotle  and  Alexander  a  second  prologue 
begins  with  the  sentence,  "John  who  translated  this  book,  son 
of  a  patrician,  most  skilful  and  faithful  interpreter  of  languages, 
says."  This  John  appears  to  have  been  Yuhanna  ibn  el- 
Batriq  and  what  he  says  is  that  he  searched  the  world  over 
until  he  came  to  an  oracle  of  the  sun  which  Esculapides  had  con- 
structed. There  he  found  a  solitary  abstemious  sage  who 

corresponds  fairly  closely  throughout  to  the  edition  numbered  IA.  10756  in  the 
British  Museum. 

Egerton  2676,  13th  century,  fols.  3-52 

BN  6584,  13th  century,  fols.  lr-32v 

Bodleian  67,  14th  century,  fols.  l-53v,  is  much  like  the  preceding  MS. 

90  BN  6584,  fol.  Iv,  "De  prologo  cuiusdam  doctoris  in  commendatione 
aristotelis."  See  also  Digby  228,  14th  century,  fol.  27,  where  a  scribe  has 
written  in  the  upper  margin,  "In  isto  libello  primo  ponitur  prologus,  deinde 
tabula  contentorum  in  libro,  deinde  prologus  cuiusdam  doctoris  in  commenda- 
cionem  Aristotilis,  deinde  prologus  lohannis  qui  transtulit  librum  istum.  .  .  ." 
In  Egerton  2676,  fol.  6r,  "Deus  omnipotens  custodiat  regem.  .  .  ." 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  251 

presented  him  with  this  book  which  he  translated  from  Greek 
into  Chaldaic  and  thence  into  Arabic.  This  passage  reminds 
one  of  Harpocration's  prefatory  remarks  to  his  daughter  in  the 
Kiranides;  indeed,  it  is  quite  in  the  usual  style  of  apocryphal 
writings. 

In  the  matter  of  the  Latin  translation  we  are  on  somewhat 
more  certain  ground.  John  of  Spain  in  the  first  half  of  the 
twelfth  century  seems  to  have  translated  only  the  medical 
portion.91  Manuscripts  of  this  partial  translation  are  relatively 
few,92  and  it  was  presently  superseded  by  the  complete  transla- 
tion made  either  in  the  twelfth  or  early  thirteenth  century93 
by  Philip,  "the  least  of  his  clerics"  for  "his  most  excellent  lord, 
most  strenuous  in  the  cult  of  the  Christian  religion,  Guido  of 
Valencia,  glorious  pontiff  of  the  city  of  Tripoli."  Philip  goes 
on  to  say  in  his  dedicatory  preface  that  it  was  when  he  was  with 
Guido  in  Antioch  that  they  found  "this  pearl  of  philosophy,  .  .  . 
this  book  which  contains  something  useful  about  almost  every 
science,"  and  which  it  pleased  Guido  to  have  translated  from 
Arabic  into  Latin.  Although  the  various  printed  editions  and 
manuscripts  of  the  Secret  of  Secrets  in  Latin  vary  considerably, 
they  regularly  are  preceded  by  this  ascription  of  the  Latin 
translation  to  Philip,  and  usually  by  the  other  prologues  afore- 
mentioned. Who  this  Philip  was,  other  than  a  cleric  of  Tripoli, 
is  still  undetermined.  If  he  was  the  same  as  the  papal  physician 
whom  Alexander  III  in  1177  proposed  to  send  on  a  mission  to 
Prester  John,  he  had  probably  made  his  translation  before  that 
date.  J.  Wood  Brown  would  identify  him  with  Philip  of  Salerno, 

91  Steinschneider  (1905)  p.  42,  it  is  true,  says,  "Ob  Job.  selbst  das  ganze 
Secretum  ubersetzt  habe,  ist  noch  nicht  ermittelt;"  but  the  following  passage, 
cited  by  Giacosa  (1901)  p.  386  from  Bibl.  Angelica  Rome,  Cod.  1481,  12th 
century,  fols.  144-146v,  indicates  that  he  translated  only  the  medical  part. 

"Cum  de  utilitate  corporis  olim  tractarim  et  a  me  quasi  essem  medicus 
vestra  nobilitas  quereret  ut  brevem  libellum  et  de  observatione  diete  et  de 
continentia  cordis  in  qualibus  se  debent  contineri  qui  sanitatem  corporis 
cupiunt  servare  accidit  ut  dum  cogitarem  vestre  iussioni  obedire  huius  rei  exem- 
pliar  aristotelis  philosophi  Alexandra  dictum  repente  in  mente  occurreret 
quod  excerpi  de  libro  qui  arabice  vocatur  ciralacerar  id  est  secretum  secre- 
torum  que  fecit  fieri  predictus  Aristotelis  philosophus  Alexandra  regi  magno  de 
dispositione  regni  in  quo  continentur  multa  regibus  utilia.  .  .  ." 

92  Ed.  H.  Souchier,  Denkmaler  provenzal  Lit.,  Halle,  1883, 1, 473  et  seq. 

93  Thirteenth  century  MSS  of  Philip's  translation  are  numerous:  I  have 
not  noted  a  12th  century  one. 


252  Thorndike 

a  royal  notary  whose  name  appears  in  1200  on  deeds  in  the 
kingdom  of  Sicily.94 

Returning  to  Philip's  preface  to  Guido,  it  may  be  noted  that 
he  states  that  Latins  do  not  have  the  work  and  it  is  rare  among 
the  Arabs.95  His  translation  is  a  free  one  since  the  Arabic  idiom 
is  different  from  the  Latin.  Aristotle  wrote  this  book  in  response 
to  the  petition  of  King  Alexander  his  disciple  who  demanded 
that  Aristotle  should  either  come  to  him  or  faithfully  reveal  the 
secrets  of  certain  arts,  namely,  the  motion,  operation,  and  power 
of  the  stars  in  astronomy,  the  art  of  alchemy,  the  art  of  knowing 
natures  and  working  enchantments,  and  the  art  of  geomancy. 
Aristotle  was  too  old  to  come  in  person,  and  although  it  had 
been  his  intention  to  conceal  in  every  way  the  secrets  of  the 
said  sciences,  yet  he  did  not  venture  to  contradict  the  will  and 
command  of  so  great  a  lord.  He  hid  some  matters,  however, 
under  enigmas  and  figurative  locutions.  For  Alexander's 
convenience  he  divided  the  work  into  ten  books,  each  of  which 
is  divided  into  chapters  and  headings.  Philip  adds  that  for  his 
readers'  convenience  he  has  collected  these  headings  at  the 
beginning  of  the  work  and  a  table  of  contents  follows.95*  Then 
come  the  two  older  prologues  which  we  have  already  described, 
next  a  letter  of  Aristotle  to  Alexander  on  the  extrinsic  and  intrin- 

94  Brown  (1897)  pp.  19-20,  36-7.    But  not  much  reliance  can  be  placed  on 
the  inclusion  of  this  name  "Master  Philip  of  Tripoli"  in  a  title  which  Brown 
(p.  20)  quotes  from  a  De  Rossi  MS,  "The  Book  of  the  Inspections  of  Urine 
according  to  the  opinion  of  the  Masters,  Peter  of  Berenice,  Constantine  Damas- 
cenus,  and  Julius  of  Salerno;  which  was  composed  by  command  of  the  Emperor 
Frederick,  Anno  Domini  1212,  in  the  month  of  February,  and  was  revised  by 
Master  Philip  of  Tripoli  and  Master  Gerard  of  Cremona  at  the  orders  of  the 
King  of  Spain"   etc.,  since  Gerard  of  Cremona  at  least  had  died  in  1187  and 
there  was  no  "king  of  Spain"  until  1479. 

Brown  does  not  give  the  Latin  for  the  passage,  but  if  the  date  1212  could 
be  regarded  as  Spanish  era  and  turned  into  1174  A.D.,  Gerard  of  Cremona 
would  still  be  living,  the  emperor  would  be  Frederick  Barbarossa  instead  of 
Frederick  II,  and  Master  Philip  of  Tripoli  might  be  the  same  Philip  whom 
Pope  Alexander  III  proposed  to  send  to  Prester  John  in  1177. 

95  BN  6584,  fol.  lr,  "Hunc  librum  quo  carebant  latini  eo  quod  apud  paucis- 
simos  arabies  reperitur  transtuli  cum  magno  labore.  ..."    A  considerable 
portion  of  Philip's  preface  is  omitted  in   the  Harvard  edition. 

**  The  preliminary  table  of  contents,  however,  gives  only  chapter  headings, 
which  in  BN  6584  are  82  in  number,  but  the  beginnings  of  the  ten  books  are 
indicated  in  the  text  in  BN  6584  as  follows.  The  numbers  in  parentheses 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  253 

sic  causes  of  his  work,96  and  then  with  a  chapter  which  is  usually 
headed  Distinctio  regum  or  Reges  sunt  quaiuor  begins  the  dis- 
cussion of  kingship  which  is  the  backbone  of  the  work. 

It  is  evident  from  Philip's  preface  that  occult  science  also 
forms  a  leading  feature  in  the  work  as  known  to  him.  Gaster, 
who  contended  that  the  Hebrew  translation  from  the  Arabic 
which  he  edited  was  as  old  as  either  John  of  Spain's  or  Philip's 
Latin  translations,  although  the  oldest  of  the  four  manuscripts 
which  he  collated  for  his  text  is  dated  only  in  1382  A.D.,  made  a 
rather  misleading  statement  when  he  affirmed,  "Of  the  astrology 
looming  so  largely  in  the  later  European  recensions  the  Hebrew 
has  only  a  faint  trace."97  As  a  matter  of  fact  some  of  the  printed 
editions  contain  less  astrology  than  the  thirteenth  century 
manuscripts,  while  Caster's  Hebrew  version  has  much  more 
than  "a  faint  trace"  of  astrology.  But  more  of  this  later. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  cannot  fully  subscribe  to  Steinschnei- 
der's  characterization  of  The  Secret  of  Secrets  as  "a  wretched 
compilation  of  philosophical  mysticism  and  varied  supersti- 
tion."98 Of  superstition  there  is  a  great  deal,  but  of  philosophi- 
cal mysticism  there  is  practically  none.  Despite  the  title  and 
the  promise  in  Philip's  preface  of  enigmatic  and  figurative 
language,  the  tone  of  the  text  is  seldom  mystical,  and  its  philoso- 
phy is  of  a  very  practical  sort. 

are  the  corresponding  leaves  in  Bodleian  67  which,  however,  omits  mention  of 

the  book  and  its  number  except  in  the  case  of  the  fourth  book, 
fol.  3v(5r),  Incipit  liber  primus.     Epistola  ad  Alexandrum 
fol.  6r,  Secundus  liber  de  dispositione  Regali  et  reverentia  Regis 
Fol.  12r  (18v),  Incipit  liber  tertius.     Cum  hoc  corpus  corruptibile  sit  eique 

accidit  corruptio.  .  .  . 

fol.  22r  (36r),  Incipit  liber  quartus.     transtulit  magister  philippus  tripo- 

litanus  de  forma  iusticie 

fol.  28r  (44v),  Liber  Quintus  de  scribis  et  scrip toribus  secretorum 
fol.  28r  (45 r),  Liber  Sextus  de  nuntiis  et  informationibus  ipsorum 
fol.  28v  (46v),  Liber  Septimus  de  hiis  qui  sr'  intendunt  et  habent  curarn 

subditorum 

fol.  29r  (47r),  Liber  Octavus  de  dispositione  ductoris  sui  et  de  electione  bel- 

atorium  et  procerum  inferiores. 

fol.  29v  (48r),  Liber  Nonus  de  regimine  bellatorum  et  forma  aggrediendi 

bellum  et  pronatationibus  eorundem 

fol.  30v  (50v),  Sermo  de  phisionomia  cuiuslibet  hominis. 

.**  It  is  omitted  in  some  printed  editions  but  occurs  in  both  13th  century 

MSS  which  I  examined. 

"  Gaster  (1908)  p.  1076. 

93  Steinschneider  (1905)  p.  60. 


254  Thorndike 

Nor  can  The  Secret  of  Secrets  be  dismissed  as  merely  "a 
wretched  compilation."  Those  portions  which  deal  with  king- 
craft and  government  display  shrewdness  and  common  sense, 
worldly  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  human  nature,  are  not 
restricted  by  being  written  from  any  one  premise  or  view-point, 
and  often  evince  real  enlightenment.  Those  historians  who  have 
declared  the  love  of  fame  a  new  product  of  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance should  have  read  the  chapter  on  fame  in  this  most  popular 
book  of  the  middle  ages,  where  we  find  such  statements  as  that 
royal  power  ought  not  to  be  desired  for  its  own  sake  but  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  achieving  fame.  Other  noteworthy  utterances 
indicative  of  the  tone  and  thought  of  the  book  are  that  "the 
intellect  .  .  .  is  the  root  of  all  things  praiseworthy" ;  that  kings 
should  cultivate  the  sciences;  that  liberality  involves  respect 
for  other's  property;  that  "war  destroys  order  and  devastates 
the  lands  and  turns  everything  to  chaos";  that  no  earthly  ruler 
should  shed  blood,  which  is  reserved  for  God  alone,  but  limit 
his  punishments  to  imprisonment,  flogging,  and  torture;  that 
the  king,  as  Chief  Justice  Coke  later  told  James  I,  is  under  the 
law;  that  taxes  upon  merchants  should  be  light  so  that  they 
will  remain  in  the  country  and  contribute  to  its  prosperity;  that 
his  people  are  a  king's  true  treasury  and  that  he  should  acquaint 
himself  with  their  needs  and  watch  over  their  interests. 

From  the  medical  passages  of  the  book  one  would  infer  that 
the  art  of  healing  at  first  developed  more  slowly  than  the 
art  of  ruling  in  the  world's  history.  The  medical  theory  of  the 
Secret  of  Secrets  is  not  of  an  advanced  or  complex  sort,  but  is  a 
combination  of  curious  notions  such  as  that  vomiting  once  a 
month  is  beneficial  and  sensible  ideas  such  as  that  life  consists  of 
natural  heat  and  that  it  is  very  important  to  keep  the  abdomen 
warm  and  the  bowels  moving  regularly.  The  well-known 
apothegm  of  Hippocrates  is  quoted,  "I  would  rather  eat  to  live 
than  live  to  eat." 

Much  of  the  advice  offered  to  Alexander  by  Aristotle  in  The 
Secret  of  Secrets  is  astrological.  Among  those  studies  which  the 
king  should  promote  the  only  one  specifically  mentioned  is 
astrology,  which  considered  "the  course  of  the  year  and  of  the 
stars,  the  coming  festivals  and  solemnities  of  the  month,  the 
course  of  the  planets,  the  cause  of  the  shortening  and  lengthening 
of  days  and  nights,  the  signs  of  the  stars  which  determine  the 
future  and  many  other  things  which  pertain  to  prediction  of 


The  Latin-Pseudo  Aristotle  255 

the  future."  Alexander  is  adjured  "not  to  rise  up  or  sit  down  or 
eat  or  drink  or  do  anything  without  consulting  a  man  skilled  in 
the  art  of  astronomy."100  Later  the  two  parts  of  astronomy 
are  distinguished,  that  is  astronomy  and  astrology  in  our  sense 
of  the  words.  Alexander  is  further  warned  to  put  no  faith  in  the 
utterances  of  those  stupid  persons  who  declare  that  the  science 
of  the  stars  is  too  difficult  to  master.  No  less  stupid  is  the  argu- 
ment of  others  who  affirm  that  God  has  foreseen  and  foreor- 
dained everything  from  eternity  and  that  consequently  all 
things  happen  of  necessity  and  it  is  therefore  of  no  advantage 
to  predict  events  which  cannot  be  avoided.  For  even  if  things 
happened  of  necessity,  it  would  be  easier  to  bear  them  by 
foreknowing  and  preparing  for  them  beforehand,  just  as  men 
make  preparations  against  the  coming  of  a  cold  winter — the 
familiar  contention  of  Ptolemy.  But  The  Secret  of  Secrets  also 
believes  that  one  should  pray  God  in  his  mercy  to  avert  future 
evils  and  ordain  otherwise,  "For  He  has  not  so  ordained  things 
that  to  ordain  otherwise  derogates  in  any  respect  from  his 
Providence  "  But  this  is  not  so  approved  an  astrological  doctrine . 
Later  in  the  work  Alexander  is  once  more  urged  never  to  take 
medicine  or  open  a  vein  except  with  the  approval  of  his  astrono- 
mers,101 and  directions  are  given  as  to  the  constellations  under 
which  bleeding  should  be  performed  and  also  concerning  the 
taking  of  laxatives  with  reference  to  the  position  of  the  moon 
in  the  signs  of  the  zodiac.102  Later  the  work  discusses  the  rela- 
tions of  the  four  elements  and  of  various  herbs  to  the  seven 
planets,103  and  in  the  next  to  last  chapter  Alexander  is  advised 
to  conduct  his  wars  under  the  guidance  of  astrology.104 

99  Cap.  11  (Harvard  copy);  cap.  25  (BM.  IA.10756);  Egerton 2676, fol.  12r; 
BN  6584,  fol.  9v. 

100  Cap.  13  (Harvard  copy);  cap.  30  (BM.  IA.10756);  Egerton  2676,  fol. 
13r;  BN  6584,  fol.  lOr;  also  in  Caster's  Hebrew  text. 

101  Egerton  2676,  fol.  32r.;  cap.  62  (BM.  IA.10756);  fol.  xxxiiir.  (Paris, 
1520).     BN  6584,  fol.  19v. 

102  The  Paris,  1520  edition  then  goes  on  to  explain  the  effects  of  incantations 
and  images  upon  astrological  grounds,  but  this  passage  seemes  to  be  missing  from 
the  earlier  printed  editions  and  the  thirteenth  century  manuscripts.    Roger 
Bacon,  however,  implies  that  incantations  were  present  in  Philip's  original 
translation:  Steele  (1920)  258-9. 

103  This  passage  is  found  both  in  Egerton  MS.  2676  and  in  BM.  IA.10756. 
BN  6584,  fol.  21r-v.    Bodl.  67,  fol.  32v-35v. 

1M  Cap.  73  (BM.  IA.10756) ;  fols.  44v-45r.  (Paris,  1520).    BN  6584,  fol.  30v. 


256  Thorndike 

There  is  much  indulging  in  astrological  theory  in  the  midst 
of  the  chapter  on  Justice,  and  the  constitution  of  the  universe 
is  set  forth  from  the  first  and  highest  simple  spiritual  substance 
down  through  the  nine  heavens  and  spheres  to  the  lowest 
inferiors.  To  illustrate  the  power  of  the  stars  the  story  is 
presently  told  of  two  boys,105  one  a  weaver's  son,  the  other  a 
royal  prince  of  India.  Sages  who  were  chance  guests  in  the 
weaver's  house  at  the  time  of  the  child's  birth  noted  that  his 
horoscope  was  that  of  a  courtier  high  in  royal  councils  but  kept 
their  discovery  to  themselves.  The  boy's  parents  vainly  tried 
to  make  a  weaver  of  him,  but  even  beatings  were  in  vain;  he 
was  finally  allowed  to  follow  his  natural  inclination,  secured  an 
education,  and  became  in  time  a  royal  governor.  The  king's 
son,  on  the  contrary,  despite  his  royal  birth  and  the  fact  that 
his  father  sent  him  through  all  his  provinces  to  learn  the  sciences, 
would  take  no  interest  in  anything  except  mechanics  comforma- 
bly  to  his  horoscope. 

In  The  Secret  of  Secrets  the  pseudo- Aristotle  refers  Alexander 
for  the  virtues  of  gems  and  herbs  to  his  treatises  on  stones  and 
plants,  presumably  those  which  we  have  already  described. 
He  does  not  entirely  refrain  from  discussion  of  such  marvelous 
properties  in  the  present  work,  however,  mentioning  the  use  of 
the  virtues  of  stones  in  connection  with  incantations.  We  also 
again  hear  of  stones  which  will  prevent  any  army  from  with- 
standing Alexander  or  which  will  cause  horses  to  whinny  or  keep 
them  from  doing  so;  and  of  herbs  which  bring  true  or  false 
dreams  or  cause  joy,  love,  hate,  honor,  reverence,  courage,  and 
inertia.106  One  recipe  reads,  "If  you  take  in  the  name  of  someone 
seven  grains  of  the  seeds  of  the  herb  called  androsimon,  and  hold 
them  in  his  name  when  Lucifer  and  Venus  are  rising  so  that 
their  rays  touch  him  (or  them?),  and  if  you  give  him  those 
seven  grains  to  eat  or  pulverized  in  drink,  fear  of  you  will  ever 
abide  in  his  heart  and  he  will  obey  you  for  the  rest  of  his  life."107 
Astrological  images  are  discussed  at  least  in  some  versions.108 

The  extreme  powers  attributed  to  herbs  and  stones  in  The 
Secret  of  Secrets  aroused  some  skepticism  among  its  Latin  readers 

108  BN  6584,  fol.  21r;  also  in  Caster's  Hebrew  version;  cap.  26  in  the 
Harvard  copy. 

109  Caster,  pp.  116,  160-62;  Egerton  2676,  fols.  34r-35r;  cap.  66  (BM. 
IA.  10756);  fol.  37v.  (Paris,  1520).     BN  6584,  fol.  20r-22r. 

107  Egerton  2676,  fol.  36v;  BN  6584,  fol.  22r. 

108  Paris  (1520)  fol.  37;  Steele  (1920)  bdi,  157-63,  252-61;  Caster,  p.  159. 


The  Latin  Pseudo- Aristotle  257 

of  the  thirteenth  century.109  Geoffrey  of  Waterford,  a  Domini- 
can from  Ireland  who  died  about  1300,  translated  The  Secret  of 
Secrets  into  French.  He  criticized,  however,  its  assertions 
concerning  the  virtues  of  stones  and  herbs  as  more  akin  to 
fables  than  to  philosophy,  a  fact  of  which,  he  adds,  all  clerks 
who  know  Latin  well  are  aware.  He  wonders  why  Alexander 
had  to  win  his  battles  by  hard  fighting  when  Aristotle  is  supposed 
to  inform  him  in  this  book  of  a  stone  which  will  always  rout  the 
enemy.  Geoffrey  decides  that  such  false  statements  are  the 
work  of  the  translators  and  that  Aristotle  is  the  author  only  of 
what  is  well  said  or  reasonable  in  the  work. 

Something  is  said  in  The  Secret  of  Secrets  of  the  occult  prop- 
erties and  relative  perfection  of  numbers,  and  as  usual  the 
preference  is  for  the  numbers,  three,  four,  seven,  and  ten.110 
The  Hebrew  version  adds  a  puerile  method  of  divining  who  will 
be  victor  in  a  battle  by  a  numerical  calculation  based  upon  the 
letters  in  the  names  of  the  generals.  The  treatment  of  alchemy 
is  rather  confusing  and  inconsistent.  A  recipe  for  the  Philoso- 
pher's stone  is  given,  but  in  some  versions  Alexander  is  warned 
that  Chimia  or  Kimia  is  not  a  true  science.111 

We  may  conclude  our  picture  of  the  work's  contents  with 
two  of  its  stories,  namely,  concerning  the  poisonous  maiden  and 
the  Jew  and  the  Magus.  A  beautiful  maiden  was  sent  from 
India  to  Alexander  with  other  rich  gifts.  But  she  had  been  fed 
upon  poison  from  infancy  "until  she  was  of  the  nature  of  a 
snake.  And  had  I  not  perceived  it,"  continues  Aristotle  in  the 
Hebrew  version,  "for  I  suspected  the  clever  men  of  those  coun- 
tries and  their  craft,  and  had  I  not  found  by  tests  that  she  would 
kill  thee  by  her  embrace  and  by  her  perspiration,  she  surely 
would  have  killed  thee."112  This  venomous  maiden  is  also  alluded 

109  HL.  XXI,  216  ff. 

110  Caps.  68  and  72  (BM.  IA.  10756);  cap.  68  appears  in  Egerton  2676; 
cap.  72  in  Caster's  text  and  in  the  Paris  (1520)  edition.     I  could  not  find  the 
passage  in  BN  6584. 

111  BN  6584,  fol.  20r-v;  Egerton  2676,  fol.  33v.-34r.;  cap.  65  (BM.  IA. 
10756) ;  fols.  36v.-37r.,  and  fol.  38r.  (Paris,  1520) ;  Caster,  159-60.    The  warning 
against  alchemy  does  not  appear  in  the  two  13th  century  MSS  but  only 
the  printed  edition  of  1520  and  Caster's  Hebrew  version. 

112  Caster,  p.  127;  cap.  12  (Harvard  copy);  also  in  BM.  IA.10756,  and  BN 
6584,  fol.  lOr,  where  Aristotle  seems  to  detect  the  venomous  nature  of  the 
maiden  by  magic  art — "Et  nisi  ego  ilia  bora  sagaciter  inspexissem  in  ipsam  et 
arte  magica  iudicassem.  .  .";  while  it  is  her  mere  bite  that  kills  men.  as  Alexander 
afterwards  proved  experimentally. 


258  Thorndike 

to  in  various  medieval  discussions  of  poisons.  Peter  of  Abano 
mentions  her  in  his  De  venenis.113  Gilbert  of  England,  following 
no  doubt  Gerard  of  Cremona's  translation  of  Avicenna,  cites 
Ruffus  rather  than  the  Pseudo-Aristotle  concerning  her  and 
says  nothing  of  her  relations  to  Alexander,  but  adds 
that  animals  who  approached  her  spittle  were  killed  by 
it.114  In  "Le  Secret  aux  philosophes,"  a  French  work  of  the 
closing  thirteenth  century,  where  the  story  is  told  at  considerable 
length,  Socrates  rather  than  Aristotle  saves  Alexander  from  the 
poisonous  maid.115 

In  the  other  story  a  Magus  is  represented  in  a  much  more 
favorable  light  than  magicians  generally  were;  he  seems  to 
represent  rather  one  of  the  Persian  sages.  He  was  traveling  on 
a  mule  with  provisions  and  met  a  Jew  traveling  on  foot.  Their 
talk  soon  turned  to  their  respective  religions  and  moral  stand- 
ards. The  Magus  professed  altruism;  the  Jew  was  inclined  to 
get  the  better  of  all  men  except  Jews.  When  these  principles 
had  been  stated,  the  Jew  requested  the  Magus,  since  he  pro- 
fessed to  observe  the  law  of  love,  to  dismount  and  let  him  ride 
the  mule.  No  sooner  had  this  been  done  than  the  Jew,  true  to 
his  law  of  selfishness  and  hate,  made  off  with  both  mule  and 
provisions.  This  misfortune  did  not  lead  the  Magus  to  lose  his 
faith  in  God,  however,  and  as  he  plodded  along  he  by  and  by 
came  again  upon  the  Jew  who  had  fallen  off  the  mule  and  broken 
his  neck.  The  Magus  then  mercifully  brought  the  Jew  to  the 
nearest  town  where  he  died,  while  the  king  of  the  country  made 
the  Magus  one  of  his  trusted  ministers  of  state.115 

LYNN  THORNDIKE 

Western  Reserve  University 

lla  Cap.  3. 

114  Gilbertus  Anglicus,  Compendium  medicinae,  Lyons,  1510,  fol.  348 v. 

116  HL.  XXX,  569  ff.  "Die  Sage  vom  Giftmadchen"  is  the  theme  of  a  long 
monograph  by  W.  Hertz,  Gesammelte  Abhandlungen  (1905)  pp.  156-277. 

114  BN  6584,  fol.  27;  IA.  10756,  cap.  68;  also  in  Paris,  1520  edition,  etc. 
The  various  writers  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  who  have  been  cited 
in  this  article,  and  the  whole  subject  of  medieval  occult  science,  will  be  treated  of 
more  fully  in  my  History  of  Magic  and  Experimental  Science  and  their  Relation 
to  Christian  Thought  during  the  first  thirteen  centuries  of  our  era,  which  is  now  in 
press. 


THE  LOWER  MIDDLE  CLASS  IN  TIECK'S  WRITINGS 

The  writings  of  Ludwig  Tieck  abound  in  evidences  of  a 
lively  interest  in  the  lower  middle  class.  How  can  we  account 
for  the  indifference  of  writers  and  critics  to  his  views  on  this 
subject?  The  explanation  is  not  difficult.  The  plots  of  only 
three  of  Tieck's  writings  deal  primarily  with  lower  middle  class 
situations,  and  in  most  of  his  works  the  interest  centres  about 
the  plot  or  the  moral  rather  than  about  the  delineation  of 
character.  When,  however,  a  character  is  clearly  and  sympa- 
thetically drawn,  it  almost  invariably  belongs  to  the  lower  group 
of  society.  Highly  individualized  characters  belonging  to  this 
class  form  the  centre  of  the  action  in  Abraham  Tonelli,  Der 
Runenberg  and  Der  junge  Tischlermeister;  in  other  works  they 
frequently  overshadow  the  nominal  hero  of  the  story.  Although 
the  chief  personnages  of  the  Novellen  belong  to  the  moneyed 
or  aristocratic  group  of  society,  they  are  for  the  most  part  mere 
lay  figures  upon  which  the  action  is  hung,  or  oftener  yet  the 
objects  of  Tendenzsatire.  Instances  also  occur  in  the  plot  or 
dialogue  of  many  of  Tieck's  works,  in  which,  neglecting  the 
growing  spiritual  leadership  of  the  upper  bourgeoisie  of  his 
own  day,  he  ascribes  much  of  its  culture  and  some  of  its  ideals 
to  the  lower  middle  class. 

Tieck's  treatment  of  his  theme  contains  much  which  indi- 
cates the  inadequacy  of  two  common  definitions  of  the  term 
"romantic."1  Wide  currency  has  been  attained  by  the  state- 
ment of  Heinrich  Heine  that  the  German  Romanticists,  in  so 
far  as  they  were  concerned  with  social  questions,  were  attracted, 
as  a  result  of  their  interest  in  the  Middle  Ages,  chiefly  by  the 
institution  of  chivalry.  With  special  reference  to  Tieck,  Heine 

1  The  writer  is  not  ignorant  that,  as  A.  W.  Porterfield  has  pointed  out  in 
Some  Popular  Misconceptions  Concerning  German  Romanticism  (Journal  of 
English  and  Germanic  Philology,  Vol.  15,  No.  4,  pp.  479  ff.),  inadequacy  is  a 
fault  inherent  in  most  definitions  of  this  term;  "that  Heine  was  at  (the)  time 
(at  which  he  wrote  his  essay  on  the  Romantic  School)  an  errant  journalist,  that 
suggestiveness  and  unreliability  were  dancing  partners  in  his  book,  that  he 
himself  was  honestly  interested  in  Mediaeval  legends";  or,  with  regard  to  the 
second  of  the  two  definitions  here  discussed,  that  from  1790-1798  Tieck's 
writings  were  mainly  rationalistic,  from  1798-1804  romantic  and  krgely 

259 


260  Spaulding 

wrote  in  his  famous  essay  on  Die  romantische  Schule:  "Wie 
Herr  Tieck  und  die  Schlegel  .  .  .  gegen  Manner,  die  im  Leben 
und  in  der  Litteratur  eine  ehrsame  Biirgerlichkeit  beforderten, 
die  grimmigste  Abneigung  hegten;  wie  sie  diese  Biirgerlichkeit 
als  philisterhafte  Kleinmisere  persiflierten,  und  dagegen  bestan- 
dig  das  grosse  Heldenleben  des  feudalistischen  Mittelalters 
gerlihmt  und  gefeiert,  so  hat  auch  Aristophanes,  .  .  .  "u.s.w.2 
Heine  himself  perceived  a  change  in  Tieck's  attitude  during 
his  later  period  of  literary  activity.  "Eine  merkwiirdige 
Veranderung  begiebt  sich  aber  jetzt  mit  Herrn  Tieck,  und  diese 
befindet  sich  in  seiner  dritten  Manier,  .  .  .  Der  ehemalige 
Enthusiast,  welcher  einst  .  .  .  nur  Mittelalter,  nur  feudal- 
istisches  Mittelalter  atmete,  .  .  .  dieser  trat  jetzt  auf  als  ... 
Darsteller  des  modernsten  Biirgerlebens,  ...  So  sehen  wir 
ihn  in  einer  Reihe  neuerer  Novellen."3 

In  direct  opposition  to  the  above  statements,  the  compari- 
sons which  Tieck  from  time  to  time  drew  between  the  lower 
middle  class  and  the  nobility  will  be  shown  to  be  invariably 
favorable  to  the  former.  Such  comparisons  form  the  chief  topic 
not  only  of  the  Novellen,  Die  Ahnenprobe  (1832)  and  Eigensinn 
und  Laune  (1835)  but  of  a  work  of  such  early  origin  as  Der 
junge  Tischlermeister  (conceived  before  Franz  Sternbalds 
Wanderungen,  composed  1811-1835),  besides  appearing  inci- 
dentally in  numerous  other  writings,  early  as  well  as  late.  These 
two  social  groups,  the  lower  middle  class  and  the  nobility, 
which  he  regarded  as  the  chief  surviving  representatives  of  the 
great  mediaeval  classes,  Tieck  desired  to  see  remain  outwardly 
distinct,  while  at  the  same  time  he  affirmed  the  equal  capacity 
of  both  with  regard  to  mental  and  moral  attainments.  The 
increased  realism  of  his  later  works  lessened  his  favor  for  the 

mediaeval  in  subject-matter,  from  1804-1820  romantic  and  much  less  mediaeval, 
and  that  the  period  from  1820-1853  might  be  called  one  of  incipient  realism. 
The  chief  emphasis  in  this  paper  is  laid  not  upon  an  attempt  to  discredit  any 
given  definition  of  romanticism  or  to  show  how  Tieck's  attitude  toward  the  lower 
middle  class  was  related  to  that  of  German  authors  of  earlier  or  later  date, 
but  upon  an  explanation  of  this  attitude,  aided  by  its  comparison  with  certain 
definitions  of  romanticism  and  with  the  attitude  of  other  men  toward  the  same 
topic. 

2  Heinrich  Heines  Gesammelte  Werke.  Hg.  von  Gustav  Karpeles.  5.  Bd. 
Berlin,  1887.  pp.  210,  211. 

'Ibid.,  pp.  221,  222. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  261 

nobility  without  appreciably  altering  his  conception  of  the 
lower  middle  class.  In  the  Novelle,  Eigensinn  und  Laune  he 
states  that  this  class  alone  is  true  to  its  own  best  traditions, 
whereas  the  isolated  and  privileged  position  of  the  nobility 
constitutes  a  menace  to  its  moral  strength. 

Of  more  recent  date  than  the  definition  of  romanticism 
given  by  Heine  is  another,  expressed  by  Professor  W.  A.  Neilson 
in  the  words:  "Romanticism  is  the  tendency  characterized  by 
the  predominance  of  imagination  over  reason  and  the  sense  of 
fact."4  In  support  of  this  statement  he  writes,  with  reference 
to  Heine's  definition  of  German  Romanticism:  "There  are  to  be 
found  in  the  literature  and  art  of  the  Middle  Ages  abundant 
phenomena  that  explain,  if  they  do  not  justify,  such  a  dictum 
as  that  of  Heine."5  In  another  passage  this  statement  is  con- 
nected with  the  definition  of  romanticism  as  characterized 
pre-eminently  by  imagination:  "To  sum  up:  the  elements  in 
mediaeval  life  and  art  that  have  provided  stimuli  to  modern 
romantic  writers  have  been  those  which,  whether  secular  or 
religious,  were  marked  by  a  high  degree  of  ideal  aspiration;  in 
other  words,  by  ruling  conceptions  in  which  the  dominant 
power  is  imagination."6  Having  thus  based  the  assumed  parti- 
ality of  the  Romanticists  for  mediaeval  chivalry  on  the  pre- 
dominance of  imagination  in  their  works,  in  a  third  passage 
Professor  Neilson  quotes  Wordsworth  to  show  how  "the  poetry 
of  common  life  may  become  the  theme  of  a  romantic  writer." 
"(Wordworth)  himself  states  in  his  famous  Preface  that  his 
object  was"  to  choose  incidents  and  situations  from  common 
life,  .  .  .  and  to  throw  over  them  a  certain  coloring  of  the 
imagination,  whereby  ordinary  things  should  be  presented  to  the 
mind  in  an  unusual  aspect;  .  .  .  "(Wordsworth,  Preface  to 
Lyrical  Ballads,  1800).  It  appears  from  this  statement  that 
Wordsworth's  main  aim  was  not  that  truth  to  fact  which  char- 
acterizes the  Realist;  nor  was  it  to  give  support  to  a  democratic 
view  of  society.  It  was  the  legitimate  purpose  of  the  imagina- 
tive artist;  .  .  ."7 

4  Essentials  of  Poetry,  by  W.  A.  Neilson.  Riverside  Press,  1912,  Chap.  1, 
p.  13. 

*  Ibid.,  Chap.  3,  p.  52. 

6  lbidn  Chap.  3,  p.  59. 

7  Essentials  of  Poetry,  by  W.  A.  NeiJson.     Riverside  Press,  1912.    Chap.  3, 
pp.  79,  80. 


262  Spaulding 

Tieck's  example  is  no  less  at  variance  with  the  above  defini- 
tion of  romanticism  than  with  that  of  Heine.  Broadly  speaking, 
literary  treatment  of  the  lower  middle  class  by  German  writers 
is  either  descriptive  or  controversial.  Descriptive  treatment 
may  be  imaginative  or  realistic,  or  it  may  combine  elements  of 
both  manners,  as  does  Tieck  when,  besides  making  abundant 
use  of  realistic  description,  he  connects  the  artisan  with  the 
artist  and  endows  the  lower  middle  class  with  some  of  the  refine- 
ment and  virtues  of  its  social  superiors.  Controversial  treatment 
usually  contrasts  the  common  citizen  and  the  noble.  This 
method  is  least  realistic  when  it  takes  the  shape  of  bitter  opposi- 
tion to  class  privilege,  as  is  often  the  case  when  it  arises  from 
tendencies  of  the  Storm  and  Stress  or  revolutionary  periods. 
At  times  it  attempts  a  reconciliation  of  the  classes  by  blending 
real  conditions  with  idealistic  visions.  It  becomes  especially 
realistic  when  it  contrasts  an  outworn  feudal  aristocracy  with 
the  most  energetic  element  of  the  upper  middle  class,  the 
merchants  and  industrialists.  Tieck  generally  employs  the 
second  of  these  methods,  but  also  makes  use  of  the  third  to 
contrast  the  noble  and  the  merchant  alike  unfavorably  with  the 
laborer.  Thus  both  his  descriptive  and  his  controversial  treat- 
ment of  the  lower  middle  class  contain  a  generous  proportion 
of  realism.  The  faculty  of  reason  he  employs  especially  in  the 
selection  of  typical  detail. 

In  several  important  respects  Tieck  appears  to  have  been  an 
innovator,  whose  works  either  influenced  or  foreshadowed  a 
long  line  of  subsequent  productions.  From  his  predecessors 
particularly  he  is  distinguished  by  his  decided  yet  conciliatory 
attitude  and  by  the  peculiar  blend  of  reason  and  the  sense  of 
fact  with  imagination  which  marks  his  portrayal  of  the  class  he 
favors.  Our  analysis  of  his  treatment  of  this  class  will  be  intro- 
duced by  a  brief  outline  of  the  same  theme  as  it  appears  in  the 
works  of  earlier  German  authors  of  the  eighteenth  century  and 
followed  by  a  discussion  of  its  appearance  up  to  1870.  This 
outline  does  not  pretend  to  be  exhaustive.  Yet  even  a  brief 
comparison  of  Tieck's  works  with  those  of  the  men  by  whom 
he  might  have  been  influenced  or  upon  whom  his  own  influence 
may  have  been  exerted  will  not  perhaps  be  wholly  valueless. 

In  German  poetry  of  the  eighteenth  century  the  middle 
class,  both  upper  and  lower,  receives  comparatively  slight 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  263 

attention.  Of  the  few  instances  occuring  in  the  earlier  decades 
none  are  of  a  controversial  nature  and  few  are  actually  descrip- 
tive. Friedrich  von  Hagedorn,  in  Johann  der  muntere  Seifen- 
sieder  (1738),  praised  the  cheerful  toiler  without  attempting 
to  describe  his  character  or  existence.  In  Zacharia's  Renommist 
1744)  the  incidental  figure  of  a  hair-dresser  is  noteworthy  be- 
cause of  its  resemblance  to  one  of  Tieck's  types.  Gellert's 
Fables  (1746-1748)  appealed  to  middle  class  sentimentalism  and 
morality,  without  portraying  closely  the  life  of  this  social  group. 
In  the  Idyllen  of  Salomon  Gessner  (1756),  pictures  of  rural  life 
devoid  of  all  reality  combined  features  of  the  herdsman's 
patriarchal  existence  as  depicted  by  Klopstock  in  the  idyllic 
passages  of  the  Messias  and  Adams  Tod,  with  the  insipid  arca- 
dian atmosphere  of  French  shepherds  and  shepherdesses.  Similar 
traits  are  not  uncommon  in  some  of  Tieck's  earlier  lyrics  and 
Marchen.  The  realistic  reaction  against  such  descriptions  of 
life  in  the  country  led  in  a  few  cases  to  a  faithful  and  detailed 
portrayal  of  actual  conditions.  "Maler"  Miiller,  in  his  Schaf- 
schur  (1775)  and  Das  Nusskernen,  was  the  first  to  describe 
peasant  life  in  the  Pfalz  in  a  vein  of  realism  which  at  times  is 
even  coarse.  Following  him,  Johann  Heinrich  Voss,  in  Luise 
and  Der  siebzigste  Geburtstag  (1784,  1785),  gave  detailed  pic- 
tures of  North  Germany  country  life.  Among  the  imitators  of 
Voss  were  Baggesen,  F.  W.  A.  Schmidt  and  Kosegarten,  the 
author  of  Jukunde,  eine  landliche  Dichtung,  and  Goethe  him- 
self was  inspired  by  Luise  to  write  Hermann  und  Dorothea 
(1797).  Both  this  poem  and  those  of  Voss  deal  with  members 
of  the  lower  middle  class,  including  the  artisan  but  excluding 
the  peasant.  Upon  the  latter,  who  forms  the  subject  of  Miiller's 
poems,  Tieck  bestowed  little  or  no  attention.  The  fisher, 
hunter,  shepherd,  and  weaver  in  Luise  and  above  all  the  landlord 
in  Hermann  und  Dorothea  constitute  a  few  noteworthy  prede- 
cessors of  similar  types  occurring  in  his  works. 

A  role  of  much  greater  importance  was  assigned  the  middle 
class  in  eighteenth  century  drama.  That  the  "biirgerliche 
Tragb'dien"  and  "Lustspiele,"  however,  were  concerned  at  the 
outset  chiefly  with  the  upper  bourgeoisie  appears  clearly  in  the 
works  of  their  first  exponent,  Lessing,  which  are  both  contro- 
versial and  descriptive  in  character.  Especially  is  this  true  of 
Miss  Sara  Samson  (1755),  Minna  von  Barnhelm  (1767)  and 


264  Spaulding 

Emilia  Galotti  (1772).  The  landlord  in  Minna  von  Barnhelm 
alone  exhibits  certain  characteristics  of  a  type  later  developed 
by  Tieck.  Emilia  Galotti  contains  a  protest  against  the  abuses 
of  the  nobility  in  their  relations  to  their  social  inferiors.  Apart 
from  Lessing,  the  writers  of  drama  who  treat  the  subject  contro- 
versially are  relatively  unimportant.  A  number  of  middle  class 
situations  depicted  in  writings  of  the  Storm  and  Stress  period 
are  conceived  as  protests  against  the  oppressive  privileges  of  a 
higher  social  order.  As  an  example  we  may  cite  Torring's  Agnes 
Bernauerin  (1780),  in  which  the  heroine  is  sacrificed  not  to 
society  at  large,  as  by  Hebbel,  but  to  the  conflict  of  classes.  A 
second  favorite  Storm  and  Stress  motif  is  that  of  the  humble 
maiden  led  astray,  as  in  H.  L.  Wagner's  Kindermorderin  (1776). 
These  subjects  naturally  did  not  appeal  to  the  classic  writers 
except  in  their  period  of  youthful  production.  In  Egmont 
(1788)  a  noble  is  not  only  the  friend  of  the  masses  but  receives 
love  and  inspiration  from  a  maiden  of  lowly  birth.  Iffland's 
works,  unlike  those  of  Schroder,  also  treated  the  subject  of  class 
conflicts.  The  presentation  of  this  theme  in  nearly  all  of  the 
works  above  named  is  more  bitter  and  uncompromising  than  in 
the  works  of  Tieck. 

The  numbers  if  not  the  importance  of  the  writers  of  drama 
who  treat  the  subject  descriptively  are  much  greater.  Lessing's 
early  friend,  C.  F.  Weisse,  like  the  more  famous  writer  himself 
depicted  principally  the  upper  middle  class  in  his  popular  Lust- 
spiele;  in  his  operettas  based  on  English  and  French  originals, 
such  as  Der  Teufel  ist  los  (1752),  Der  lustige  Schneider  (1759) 
and  Der  Dorfbarbier  (1771),  emphasis  is  laid  upon  the  innocence 
and  simplicity  of  country  life  in  contrast  with  that  of  cities; 
while  individual  characters,  such  as  the  cobbler  in  Der  Teufel 
ist  los,  show  a  certain  resemblance  to  types  described  by  Tieck. 
In  opposition  to  the  "Ritterdramen"  of  the  period,  Otto  von 
Gemmingen  wrote  in  1780  Der  deutsche  Hausvater,  based  on 
Diderot's  Pere  de  Famille  and  confined  within  a  narrower  social 
sphere  than  the  plays  of  Lessing.  The  realistic  and  typical 
figures  here  portrayed  influenced  Schiller's  Kabale  und  Liebe 
(1784)  as  well  as  the  Sittengemalde  of  Inland.8  In  Clavigo 
(1774),  Goethe  adopted  the  social  atmosphere  of  Lessing's 

8  Geschichte  von  der  deulschen  Lilteratur  von  Fr.  Vogt  und  Max  Koch.  Leip- 
zig und  Wien,  1877,  p.  613. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  265 

dramas  for  a  setting;  in  Die  Geschwister  (conceived  1776, 
appeared  1787)  the  plot  involves  the  domestic  joys  of  a  life 
devoted  to  industrious  'Erwerb  im  Kleinen."  Goethe's  friend 
Merck,  in  his  review  of  Werthers  Leiden,  wrote:  "Wer  nicht 
den  epischen  und  dramatischen  Geist  in  den  geheimsten  Scenen 
des  hauslichen  Lebens  erblickt,  der  wage  sich  nicht  in  die  feme 
Dammerung  einer  idealischen  Welt,"  and  later  followed  his  own 
advice  by  writing  a  series  of  just  such  dramatic  "Genrebilder  des 
hauslichen  Lebens."9  In  conclusion,  Inland  and  Schroder  were 
the  foremost  portrayers  of  middle  class  existence  in  the  German 
drama  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Though  lacking  the  creative 
artistry  of  Lessing,  they  did  more  toward  exact  reproduction 
of  the  social  milieu.  Similar  to  theirs  but  artistically  much 
inferior  are  the  plays  of  Kotzebue.  Many  of  the  dramatic 
works  here  enumerated  describe  the  life  of  the  upper  middle 
class,  others  deal  with  domestic  situations  rather  than  with  the 
broader  range  of  professional  or  class  existence.  As  a  result  of 
these  qualities,  precursors  of  Tieck's  sociological  views  are 
almost  as  rare  among  them  as  among  the  dramas  of  a  contro- 
versial nature. 

Unlike  the  dramas,  the  few  novels  of  this  century  which  deal 
with  middle  class  characters  and  situations  are  almost  exclu- 
sively controversial.  Wieland  in  Die  Abderiten  (1774)  satirized 
the  life  of  the  middle  class  in  provincial  communities:  the  trial 
concerning  the  donkey's  shadow  he  terms  "em  feines  biirger- 
liches  Drama";  the  characters  of  the  tinker  and  shoemaker,  both 
demagogues,  in  a  measure  anticipate  similar  types  in  Tieck's 
writings.10  In  two  works  of  about  the  same  period  the  evils  of 
class  prejudice  are  represented.  Werther's  (1774)  hypochondria 
is  increased  by  his  unpleasant  experiences  among  the  nobility. 
Siegwart  (1776),  by  J.  H.  Miiller,  involves  two  pairs  of  lovers  in 
difficulties  arising  from  unequal  social  rank.  Karl  Phillip 
Moritz'  Anton  Reiser  (1785),  written  under  the  influence  of 
Rousseau's  Confessions,  is  a  Storm  and  Stress  novel  of  intro- 
spection, its  hero  the  son  of  an  artisan.  The  work  contains  a 
realistic  account  of  sufferings  arising  from  the  conflict  of  an 

9  Hermann  Hettner,  Geschichle  der  deutschen  Liter atur,   111,   Band.    1. 
Abtheilung,  pp.  414,  415. 

10  Deutsche  National  Lileratur,  Bd.  53.  Geschichte  der  Abderiten,  pp.  259, 
260. 


266  Spattlding 

emotional  nature  with  the  restrictions  of  "das  deutsche  Klein- 
leben."  Finally,  in  certain  works  of  Jean  Paul  Richter,  the 
forerunner  of  Romanticism,  the  author's  unrestrained  flights 
of  fancy  are  curiously  combined  with  sentimental  description 
of  the  quiet  life  of  a  small  community.  Such  are  the  realistic 
idylls,  Leben  des  vergniigten  Schulmeisters  Wuz,  Quintus  Fix- 
lein,  Katzenbergers  Badereise,  portions  of  Siebenkas  and  Die 
Flegeljahre.  As  Jean  Paul  himself  was  anything  but  a  lover 
of  plain  fact,  these  stories  with  all  their  peculiar  realism  do 
not  afford  true  pictures  of  middle  class  life. 

Tieck's  strong  belief  in  the  dignity  and  importance  of  the 
artisan  as  well  as  his  hostility  or  indifference  to  the  upper 
middle  class  and  the  peasantry  explains  the  difference  between 
his  treatment  of  these  social  groups  and  that  of  most  of  the 
writers  who  preceded  him.  Thus,  as  has  already  been  noted, 
the  spirit  of  his  works  bears  no  resemblance  either  to  the  earlier 
"biirgerliche  Dramen"  or  to  the  realistic  descriptions  of  peasant 
life  by  "Maler"  Miiller,  because  of  his  comparative  indifference 
to  the  sections  of  society  therein  represented.  On  the  other 
hand,  owing  to  his  high  conception  of  the  artisan's  calling, 
Tieck  was  far  from  regarding  the  restrictions  of  lower  middle 
class  existence  as  a  fit  subject  for  satire  like  that  of  Die  Abderi- 
ten,  an  excuse  for  spiritual  unrest  such  as  is  described  in  Moritz' 
Anton  Reiser,  for  melancholy  resembling  that  of  Werther  or 
revolt  in  the  manner  of  other  Storm  and  Stress  authors.  Appar- 
ent exceptions  to  the  truth  of  this  statement,  such  as  Die  Schild- 
biirger  and  other  works  written  in  satire  of  Philistinism,  only 
prove  the  general  rule  by  their  adverse  criticism  of  what  Tieck 
by  no  means  regarded  as  the  essential  character  of  "das  Klein- 
biirgertum."  His  keen  interest  in  professional  detail  appears  in 
all  his  pictures  of  middle  class  family  life,  distinguishing  them 
from  the  domestic  Genrebilder  of  Iffland,  Schroder  and  Kotze- 
bue,  as  well  as  from  the  moralizing  poetry  of  Hagedorn  and 
Gellert  and  the  prose  idylls  of  Richter.  Finally,  Tieck's  writings 
ehow  no  resemblance  to  the  treatment  of  different  classes  of 
society  in  most  of  Goethe's  works,  because  these  works  are  also 
devoid  of  any  significant  reference  to  lower  middle  class  occupa- 
tions. Clavigo  and  Die  Geschwister  moreover  deal  respectively 
with  the  upper  bourgeoisie  and  the  merchant.  Egmont's 
friendship  for  the  people  is  based  purely  upon  generous  send- 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  267 

ment,  without  any  suggestion  of  the  moral  quality  of  the  classes, 
so  often  emphasized  by  Tieck.  Even  in  Werther,  the  motif  of 
class-distinctions  is  of  an  incidental  nature. 

Of  very  different  importance  is  a  work  which  has  so  far 
escaped  mention — a  work  which  served  as  a  model  not  for  Tieck 
only  but  for  the  Romantic  School  in  general — Goethe's  Wilhelm 
Meister.  This  romance  is  the  precursor  of  many  of  Tieck's 
views  with  regard  to  the  lower  middle  class.  In  the  Lehrjahre, 
Goethe  reconciled  the  difference  between  the  commoner  and  the 
noble  through  the  medium  of  culture.  Mielke  writes:  "Wenn 
Goethes  Wilhelm  Meister  in  dem  edelsten  Freundschaftsver- 
haltnis  zu  den  adligen  Personen  des  Romanes  steht,  so  eilt  die 
Anschauung  des  Dichters  von  der  Ebenbiirtigkeit  des  Geistes 
den  gesellschaftlichen  Begriffen  seiner  Zeit  weit  voraus."  In  the 
Wanderjahre,  Goethe  displayed  a  marked  advance  beyond  his 
standpoint  of  twenty-five  years  before.  The  representative  of 
the  middle  class  in  the  Lehrjahre  is  Meister,  a  merchant's  son, 
a  member  of  the  upper  bourgeoisie.  In  the  Wanderjahre,  the 
interest  of  Odvardo  and  Lothario  is  attracted  by  artisans  who 
are  inspired  by  an  ideal  of  culture  peculiarly  adapted  to  their 
existence,  the  connection  of  handicraft  with  art,  or  the  universal 
dignity  of  creative  labor. 

It  is  now  time  to  consider  in  detail  Tieck's  treatment  of  the 
lower  middle  class.  The  statements  already  made  concerning 
this  subject  must  be  arranged  in  proper  relation  to  one  another, 
and  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  various  works  by  the  author- 
ity of  which  they  are  supported.  Owing  to  the  limitations 
imposed  by  a  brief  summary,  few  quotations  will  be  given.  Our 
effort  will  be  directed  towards  showing  how  Tieck's  views 
differed  not  merely  from  those  of  the  writers  who  preceded  him, 
but  from  the  traditions  which  define  romanticism  as  a  tendency 
characterized  by  the  predominance  of  imagination  over  reason 
and  the  sense  of  fact  and  as  favoring  the  nobility  above  other 
social  classes.  Among  earlier  writers  it  has  been  seen  that  con- 
troversial treatment  was  less  common  than  descriptive.  In  this 
connection,  the  full  extent  of  Tieck's  originality  is  shown  by  his 
views  on  the  relation  between  the  lower  middle  class  and  the 
nobility. 

In  his  comparisons  of  laborer  and  nobleman  Tieck  shows  at 
first  an  impartiality  which  develops  into  a  decided  preference 


268  Spaulding 

for  the  former.  In  the  earliest  of  these  comparisons  he  insists  on 
the  necessity  for  strict  maintenance  of  outer  class  distinctions. 
This  appears  in  two  satirical  episodes,  one  of  which  contrasts  the 
idyllic  existence  of  the  shepherd  with  the  noisy  bustle  of  the 
world  of  rank.  In  Die  Sieben  Weiber  des  Blaubart,  we  read  of  a 
wounded  knight  who  is  nursed  by  a  shepherd's  daughter.  At 
length,  when  cured  of  his  wounds  and  after  some  hesitation, 
he  decides  to  marry  his  nurse.  Magdalene,  however,  proves  a 
coquette,  and  the  unhappy  husband  is  driven  to  exclaim: 
"Verflucht  sei  das  Landleben,  verflucht  sei  alle  landliche 
Naturlichkeit."11  Discontent  with  his  condition  on  the  part  of 
a  member  of  the  lower  class  is  satirized  in  the  Marchen,  Abraham 
Tonelli,  in  which  a  discontented  tailor,  after  having  left  home 
and  encountered  the  most  improbable  adventures,  is  changed 
into  a  donkey  as  the  result  of  having  eaten  a  magic  herb.  Upon 
tasting  some  thistles  and  finding  them  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
exclaims:  "Kann  man  mehr  als  sich  satt  essen? — warum, 
Tonerl,  willst  du  die  Nase  immer  so  hoch  tragen?  Kannst  du 
nicht  auch  einmal  mit  deinem  Stande  zufrieden  leben?"12 

Thus  far  we  have  encountered  no  clear  description  of  either 
class  upon  which  to  base  the  contentment  so  strongly  recom- 
mended. In  Franz  Sternbalds  Wanderungen,  the  only  remain- 
ing instance  from  the  romantic  period,  Franz  delivers  a  eulogy 
upon  the  dignity  and  happiness  of  a  life  of  toil.  This  truth  is 
still  more  strongly  impressed  upon  him  by  a  man  whose  life  has 
been  ruined  through  an  impractical  enthusiasm  for  art.  Con- 
nected both  with  this  and  with  a  later  period  of  Tieck's  literary 
production  is  the  novelle,  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  (1811- 
1836),  the  original  conception  of  which,  antedating  even  that 
of  Franz  Sternbalds  Wanderungen,  was  matured  by  a  slow 
completion.  It  contains  numerous  references  to  the  content- 
ment, selfrespect  and  security  of  the  laborer.  A  noble  praises 
earlier  conditions  among  the  working  class,  while  the  value  of 
class  distinctions  is  asserted  by  a  servant  of  the  same  character. 
It  is  the  formal  distinctions  of  class  and  occupation,  however, 
upon  which  Tieck  here  insists;  happiness  and  self-respect,  as 

11  Tiecks  Schriften,  Berlin  bei  G.  Reimer,  1828-56,  Bd.  9,  pp.  202,  203,  206, 
216. 

12  Schriften,  Bd.  9,  pp.  247,  260. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  269 

will  later  be  shown  yet  more  clearly,  being  the  common  posses- 
sion of  noble  and  artisan. 

In  thus  emphasizing  outer  class  distinctions  Tieck  clung  to 
an  order  which  was  rapidly  passing  at  the  time  in  which  he 
wrote.  Freytag  writes  in  connection  with  this  period,  about 
1790:  "Outer  distinctions  between  the  classes  begin  to  dwindle 
whereas  the  inner  difference  has  become  even  greater."  Tieck 
protests  against  this  new  development.  Baron  Elsheim  in 
Der  junge  Tischlermeister  remarks:  "Es  ist  sehr  schadlich,  dass 
seit  lange  die  sogenannten  hoheren  Stande  so  vollig  abgesondert 
vom  Burger  und  Handwerker  leben,  dass  sie  diesen  nun  gar 
nicht  kennen,  und  auch  das  Vermogen  verlieren,  ihn  kennen  zu 
lernen.  Nicht  nur  geht  das  schone  Vertrauen  verloren,  wodurch 
sich  Hohere  und  Niedere  verbinden  und  einfiigen  wiirden, 
welches  eben  aus  dieser  Kenntniss  Starke  und  Kraft  erwirkte; 
sondern  der  Vornehmere  kommt  nun  auf  den  thorichten  Wahn, 
dass  seine  Art  und  Weise  des  Haushalts,  die  nich-tssagende 
Etikette,  die  er  einfiirt,  sein  niichternes  Leben  mit  den  Bedienten 
und  Domestiken  ein  besseres,  anstandigeres  sei,  und  diese 
Thorheit  verdirbt  nachher  den  Burgers tand."13  A  converse 
example  of  this  tendency  is  given  in  the  same  story  by  an  artisan 
who  is  filled  with  hatred  and  distrust  of  the  nobility,  and  bitterly 
criticizes  a  comrade  who  enjoys  free  intercourse  with  congenial 
spirits  in  the  higher  class. 

While  the  maintenance  of  outer  distinctions  is  still  insisted 
upon  Tieck  here  first  shows  an  inclination  to  regard  them  as  of 
less  importance  than  the  development  of  character.  Yet  in 
none  of  his  other  works  are  the  differences  between  the  two 
classes  in  habits  of  living,  manners  and  appearance  more  clearly 
defined.  First  of  all,  the  home  surroundings  of  the  lower  middle 
class,  as  has  been  suggested  by  the  closing  words  of  the  last 
quotation,  are  regarded  as  of  a  peculiar  value  for  the  character 
of  its  members.  Even  the  outer  appearance  of  such  persons 
betrays  their  social  standing,  through  characteristics  acquired 
in  the  course  of  their  occupation.  Professional  habits  are  no 
'less  marked  than  personal  appearance  and  manners  of  living. 
Yet  this  difference  in  appearance,  habits  and  surroundings  is 
quite  compatible,  according  to  Tieck,  with  an  inner  equality 
between  the  classes.  Both  der  junge  Tischlermeister  and  his 

13  Schriften,  Ed,  28,  p.  402. 


270  Spaulding 

friend,  Baron  Elsheim,  are  inspired  by  a  love  for  art  which  draws 
them  together:  both,  it  is  true,  are  exceptionally  cultivated 
members  of  their  respective  social  groups.  With  regard  to  their 
mental  and  moral  capacity  Tieck  here  represents  both  classes 
as  potentially  equal.  Moreover,  those  individuals  who  surpass 
others  of  their  own  class  in  these  qualities  are  less  dependent 
upon  their  milieu  for  strength  of  character.  It  is  from  choice 
rather  than  from  necessity  that  der  junge  Tischlermeister 
returns  from  the  house  of  the  baron  to  the  surroundings  in  which 
the  greater  part  of  his  life  has  been  spent. 

As  times  change,  however,  one  class  has  gradually  surpassed 
the  other  in  the  proportion  of  its  members  who  attain  to  high 
mental  and  moral  development.  Tieck  admits  that  in  his  day 
the  lower  middle  class  was  fast  out-distancing  the  nobility  in 
the  possession  of  qualities  which  confer  moral  leadership.  In 
der  junge  Tischlermeister,  the  modesty  and  open  bearing  of  the 
artisan  are  contrasted  by  ladies  of  rank  with  the  haughty  man- 
ners and  ambiguous  language  of  his  friend,  the  baron.14  The 
latter's  faithful  servant  exclaims  to  the  artisan:  "Ach,  die 
Vornehmen.  Sie  miissen  ja  immer  mehr  und  mehr  das  Regiment 
in  unserer  verwirrten  Welt  verspielen."15 

In  the  later  works  the  same  ideas  are  further  developed.  At 
the  outset,  we  encounter  the  theme  of  distinctive  physical 
characteristics  in  Der  Aufruhr  in  den  Cevennen.16  WTith  regard 
to  the  mental  qualities  of  the  lower  class  Tieck  is  here  more 
conservative  and  realistic  than  in  Der  junge  Tischlermeister: 
"Das  ist  es  ja,  warum  es  in  dieser  Klasse  von  Leuten  so  oft 
besser  gelingt,  als  in  den  Hohern:  Bildung  haben  sie  nicht,  aber 
die  rechte  Glaubensfahigkeit."17  In  the  same  work  occurs  an 
intimation  of  superiority  of  character  in  the  lower  class.  The 
son  of  a  noble  reproaches  his  father  for  having  invited  a  miller 
lad  to  his  table  in  the  company  of  travellers  of  higher  birth,  with 
whom  he  has  been  sheltered  during  a  storm.  The  father  replies: 
"Was  deinen  Miiller  betrifft,  so  war  mir  sein  kindliches  Gesicht 
und  herzliches  Wesen  lieber  und  ehrte  mein  Tisch  mehr,  als  es 

"Schriften,  Bd.  28;  Der  junge  Tischlermeister,  Erster  Teil,  pp.  199,  200. 
"Ibid.,  p.  182. 

16  Schriflen,  Bd.  26,  Der  Aufruhr  in  den  Cevennen,  p.  110. 

17  Ibid.,  p.  255. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  271 

dein  Marschall  Montrevel  .  . .  jemals  konnte."18  Later  in  the 
story  the  potential  moral  equality  of  the  classes  is  suggested. 
The  young  noble,  who  had  been  full  of  contempt  for  members  of 
a  lower  social  order  and  particularly  for  the  insurgent  Cami- 
sards,  becomes  converted  and  joins  their  ranks.  At  first  he 
finds  the  situation  no  less  peculiar  than  do  his  humbler  com- 
panions; soon,  however,  to  their  astonishment  he  entreats  them 
to  address  him  as  "Du."19 

A  second  Novelle,  Dichterleben,  contains  an  instance  in 
which  the  social  standing  of  a  character  is  guessed  at  from  his 
appearance.20  Der  Dichter  und  sein  Freund  contains  the  fol- 
lowing words,  spoken  by  a  poet:  "Man  soil  nie  vergessen,  dass 
auch  in  der  ruhigen  Beschaftigung,  in  der  Arbeit  des  Feldes 
oder  der  Gewerke,  im  scheinbar  Niedrigen  und  Unbedeutenden 
das  Himmlische  gegenwartig  sein  kann."21  We  next  encounter 
two  historical  pictures,  showing  the  quarrels  of  artisans  with  the 
nobility  in  the  middle  ages.  In  Der  wiederkehrende  griechische 
Kaiser,  various  guilds  revolt  against  the  impositions  of  the 
nobility.  On  the  other  hand,  a  member  of  the  latter  class  warns 
a  friend  against  the  greed  and  fickleness  of  the  masses.22  In 
Der  Hexen  Sabbath,  the  wealthy  guild-masters  refuse  to  make  a 
loan  to  the  nobility,  from  motives  of  fear  and  jealousy.23  Here 
the  relation  of  the  classes,  so  often  idealized  by  Tieck  in  works 
whose  scene  is  laid  in  his  own  day,  is  represented  with  greater 
realism  in  the  description  of  their  mediaeval  rivalry,  which  im- 
plies moral  weakness  on  the  part  of  both. 

In  Die  Ahnenprobe,  Tieck  at  first  depicts  with  approval  the 
external  distinctions  and  inner  equality  which  existed  between 
the  classes  in  the  late  seventeenth  and  early  eighteenth  centuries. 
A  young  noble,  in  love  with  an  artisan's  daughter,  vainly 
beseeches  her  to  disregard  their  respective  stations  and  become 
his  wife.  To  the  entreaties  of  her  lover  the  young  girl  opposes  a 
firm  refusal,  reminding  him  of  the  duties  of  his  position.  Later 
in  life  the  count  realizes  the  value  of  that  which  he  has  preserved 

18  Schriflen,  Bd.  26,  p.  118. 

19  Ibid.,  pp.  178,  205. 
so  Ibid.,  Bd.  18,  p.  178. 

M  Ibid.,  Bd.  18,  Zweiter  Theil,  p.  201. 
*lbid.,  Bd.  22,  pp.  210,  294,  316. 
"Ibid.,  Bd.  20,  pp.  405,  406. 


272  Spaulding 

at  the  cost  of  his  personal  happiness.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  son 
of  the  artisan's  daughter,  who  has  married  and  spent  her  life 
amid  her  accustomed  surroundings,  is  engaged  as  a  tutor  in  the 
count's  family  and  falls  in  love  with  his  daughter.  The  youth 
is  ignorant  of  his  mother's  early  love,  the  noble,  of  the  young 
man's  parentage.  It  is  now  the  count's  turn  to  reject  all  thought 
of  such  a  union,  by  employing  the  arguments  used  by  his  former 
sweetheart,  yet  at  the  same  time  he  declares  that  he  regards  all 
class-distinctions  as  possessing  originally  but  an  arbitrary 
value,  to  which  in  time  true  worth  attaches  by  their  honorable 
continuance. 

On  the  point  of  despair,  the  youth  discovers  a  document 
deposited  for  safe  keeping  in  a  church  three  hundred  years 
previously  by  one  of  his  ancestors.  The  latter's  father  had  failed 
of  deserved  promotion  in  the  army  on  account  of  his  common 
birth,  and  had  established  a  shop  in  the  woolen  trade.  After 
relating  these  facts,  the  ancestor's  account  contains  the  reflec- 
tion that  the  possession  of  noble  birth  implies  the  assurance  of 
an  honorable  descent,  and  contrasts  with  this  implication  the 
behaviour  of  certain  nobles,  whose  deviation  from  an  upright 
life  nevertheless  leaves  them  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  privileges. 
The  manuscript  then  continues:  "So  bin  ich  denn  alt  geworden, 
ich  Johannes  Frimann,  ein  ehrsamer  Schneidermeister  hier  in 
der  Hauptstadt  unseresFiirsten.  Da  kam  ich  auf  den  Gedanken, 
ob  es  denn  nicht  moglich  sei,  eine  Art  von  Btirgeradel  oder  eine 
begriindete  Burgerlichkeit  zu  stiften — Ich  liebte  meinen  Sohn 
und  in  Gedanken  schon  meine  Nachkommenschaf  t,  und  wie  es  des 
Regenten  schonste  und  bitterste  Sorge  ist,  seinen  Enkeln  ein 
unzerriittetes  Reich  zu  hinterlassen,  so  schien  es  mir  wichtig, 
einen  guten  Namen  den  Meinigen  zu  stiften  und  zu  erhalten. 
Ich  schenkte  eine  Summe  der  Kirche  Lambertus,  und  stiftete 
hiermit,  dass  jeder  Frimann  sein  Leben  einreicht,  wenn  er  alt 
ist,  und  Probst  und  Geistlichkeit  das  Ehrbare  seines  Wandels 
bestatigen.  Auf  drei  Jahrhunderte  hinaus  soil  diese  Grille  oder 
Gedanke  reichen,  wenn  mein  Geschlecht  nicht  vorher  aus- 
stirbt."24  The  difference  between  the  old  and  this  new  order  of 
nobility  is  clearly  a  matter  of  outer  forms,  which  in  both  cases 
are  the  symbols  of  strength  of  character  that  gives  them  their 
true  value.  Only,  in  the  case  of  the  regular  nobility,  it  is  sug- 

"Schriften,  Bd.  22,  pp.  160,  161. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  273 

gested  that  inner  worth  does  not  always  correspond  to  exter- 
nal dignity.  The  subordinate  value  of  outer  class  distinctions 
is  now  further  emphasized. — The  count,  who  had  promised  his 
consent  to  his  daughter's  marriage  if  the  suitor  could  prove  his 
nobility  of  birth,  is  moved  to  the  fulfillment  of  his  word  by  the 
above  discovery  and  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  his  former 
love,  now  a  widow.  To  her  he  exclaims  in  newly  awakened  affec- 
tion: "Sage  mir,  ach!  sage  mir,  Geliebteste,  was  ist  die  Liebe?" 
"Unser  unverschleiertes  Selbst,  sagte  sie,  .  .  .  Nein,  nicht 
Stand,  Pflicht,  Amt,  nicht  diese  Kleider  unseres  Lebens  sind 
wir."  The  idea  of  an  inherent  moral  distinction  between  the 
classes  is  rejected  because  honor  and  love  are  shown  to  be  the 
exclusive  possessions  of  neither  and  are  of  greater  importance 
than  external  differences.  The  bridegroom  is  granted  a  patent 
of  nobility  by  the  king,  who  thus  in  recognition  of  his  moral 
worth  bestows  upon  him  the  outer  distinctions  of  his  bride  and 
her  more  ancient  social  order. 

The  idea  that  the  nobility  is  not  always  so  faithful  as  the 
lower  middle  class  to  its  own  best  traditions,  expressed  by 
Tieck  in  the  above  work  and  in  Der  junge  Tischlermeister, 
reappears  in  the  following  passage  from  Die  Vogelscheuche: 
"Aber  die  Blumen  an  sich,  die  weiter  nichts  als  solche  sind,  sind 
in  der  Natur  das,  was  cine  gewisse  unniitze  vornehme  Welt  in 
den  Staaten  ist,  die  nicht  arbeitet,  die  aller  Sorgen  enthoben 
ist  und  mit  Verachtung  auf  die  braven  gewerbtreibenden 
Klassen  hinunterblickt."25 

The  first  part  of  the  Novelle,  Eigensinn  und  Laune  contains 
the  same  idea.  A  Geheimrat,  on  discovering  that  his  daughter 
is  in  love  with  a  stage-driver,  consoles  himself  with  the  thought 
that  the  latter's  exceptional  character  must  be  a  mark  of  higher 
than  plebian  birth.  The  young  fellow,  however,  declares  that  he 
has  simply  abstained  from  the  vulgar  associates  and  surround- 
ings which  are  so  often  encountered  in  his  calling.  Left  to 
himself,  the  father  soliloquizes  as  follows:  "Wir  denken  immer, 
unsere  sogenannte  gute  Erziehung  bringe  erst  Menschen  hervor. 
Und  wie  oft  verhiillt  sich  nur  in  unserm  Stande  die  Gemeinheit 
der  Seele  und  der  Sitten,  und  ist  dabei  viel  schlimmer  als  die  der 
niederen  Stande.  .  .  .  Wo  es  noch  Btirgerstand  giebt,  liefert 

*Schriften,  Bd.  27,  p.  76. 


274  Spaulding 

er  .  .  .  oft  so  zu  sagen  Musterbilder,  wahre  Manner,  die  das 
Handwerk,  statt  sie  zu  erniedrigen,  erst  zu  ihrer  festen  Bestimm- 
theit  herausgearbeitet  hat."26 

In  the  remainder  of  the  story  a  new  connection  is  established 
between  this  assumption  of  the  spiritual  inferiority  of  the  noble 
and  the  familiar  plea  for  the  maintenance  of  outer  class-distinc- 
tions. It  is  clear  that  such  distinctions  have  not  hitherto  been 
regarded  by  Tieck  as  inseparable  from  the  virtues  which  both 
orders  of  society  should  possess.  In  Der  junge  Tischlermeister 
we  were  told  that  there  are  in  each  class  individuals  of  higher 
and  lower  capacities,  the  former  of  whom  are  less  dependent  on 
their  accustomed  surroundings  for  moral  support  than  the  latter. 
Die  Ahnenprobe  described  a  young  woman  who  at  first  refused 
to  abandon  the  outer  marks  of  class  distinction,  but  who  in  the 
end  realized  that  these  are  not  necessarily  inseparable  from  the 
highest  qualities  of  human  nature.  Now,  however,  we  find 
Tieck  insisting  that  these  distinctions  must  be  preserved,  for  the 
protection  of  lower  class  character. — The  wardrobe  of  the  young 
man  in  Eigensinn  und  Laune  is  replenished,  he  takes  lessons 
in  dancing,  fencing  and  music,  and  is  zealous  in  his  attempt  to 
become  adapted  to  his  new  surroundings.  On  the  day  of  the 
betrothal,  all  the  guests  are  astonished  at  his  attractive  manners 
and  fund  of  information;  only  the  bride-to-be  flees  from  his 
presence  exclaiming  to  her  father,  who  has  followed  her:  "Ach! 
es  ist  zum  Erbarmen!  er  ist  ja  ganz  wie  die  iibrigen  Menchen 
geworden!  .  .  .  Sieh  nur  selbst,  wie  geziert  und  steif  er  ist, 
wie  er  die  Phrasen  drechselt  und  ihm  die  eigentlichen  Gedanken 
abgehen.  So  ein  Leben,  wie  er  es  jetzt  fiihrt,  ist  kein  wahres, 
lebendiges,  nein,  er  ist  ein  Gespenst,  eine  schlechte,  Menschen 
nachgekiinstelte  Puppe."  The  poor  youth  himself  flees  from 
this  fatal  environment,  leaving  a  note  for  the  father,  in  which 
he  writes:  "Fur  meinen  ehemaligen  Stand  verdorben,  ist  doch 
keine  Fahigkeit  in  mir,  irgend  einen  andern  mit  Sicherheit  zu 
ergreifen."27 

A  similar  though  intentionally  exaggerated  estimate  of  the 
relative  merits  of  the  two  classes  appears  in  Die  Verlobung: 
"Es  fehlte  noch,  dass  die  Verleumdung,  Klatscherei,  Neid  und 
Verfolgung  der  grossen  Gesellschaft  einen  Lobredner  fanden; 

28  Schriften,  Bd.  24,  pp.  299,  300. 
27  Ibid.,  Bd.  24,  pp.  318,  321. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  275 

es  bleibt  dann  nur  noch  ubrig,  die  stille  Tugend,  die  schone  Biir- 
gerlichkeit,  die  kindliche  Unschuld  und  edle  Einfalt  der  nicht 
vornehmen  Welt  zu  schmahen."28  The  last  instance  in  which 
the  nobility  is  mentioned  bears  witness  to  the  same  attitude  on 
the  part  of  the  writer.  A  passage  in  Die  Klausenburg  describes 
a  nobleman  with  the  words:  "War  dieser  Mann  von  seinen 
Untergebenen  geliebt,  so  wurde  er  auch  von  vielen  seines 
Standes  gehasst  und  beneidet,  von  den  die  Kliigern  ihm  zurnten, 
weil  er  sie  vermied  und  sie  wohl  einsahen,  das  er  sie  wegen  ihres 
Unfleisses  nur  gering  schatze:  .  .  Der  Graf  also  zog  sich 
missmuthig  immer  mehr  in  sich  zuriick,  und  ihm  war  nur  wohl 
wenn  er  sich  von  Geschaften  mit  verstandigen  Bergleuten, 
Maschinenmeistern  oder  Gelehrten  unterhalten  konnte."29 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  in  his  last  period  of  literary 
activity  Tieck  regarded  the  lower  middle  class  as  the  mental 
and  moral  superior  of  the  nobi'ity.  In  Die  Vogelscheuche,  the 
idle  egotism  of  the  latter  is  contrasted  with  the  industry  of  the 
former.  In  Eigensinn  und  Laune,  empty  rhetoric  and  artificial 
conventions  are  opposed  to  unfettered  common  sense.  Die 
Verlobung  defines  one  class  as  scandal-loving,  envious  and 
malicious,  the  other  as  marked  by  innocence,  simplicity  and 
public-spirit.  Finally,  in  Die  Klausenburg,  the  idle  and  unpro- 
ductive life  of  the  nobility  marks  its  inferiority  to  the  industry 
and  common-sense  of  the  lower  class.  Though  this  extreme 
attitude  characterizes  only  Tieck's  later  works,  his  earlier  ones 
sufficiently  contradict  Heine's  statement  that  Tieck's  interest 
in  the  lower  middle  class  was  confined  chiefly  to  his  later  period. 
While  yet  in  Nicolai's  service,  he  ridicules  the  sentimental 
discontent  of  members  of  either  class  with  their  own  conditions 
of  existence.  In  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  he  lays  increased 
stress  upon  distinctions,  though  he  now  considers  them  of  minor 
importance  for  highly  developed  individuals.  At  the  same  time 
he  holds  that  both  classes  are  potentially  one  another's  equals 
with  respect  to  moral  and  mental  qualities,  though  fewer  of 
the  nobility  than  of  the  lower  class  attain  full  self-development. 
If  we  include  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  among  the  works  of 
Tieck's  earlier  period — where  it  certainly  belongs  with  respect 
to  its  original  conception  and  perhaps  also,  in  the  main,  to  its 

*  Schriften,  Bd.  17,  p.  138. 

**Ibid.,  Bd.  25,  Die  Klausenburg,  p.  83. 


276  Spaulding 

composition — the  difference  between  the  point  of  view  of  the 
two  periods  is  much  less  than  Heine  would  make  it  appear.  At 
no  time  did  Tieck  favor  the  nobility  o"f  any  age  at  the  expense 
of  their  social  inferiors. 

Tieck's  views  on  the  relation  of  the  two  classes  are  likewise 
at  variance  with  the  definition  which  affirms  the  predominance 
of  imagination  in  romantic  works.  In  Franz  Sternbalds  Wan- 
derungen  he  presents  a  fairly  realistic  picture  of  the  virtues  and 
rewards  of  the  life  of  toil  among  the  lower  class.  The  realistic 
depiction  of  class  conflicts  in  Der  wiederkehrende  griechische 
Kaiser  and  Der  Hexen  Sabbath  is  the  more  striking  because 
it  treats  of  mediaeval  conditions  which  are  supposed  to  have 
appealed  especially  to  the  imagination  of  the  Romanticist. 
Minor  instances  of  realism  abound  in  the  works  of  Tieck's 
earlier  period.  The  faculty  of  reason,  displayed  in  the  selection 
of  typical  detail  is  also  apparent  in  his  treatment  of  this  theme. 
Instances  have  already  been  noted  of  the  manner  in  which  he 
asserts  the  inferiority  of  the  noble  by  re-iterated  reference  to 
certain  weaknesses  of  his  order.  In  Franz  Sternbalds  Wan- 
derungen,  the  traits  mentioned  as  characteristic  of  lower  middle 
class  existence  are  industry,  independence  and  happiness.  Vari- 
ous passages  in  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  emphasize  the 
laborer's  contentment  with  his  social  position,  pride  in  his  work, 
respect  for  his  superiors,  physical  characteristics  acquired  in 
his  trade  and  increasing  cultivation.  All  of  the  above  traits  are 
expressly  stated  to  be  typical  of  the  classes  to  which  they  are 
ascribed. 

As  has  been  already  remarked,  few  German  writers  before 
Tieck  approached  the  subject  of  the  lower  middle  class  in  a 
controversial  manner.  Most  of  the  exceptions  to  this  statement 
consist  in  writings  of  the  Storm  and  Stress  period,  which  are 
sufficiently  distinguished  by  their  bitterness  from  Tieck's 
conciliatory  views  on  the  relations  of  the  lower  class  to  the 
nobility.  Between  Tieck's  descriptive  treatment  of  the  lower 
middle  class  and  that  of  his  predecessors,  on  the  other  hand  the 
difference  is  frequently  one  of  degree  rather  than  of  kind. 

The  chief  indication  of  Tieck's  interest  in  this  class  consists 
in  the  characterizations  of  its  members  which  are  scattered 
through  his  works.  Their  variety  and  frequency  of  recurrence 
are  noteworthy:  eighteen  different  occupations  are  represented, 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  277 

none  of  which  appears  less  than  three  times.  That  the  characters 
belonging  to  each  of  these  occupations  possess  qualities  which 
are  strongly  marked  and  well-nigh  invariable,  proves  the 
frequency  of  Tieck's  enployment  of  the  supposedly  unromantic 
faculty  of  reason  in  the  creation  of  types.  Among  these  types 
the  landlord  and  the  stage-driver  stand  somewhat  apart,  dis- 
tinguished by  few  of  the  qualities  which  divide  the  others  into 
two  main  groups.  For  reason s  of  convenience ,  however ,  they  may 
be  assigned  to  the  first,  in  which  are  included  the  baker,  brewer, 
butcher,  weaver,  shoemaker,  tailor,  hairdresser,  smith  and 
joiner,  who  earn  their  living  more  or  less  by  the  skiUed  work  of 
their  hands.  The  second  group  comprises  those  whose  labors 
are  performed  in  cooperation  or  close  contact  with  Nature,  and 
includes  the  tinker,  fisherman,  forester,  shepherd,  gardener, 
miner  and  charcoal  burner.  By  virtue  of  a  few  characteristic 
qualities  we  may  add  the  miller  to  this  group. — With  the 
artisan  or  city-laborer  Tieck  contrasts  unfavorably  the  manu- 
facturer: to  the  country  types  which  he  favors  is  opposed  a 
member  of  the  same  group,  the  peasant,  who  is  represented 
infrequently  and  with  scant  praise.  The  general  types  which 
result  from  Tieck's  treatment  of  these  sections  of  the  lower 
middle  class  will  form  the  next  subject  of  our  consideration. 

In  the  works  preceding  Der  junge  Tischlermeister,  no  refer- 
ence occurs  to  artisan  characters  unconnected  with  a  specific 
calling.  Der  junge  Tischlermeister,  however,  though  composed 
near  the  middle  period  of  Tieck's  literary  production,  shows 
evidence  of  its  conception  during  his  more  romantic  youth. 
In  this  Novelle,  handicraft  is  declared  to  be  related  to  art  by 
the  skill  and  industry  of  the  worker,  while  the  artisan  is  repre- 
sented as  cordial  towards  his  feUow-men,  a  self-respecting  and 
valuable  member  of  society.  Labor  simply  for  the  end  of  practi- 
cal usefulness  is  for  the  hero  of  the  book  too  meager  a  content 
of  life,  though  in  itself  praiseworthy.  At  the  close  of  day  the 
master,  seated  at  table  together  with  his  family,  journeymen 
and  apprentices,  warns  the  latter  like  a  father  against  evil  ways 
and  encourages  them  in  their  common  interests. 

Later  on  the  picture  suffers  some  realistic  modifications, 
especially  concerning  the  relation  of  handicraft  to  art  and  the 
quality  of  "biirgerliche  Ehre."  In  earlier  Novellen,  such  as 
Die  Gemalde,  Der  Aufruhr  in  den  Cevennen  and  Gluck  giebt 


278  Spaulding 

Verstand,  the  connection  of  handicraft  with  art  is  no  longer 
mentioned,  though  the  skill  and  industry  of  the  artisan  are 
emphasized.  In  three  of  the  latest,  Der  Tod  des  Dichters,  Die 
Ahnenprobe  and  Weihnacht-Abend,  the  artisan  retains  the 
characteristic  of  unaffected  kindliness  of  heart,  but  displays  a 
somewhat  narrow  pride  in  a  hardwon  position  of  respectability, 
in  place  of  the  romantic  "Ehre"  of  Der  junge  Tischlermeister. 
A  frank  portrayal  of  the  power  of  the  mediaeval  guilds  in  Der 
wiederkehrende  griechische  Kaiser,  Der  Hexen  Sabbath  and 
Der  Tod  des  Dichters,  though  not  corresponding  to  Tieck's 
ordinary  view  of  the  artisan's  social  importance,  at  least  empha- 
sizes it  as  a  fact.  The  type  thus  evolved  is  an  original  creation 
of  its  author  which  bears  slight  resemblance  to  current  concep- 
tions of  this  section  of  society.  In  the  popular  songs  contained 
in  Des  Knaben  Wunderhorn,  emphasis  is  laid  upon  the  care-free, 
turbulent  and  lazy  character  of  apprentices  and  journeymen; 
in  proverbs  and  popular  sayings  it  is  placed  mainly  upon  the 
artisan's  desire  for  gain  and  political  influence.  Nothing  is 
more  apparent  than  Tieck's  aversion  to  the  rationalistic  and 
popular  conception  of  material  profit  as  the  goal  of  the  artisan's 
existence. 

The  manufacturer  as  portrayed  by  Tieck  almost  always 
represents  the  Aufklarung.  In  his  free  translation  of  Jonson's 
Volpone,  the  object  of  satire  becomes  the  exaggerated  "Niitz- 
lichkeitslehre"  of  this  movement,  which  confounds  factory- 
labor  with  handicraft,  material  progress  with  the  sole  aim  of 
society.  In  another  satire,  Prinz  Zerbino,  the  hero  congratu- 
lates a  miller  (representing  the  Aufklarung),  who  grinds  all 
heroic  characters  and  virtues  into  "ein  plattes,  unschadliches 
und  ganz  gesundes  Essen,"  with  the  words:  "Das,  mein  Freund, 
ist  die  wahre  Art,  ein  Handwerk  in  eine  Kunst  zu  verwandeln, 
und  es  kann  kommen,  dass  Sie  selbst  mit  der  Zeit  die  englischen 
Fabriken  iibertreffen."  A  passage  from  Phantasus  contrasts 
modern  manufacturing  methods  in  Fiirth  with  the  artistic 
handicraft  of  ancient  Niirnberg.  Franz  Sternbalds  Wande- 
rungen  and  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  represent  the  manufac- 
turer as  lacking  all  enthusiasm  for  art,  and  to  this  is  added  in  the 
second  work,  indifference  to  the  welfare  of  his  employees,  in 
sharpest  contrast  with  the  love  for  artistic  labor  and  the  sym- 
pathetic interest  in  his  subordinates  which  Tieck  here  attributes 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  279 

to  the  artisan.  In  four  of  the  later  Novellen,  Gliick  giebt 
Verstand,  Eigensinn  und  Laune,  Der  Mondsiichtige  and  Der 
Alte  vom  Berge,  almost  all  of  the  traits  just  mentioned  reappear, 
with  the  exception  of  the  antagonism  to  art:  in  the  last  instance, 
even  the  culture  and  humanity  which  mark  the  factory-owner 
serve  to  intensify  the  curse  of  the  soulless  factory-system. 

Keen  as  was  Tieck's  love  for  Nature  in  his  youth,  we  find  no 
reference  earlier  than  that  contained  in  the  Novelle,  Der  Wasser- 
mensch,  to  the  general  group  of  toilers  in  field,  forest  and  moun- 
tain. Here  the  effect  of  their  close  intercourse  with  elemental 
forces  is  described  as  a  tendency  to  superstition.  In  Das  alte 
Buch  und  die  Reise  ins  Blaue  hinein,  a  toiler  among  the  mount- 
ains is  impressed  by  the  similarity  of  "der  gutgeartete  Mensch" 
to  an  Aeolian  harp,  the  strings  of  which  re-echo  to  every  passing 
breath  of  Nature.  Die  Klausenburg  contains  a  reference  to  the 
mutual  trust  and  good-will  inspired  by  a  life  in  the  solitude. 
All  members  of  the  group,  however,  do  not  possess  these  qualities 
in  an  equal  degree.  A  hint  of  this  is  conveyed  in  the  passage 
from  Das  alte  Buch,  etc.,  which  speaks  of  the  charcoal-burner 
and  miner  as  especially  prone  to  superstitution.  This  suggests  a 
less  overpowering  influence  of  Nature  upon  those  who  live  on 
the  plain  than  in  the  forest  or  upon  the  mountain,  and  in  general 
the  shepherd  and  gardener  are  described  by  Tieck  as  living  in 
especial  harmony  with  Nature.  A  song  from  Die  scho'ne 
Magelone,  sung  by  a  young  girl  who  had  found  shelter  in  a 
shepherd's  hut,  mentions  the  friendship  of  flowers  and  animals 
for  man.  On  the  other  hand,  in  a  poem  from  the  Gedichte,  the 
"Berggeister"  demand  both  boldness  and  self-sacrifice  of  him 
who  would  approach  them-yet  they  too  claim  kinship  with 
mankind.  This  difference  in  the  relation  to  Nature  recurs 
throughout  Tieck's  descriptions  of  the  various  occupations 
belonging  to  the  country  type. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  he  nowhere  dwells  upon  the  limitations 
of  such  a  life,  except  to  deduce  from  its  solitude  certain  positive 
qualities  of  temperament.  In  this  respect  there  is  a  marked 
difference  in  his  characterizations  of  peasants,  though  in  the 
first  instance  to  be  noted  these  limitations  appear  invested  with  a 
sort  of  romantic  charm.  Franz  Sternbald  passes  a  night  at  the 
house  of  an  old  peasant,  who  tells  him  that  his  one  ambition, 
not  yet  fulfilled,  is  to  see  Nvirnberg.  The  restricted  routine  of 


280  Spaulding 

the  family  life  forms  a  sharp  contrast  with  that  which  Franz 
has  thus  far  known;  its  very  narrowness  appeals  to  his  senti- 
mental, vacillating  spirit.  In  Der  junge  Tischlermeister,  Tieck 
voices  his  disapproval  of  the  contemporary  movement  to  relieve 
the  peasants'  oppressed  condition.  Two  final  instances  in  the 
Novellen  lay  particular  stress  on  the  rude  and  simple  character 
of  the  peasant.  In  Der  Alte  vom  Berge  he  is  described  briefly 
as  "neugierig"  and  "vorwitzig,"  and  arouses  the  contempt  of  a 
miner  by  his  ignorance.  Der  Aufruhr  in  den  Cevennen  contains 
the  bare  phrase,  "der  fromme  Ackerbauer."  Tieck  was  in  full 
accord  with  the  spirit  of  his  earlier  contemporaries,  with  the 
exception  of  Maler  Miiller,  when  he  regarded  the  peasant  as 
outside  the  pale  of  ordinary  human  existence. 

These  examples  of  Tieck's  treatment  of  general  types  furnish 
abundant  exceptions  to  the  definitions  of  romanticism  as  a 
tendency  characterized  by  the  predominance  of  imagination 
over  reason  and  the  sense  of  fact,  and  as  favoring  the  nobility 
above  other  social  classes.  In  almost  every  instance  the  traits 
above  mentioned  are  expressly  stated  to  be  typical  of  the  group 
to  which  they  are  ascribed,  showing  Tieck's  use  of  the  faculty 
of  reason  in  their  selection.  In  Franz  Sternbatds  Wanderungen 
and  Der  junge  Tischlermeister,  realistic  details  occur  in  the 
descriptions  of  the  life,  surroundings  and  appearance  of  the 
general  artisan  type.  Nor  was  Tieck's  definition  of  these  sec- 
tional types  confined  to  his  later  works:  if  we  include  Der  junge 
Tischlermeister  among  his  romantic  writings,  mention  of  both 
the  artisan  and  country  groups  is  made  two-thirds  as  often  in  the 
first  as  in  the  second  period. 

Reference  to  particular  occupations  within  both  groups  are 
far  more  numerous.  The  frequency  with  which  the  special 
artisan  types  occur  is  as  follows:  brewer  (2),  butcher  and  miner 
(3),  weaver  and  joiner  (4),  baker  and  shoemaker  (5),  tailor  and 
tinker  (6),  barber  and  stage-driver  (7),  fisher  and  gardener  (8), 
smith,  miller  and  charcoal-burner  (9),  shepherd  and  forester 
(19),  landlord  (29).  A  better  indication  of  the  favor  with  which 
each  type  was  regarded  by  Tieck  consists  in  the  moral  or  poetic 
qualities  bestowed  by  him  upon  it.  Originality  of  conception 
is  another  indication  of  interest,  and  its  extent  is  proved  by  the 
fact  that  the  majority  of  these  types  have  no  exact  parallels  in 
current  conceptions  of  the  trades. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  281 

Thus,  the  types  of  the  stage-driver,  smith  and  joiner  show  no 
resemblance  whatever  to  a  corresponding  popular  figure,  while 
a  far  larger  number  appear  in  a  somewhat  more  favorable  light 
than  that  of  the  proverbs,  popular  sayings  and  Volksbiicher. 
Tieck's  weaver  has  a  character  for  piety  and  lacks  his  popular 
attribute  of  dishonesty;31'  his  butcher  is  not  merely  greedy  and 
simple,  as  in  current  report,31  but  bluff  and  straight-forward  in 
manner;  the  shoemaker  in  his  works  is  professionally  alert  in 
addition  to  being  loud-mouthed  and  a  demagogue;32  the  barber 
not  only  vivacious  and  talkative33  but  artistically  inclined.  In 
only  two  instances  out  of  twenty-nine  is  Tieck's  landlord  of  a 
murderous  disposition:34  the  baker  only  once  dishonest.35  The 
tailor  alone  is  the  scape-goat,  rather  excelling  than  falling  behind 

30  Stattd  und  Beruf  im  Vdksmund,  von  R.  Eckart,  1901.     Nr.  2866.    Zehn 
M  tiller,  zehn  Schneider  und  zehn  Weber  sind  dreissig  Diebe.     Ibid.  Nr.  3062. 
Schuster,  Schneider,  Leineweber  verlogene  Leute.    Ibid.  Nr.  3098.    Der  Leine- 
weber  schlachtet  alle  Jahr  zwei  Schwein,  das  eine  ist  gestohlen,  das  andere 
nicht  sein. 

31  Ibid.,  Nr.  2583.    Wo  Gerber  und  Metzger  sind,  da  heisst  es:  Brot  her, 
Brot  her.    Nr.  2521.  a.    Wenn  der  Fleischer  futtert,  will  er  masten.     Nr. 
2519.     Ein  ehrlicher  Bandit  ist  besser  als  ein  Fleischer.     Nr.  2526.    Metzger, 
Gerber  und  Schinder  sind  zusammen  Geschwisterkinder. 

32  Ibid.,  Nr.  3006.     Schneider  und  Scher  (Barbier)  lugen  sehr,  aber  die 
Schuster  noch  viel  mehr.    Nr.  3062.     Schuster,  Schneider,  Leineweber  verlogene 
Leut.     Nr.  3055.     Ein  predigender  Schuster  macht  schlechte  Schuhe.    Die 
deutschen  Volksbiicher,  Gesammelt  und  in  ihrer  urspriinglichen  Echtheit  wieder- 
hergestellt,  von  Karl  Simrock.    Basel,  1850,  Bd.  5.    Nr.  9227.     Schuster,  bleib 
bei  deinem  Leisten.    Kinder  und  Hausmarchen,  gesammelt  durch  die  B  ruder 
Grimm.     Deutsche  Verlags-Anstalt,  pp.  13  ff.;  383. 

33  Die  deutschen  Volksbiiclier,  Bd.  10,  Nr.  273.    Unter  welchen  Handwerkern 
findet  man  die  meisten  Schalke?    Unter  den  Barbieren.    Stand  und  Beruf  im 
Volksmund.  Nr.  2416.     Barbiere  werden  nicht  so  alt  als  Papageien,  aber  sie 
sprechen  mehr.    Nr.  2420.     In  einer  Barbierstube  fehlt  es  nicht  an  Neuigkeiten. 

34  Des  Knaben  Wunderhorn,  gesammelt  von  L.  A.  von  Arnim  und  Clemens 
Brentano.    Nach  der  Originalausgabe:  Heidelberg  1806-8  neu  herausgegeben 
von    Friedrich    Bremer,    Leipzig,    Reclam    1251-1256.     "Die    Mordwirthin" 
slays  a  soldier  sleeping  under  her  roof.    p.  472.    Host  robs  and  murders  a 
travelling  princess.     Volksbiicher,  Hrg.  von  G.  D.  Marbach,  Leipzig,  1838, 
Bd.  9  and  10,  pp.  106, 107. 

36  Stand  und  Beruf  im  Volksmund,  Nr.  2384.  Wenn  der  Arme  weint,  dann 
lacht  der  Backer,  Nr.  2389.  Der  Backer  mit  der  Kratz,  der  M  tiller  mit  der 
Matz,  der  Schneider  mit  der  Schnippscher,  wo  kommen  die  drei  Diebe  her? 
Nr.  2393.  Wenn  man  zehn  Backer,  zehn  M  tiller  und  zehn  Schneider  in  einem 
Sack  thut  und  schtittelt,  so  ist  ein  Dieb  oben.  Nr.  2406.  Backer  und  Mtiller 
zanken  miteinander,  wer  von  ihnen  der  grosste  Schelm  sei. 


282  Spaulding 

his  popular  counterpart  in  the  qualities  of  braggadacio  and 
deceitfulness.36 

The  recurrence  of  definite  traits  in  almost  all  of  these  callings 
is  so  frequent  as  to  justify  their  being  regarded  as  typical.  There 
are  no  exceptions  to  the  strength,  simplicity  and  self-assurance 
of  the  butcher;  the  shoemaker  is  always  alert,  either  in  connec- 
tion with  his  trade  or  with  religion  and  politics;  the  barber 
either  vivacious  and  talkative  or  artistically  gifted.  The  weaver 
is  thrice  described  as  pious  or  sincere;  the  joiner  thrice,  as 
intelligent  or  practical  and  industrious;  the  tailor  five  times  as 
ignorant  and  self-assured  or  as  a  mock-heroic  adventurer;  the 
smith  eight  times  as  amiable,  cheerful  and  intelligent;  while 
but  a  single  exceptional  figure  appears  in  each  of  these  callings. 
Others,  with  two  exceptions  to  the  type,  are  the  brewer  (of  whom 
no  recurrent  characteristics  are  given);  the  timid  baker,  three 
times  mentioned;  and  the  stage-driver,  who  in  five  instances  is 
deliberate  or  cautious  and  fond  of  his  horses.  In  the  case  of  the 
landlord,  four  individualized  figures  occur  as  contrasted  with 
twenty-five  typical  instances,  the  first  eighteen  being  at  times 
greedy,  conceited,  impatient  with  poor  guests  and  servile  to  the 
rich,  at  times  stout,  talkative  and  discontented,  while  seven 
later  figures  are  represented  as  intelligent,  genial  and  dignified. 

A  second  unimaginative  element,  the  sense  of  fact,  appears 
in  the  numerous  realistic  descriptions  of  this  group  of  figures 
which  occur  in  Tieck's  earlier,  distinctively  romantic  works. 
In  Kaiser  Octavianus,  the  butcher  affords  a  striking  example  of 
realism  against  a  background  of  romantic  chivalry.  The  timid 
baker  in  Die  verkehrte  Welt  is  also  realistically  drawn.  In 

56  Stand  und  Beruf  im  Volksmund,  Nr.  2994,  Der  Schneider  mit  der  Scher' 
meint,  er  sei  ein  Herr.  Nr.  3005.  Neun  Schneider  machen  einen  Mann.  Nr. 
3006.  Schneider  und  Scher  (Barbier)  liigen  sehr,  aber  der  Schuster  noch  viel 
mehr.  Nr.  3014.  Dem  Schneider  ist  viel  Tuch  unter  den  Tisch  gefallen 
(  =  fiir  sich  behalten).  Nr.  3062.  Schuster,  Schneider,  Leineweber,  verlogene 
Leut.  Die  deutschen  Volksbiicher,  Bd.  5,  Nr.  9149.  Das  war  Einer,  sagte  der 
Teufel,  da  kriegt'  er  einen  Schneider  bei  den  Beinen.  Also  cf.  Bd.  10.  Verses. 
Nr.  462,  (love  of  display).  Nrs.  463,  464,  465  (diminutive  size).  Nr.  469 
(pride).  Nrs.  466,  467,  471  (stupidity).  Kinder-  und  Hausmdrchen.  Das 
tapfere  Schneiderlein,  p.  52,  ff.;  Schneider  im  Himmel,  p.  87  ff.;  Daumerlings 
Wanderschaft  p.  108  ff.;  Die  beiden  Wanderer,  p.  259  ff.;  Vom  klugen 
Schneiderlein,  p.  279  ff.;  Der  glaserne  Sarg,  364  ff.;  Der  Riese  und  der  Schneider, 
p.  406. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  283 

Abraham  Tonelli,  a  landlord  is  depicted  with  sober  realism,  as 
well  as  in  two  of  the  three  instances  in  which  this  figure  occurs 
in  Fortunat.  Perhaps  the  most  true  to  life  of  all  the  characters 
in  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  are  the  three  which  belong  to  this 
calling,  while  Meister  Krummschuh,  the  joiner,  is  intentionally 
described  in  a  much  more  matter-of-fact  style  than  the  hero, 
Leonhard.  The  young  smith  in  Franz  Sternbalds  Wanderungen, 
though  later  enveloped  in  the  romantic  atmosphere  of  the  entire 
work,  is  at  first  more  soberly  represented.  Finally,  to  these 
instances  of  complete  realism  should  be  added  a  number  of 
others,  where  characteristic  or  professional  detail  is  prominent 
in  otherwise  imaginative  figures.  Such  are  the  shoemaker  and 
landlord  in  Der  gestiefelte  Kater,  the  landlord  in  Die  verkehrte 
Welt,  the  landlord  and  smith  in  Prinz  Zerbino,  the  shoemaker 
and  barber  in  Daumchen  and  the  barber  and  joiner  in  Fortunat. 

Nor  is  Tieck's  interest  in  the  artisan  callings  confined,  as 
Heine  suggests,  chiefly  to  his  later  period.  In  the  aggregate,  the 
different  occupations  recur  with  almost  equal  frequency  in  the 
earlier  and  in  the  later  works,  while  the  artisan  types  which 
receive  most  sympathetic  treatment  appear  almost  twice  as 
often  in  those  of  the  earlier  period  as  in  the  Novellen. 

No  preference  can  be  distinguished  for  either  the  artisan 
or  the  country  laborer.  Though  the  general  artisan  type  recurs 
with  four  times  (16)  the  frequency  of  the  general  country  type 
(4),  yet  the  types  of  the  various  artisan  callings  appear  some- 
what less  often  (81)  than  those  of  the  country  group  (83). 
Judged  by  the  degree  of  sympathetic  treatment  accorded  them 
by  Tieck,  rather  than  by  the  frequency  of  their  occurrence,  his 
favorites  among  the  country  types  are  the  shepherd,  gardener, 
forester,  miner  and  charcoal-burner. 

Tieck's  originality  is  even  more  apparent  in  his  depiction 
of  the  country  than  of  the  city  types,  and  consists  largely  in  the 
more  poetic  qualities  ascribed  to  the  representatives  of  the 
country  group.  Those  types  which  are  wholly  original  are  also 
the  most  poetic:  such  are  the  fisher,  shepherd,  gardener,  forester 
and  miner.  The  charcoal-burner  is  also  clearly  a  favorite, 
though  he  invariably  possesses  the  trait  of  hospitality  ascribed 
to  him  by  the  Marchen.37  Types  which  are  represented  in  more 

87  Kinder-  und  Hausmarchen,  p.  136  ff .  Der  Ranzen,  das  Hiitlein  und  das 
Hornlein. 


284  Spaulding 

favorable  colors  than  those  assigned  to  them  by  current  report 
are  the  miller,  who  is  kindly  and  upright  instead  of  thieving 
and  treacherous,38  and  the  tinker,  who  in  only  one  instance 
out  of  four  shares  his  popular  reputation  for  drunkenness.39 

Typical  qualities  are  prominent  in  most  references  to  mem- 
bers of  the  country  group.  Throughout  nineteen  instances  the 
forester  displays  a  love  for  his  dog  and  out-of-door  life  and  is 
keenly  responsive  to  the  appeal  of  Nature.  Types  in  which  one 
exceptional  figure  is  found  include  the  miller,  who  is  twice 
described  as  kindly  and  honest  and  whose  appearance  in  three 
other  instances  is  suggestive  of  his  trade;  the  charcoal-burner, 
who  is  eight  times  described  as  superstitious,  friendly  and  hos- 
pitable; and  the  miner,  who  is  twice  credited  with  an  especially 
strong  tendency  to  superstition.  In  the  case  of  the  gardener, 
who  is  four  times  characterized  by  piety  and  the  love  for  flowers 
but  thrice  given  a  less  flattering  description,  we  also  encounter 
two  purely  individual  figures,  and  three  in  that  of  the  fisher, 
who  is  five  times  represented  as  kindly  and  superstitious. 
Emphasis  is  thrice  laid  upon  the  wandering  existence  of  the 
tinker,  who  is  elsewhere  thrice  described  as  loquacious  and  of  a 
grotesque  appearance.  Finally,  love  of  Nature  and  of  music 
coupled  with  hospitality  characterize  the  shepherd  in  fifteen 
instances  as  compared  with  four  exceptional  cases. 

No  less  unimaginative  are  the  realistic  descriptions  which 
are  found  in  Tieck's  distinctively  romantic  works.  These 
include  the  description  of  the  shepherd's  existence  in  Der 
blonde  Eckbert  and  Die  schone  Magelone,  the  gardener  in  Wil- 

s8  Stand  und  Beruf  im  Volksmund,  Nr.  2389.  Der  Backer  mit  der  Kratz, 
der  Muller  mit  der  Matz,  der  Schneider  mit  der  Schnippscher',  wo  kommen  die 
drei  Diebe  her?  Nr.  2393.  Wenn  man  zehn  Backer,  zehn  Muller  und  zehn 
Schneider  in  einen  Sack  thut  und  schiittelt,  so  ist  ein  Dieb  oben.  Nr.  2830. 
De  Dum  ist  erlikste  an  de  Muller.  Nr.  2832.  Miihlmahler,  Roggenstahler. 
Nr.  2864.  Wenn  der  Muller  ohne  Brot,  ist  im  Lande  grosse  Not,  etc.  Die 
deutschen  VolksbUcher,  Bd.  5.  Nr.  7127.  In  der  Miihle  ist  das  Beste,  dass  die 
Sacke  nicht  reden  konnen.  Nr.  7147a.  Er  nahrt  sich  aus  dem  Stegreif,  wie 
ein  Muller.  Nr.  7140.  Muller  und  Backer  stehlen  nicht,  man  bringt's  ihnen 
Bd.  7,  Nr.  188.  Warum  nisten  die  Storche  nicht  auf  Miihlen?  Sie  fiirchten, 
der  Muller  stehle  ihnen  die  Eier.  Des  Knaben  Wunderhorn,  p.  573.  Miller 
steals  corn  when  grinding,  p.  222.  Miller  kills  rich  locksmith's  son  for  sup- 
posed treasure,  p.  148.  Miller  sells  wife  and  children  to  murderers. 

39  Stand  und  Beruf  im  Volksmund,  Nr.  2686.     Kesselflicker  haben  Durst. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  285 

liam  Lovell,  the  matter-of-fact  forester  in  Rothkappchen  and  the 
charcoal-burner  in  Genoveva.  As  instances  of  partial  realism, 
where  characteristic  detail  is  prominent  in  figures  otherwise 
imaginatively  conceived,  we  may  mention  the  miller  in  Prinz 
Zerbino,  the  shepherd  in  Genoveva  and  the  gardener  in  Der 
Runenberg.  Tieck's  use  of  realism  is  more  apparent,  however, 
in  the  artisan  types  than  in  those  of  the  country  group. 

On  the  other  hand,  Heine's  statement  that  Tieck's  interest 
in  the  middle  class  is  confined  chiefly  to  his  later  period,  is  dis- 
proved as  conclusively  by  the  country  as  by  the  city  types.  In 
both,  the  less  important  occupations  recur  with  almost  identical 
frequency  in  the  two  periods,  while  the  five  country  types  which 
receive  most  sympathetic  treatment  are  distributed  between  the 
earlier  period  and  the  Novellen  in  the  following  ratio;  shepherd, 
14  to  5 ;  forester,  11  to  8 ;  gardener,  3  to  5 ;  charcoal-burner,  2  to  7 ; 
miner,  twice  only,  in  the  Novellen. 

Tieck's  sympathetic  analysis  of  the  general  types  of  the 
toilers  in  city  and  country  finds  no  parallel  among  his  prede- 
cessors. Most  cases  of  similarity  between  his  middle  class 
descriptions  and  those  of  earlier  writers  consist  of  individual 
characters  in  works  of  the  latter  which  resemble  figures  in 
Tieck's  writings,  but  which  are  distinguished  from  them  by  all 
the  difference  between  carefully  created  types,  usually  of  fre- 
quent recurrence,  and  single  instances  of  character  portrayal. 
Such  figures  are  in  particular  the  skilful  hair-dresser  in  Zacha- 
ria's  Renommist,  the  quarrelsome  cobbler  in  Weisse's  Der 
Teufel  ist  los,  the  pious  weaver  in  Voss'  Luise,  the  greedy  land- 
lord in  Minna  von  Barnhelm  with  his  more  intelligent  and 
dignified  counterpart  in  Hermann  und  Dorothea,  the  shoe- 
makers in  Kleist's  Erdbeben  in  Chili  and  Wieland's  Abderiten, 
together  with  the  tinker  in  the  latter  work,  all  three  of  the  last- 
named  characters  being  noisy  demagogues.  Kleist's  shoemaker 
and  the  poetically  conceived  miner  in  Novalis'  Heinrich  von 
Ofterdingen,  though  belonging  to  authors  who  will  be  mentioned 
among  Tieck's  successors,  were  characters  after  his  own  heart 
and  may  well  have  afforded  suggestions  to  the  friend  and  post- 
humous editor  of  both  writers.  These  and  the  figures  created 
by  Lessing  and  Goethe  seem  most  likely  to  have  directly 
influenced  Tieck. 


286  Spaulding 

Goethe's  Wilhelm  Meister,  on  the  other  hand,  suggested 
not  so  much  individual  characters  or  types  as  a  new  conception 
of  the  middle  class  and  its  relation  to  the  nobility.  The  idea  of 
the  potential  equality  of  both  classes  contained  in  the  Lehr- 
jahre,  Tieck  reproduced  in  Der  junge  Tischlermeister  and  later 
works,  until  he  was  forced  to  take  a  further  step  and  admit  that 
the  evidence  of  contemporary  reality  placed  the  artisan  in 
many  instances  above  the  noble.  The  combination  of  real  and 
ideal  elements  implied  by  the  connection  of  handicraft  with  art 
which  is  found  in  the  Wanderjahre,  also  appears  in  Der  junge 
Tischlermeister,  though  as  Tieck's  work  was  composed  from 
1811  to  1835  and  the  Wanderjahre  appeared  in  1819,  it  is  uncer- 
tain how  great  the  influence  of  the  latter  upon  the  former  may 
have  been.  Several  of  Tieck's  writings  of  different  periods  also 
resemble  the  Wanderjahre  in  contrasting  handicraft  with  the 
soulless  machine,  which  robs  the  laborer  of  spiritual  and  physical 
nourishment  alike. 

In  discussing  the  further  appearance  of  the  middle  class  in 
German  writings  of  the  nineteenth  century,  we  will  first  consider 
the  development  of  class  contrasts  and  later  the  purely  descrip- 
tive work. 

Achim  von  Arnim  in  Die  Kronenwachter  (1817),  written 
four  years  before  Die  Wanderjahre  were  begun,  contrasted  the 
various  classes  of  society  in  the  sixteenth  century,  representing 
"das  kleinstadtische  Biirgertum"  as  the  most  typical  embodi- 
ment of  national  power  and  intelligence.  In  Tieck  and  Wacken- 
roder's  conception  of  national  art  he  found  the  power  which 
levels  social  barriers  and  dignifies  the  simplest  product  of  the 
artisan's  toil.40  In  many  respects  he  foreshadowed  the  theory 
of  class-distinctions  found  in  Tieck's  Novellen:  for  example, 
though  opposed  to  the  abolition  of  outer  class-distinctions 
(cf.  Der  gliickliche  Farber,  pp.  302,  312  ff),  he  conceived  the 
nobility  of  the  future  as  consisting  of  the  exceptional  members 
of  all  classes.41  He  also  faced  squarely  the  actual  conditions 
of  his  day,  (as  Tieck  did  only  toward  the  close  of  his  career), 
and  acknowledged  that  the  industrious  middle  class  was  of 

40  Dr.  Karl  Wagner,  Die  historischen  Motive  in  Arnims  "Kronenwachter" 
II.  TheU  Goldap.  1910,  pp.  4, 9, 10. 
« Ibid.,  pp.  43,  45. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  287 

more  service  to  the  state  than  many  a  nobleman.42  Though  he 
defended  the  nobility,  provided  they  did  not  oppose  the  inevi- 
table readjustment  of  class  relations,  he  went  further  than 
Tieck  in  advocating  the  political  and  social  enfranchisement 
not  only  of  the  middle  class  but  of  the  peasantry,  in  so  far  as  the 
latter  could  be  educated  for  its  new  position.43  In  an  earlier 
work,  Die  Grafin  Dolores  (1809),  Armin  had  contrasted  with 
the  nobility  the  brutal  greed  of  the  upper  middle  class  as  repre- 
sented by  the  merchant.44  This  type,  although  later  abandoned 
by  Arnim,  Tieck  everywhere  depicts  in  unpleasant  colors. 
Arnim's  works  probably  rank  next  to  Wilhelm  Meister  as  pre- 
cursors of  Tieck's  method  of  treatment  of  social  questions  in  the 
Novellen.  It  is,  however,  noteworthy,  that  neither  Wilhelm 
Meisters  Wanderjahre  nor  Die  Kronenwachter  could  have 
influenced  the  romantic  period  of  Tieck's  production. 

Arnim  was  less  directly  connected  with  Tieck  than  was  Karl 
Immermann,  a  later  member  of  the  Romantic  school.  A  close 
friend,  admirer  and  imitator  of  Tieck,  he  was,  like  the  latter, 
of  a  conservative  temperament  and  opposed  to  the  extreme 
tenets  of  the  Revolution.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  even 
more  opposed  to  the  narrow  class  pride  of  the  nobility  than 
Tieck,45  who  was  intimate  with  many  persons  of  rank.  Both 
writers  viewed  anxiously  the  part  played  by  the  manufacturer 
in  the  transition  from  the  feudal  to  the  industrial  order  of 
society.  Dr.  O.  Wohnlich  has  remarked  the  close  parallelism 
between  the  two  manufacturers,  "der  alte  Onkel"  in  Die  Epi- 
gonen,  and  Balthasar  in  Tieck's  Novelle,  Der  Alte  vom  Berge, 
ascribing  it  to  direct  influence  upon  the  part  of  Tieck.46  In  Die 
Epigonen  (1836),  the  nobility  is  bitterly  satirized  on  the  score 
of  having  lost  its  "innere  Existenzberechtigung,"  while  the 
soul-destroying  counting-house  and  factory  lack  this  quality 
altogether.  The  favor  which  Tieck  showed  to  the  lower  middle 
class,  in  contrast  with  the  nobility  and  the  industrialists,  Immer- 
mann reserved  for  the  peasantry.  In  Miinchhausen  (Der 

42  Dr.  Karl  Wagner,  Die  kistorischen  Motive  in  Arnims  "Kronenwachter"  II. 
Tbeil  Goldap.  1910,  p.  43. 

43  Ibid.,  pp.  42,  43. 
"Ibid.,  p.  43. 

*»  (p.  35)  Alfred  Biese,  Deutsche  Literaturgeschichte,  Bd.  2.  p.  541.    Dr.  Oskar 
Wohnlich,  Tieck's  Einfluss  auf  Immermann.    Tubingen,  1913,  pp.  65  ff . 
"Ibid.,  pp.  67-69. 


Spaulding 

Oberhof,  1838)  the  same  classes  are  satirized  as  in  Die  Epigonen: 
hope  for  the  future  is  afforded  chiefly  by  the  sturdy  qualities  of 
the  peasant,  though  that  Immermann  also  conceives  of  "das 
Volk"  more  broadly,  is  seen  in  the  words  of  the  Diakonus:  "Das 
unsterbliche  Volk!  .  .  .  ich  meine  mit  Volk  die  Besten  unter 
den  freien  Biirgern  und  den  ehrwiirdigen,  tatigen  wissenden, 
arbeitsamen  Mittelstand."  The  same  speaker,  refering  to  the 
power  of  tradition  in  both  peasantry  and  nobility,  declares: 
"Im  Mittelstande  allein  gilt  die  Freiheit  des  Individuums,  in 
diesem  Stande  fliesst  einzig  der  Strom  der  Selbstbestimmung, 
nach  Charakter,  Talent,  Laune  und  Willkiir."47 — Although 
Immermann  is  opposed  to  Tieck's  conception  of  the  peasant, 
it  seems  probable  that  he  owed  to  the  older  writer  certain 
features  of  his  attitude  toward  the  middle  class. 

A  number  of  other  writers  who  contrasted  the  lower  middle 
class  with  the  nobility  or  the  manufacturer,  displayed  more  or 
less  affinity  in  their  works  to  certain  of  Tieck's  ideas.  Whereas 
Die  Ritterbtirtigen  (1846)  by  Lewin  Schiicking,  satirized  the 
pride  and  ignorance  of  the  Westphalian  Junkers,  48  Franz 
Dingelstedt,  in  Unter  der  Erde  (1841),  and  Berthold  Auerbach 
in  Neues  Leben,  represented  members  of  the  nobility  as  fleeing 
from  the  artificial  existence  of  their  class  to  the  toilsome  life 
of  the  miner49 — a  favorite  type  with  Tieck.  In  Weisse  Sklaven 
(1845),  Ernst  Willkomm  contrasted  the  famishing  workmen  of 
the  Lausitz  with  the  rich  manufacturers,  bitterly  denouncing 
machine  labor  as  destructive  alike  to  soul  and  body.50  A  simi- 
lar situation  leads  to  the  destruction  of  the  factories  and  the 
restoration  of  handicraft  in  Robert  Prutz'  Das  Engelchen 
(1851).81 

Of  far  greater  importance  than  any  of  the  above-mentioned 
writers  is  the  genius  of  Friedrich  Hebbel  and  the  resemblance 
which  appears  between  his  and  Tieck's  conception  of  class 
equality.  Though  Hebbel  was  not  a  member  of  the  Romantic 

"Deutsche  National-Liter  alur,  Bd.  160.  Immermanns  Werke,  II.  Theil. 
Munchhausen.  II.  Bd.  p.  54. 

48  H.  Mielke,  Der  deutsche  Roman,  p.  133. 

« Ibid.,  p.  208. 

60  Ibid.,  pp.  101,  102. 

« Ibid.,  p.  102. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  289 

school,  he  was  chiefly  attracted  by  Tieck's  earlier  works.52 
He  was,  however,  acquainted  with  the  Novellen,  and  CamiJlo 
von  Klenze  has  drawn  attention  to  the  parallelism  between 
certain  passages  in  Die  Gesellschaft  auf  dem  Lande  and  Die 
Ahnenprobe  on  the  one  hand  and  Agnes  Bernauer  and  Gyges 
und  sein  Ring  on  the  other,  without  attempting  to  determine 
Tieck's  possible  influence  on  Hebbel.  Both  writers  regard 
class  traditions  as  possessing  value  only  from  their  association 
with  moral  ideals.  Tieck  indicates  this  belief  most  clearly  in  the 
attitude  of  the  count  in  Der  Ahnenprobe,  who  is  led  to  a  compro- 
mise between  the  traditions  of  his  own  and  those  of  a  lower  class. 
Similar  problems  lead  with  Hebbel  only  to  disaster:53  Agnes 
and  Albrecht  seek  in  vain  to  bridge  the  chasm  of  class  prejudice. 
Nevertheless,  one  class  is  not  oppressed  by  another,  as  in  Tor- 
ring's  Agnes  Bernauerin.  On  the  contrary,  both  characters 
represent  the  individual's  fruitless  resistance  to  the  traditions 
of  society  as  a  whole,  and  are  placed  on  a  level  of  equality  by 
their  common  disaster. 

Last  among  the  greater  prose  writers  before  1870,  Gustav 
Freytag  and  Friedrich  Spielhagen  described  the  conflict  between 
feudalism  and  industrialism  originally  indicated  by  Goethe  in 
Wilhelm  Meister  and  after  him  portrayed  by  most  of  the  authors 
above  mentioned.  In  Soil  und  Haben  (1855)  Freytag  followed 
the  suggestion  of  Julian  Schmidt  to  "seek  the  German  people 
where  alone  it  is  to  be  found,  viz.  at  its  labor."54  With  this 
purpose  in  mind  he  described  sympathetically  the  existence  of 
the  lower  middle  class,  limited  in  its  mental  horizon  but  filled 
with  all  the  charm  of  German  "Gemiit."  He  also  contrasted 
sharply  three  different  classes,  in  general  the  same  as  those 
depicted  by  Tieck,  "den  redlichen  Gewinn  und  Segen  burger- 
licher  Tatigkeit,  die  Leidenschaft  unredlichen  Gewerbes  und 
niederer  Habsucht  und  den  wirtschaf  tlichen  Niedergang  adligen 
Hochmuts  und  adliger  Schwache."55  Like  Tieck,  both  Fr&ytag 
and  Spielhagen  still  sympathized  with  the  nobleman,  made 

62  Emil  Kuhs  Krltische  und  Liter arhistorische  Aufsalze.  Hg.  von  A.  Schaer. 
Wien.  1910.  p.  145  ff. 

»  Euphorion,  20.  Bd.  1  &  2.     Heft.  1913.  p.  165. 

M  H.  H.  Boyesen,  Essays  on  German  Literature,  N.  Y.  1892.  Scribner's 
p.  243. 

K  Mielke,  Der  deutsche  Roman,  p.  165. 


290  Spaulding 

him  not  infrequently  the  hero  of  their  works,  and  were  even 
(unlike  Tieck)  most  successful  in  the  delineation  of  such  char- 
acters. Spielhagen  did  this  especially  in  Problematische  Natu- 
ren  (1860).  In  Reih'  und  Glied  (1866)  and  Hammer  und  Ambos 
(1869)  reflect  more  strongly  the  increasing  unrest  of  the  prole- 
tariat, for  which  the  latter  work  finds  a  solution  in  profit-sharing 
by  factory  laborers.56  Lastly,  in  the  novel  Sturmflut  (1876), 
the  same  problem  is  treated,  this  time  with  greater  impartiality 
in  describing  the  weakness  both  of  the  noble  and  the  citizen.57' 

Proceeding  from  controversial  to  descriptive  treatment  of 
the  lower  middle  class  in  nineteenth  century  German  writings, 
we  will  first  consider  the  works  of  pre-eminently  Romantic 
authors.  Among  the  older  school  Novalis,  in  his  Heinrich  von 
Ofterdingen  (edited  by  Tieck,  published  1802),  represented  the 
hero  as  learning  the  art  of  poetry  from  an  old  miner — a  character 
truly  after  Tieck's  own  heart.  Heinrich  von  Kleist  drew  several 
graphic  pictures  of  lower  middle  class  characters,  especially  in 
Der  zerbrochene  Krug  (1808)  and  Kathchen  von  Heilbronn. 
Little  as  the  armorer  in  the  latter  play  resembles  the  smith 
type  found  in  the  writings  of  Tieck,  the  editor  of  Kleist's  works 
may  well  have  received  suggestions  from  various  artisan  figures, 
such  as  the  demagogue  shoemaker  in  Das  Erdbeben  in  Chili. 
On  the  other  hand,  Tieck's  influence  is  perhaps  reflected  in  the 
merchant  of  Hoffmann's  Der  Artushof,  whose  lack  of  artistic 
feeling  is  peculiarly  like  that  of  a  similar  character  in. Franz 
Sternbalds  Wanderungen,  while  the  relation  of  master  to 
apprentices  and  of  handicraft  to  art  as  depicted  in  Meister 
Martin  und  seine  Gesellen,  by  Hoffmann,  reminds  the  reader 
strongly  of  certain  passages  in  Der  junge  Tischlermeister. 
Unlike  Hoffmann,  who  in  general  made  the  "Philisterwelt"  and 
"Spiessbiirgertum"  the  objects  of  literary  satire,  Brentano  (a  no 
less  romantic  spirit)  cherished  a  secret  reverence  for  such  an 
existence,  even  though  he  too  wrote  of  it  satirically.  "Sei 
fleissig  and  mache,  dass  dir  das  Biirgerlich-Mechanische  nicht 
verachtlich  wird,  es  ist  die  Quelle  von  viel  Geistigem,"  he 
counselled  his  sister,  Bettina.58  In  Die  Geschichte  vom  schonen 
Annerl  und  braven  Kasperl  (1817),  the  Romantic  progenitor 

M  Mielke,  Der  deutsche  Roman,  pp.  203,  204. 

67  Boyesen,  pp.  256,  257.    Mielke,  pp.  231,  232. 

58  Alfred  Biese,  Deutsche  Literaturgeschichte,  Bd.  II,  p.  418. 


Class  in  Tieck's  Writings  291 

of  the  later  Dorfgeschichten,  he  revealed,  in  contrast  with  Tieck, 
the  poetry  of  the  peasant's  spirit  and  the  strong  qualities  which 
spring  from  the  very  limitations  of  his  surroundings.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  gardener  with  his  love  for  plants  in  Eichendorff's 
Taugenichts  (1826)  bears  a  certain  resemblance  to  several  of 
Tieck's  characters. 

Like  Arnim,  Willibald  Alexis  rivalled  Tieck  in  vivid  por- 
trayals of  the  various  social  classes  in  a  mediaeval  city,  in  Der 
Roland  von  Berlin  (1840);  a  later  work,  Ruhe  ist  die  erste 
Biirgerpflicht  (1852),  lovingly  describes  the  simple  existence  of 
the  modern  Prussian  Biirgertum,  while  Isegrimm  (1856)  repre- 
sents the  narrow,  hum-drum  life  and  strong  character  of  the 
Brandenburg  peasant.  Dies  Buch  gehort  dem  Konig  (1849) 
by  Bettina  von  Arnim  struck  a  more  modern  note,  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  sozialer  Roman,  revealing  the  misery  of  the  working 
population  of  Berlin.  Above  all  the  group  of  so-called  Heidel- 
berg Romanticists  owed  their  interest  in  mediaeval  Germany 
to  the  patriotic  aspect  of  Tieck  and  Wackenroder's  essays  on 
art.59  Yet  the  mediaeval  setting  served  them  only  as  a  disguise 
for  wandering  apprentices  and  similar  characters,  by  means  of 
which  they  expressed  their  love  for  the  lower  middle  class  of 
their  own  day  and  time.60  Thus,  Franz  von  Gaudy  continued 
the  style  of  Eichendorff's  Taugenichts  in  Aus  dem  Tagebuch 
eines  wandernden  Schneidergesellen.  A  larger  number  of 
parallels  to  Tieck  appears  in  the  verse  of  this  group  than  in 
their  prose  works.  Chamisso  gave  his  readers  simple  popular 
types,  such  as  Die  alte  Waschfrau,  and  journeymen,  fishers, 
foresters  or  miller's  apprentices  constitute  the  principal  figures 
in  the  Lieder  of  Wilhelm  Miiller. 

Among  the  writers  of  the  nineteeth  century  not  primarily  , 
of  the  Romantic  school,  whose  works  contain  descriptions 
dealing  with  the  lower  classes  of  society,  parallels  to  Tieck  are 
less  common.  The  peasant,  in  whom  Tieck  showed  so  little 
interest,  had  become  a  favorite  subject  of  literary  treatment, 
as  is  seen  in  the  flood  of  Dorfgeschichten  by  such  writers  as 
Zschokke,  Gotthelf  and  Auerbach.  Nevertheless,  several 
authors  of  the  mid-century  still  displayed  interest  in  other 

*g  Dr.  Karl  Wagner,  Die  historischen  Motive  in  Arnims  Kronenwflchler, 
p.  9. 

80  Biese,  Deutsche  Liter aturgeschichte,  Bd.  II,  pp.  512,  513,  521. 


292  Spaulding 

divisions  of  the  lower  middle  class.  Karl  Gutzkow,  in  Die 
Ritter  vom  Geist  (1847)  and  Aus  der  Knabenzeit,  faithfully 
portrayed  the  restricted,  half  poetic,  half  prosaic  life  of  the 
Berlin  Kleinburgertum.  In  Maria  Magdalena,  Hebbel  drew  a 
picture  of  the  tyranny  of  tradition  in  this  class,  unlike  anything 
to  be  found  in  Tieck's  writings.  The  peasant  and  the  artisan 
are  portrayed  respectively  in  Otto  Ludwig's  Heiterethei  (1854) 
and  Zwischen  Himmel  und  Erde  (1856),  the  second  work  con- 
taining an  especially  realistic  and  detailed  account  of  the  slate- 
roofer's  trade.  The  lower  middle  class  characters  in  Gottfried 
Keller's  Leute  von  Seldwyla  (1856,  1874)  show  a  family  resem- 
blance to  those  both  of  the  Dorfgeschichten  and  of  Romanticism. 
Wilhelm  Raabe  was  perhaps  the  last  noteworthy  writer  before 
1870  to  depict  (in  his  Hungerpastor,  1864)  the  ideal  element  in 
the  life  of  an  artisan. 

Possibly  the  chief  reason  for  the  disappearance  of  such 
conceptions  of  the  lower  middle  class  as  Tieck  had  once  made 
popular  lay  in  the  fact  that  through  the  progress  of  industrial- 
ism, the  lower  middle  class  itself  had  lost  much  of  its  former 
character.  Descriptions  of  the  proletariat  had  already  appeared 
in  some  of  the  Romantic  works  above  mentioned.  Wilhelm 
Heinrich  Riehl,  in  his  Kulturgeschichtliche  Novellen  (1856)  set 
the  fashion  of  substituting  for  characters  prominent  in  history, 
representatives  of  the  unknown  masses,  the  "misera  plebs." 
Herewith  was  formulated  a  program  according  to  which  the 
modern  laboring  class  became  the  peasant's  rival  in  popular 
interest.  The  cause  for  the  change  lay  not  in  a  deceased  interest 
in  the  lower  middle  class,  but  rather  in  an  increase  of  literary 
realism  coupled  with  a  change  in  the  realities  of  the  artisan's 
existence.  As  the  representative  of  a  great  social  class,  Leon- 
hard,  der  junge  Tischlermeister,  had  been  succeeded  by  members 
of  the  proletariat,  a  product  of  the  system  of  modern  industrial- 
ism so  bitterly  opposed  by  Tieck. 

JOHN  A.  SPAULDINC 
Yale  University 


CHAUCER'S  LADY  OF  THE  DAISIES 

From  the  dust  and  din  and  disorder  of  the  strife  that  has 
vexed  the  man}'  pages  of  Anglia  in  which,  during  the  past  three 
years,  two  irrepressible  disputants,  Lange  and  Langhans,  have 
vehemently  debated  the  so-called  "Legendenprologfrage,"  the 
reader  hies  him  worlds  away  to  the  antipode  of  all  this  discord, 
Chaucer's  own  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women,  with  its 
repose  of  daisied  fields  and  its  charm  of  courtly  manners  and 
speech.  When  loudly  acclaimed  "Wissenschaft,"  in  half  a 
dozen  articles,  blasphemes  the  bright  lyrist  to  his  face  by  sol- 
emnly assigning  the  most  personal  of  all  his  poems,  the  F.  or  Fair- 
fax version  of  the  Prologue,  to  an  alleged  monkish  plagiarist,  or 
when  vaunted  "Philologische  Aufklarungsarbeit"  achieves  a 
characteristic  triumph  by  setting  Richard  of  Bordeaux'  liveries 
to  making  in  Nature's  own  green  and  white,  the  daisy  flower 
goes  to  rest,  "for  fere  of  nyght,  so  hateth  she  derknesse."  The 
only  adequate  corrective  of  this  recent  Chaucer  scholarship 
seems  to  be  Chaucer  himself.  Happy  indeed  is  he  who,  unwit- 
ting of  us  interpreters,  reads  the  Prologue  with  an  open  mind 
until  his  eyelids  drop  their  shade. 

The  most  cursory  survey  of  the  outcome  of  earlier  and  better 
discussions  of  the  book  now  open  before  us,  soon  makes  the 
student  painfully  aware  of  the  seeming  futility  of  much  of  the 
finest  research.  In  two  notable  essays  in  our  Modern  Language 
Publications  (1904-1905),  Professor  Lowes,  by  his  study  of 
sources,  demonstrated,  one  is  tempted  to  say,  to  the  last 
demands  of  proof,  the  priority  of  the  F.  Prologue  over  the  G 
(Cambridge  Gg.  4.  27)  version;  and  yet  in  the  current  number 
of  Englische  Studien  the  veteran  Koch  shows  himself  still  an 
obstinate  heretic  in  despite  of  all  this  cogent  reasoning,  and 
casts  his  dented  sword  into  the  scale.  Things  in  possession 
have  so  firm  a  grip  and  men  are  so  sensitive  to  the  power  of 
names  that  the  misleading  A  and  B  titles  of  the  Prologue  ver- 
sions will  long  continue  to  counteract  the  most  potent  argu- 
ments. Professor  Tatlock — my  present  host,  for  I  write  this  on 
Stanford  ground — gives  full  voice  in  his  Development  and 
Chronology  of  Chaucer's  Works  (p.  103)  not  only  to  the  matured 

293 


294  Tupper 

conviction  of  the  scholar,  but  to  the  immediate  impression  of 
any  layman  unbefogged  by  vapors,  when  he  argues  that  the 
poet,  following  the  amorous  fashion  of  the  Marguerite  cult  of 
the  late  fourteenth  century,  pays,  throughout  the  earlier  of  the 
two  Prologues  (F),  deep  personal  homage  to  the  daisy  not  merely 
as  a  fair  and  fresh  flower,  but  as  the  symbol  of  a  noble  feminine 
soul;  and  that  in  the  later  version  (G)  he  displays  only  "the 
minimum  of  devotion  necessary  to  justify  the  introduction  of 
the  daisy  at  all."  But  note  that  Professors  Lowes  and  Kittredge,1 
and  others,  including  Langhans  of  late,  reject — quite  without 
warrant,  as  it  seems  to  some  of  us — this  vivid  human  element, 
the  all  pervasive  living  woman  of  the  poem.  To  them  the  daisy 
represents,  if  anything  at  all,  only  the  dream  figment,  Alceste, 
who  is  the  mythical  Alceste,  and  no  creature  of  fourteenth- 
century  flesh  and  blood.  Thus  our  scholarship,  like  Penelope, 
outwits  its  followers  by  unweaving  in  the  darkness  what  it  has 
woven  in  the  light.  After  the  apparent  failure  of  these  brilliant 
demonstrations  to  carry  general  conviction,  dare  I,  the  latest 
comer,  hope  that  the  personal  story  which  Chaucer  so  lucidly 
tells  me  everywhere  in  and  between  the  lines  of  Prologue  F.  wilt 
not  seem  as  shadowy  to  many  as  the  "clerical  plagiarist"  of 
Langhans  and  the  "Bordeaux  liveries"  of  Lange?  "By  assay 
ther  may  no  man  it  preve."  In  such  a  reading  as  I  offer,  there 
can  be  no  absolute  certainty,  only  a  balance  of  probabilities. 

And  now,  may  I  suggest,  with  all  deference  to  those  whom 
"I  come  after,  gleaning  here  and  there,"  that  the  solution  of 
that  most  fascinating  problem  of  the  Prologue,  the  identity  of 
Alceste,  has  been  thwarted  by  a  disregard  of  this  balance  of 
probabilities,  by  a  lack  of  a  clear  issue.  The  line  has  been 
wrongly  drawn  between  the  scholars  who,  like  Ten  Brink  and 
Tatlock,  have  proclaimed  that  the  daisy  and  Alceste  portray 
one  lady  that  Chaucer  knew,  and  that  lady  the  young 
Queen  Anne,  at  whose  request,  Lydgate  tells  us,  he  made  the 
Legend,  and  to  whom  the  Alceste  of  the  earlier  Prologue  bids 
him  send  the  finished  book;  and  the  scholars  who,  like  Lowes 
and  Kittredge,  have  dismissed  Queen  Anne  from  the  daisied 
fields  and  from  the  dream-vision,  and,  with  her,  all  traces  of  a 
living  presence.  The  ones  have  accepted  the  woman  and  Queen; 

1  Modern  Philology,  VI,  435  f . 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  295 

the  others  have  rejected  the  Queen  and  woman.2  Now  I  agree 
with  both  and  differ  with  both,  for  I  reject  the  queen  and  yet 
accept  the  woman.  My  reasons  for  discarding  irrelevant 
royalty  are  none  of  them  new.  First,  because  Alceste,  so  far 
from  seeing  herself  in  Anne's  glass,  explicitly  recognizes  in  the 
dedication  the  separate  personality  of  the  English  Queen,3 
secondly,  because  the  unlike  histories  of  Alceste  and  Anne  do 
not  tolerate  the  forced  identification;  and  thirdly,  because  the 
poet's  passion  for  the  daisy  and  for  the  lady  whom  it  symbolizes 
are  such  as  Chaucer  could  and  would  never  have  felt  and  expres- 
sed for  his  young  Queen,  I  cannot  accept  my  friend  Tatlock's 
conclusion  that  "Chaucer  used  the  daisy  and  Alcestis  as  vehicles 
for  his  personal  tribute  to  Queen  Anne,  and  that  the  personal 
devotion  expressed  in  F.  was  meant  and  understood  as  a  compli- 
ment to  her."  But  I  am  equally  far  from  believing  that  all  this 
rapturous  homage  voices  no  real  devotion  and  that  there  is  no 
contemporary  woman  in  the  story.  "Cherchez  la  femme!" 
The  chief  aim  and  end  of  the  present  writing  is  the  quest  of  a 
lady  more  artfully  hidden  than  the  nymph  among  the  reeds. 
Let  us  together  seek  and  find  the  woman  whose  beloved  being 
pervades  Chaucer's  waking  thoughts  and  transmutes  his  roman- 
tic visions  in  the  earlier  Prologue  to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women. 

2  Compromise  arguments  have  not  served  to  break  the  deadlock.     Mr. 
B.  L.  Jefferson  seems  to  me  not  only  to  dodge  the  issue,  but  to  disregard  the 
poem's  essential  unity  of  thought,  with  the  conciliatory  suggestion  (/.  E.  G.  Ph. 
XIII,  1914, 434)  that  "till  the  beginning  of  the  dream  Chaucer's  worship  of  the 
daisy  does  homage  to  Queen  Anne  and  to  Anne  alone.    Then  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  dream  (210)  Anne,  Alceste,  and  the  daisy  merge  into  one.     In  the 
last  150  lines  Alceste  stands  practically  alone.    The  prominence  of  Anne  and  the 
daisy  gradually  diminish  to  the  vanishing  point."    And  while  Professor  Samuel 
Moore's  opposition  (Modern  Language  Review,  VII,  1912,  189)  to  the  identifica- 
tion of  Alceste  and  Anne  is  effectively  destructive,  less  cogent  seems,  at  least  to 
one  reader,  his  subtle  plea  that  "Alceste,  though  herself  and  nothing  more  as  a 
character  in  history  and  fiction,  is  chosen  as  a  model  of  the  wifely  virtue  exem- 
plified in  Anne." 

3  Alceste,  the  Queen  of  Thrace,  bids  Chaucer  send  the  finished  book  with 
her  compliments  to  the  Queen  of  England  (F  496-497).    May  I  echo  Professor 
Kittredge's  pertinent  protest  (Modern  Philology,  VI,  435):  "If  Chaucer  had 
feared  that  some  ingenious  interpreter  might  fancy  that  Alceste  was  meant  for 
Queen  Anne,  and  had  wished  to  forestall  such  a  misapprehension,  he  could 
hardly  have  done  it  better.     But  unfortunately  he  did  not  reckon  with  us 
moderns." 


296  Tupper 

We  need  no  scholar  to  tell  us  that  the  F.  Prologue  is  divided 
into  two  parts — the  first,  a  long  day's  prelude  to  a  dream  (1-196) 
and  the  second,  the  dream  itself.  So  he  who  runs  may  read. 
We  do  need  a  scholar  to  show  us,  as  Professor  Lowes  has  done 
most  convincingly,  that  the  structure  of  the  first  part  owes  not 
a  little  to  Deschamps's  Lay  de  Franchise  and  that  the  second 
confesses  its  plain  indebtedness  to  Froissart's  Paradys  d' Amours. 
Both  these  French  poems  unquestionably  brought  a  wealth  of 
suggestions  to  the  Englishman's  shaping  brain.  But  the  "great 
translator,"  if  he  be  great  poet  too,  is  the  master  and  not  the 
slave  of  his  sources;  and  Chaucer  moves  among  borrowed  mate- 
rial with  the  unfettered  step  of  the  royal  invader.  Or  rather  let 
us  regard  him  as  a  skilful  architect  using,  it  is  true,  in  the  founda- 
tion of  his  Prologue,  much  material  that  was  ready  to  his  hand, 
but  plotting  primarily  with  a  view  to  the  superstructure  and 
to  the  unity  of  the  whole.  The  prime  factor  in  the  making,  at 
this  later  stage  of  his  growth,  is  the  dexterous  adjustment  of  part 
to  part,  due  not  so  much  to  the  free  use  of  other  men's  verses, 
as  to  the  poet's  intimate  knowledge  of  the  motives  and  stimuli 
of  dream  phenomena.  As  Shakspere,  in  his  frequent  illustrations 
of  crowd  consciousness,  anticipates  directly  the  findings  of 
social  psychologists,  so  Chaucer,  in  his  happy  presentations  of 
dream  sources  and  symbols,  forecasts  in  a  dozen  striking  ways 
the  discoveries  of  present-day  psychoanalysis,  without  many  of 
its  attendant  horrors.  Nor  need  we  marvel  at  this  foresight, 
for  Freud  himself  has  observed  with  truth:4  "Much  of  the  arti- 
ficial dreams  contrived  by  poets  are  intended  for  symbolic 
interpretation,  for  they  reproduce  the  thought  conceived  by 
the  poet  in  a  disguise  found  to  be  in  accordance  with  the  char- 
acteristics of  our  dreaming,  as  we  know  these  from  experience"6 

4  The  Interpretation  of  Dreams,  translated  by  Brill,  1913,  p.  81. 

8  Professor  Skeat's  annotations  in  the  Complete  Works  indicate  the  sources 
of  many  of  Chaucer's  comments  upon  dreams, — a  distracting  Quellenjagd,  which 
we  cannot  now  pursue  at  length.  There  is  large  evidence  of  the  poet's  interest 
in  all  phases  and  sorts  of  visions.  In  the  introduction  to  the  House  of  Fame, 
he  broaches  their  causes,  kinds,  meanings  and  the  large  question  of  fulfilment. 
Are  they  psychic — that  is,  do  people's  temperaments  make  them  dream  of 
what  they  have  been  thinking  on?  So  Jean  de  Meung  had  argued  in  a  lengthy 
passage  of  the  Roman  de  la  Rose,  191 16f.  and  so  Claudian  had  testified  in  verses 
which  had  inspired  a  notable  stanza  in  the  Parlement  of  Foules,  99-105.  Are 
they  somatic  or  supernatural — the  question  debated  so  earnestly  by  those 


"Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  297 

The  first  two  hundred  lines  of  Prologue  F. — the  sunlit  hours  in 
daisied  fields — are  structurally  valuable  as  providing  the  psychic 
stimuli  of  the  chief  phenomena  in  the  dream  that  comes  with  the 
darkness. 

The  poet's  imaginative  use  of  the  daily  interest  as  the  psychic 
source  of  his  dream  is  in  close  accord  with  truth.  Our  dreams 
are  built  largely  upon  the  sensory  impressions  of  the  preceding 
day,  experiences  on  which  one  has  not  yet  slept  for  a  night. 
Machaut  in  his  Dit  du  Vergier  and  Deschamps  in  his  Lay 
Amoureux  and  many  another  French  weaver  of  fancies  prepared 
for  the  dream  background  by  a  similar  actual  setting  of  outdoor 
life  on  the  morning  before  the  vision.6  To  this  convention  of  the 
genre,  which  has  its  roots  deep  in  human  experience,  Chaucer 
has  imparted  proper  psychical  significance.  Men  have  failed 
to  read  aright  the  Legend  Prologue  because  they  have  overlooked 
the  close  relation  of  the  phantasies  of  the  vision  to  their  exciting 
sources,  the  thought  and  mood  of  the  poet's  immediate  past. 
The  stimuli  of  the  dream  in  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  were  not 
only  such  explicit  causes  as  the  poet's  melancholy  and  the  Ovid- 
ian  tale  of  bereavement,  but  a  graver  implicit  reason,  the  "rooted 
sorrow"  of  Blanche's  death  which  fills  all  his  recent  memory. 
Our  study  here  as  there  is  to  trace  the  translation  of  the  waking 
thoughts  of  the  poet's  day  into  the  picture  writing  of  the  next 
night,  to  examine  the  speedy  conversion  of  actual  ideas,  latent 
dream-material,  into  dream-content. 

This  material  so  soon  to  undergo  vivid  transformation  had 
long  proved  delightfully  provocate  of  visions — the  daisy  com- 
plex of  the  Marguerite  cult.  A  mass  of  ideas  and  emotions  had 

scholarly  experts  in  dream-lore,  Chauntecleer  and  Pertelote?  Must  we  deem 
them  the  products  of  physical  disorders  and  distresses,  or  are  they  sent  from 
above  as  warnings  of  the  future?  Macrobius,  in  his  famous  Commentary  upon 
Cicero's  Somnium  Scipionis,  and  Cicero  himself,  in  De  Divinatione,  had  given 
many  instances  of  dream  prophecies  which  the  Cock  pompously  retails.  Ma- 
crobius, too,  had  classified  the  chief  forms  of  dream;  so  Chaucer  now  tells  them 
over  in  the  House  of  Fame  foreword.  The  Parlement  passage  suggests  the 
chief  Freudian  tenet— that  "a  dream  is  the  imaginary  fulfilment  of  some 
ungratified  wish."  And  the  waking  preludes  of  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  and  the 
Legend  Prologue  show  that  the  English  poet  could  link, — as  French  vision- 
makers  had  often  done  before  him —  the  actual  and  dream  states. 

*  For  valuable  comment  upon  the  structure  of  love- visions,  French,  Italian, 
English,  see  Sypherd,  Chaucer's  House  of  Fame,  Chaucer  Society,  2d  Ser.,  39. 


298  Tupper 

already  collected  around  the  common  nucleus  of  the  little 
flower.  It  is  dangerous  to  assert  a  negative,  but  there  are,  to  my 
knowledge,  no  "daisy"  poems  of  Machaut,  Deschamps  or 
Froissart  that  do  not  voice  loving  homage  to  living  women, — 
Marguerites,  whose  full  names  we  often  know.  The  flower  is 
never  worshiped  by  these  Frenchmen  for  its  own  sake,  but  for 
its  erotic  symbolism  and  suggestion.  Through  the  daisy  a 
poignant  personal  element  penetrates  their  dreams.  Hence, 
on  literary  grounds  alone,  many — with  Professor  Tatlock  as 
their  spokesman — refused  to  believe  that  Chaucer  is  honoring 
only  a  flower  when  he  exalts  the  daisy  as  his  "maistresse," 
his  lady  sovereigne,"  his  "erthly  god,"  or  when  he  passionately 
proclaims  that  "ther  loved  no  wight  hotter  in  his  life."  Was 
this  rapture  mere  pretence,  conjured  up  to  serve  occasions  of 
poetic  pomp?  As  if  to  refute  any  misconception  of  this  amorous 
intent,  elective  affinity  becomes  vocal  in  lines  of  yet  deeper 
spiritual  intimacy.  'She  whom  the  poet  serves  is  the  guiding 
light  that  leads  the  sorrowful  lover  through  this  dark  world, 
the  mistress  of  his  wit,  knitting  in  her  bond  his  word  and  work 
and  making  his  heart,  like  a  harp  under  her  fingers,  speak  to 
her  liking.'  In  the  Filostrato  Prelude  (as  Mr.  Lowes  himself 
has  taught  us)  Boccaccio  had  thus  chanted  the  loving  omnipo- 
tence of  his  paramour,  the  flame-like  Maria  d'Acquino.  Thus 
French  and  Italian  precedents  (of  which  much  more  in  a  later 
place)  alike  suggest  that  no  daisy,  no  queen,  no  myth,  but  an 
Englishwoman  of  his  own  class  was  in  Chaucer's  thought  when 
he  made  the  continental  heartcries  his  own.7 

The  psychological  grounds  for  believing  that,  in  the  first 
part  of  the  Prologue,  Chaucer  has  in  mind  a  woman  as  real  as 
Beatrice  "col  sangue  suo  e  con  le  sue  giunture"  are  even  stronger 

7  "Mere  commonplace  and  convention,"  cries  the  genius  of  devitalization 
which  drains  great  imaginative  creations  of  their  life-sap  and  leaves  only 
juiceless  pulp.  Men  live  and  love  and  worship  through  catchwords  and  use 
the  borrowed  phrases  of  poems  and  of  prayers  to  utter  their  deepest  emotions. 
Even  the  masters  of  verse,  particularly  in  the  Middle  Ages,  often  unlock  their 
hearts  with  borrowed  keys.  If  Boccaccio  himself  conveys  his  genuine  feeling 
for  Maria  in  that  exquisite  reminiscence  of  Dante  at  the  opening  of  the  Fiam- 
metta,  "O  donna,  tu  sola  se'  la  beatudine  nostra,"  wherefore  shall  any  man 
conclude  that  Chaucer's  potent  reminiscences  of  Boccaccio's  own  glowing  words 
of  love  are  only  empty  phrases  signifying  nought  but  a  daisy?  When  the 
author  of  the  Pearl  turns  to  his  purpose  the  lines  of  the  Olympia  eclogue  (XIV), 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  299 

than  those  of  literary  tradition.  The  dream  image  of  Alceste, 
lady  of  the  daisies,  can  be  stimulated  only  by  an  earlier  symbolic 
association  of  the  flower  with  a  noble  living  creature  not  unlike 
the  mythical  love's  martyr  in  certain  striking  features  of  her 
story,  and  finally  identified  with  the  "Thracian"  queen — as  far 
as  an  actuality  can  be  with  a  product  of  phantasy — in  the  god 
of  Love's  revelation  at  the  poem's  end.  The  unhappy  argument 
of  Lowes  and  Kittredge  that  the  daisy  is  "equated  only  with 
Alceste,  who  is  her  mythical  self  and  nobody  else"  has  already 
been  successfully  countered  by  Jefferson's  sensible  protest8 
that  "it  would  seem  absurd  for  Chaucer,  who  is  no  visionary, 
no  chaser  after  moonbeams,  to  lavish  such  extravagant  homage 
upon  the  pale  figure  of  a  long  forgotten,  mythical  heroine  like 
Alceste,  and  that,  as  Alceste  has  not  yet  been  introduced,  we 
should  hardly  expect  Chaucer  to  make  Alceste  the  guiding 
star  of  his  life  here  in  the  waking  day  in  the  field."  With  the 
choice  of  the  subject  of  Chaucer's  adoration  hitherto  limited 
to  Queen  Anne,  a  living  woman,  and  to  Queen  Alceste,  a  figment 
of  dreams,  it  is  not  surprising  that,  despite  the  overwhelming 
objections  to  this  particular  personal  identification,  men  should 
have  chosen  the  human  alternative  and  should  have  defended 
it  so  persistently.  To  believe  that  Chaucer  worships  through 

in  which  Boccaccio  mourns  the  death  of  his  little  Violante,  why  should  we 
not  infer  that  the  Englishman  is  bewailing  a  like  grief?  But  the  love  of  the 
child  and  the  love  of  the  lady  are  squeezed  by  scholarly  hands  out  of  the  Pearl 
and  the  Legend.  And  the  result  is  mechanism.  Is  Chaucer's  need  in  1399 
the  less  real,  because  "Complaints  to  Purses"  are  things  of  a  long  tradition? 
Was  young  James  I  at  Windsor  the  less  in  love  with  Lady  Joan  Beaufort, 
because,  in  the  King's  Quhair,  he  sings  of  their  first  meeting  to  the  tune  of 
Chaucer's  young  kinsmen  glimpsing  Emelye  from  the  tower.  H.  O.  Taylor  has 
spoken  truly  and  eloquently  of  such  indebtedness  in  his  Thought  and  Ex- 
pression in  the  Sixteenth  Century,  II,  225.  "When  Sidney  looked  into  his 
heart  and  began  to  write  according  to  its  promptings,  he  found  a  heart  or 
mind  stored  with  love-thoughts  and  images  derived  from  reading  which  had 
become  part  of  himself  and  his  own  musings.  He  could  'look  into  his  heart 
and  write'  and  make  use  of  all  its  thoughts  and  sentiments,  whatever  their 
provenance.  Thus  others'  conceits  appropriated  became  expressions  of 
genuine  feelings  and  others'  thoughts  were  made  part  of  a  lover's  argument. 
Sincerity  of  imagination  is  called  for  rather  than  originality."  Concerning 
Chaucer  this  story  may  be  narrated  without  the  change  of  a  word.  His 
imagination  is  never  more  sincere  than  in  his  moments  of  deepest  indebtedness. 
*J.E.G,Ph.,XIII,436. 


300  Tupper 

the  daisy  seen  in  the  morning  sunlight  a  dream-lady  whom  he 
does  not  meet  until  the  sleep  of  the  next  night,  and  whom  he 
does  not  then  recognize,  betrays  a  confusion  of  thought  which 
leaps  blindly  over  the  barriers  between  the  world  of  actual 
experience  and  dreamland.  To  believe,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
the  daisy  symbolizes  to  the  poet  in  his  waking  state  a  beloved 
woman,  whom  his  dreaming  fancy  later  transfigures  beyond 
immediate  identification  by  his  dazzled  sense  perceptions,  is 
merely  to  recognize  the  natural  process  of  dream  formation. 

"We  dream  by  night  what  we  by  day  have  thought."  What 
were  the  thoughts  of  the  poet  on  the  day  before  his  dream? 
Before  Chaucer  leads  us  forth  into  the  fields  on  the  May  morn- 
ing, his  mind  is  running  on  books  and  the  marvels  to  be  found 
in  their  pages — even  high  authority  for  the  joys  of  heaven  and 
the  pains  of  hell.  When  he  declares,  at  the  very  outset  of  the 
Prologue  (3-6),  that  "there  is  no  one  dwelling  in  this  country 
that  has  been  in  either  heaven  or  hell,"  I  not  only  agree  with 
those  who  think  that  he  is  anticipating  the  self-sacrifice  of 
Alceste  who  went  to  hell  for  her  lord,  but  I  scent  also  a  sug- 
gestion of  his  later  sustained  comparison  between  Alceste  and 
an  Englishwoman,  who,  honoring  her  husband's  memory  as 
highly  as  her  Greek  prototype,  was  yet  denied  the  boon  of 
taking  his  place  among  the  shades.  Late  in  the  dream,  to 
Love's  account  of  the  mythical  martyr,  the  god  appends  this 
comforting  assurance  (553):  "Ne  shal  no  trewe  lover  come  in 
helle."  The  poet  muses  over  old  books,  because  the  ladies  whom 
he  will  meet  in  his  dream  and  chant  in  his  balade  step  from 
oft-read  pages,  and  because  the  god  of  Love  will  point  him  to 
old  authors  for  their  stories.  He  recalls,  too,  new  books  wrought 
by  "lovers  who  can  make  of  sentiment,"  for  they  furnish  him 
awake  in  the  fields  with  many  happy  phrases  for  homage  to  his 
lady  through  the  daisy  symbol,  and  provide  the  psychic  stimuli 
of  many  visual  features  of  his  dream — the  so-called  conven- 
tional setting.  Now  let  us  to  the  fields  with  the  poet,  to  dis- 
cover there  the  promptings  of  later  visionary  pictures.  Take 
one  notable  instance  of  this  close  relation  between  the  impres- 
sions of  the  day  and  plastic  images  of  the  night.  The  May-day 
rover  sees  "this  flour  agein  the  sonne  sprede"  early  in  the 
morning  (48-49)  and  watches  it  go  to  rest  at  sunset  (60-63),  for 


Chaucer1  s  Lady  of  the  Daisies  301 

"Hir  chere  is  pleynly  sprad  in  the  brightnesse 
Of  the  sonne,  for  ther  it  wol  unclose." 

Again  he  tells  us  that  he  is  "at  the  resurrection  of  the  flower, 
when  it  should  unclose  against  the  sun  that  rose  as  red  as  rose" 
(F.  110-112).  Now  watch  the  vivid  transformation  of  this 
natural  phenomenon  and  of  the  emotions  it  provokes  into 
picturesque  dream-content.  The  daisy  lady  of  the  vision 
enters,  we  are  told  twice  (F.  213,  241),  in  the  hand  of  the  god 
of  Love,  who  is  thus  portrayed,  (F.  130  f): 

"His  gilte  heer  was  corowned  with  a  sonne 
Instede  of  golde  for  hevynesse  and  wyghte; 
Therwith  me  thoght  his  face  shon  so  brighte 
That  wel  unnethes  myght  I  him  beholde,"  etc. 

The  psychic  justification  of  this  vision  of  a  sun-crowned 
love-deity  of  blinding  brightness  leading  by  the  hand  a  daisy- 
lady  lies  in  the  poet's  waking  thought,  which  has  already  con- 
ceived of  the  daisy,  opening  in  the  sunlight  so  necessary  to  its 
life,  as  a  symbol  of  his  lady  unfolding  her  gentle  graces  in  the 
light  and  warmth  of  love.  Or  mark  a  notable  difference 
between  the  earlier  and  later  versions  of  the  Prologue.  The 
resurrection  of  all  nature  after  the  winter  season,  which  in 
F.  belongs  to  the  actual  day  in  the  field,  becomes  in  G.  the 
initial  feature  of  the  dream,  and,  I  am  inclined  to  think, 
with  far  less  structural  fitness,  because  the  leitmotif  of  every 
bird's  song,  truth  in  wedded  love,  connects  in  F.  the  wak- 
ing and  sleeping  states  by  promoting  the  central  idea  of  the 
dream-composition.  When  the  "tydif"  and  other  winged 
transgressors  against  love,  beseeching  mercy  for  their  tres- 
passing and  humbly  singing  their  repentance,  are  for  a  time 
in  danger  of  judgment,  but  are  finally  forgiven  by  Pity  "through 
his  strong  gentle  might"  we  find  in  these  lines,  which  occur  only 
in  F.  (152-170)  an  imaginative  forecast  of  the  offending  dream- 
er's defense  before  the  Love  god's  tribunal  and  of  his  ultimate 
escape  through  the  same  "Innocence  and  ruled  Curtesye."  So, 
because  the  waking  poet  kneels  by  the  fresh  daisy  flower  upon 
the  small  sweet  grass  (F.  117),  he  is  found  by  the  Love  god  and 
his  train  in  the  dream  kneeling  by  Love's  own  flower  (308  f.),  his 
"relyke  digne  and  delytable,"  and  is  rebuked  for  his  boldness. 
Only  by  thus  carefully  observing  the  elaboration  of  the  psycho- 


302  Tupper 

logically  significant  experiences  of  the  poet's  May-day  into 
enthralling  dream-pictures,  can  we  appreciate  the  keenness  of 
Chaucer's  analysis  and  the  fineness  of  his  art.  The  very  phrases 
of  his  waking  moments  recur  to  his  lips  in  sleep.  The  daisy  is,  to 
the  doting  poet,  the  "empress  and  flower  of  flowers  all"  and  he 
adds,  thinking  of  a  certainEnglish  gentlewoman,  (F.  186)  :"I  pray 
to  God  that  faire  mote  she  falle."  So  the  lady-sovereign  of  his 
dream  passeth  all  other  women  (F.  277):  "I  prey  to  God  that 
ever  falle  hire  faire."  This  is  but  one  of  many  ways  in  which 
the  lady  of  his  life  and  the  lady  of  his  dream  are  linked.  Need 
we  multiply  instances  of  such  repetition?9 

In  the  preliminary  staging  of  the  dream,  Chaucer  is  not 
content  to  offer  only  psychic  stimuli  of  a  vision  of  flower-like 
love  amid  lovely  flowers.  He  must  provide  also  physical  or 
"somatic"  exciting  sources.  And,  so,  recognizing  the  influences 
that  bodily  position  and  slight  occurrences  during  sleep  exercise 
upon  the  formation  of  dreams,  he  lays  him  down  to  rest  in  a 
little  arbor  newly  banked  with  fresh  turves  on  a  couch  strewn 
with  flowers.  External  stimulus  of  touch  and  smell  reinforces 
the  internal  stimulus  of  tangible  and  fragrant  memories. 

Chaucer's  dream  thus  exhibits  the  continuation  of  the 
waking  state  by  uniting  itself  with  those  ideas  which  have 
shortly  before  been  in  his  consciousness,  for,  as  we  have  seen, 
he  had  learned  from  bookish  sources  as  well  as  from  experience 
that  "dreams  are  in  general  reflex  images  of  things  that  men  in 
waking  hours  have  known."10  Like  other  dreamers  mediaeval 
and  modern, — the  French  vision-makers  among  the  rest — he 
thinks  in  a  series  of  living  pictures,  because  he  now  perceives 
the  impressions  of  the  day  in  the  form  of  sensory  activities — 
and  of  such  activities  sight  is  the  chief.  The  first  of  these 
pictures  is  that  of  a  lady  clad  and  crowned  right  like  a  daisy. 
Indeed  she  is  the  poet's  own  lady,  already  adored  through  the 
symbol  of  the  flower,  and  now  idealized  and  sublimated,  after 

9  This  device  of  verbal  repetition,  to  heighten  the  naturalness  of  the  dream, 
had  already  been  employed  by  Chaucer  in  the  Book  of  the  Duchess.     At  the 
outset  the  poet  says  of  his  own  love-sorrow  and  sickness  (39-40) ;  "Ther  is  physi- 
cien  butoon,  That  may  me  hele."     So  the  bereaved  Man  in  Black  in  the  dream 
(570),  "Ne  hele  me  may  no  phisicien." 

10  So  Cicero  in  De  Divinatione,  XX,  "Maximeque  reliquiae  earum  rerum 
moventur  in  animis  et  agitantur  de  quibus  vigilantes  aut  cogitavimus  aut 
egimus." 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  303 

the  radiant  fashion  of  dreams,  into  a  great  queen,  a  being  so 
rich  and  rare  that  the  dreamer  knows  her  not.  Nothing  could 
be  truer  to  the  dream-life  than  such  a  lack  of  recognition. 
Havelock  Ellis  has  remarked11  "the  fundamental  split  of  dream- 
ing intelligence.  On  the  one  side  is  the  subconscious  yet  often 
highly  intelligent  combination  of  imagery  along  rational 
although  often  bizarre  lines.  On  the  other  hand  is  concentrated 
the  conscious  intelligence  of  the  dreamer  struggling  to  compre- 
hend and  explain  the  problems  offered  by  the  pseudo-external 
imagery  thus  presented  to  it.  In  dreams  subconscious  intelli- 
gence plays  a  game  with  conscious  intelligence."12  Hence  arises 
the  problem  which  the  dreaming  Chaucer  cannot  solve  without 
the  aid  of  the  god  of  Love — a  problem  which  baffles  readers 
still — the  earthly  identity  of  the  daisy-lady  of  the  dream. 
Indeed,  until  the  final  revelation,  the  sleeper  is  unable  either  to 
name  the  dream- woman  or  to  draw  the  parallel,  constantly 
suggested  through  the  imagery  and  long  suspected  by  the  reader, 
between  her  and  the  object  of  his  waking  worship.13  Love's 
analysis  of  the  psychological  situation  is  as  accurate  as  his  humor 
is  delicious  (F.  547): 

"Thy  litel  witte  was  thilke  tyme  aslepe." 

The  repeated  use  of  the  phrase,  "my  lady,"  in  the  refrain 
of  the  dream  balade  (F.)  sung  in  praising  of  the  noble  queen, 

11  The  World  of  Dreams,  p.  63. 

12  "The  things  that  happen  in  dreams,  the  pseudo-external  world  that  is 
presented  to  the  sleeping  consciousness,  the  imagery  that  floats  before  the  men- 
tal eyes  of  sleep"  are  to  Chaucer  as  to  other  dreamers  a  perpetual  source  of 
astonishment  and  argument.     Both  in  the  Book  of  the  Duchess  and  in  the 
House  of  Fame  the  sleeper  seems  unable  to  test  and  sift  the  new  experience,  he 
perceives  but  does  not  apperceive.     Professor  Kittredge  says  very  truly  of  the 
dreamer  in  the  earlier  poem  (Chaucer  and  his  Poetry  p.  49):  "He  understand 
nothing,  not  even  the  meaning  of  his  dream.     He  can  only  tell  what  happened 
and  leave  the  interpretation  to  us.     The  dreamer  ...  is  always  wondering 
and  never  understanding."     But  when  Mr.  Kittredge  adds  that  "the  childlike 
dreamer  who  never  reasons  but  only  feels  and  gets  impressions  is  not  Geoffrey 
Chaucer,  the  humorist  and  man  of  the  world,"  he  ignores  the  essential  quality  of 
all  dreaming.     In  their  visions  men,  both  wise  and  simple,  show  ever  this  child- 
like wonder. 

"Let  me  insist  that  the  "belated  recognition"  motive  in  the  Legend 
Prologue  has  literally  nothing  in  common  with  the  dreamer's  failure  to  recognize 
his  guide  in  the  Paradys  d' Amours.  In  the  French  poem  the  unrecognized 
person  is  merely  an  allegorical  figure,  of  whom  we  have  heard  nothing  in  the 


304  Tupper 

and  in  the  poet's  comment  upon  the  subject  of  the  verses, 
culminating  in  "my  lady  sovereigne"  (275),  serves  to  blend  the 
actual  and  visionary  women  into  one  in  the  reader's  mind,  as 
did  green  garb  and  daisy  crown.  But  such  identification  is 
always  implicit  and  subconscious  and,  until  the  end,  is  hidden 
from  the  dreamer  himself,  so  that  we,  in  partial  possession  of  the 
secret,  enjoy  a  situation  abounding  in  "dramatic  irony."  The 
feminine  symbolism  of  the  daisy  in  the  lover's  waking  hours  is 
recalled  and  emphasized  in  the  homage  paid  in  the  dream  by  the 
great  troop  of  true  women  to  the  flower  "that  displays  the  glory 
of  us  all  in  a  figure  or  emblem."  (F.  293  f).14 

The  dreamer,  at  first  a  mere  spectator,  is  soon  drawn  into 
the  center  of  the  action,  for  dreams  are  absolutely  egotistic. 
Chaucer  asleep,  under  the  sway  of  phantasy,  is  doubtless  a  less 
rational  creature  than  Chaucer  awake,  but  he  is  Geoffrey  Chau- 
cer still.  As  the  eagle  in  the  House  of  Fame  reproaches  the  poet 
for  his  ignorance  of  love's  folk  through  absorption  in  work  and 
study  (II,  135),  so  the  god  in  the  Prologue  rebukes  him  (322) 
for  the  harm  done  to  love's  folk  by  his  writings.  And  the 
gracious  queen  who  undertakes  his  defence  is  not  merely  the 
mythical  Alceste,  but,  although  the  dreamer's  sleeping  wit 
knows  it  not,  the  transfigured  self  of  his  "lady  sovereign"  and 
hence  the  woman  most  deeply  versed  in  his  poems  of  love.  In- 
deed, if  she  be  the  person  we  think  her,  she  must  have  known 
all  his  work  for  over  twenty  years  and  hence  have  been  able  to 
discuss  the  date  and  the  substance  of  each  book  far  more  fitly 
and  fully  than,  shall  we  say,  young  Queen  Anne,  whose  English 
life  and  speech  were  so  new.  At  length  the  dream- woman  dis- 
closes her  name  near  the  end  of  her  plea  to  the  Love  god,  "I 
your  Alceste,  whilom  Queen  of  Trace"  (F.  432);  but  this  sus- 
pended disclosure  seemingly  conveys  as  little  to  the  dreamer  as 

waking  prelude  to  the  poem;  in  the  English,  she  is  the  poet's  own  lady,  symbo- 
lized by  the  daisy  in  his  waking  moments.  Again  in  the  French  this  lack  of 
recognition  is  a  trivial  incident  occupying  two  or  three  lines  at  most;  in  the 
English,  it  seems  to  spring  from  the  very  nature  of  dreams,  provides  the  poem 
with  its  dominant  idea  and  furnishes  the  necessary  suspense.  Great  should  be 
the  compensations  of  source-hunting  to  atone  for  the  losses  in  straight  thinking 
entailed  by  too  stern  and  unimaginative  a  chase. 

14 1  accept  Macaulay's  apt  rendering  (Modern  Language  Review,  IV,  19) 
of  the  line,  "that  bereth  our  alder  pris  in  figuringe." 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  305 

the  frequent  repetition  of  "Alceste"  in  G.  (179,  209,  317,  422)." 
His  conscious  intelligence,  groping  for  the  actual  ego  of  the 
woman,  confesses,  in  answer  to  Love's  query,  that  he  knows 
not  whether  she  is  wife  or  maid  or  queen  or  countess,  he  can 
only  acknowledge  the  goodness  of  this  fit  leader  of  good  women. 
The  light  of  identification  of  the  ideal  with  the  actual  comes 
only  after  Love  has  once  more  mentioned  her  name,  and  has 
reminded  the  dreamer,  whose  wit  is  now  waking,  of  her  sacrifice 
and  metamorphosis.  Then  and  not  until  then  does  the  sleeper 
read  the  riddle  in  his  words  (F.  518-519), 

"And  is  this  good  Alceste 
The  daysie  and  myn  owene  hertes  reste?" 

Thus  Alceste  the  mythical  is  equated  with  a  woman  of  the 
poet's  world.  Who  was  that  woman? 

Precedent  and  probability  point  to  another  and  humbler 
woman  than  the  flesh-and-blood  Queen  Anne  or  than  the  phan- 
tom, Queen  Alceste.  The  varying  interpretations  of  Machaut's 
Voir  Dit  provide  at  once  suggestion  and  warning.  Early 
scholars  like  Caylus  and  Tarbe  found  its  heroine  in  Agnes  de 
Navarre,  as  Ten  Brink  and  his  clan  saw  in  the  Legend  Prologue 
only  Anne  o'f  Bohemia,  although  many  lines  in  both  poems 
could  never  have  been  written  of  such  high-placed  ladies. 
Others  of  dehumanizing  bent  like  Hanf16  discovered  in  the  Voir 
Dit,  as  Lowes  and  Kittredge  in  the  Prologue,  only  pure  fiction 
without  any  real  foundation.  Then  Paulin  Paris  in  his  edition17 
read  the  hidden  name  of  the  two  anagrams  as  "Peronne  d' 
Armentieres" — a  solution  amply  confirmed  by  Deschamps 
(Balade  447),  who  surely  must  have  known.  In  like  fashion  we 
shall  seek  to  pluck  out  the  heart  of  our  mystery.  Were  not  the 
Marguerite  poems  that  most  influenced  Chaucer  written  by  the 
Frenchmen  to  women  of  their  own  rank  who  bear  the  flower's 
name?  W7ho  doubts  that  the  girl  in  Froissart's  Dittie  de  la 
Fleur  de  la  Margherite  and  of  the  Paradys  d' Amours  was  the 
charming  reader  of  the  Cleomades  in  the  L'EspinetteAmoureuse — 

u  G.  is,  in  this  regard,  Hamlet  without  Hamlet.  Motives  like  this  theme  of 
the  doubtful  identity  of  the  lady  survive  from  F.  without  the  living  personality 
and  the  consequent  dream-psychology  that  gave  them  full  warrant. 

16  Zs.Jur  rom.  Phil.  XXII,  145-96,  cited  by  Raynaud,  7,  xl. 

17  See  Machaut's  fondness  for  such  devices,  Tarbe's  index,  s.  v.  "finigme." 


306  Tupper 

no  queen  but  a  maiden  of  good  family,  a  Marguerite  whose  full 
name  like  Froissart's,  is  hidden  in  four  lines: 

"Je  Aantoie  la  tempre  et  tart 
Dont  frois,  dont  chaux,  navres  d'un  dart 
D 'amours;  et  lors  de  fleurs  petites 
Violetes  et  mar gher ties."19 

Deschamps,  it  is  true,  writes  at  least  three  balades  (417,  463, 
469)  to  a  royal  lady,  Marie  of  Hungary,  but  in  all  these  he  keeps 
his  humble  distance,  addressing  her  in  the  first  as  "the  future 
Empress  of  Rome,"  picturing  her  in  the  second  as  "pour  un  roy 
tresjoieuse  pasture"  and  comparing  her  in  the  third  with  a 
dozen  flowers,  the  Marguerite  among  them.  But  his  chief 
Marguerite  balade  (539),  which,  as  Mr.  Lowes  says,  "repeats 
the  substance  and  often  the  phraseology  of  the  Lai  de  Franchise" 
is  doubtless  addressed  to  "Marguerite  la  Clivete,  nonain  d' 
Ormont,"  with  whom  Deschamps  couples  his  own  name,  "Eu- 
stache  Morel"  in  the  word-play  of  the  very  next  balade  (540). 
As  we  have  seen,  the  prelude  of  the  Filostrato,  which  Chaucer 
converts  to  the  praise  of  his  lady,  was  penned  to  no  queen,  but 
to  Boccaccio's  inamorata,  the  lively  Fiammetta.  And  let  us 
remember  that,  although  Boccaccio  wished  to  dedicate  his 
"book  of  good  women,"  De  Claris  Mulieribus,  to  Joan,  Queen 
of  Naples,  he  did  not  dare  approach  so  near  the  throne,  but 
conveys  his  homage  to  the  royal  dame  through  a  letter  to  that 
worthy  wife,  Andrea  d'Acciauoli.  Who  is  the  worthy  English 
wife  that  bids  Chaucer  send  the  book  to  Anne?  A  study  of 
analogues  thus  speeds  us  on  our  way  to  truth. 

Such  an  equation  as  this  of  Alceste  with  a  living  woman  is 
in  accord  with  Chaucer's  custom  elsewhere.  Very  recently 
he  had  boldly  coined  for  his  ends  a  personal  allegory  directly 
in  the  teeth  of  old  myths  and  fables  as  men  knew  them.  The 
"Fair  Anelida"  of  story  could  never  have  been  associated  by 
tradition  with  Arcite  of  Thebes  as  she  is,  on  the  evidence  of 
both  the  Intelligenza ,  st.  75,  and  Froissart's  Dit  dou  Bleu  Chevalier 

18  L'Espinetle  Amourense,  3380-3383.  Scheler,  Potsies  de  Froissart,  /,  389, 
suggests  Vrediau  as  the  lady's  name,  but  he  breaks  the  rules  of  the  game  by 
going  outside  of  the  four  lines  of  the  problem.  I  should  prefer  Petit,  a  common 
French  surname,  which  fulfils  the  conditions  of  the  enigma,  but  is  perhaps  too 
bourgeois  for  our  purpose.  In  any  case,  Froissart's  lady  like  Chaucer's  was 
so  obscure  that  the  riddle  is  hard  to  solve. 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  307 

(301),  which  couple  her  with  Iwain,  a  heroine  of  the  Arthurian 
cycle.  But  Chaucer  brings  the  two  together  from  opposite 
poles  of  romance,  merely  because  Anne  Welle,  Anelida's  counter- 
part in  real  life,  was  mated  to  Arcite's  name-fellow,  d'Arcy  or 
James  Butler.  Moreover  Chaucer,  turned  Kingmaker,  lavishly 
bestows  upon  this  "character  in  the  matter  of  Britain"  the  far- 
off  Kingdom  of  Ermonye,  simply  because  Anne  Welle  was  the 
then  living  Countess  of  Ormonde  (Comtissa  Ermonie).19  And 
since  the  third  Earl  of  Ormonde  had  been  untrue  to  his  lady, 
our  poet  unhesitatingly  substitutes  a  "false  Arcite"  (save  the 
mark!)  for  Boccaccio's  paragon  of  lovers.  These  fire-gilt  inno- 
vations, unblushingly  invented  for  contemporary  application 
and  consumption,  are  bolstered  up  by  an  appeal  to  pseudo- 
antiquity  and  to  such  spurious  authority  as  "Corinne."  So 
here  we  may  be  sure  that  the  metamorphosis  of  Alceste  into  a 
daisy — which  men  have  vainly  sought  "with  thimbles  and  care" 
in  the  old  Greek  world  of  wonder — is  of  the  English  poet's  own 
making.20  The  miracle  is  demanded  by  his  allegorical  needs 
of  the  moment,  for  only  thus  can  the  Alceste  of  his  dream  be 
directly  identified  with  the  beloved  lady  of  his  waking  moments 
in  the  field,  "the  daysie  and  myn  owene  hertes  reste."  An 
apocryphal  "Agaton"  is  cited  to  sustain  the  setting  of  Alceste 
in  the  heavens  as  a  star,  whose  shape  recalls  the  daisy.  Fortune 
smiles  upon  our  poet's  daring.  "Corinne,"  it  now  appears,  was 
an  old  Theban  poetess,  to  whom  a  legend  of  the  ruined  city 
might  well  be  attributed.  Agathon,  Aristotle  tells  us,21  wrote  a 
tragedy  called  "The  Flower" — "in  that  all  is  invention,  both 
incidents  and  names."  Could  Chaucer  have  forged  more  likely 
sources  for  his  allegori zings? 

Alceste  of  the  dream  and  the  living  lady  symbolized  by  the 
daisy  of  Chaucer's  May-day  are  obviously  one  and  the  same. 
By  the  riddling  use  of  the  name  "Anelida,"22  the  reader  is  led 

19 1  have  thus  interpreted  the  Anelida  and  Arcite  in  my  article,  "Chaucer's 
Tale  of  Ireland,"  P.  M.  L.  A.,  June  1921. 

20  In  this  bit  of  myth-making  Chaucer  may  possibly  have  caught  a  hint 
(at  least,  many  so  think)  from  Froissart's  story,  in  his  Marguerite  Dittie,  of  the 
birth  of  the  daisy  from  the  tears  shed  by  Heres  on  the  grave  of  Cephel. 

21  Art  of  Poetry,  Twining,  1, 128,  cited  by  Skeat,  ///,  xxxii-xxxiii. 

22  Let  us  remember  that  Anelida  and  Arcite  is  very  close  to  the  Legend 
not  only  in  its  date,  but  in  its  theme,  man's  inhumanity  to  noble  womanhood. 


308  Tupper 

to  see  that  the  name  of  Alceste  is  quite  as  significant  as  her 
story.  As  I  have  already  indicated,  Chaucer  had  large  prece- 
dent for  his  name-play.  Machaut  was  particularly  fond  of  ana- 
grams and  number-riddles  disguising  ladies  who  had  touched 
his  heart.23  The  other  French  Marguerite  poets  had  played 
upon  the  names  of  their  loves;24  but  an  Englishman  debarred 
from  the  obvious  parallel  between  the  names  of  maiden  and 
flower  must  pun  more  subtly.  Pun  he  must,  as  name-play  had 
become  traditionally  associated  with  the  daisy-cult.  Even  the 
trick  of  concealing  a  modern  name  within  the  compass  of  a 
classical  one  was  known  before  Chaucer.  Froissart  wraps  the 
name  "Aelix"  in  that  of  "Polixena": 

"Polixena,  vostre  nom  me  remainne 
Dedens  le  vostre  en  V  lettres  et  qui 
M'ont  pluisours  fois  en  pensant  resjoy."26 

Interestingly  enough  Boccaccio  employs,  in  the  Sixth  Eclogue, 
the  name  '"Alcestus"  to  denote  King  Louis  of  Hungary:  "Alces- 
tus  dicitur  ab  Alee,  quod  est  Virtus,  et  Aestus  quod  est  Fervor." 
Chaucer's  word-play  will  surely  be  better  than  this.  If  "Ane- 
lida"  equals  "Anne  Welle,"  what  is  our  "Alceste"  equation? 
No  long  scrutiny  of  the  Prologue's  form  of  the  mythical  name 
was  necessary  to  convince  me  that,  in  fourteenth-century  Eng- 
land, "Alceste"  could  fitly  suggest  only  "Alice  Cestre."  Now 
was  it  not  entirely  reasonable  to  argue  that,  if  a  woman  of  such 
a  name  played  any  part  in  the  story  of  Chaucer's  life,  the  trail 
was  the  right  one  and  the  goal  was  near?  So  I  turned  me  hot- 
foot to  Professor  KuhPs  serviceable  index26  of  the  Life  Records 
of  Chaucer,  where  I  straightway  found  this  startling  entry: — 
"Alice  de  Cestre,  K.  H.  163,  53,  1368;  170,  55,  1369;  173,  58, 

23  Hoepffner,  "Anagramme  und  RatselgedSchte  bei  Guillaume  de  Machaut" 
(Zs.  /.  rom.  Phil.,  XXX,  1906,  401  f.)  shows  that  Machaut  in  puzzles  of 
every  sort  half  conceals  and  half  reveals  not  only  his  own  name  and  that  of 
the  royal  or  ducal  patron  of  the  moment,  but  the  names  of  many  ladies  from 
Peronelle  d'Armentieres  (supra)  to  the  shadowy  women  of  the  Berne  manu- 
script, Johanne,  Alis,  Francoise,  Agnes,  Marie. 

24  So  Chaucer's  follower,  James  I,  puns  upon  the  name  of    Lady  Joan 
Beaufort  in  the  description  of  the  chaplet  in  the  Kings  Quhair  (st.  47) :  "The 
plumys  eke  like  to  the  flour  Jonettis,  etc." 

26  Kervyn  de  Lettenhove,  Oeuvres  de  Froissart,  1, 32. 
28  Modern  Philology,  1912,  p. 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  '  309 

1369."  Then  to  the  corresponding  pages  of  Kirk27  to  discover 
that  in  the  "Schedule  of  Names  of  the  Household  of  Edward 
III  for  whom  Robes  for  Christmas  1368  were  to  be  provided, 
including  Philippa  Chaucer  among  the  Damoiselles  and  Geoffrey 
Chaucer  among  the  Esquires,"  one  of  the  four  Souzdamoiselles 
was  "Alliceon  de  Cestre."  On  March  10,  1369,  in  a  "Writ  of 
Privy  Seal  to  Henry  de  Snayth,  Keeper  of  the  Great  Wardrobe, 
to  deliver  certain  quantities  of  cloth  and  furs  to  the  Damoiselles 
in  the  Queen's  Service,  including  Philippa  Chaucer  for  Christ- 
mas last  past,"  Alice  de  Cestre,  as  a  Souzdamoiselle,  receives 
"x  alnes  de  drap,  1  furure,  }/%  de  bys."  Her  final  appearance 
in  the  Household  Book  is  six  months  later,  Sept.  1,  1369,  in  yet 
another  "Writ  of  Privy  Seal  to  Henry  de  Snyath,  Clerk,  Keeper 
of  the  Wardrobe,  directing  him  to  issue  divers  lengths  of  black 
cloth  to  the  Members  of  the  King's  Household  for  their  mourn- 
ing at  the  funeral  of  Queen  Philippa."  Philippa  Chaucer  and 
Aliceon  de  Cestre,  like  other  damoiselles,  receive,  each,  six  ells 
of  black  cloth,  long,  and  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  three  ells  of  the  same, 
short.  Alice  Cestre,  as  a  member  of  the  Royal  Household,  was 
associated  with  both  Chaucer  and  his  wife  in  1368  and  1369. 
She  must  have  known  them  well,  as  the  company  of  damoiselles 
and  esquires  was  not  very  large. 

Now  was  Alice  Cestre  maid,  wife  or  widow,  during  these 
last  days  of  Queen  Philippa?28  She  could  not  be  Chaucer's 
Alceste,  if  she  were  not  'a  pattern  to  any  woman  that  will  love 
a  man,'  and  if  her  own  life  had  not 

"taughte  al  the  crafte  of  fyne  loving 
And  namely  of  wyfhode  the  lyvyng, 
And  al  the  boundes  that  she  oghte  kepe." 

Nor  do  I  think  that  she  could  be  Chaucer's  Alceste,  unless  she 
had  early  lost  her  husband,  and  had  long  cherished  his  memory. 

17  Chaucer  Society,  1900,  2d  Ser.  32. 

M  It  is  probable  that  the  three  sousdamoiselles  with  whom  Alice  Cestre  is 
three  times  mentioned  were  all  married  women.  Marie  or  Margery  Olney  was 
certainly  the  wife  of  John  Olney,  one  of  the  esquires.  On  May  11,  1420,  John 
Olney  of  Weston,  Bucks,  in  his  last  testament  (Furnivall,  Fifty  English  Wills, 
E.  E.  T.  Soc.,  78  P.  48)  made  Margery  his  wife,  his  executrix,  and,  after  several 
legacies,  bequeathed  to  her  the  residue  of  his  estate.  Marie  or  Marion  Hervy 
was  doubtless  married  to  William  Hervey,  and  Joan  de  Hynton  to  Thomas 
Hynton,  both  men  about  court.  Few  doubt  that  Geoffrey  and  Philippa 
Chaucer  were  then  man  and  wife. 


310  Tup  per 

Alice  Cestre  might  not  'for  her  husband  choose  to  die  and  eke 
to  go  to  hell  rather  than  he';  for  Chaucer  deprecates  that  com- 
parison at  the  outset  by  telling  us  that  'no  one  that  dwelleth  in 
this  country  hath  either  been  in  hell  or  heaven;  but  if  she  be  the 
woman  of  our  seeking,  she  was  assuredly  one  of  love's  martyrs. 
Just  what  do  we  know  of  the  married  life  of  this  fourteenth- 
century  lady?  At  the  end  of  June  1356,  John  de  Cestre  and 
Alice  his  wife  received  from  the  King  an  annuity  of  ten  marks 
out  of  the  twelve  pounds  which  the  husband  was  required  to 
pay  him  yearly  for  the  farm  of  the  hundred  of  Kynton  in  War- 
wickshire.29 If  this  grant  was  made  not  long  after  the  marriage 
of  the  pair,  Alice  might  well  be  the  exact  contemporary  of 
Geoffrey  Chaucer,  for  in  these  days  girls  were  mated  in  their 
early  and  middle  teens.  The  next  mention  of  John  and  Alice 
together  is  just  nine  years  later,  July  2,  1365,30  when  a  license 
for  100  shillings  is  paid  by  John  de  Carthorp,  parson  of  the 
church  of  West  Tanfietd,  for  the  alienation  in  mortmain  to  him 
by  Alice  de  Cestre  and  John  de  Cestre,  Chaplain,31  of  two 
messuages,  28  acres  of  land,  and  five  acres  of  meadow  in  West 
Tanefield,  Thornebergh  and  Byncehowe,32  to  celebrate  divine 
service  daily  for  the  souls  of  Alice  and  John,  when  they  are 
departed  this  life  and  of  their  heirs  and  ancestors."  This  seems 
to  have  been  a  timely  spiritual  investment  on  the  part  of  Alice's 
husband,  as  he  died  within  five  years.  On  Jan.  26,  1370,  in  the 
Close  Rolls,  and  on  April  3,  1370,  in  the  Patent  Rolls,  is  recorded 
"a  grant  for  life  or  until  further  order  to  Alice,  late  the  wife  of 
John  de  Cestre,  for  long  service,  of  10. £  yearly  of  the  issues  of 

29  Calendar  Patent  Rolls,  June  29,  30,  1356. 

30  Col.  Pat.  Rolls  under  date. 

31  There  seems  little  reason  to  suppose  that  our  "John  de  Cestre,  chaplain," 
was  the  John   Castre,    chaplain,"    to    whom   the    Bishop    of    Winchester 
granted  on  June  25,  1361,  land  and  rent  at  Farnham  for  celebrating  divine 
service  every  day  in  the  chapel  of  the  Bishop's  castle  at  that  town  for  his 
health  and  for  his  soul  after  death  (Cal.  Close  Rolls),     It  is  not  unlikely  that  our 
John  was  the  John  de  Chestre,  who,  on  Oct.  18,  1361,  was  appointed  with 
Thomas  Prest  to  "the  office  of  the  saucery  during  pleasure,"  as  Prest's  name 
appears  later  on  a  list  of  esquires  at  court  during  Alice's  service  there  (Dec. 
1368). 

32  West  Tanfield  is  on  the  Ure  in  Yorkshire,  midway  between  Ripon  and 
Masham.    Thornbrough,  Bingoe  and  Carthorp  are  neighboring  hamlets.    A 
far  cry  from  these  Northern  localities  to  Kynton  in  Warwickshire! 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  311 

the  manor  at  Haveryng-atte-Boure  [in  the  present  Epping 
Forest,  Essex]  on  surrender  by  her  of  previous  letters  patent 
dated  June  30  in  the  King's  thirtieth  year  (supra),  which  granted 
her  and  her  late  husband,  who  has  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh,33  10 
marks  yearly  of  the  farm  due  the  king  from  the  hundred  of  Kyn- 
ton  in  Warwickshire." 

Let  us  mark  that  King  Edward,  who  had  solemnly  promised 
the  dying  Philippa  to  pay  all  legacies  and  pensions  to  the  squires 
and  damsels  who  had  served  her  (Froissart),  was  requiting 
Alice  for  her  "long  service."  From  the  Life  Records  we  have 
seen  that  she  was  a  sousdamoiselle  of  the  Queen  for  at  least  a 
year  before  her  Majesty's  death  in  1369.  And  one  entry  in  the 
Patent  Rolls  a  dozen  years  later,  June  3,  1380,  seems  to  attest 
a  length  of  service  that  conforms  to  the  phrase  in  the  King's 
grant.  It  is  here  duly  recorded  that,  at  the  time  of  the  visitation 
of  the  Hospital  of  St.  Katherine  near  the  Tower  of  London, 
on  Thursday,  August  6,  1377,  Katherine  de  Cologne,  one  of  the 
damsels  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  alleged  a  grant  to  her  by  the 
King  of  a  corrody  in  the  Hospital  which  Queen  Philippa  founded 
for  her  damsels  and  bestowed  in  succession  on  Isabella  Hild, 
Margaret  Chene,  Margaret  Monceux,  Alice  Chester  and  Joan 
Moris.  John  de  Hermesthorp,  the  Master  of  the  Hospital,  and 
three  chaplains  and  three  sisters  unanimously  declared  upon 
oath  that  the  alleged  corrody  had  never  been  founded  or  be- 

13  The  compiler  of  the  Index  to  the  Patent  Rolls  seems  to  think  that  Alice's 
husband  (dying  between  1365  and  1370)  was  the  John  de  Chestre,  for  whose 
killing  John  Horpal  was  pardoned  May  17,  1367  on  the  plea  of  self-defense. 
I  doubt  very  much  whether  our  John  the  Chaplain  died  thus  violently.  As 
Horpal  was  confined  in  Northhampton-Jail,  and  as  in  1365  (Col.  Pat.  Rolls,  1364- 
7,  p.  147)  one  John  de  Chestre  of  Stamford  was  associated  with  the  Sheriff  of 
Northampton  in  an  inquisition  of  the  names  of  certain  felons  who  had  stolen 
silver  vessels  of  the  King,  the  probabilities  are  that  it  was  this  John  of  Stam- 
ford, once  outlawed  for  the  murder  of  his  servant,  who  was  slain.  Moreover, 
there  were  many  John  de  Chestres  or  Cestres  in  fourteenth-century  England: 
a  John  Chestre  of  Plymouth  appointed  with  others  to  guard  that  port  against 
the  King's  enemies,  June  3,  1360  (Cal.  Pat.  Rolls),  a  John  Chestre  who  was 
killed  by  William  Brerele  of  West  Warden,  May  28,  1377,  (Cal.  Pat.  Rolls),  a 
John  Chestre,  Fellow  of  Merton  College,  1348,  and  Bursar  in  1368-9  and  after- 
wards (Brodrick,  Memorials  of  Merton  College,  1885,  p.  204),  a  John  de  Cestre, 
Barber  of  Leicester  in  1368-9  (Bateson,  Records  of  Borough  of  Leicester,  1901, 
p.  143)  and  doubtless  many  more.  Only  when  "John"  is  associated  with 
"Alice,"  can  we  be  sure  of  our  man. 


312  Tup  per 

stowed  by  the  Queen.  The  allegation,  true  or  not,  implies  that 
Alice  Cestre  held  a  well  established  place  at  court.  The  denial 
of  Hermesthorp  and  his  subordinates  would  seem  to  show  that 
she  was  never  a  sister  at  the  hospital.  Of  Alice's  later  history, 
after  the  granting  of  the  Havering  pension,  we  at  present  know 
nothing.34  But  the  association  of  her  widowhood  with  Queen 
Philippa's  service  in  the  days  of  Chaucer's  attendance  at  court 
adapts  her  fitly  for  the  role  of  Alceste. 

Alice  Cestre  was  at  least  Chaucer's  age,  perhaps  in  her  late 
forties,  when  she  enters  the  Legend  Prologue  as  "my  lady"  and 
"Alceste."35  He  who  likes  to  think  of  greybeards  with  green 
girls,  of  Machaut  at  sixty  doting  upon  a  juvenile  Peronelle,  of 
senile  Edward  in  the  arms  of  Alice  de  Perrers,  rather  than  of 
Chaucer  chanting  his  loving  regard  for  a  woman  also  in  middle 
age,  whom  he  had  known  for  twenty  years,  will  cry  out  against 
our  identification.  But  why,  in  the  study  of  literature,  should 
we  reject  what  would  be  so  normal  and  natural  in  life36 — partic- 
ularly in  the  study  of  the  Legend  whose  very  first  pair  of  lovers, 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  had  passed  the  middle  of  the  way?  If, 
moreover,  in  balancing  the  probabilities,  a  reader  deems  it 
more  likely  that  the  glowing  lines  of  the  F.  Prologue,  the 
Fiammetta  and  the  Marguerite  passages,  were  addressed  by  our 
warm-blooded  poet  to  Queen  Anne  rather  than  to  Madame 
Alice,  and  that  the  comparison  of  the  dream  lady,  love's  martyr, 
Alceste,  who  had  gone  to  hell  for  her  husband,  fits  the  young 
wife  of  Richard  in  her  girlish  light-heartedness,  better  than  the 
middle-aged  widow  of  John  Cestre  in  her  lifelong  devotion  to  a 
memory,  I  must  ask  him  to  turn  with  me  from  the  first  Prologue 

34  Mr.  A.  C.  Wood  of  the  Public  Record  Office  writes:     "I  will  see  if  I  can 
find  anything  about  the  Chaucerian  lady,  but  I  am  not  very  hopeful.     The 
entry  on  the  Close  Roll  referred  to  (Jan.  26,  1370)  looks  as  though  the  pension 
would  not  come  in  the  Exchequer,  but  in  the  accounts  of  the  bailiff  of  Havering, 
which  are  only  fragments."     Next  summer  in  London,  among  British  rolls 
and  records,  I  faintly  hope  to  find  "Alice  Cestre"  and  to  learn  something  about 
her  middle  and  later  life. 

35  Nowhere  in  F.  are  we  told  that  Alceste  is  young.     She  is  womanly, 
benign  and  meek,  beautiful  and  above  all  good,  but  never  youthful.     The 
daisy  is,  of  course,  'young  and  fresh'  (F.  103) —  for,  not  only  are  fairness  and 
freshness  its  natural  properties,  but  these  symbolize  the  spiritual  qualities 
of  the  beloved. 

38  If  Bartholomew  atte  Chapel  had  been  a  poet,  what  verses  might  have 
honored  his  bride,  Chaucer's  mother,  when  her  son  was  approaching  thirty! 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  313 

to  the  second  of  some  years  later.  What  has  gone  out  of  the 
story  is  not  reverence  for  a  queen,  but  love  for  a  woman.  The 
poet  has  deliberately  excised  all  the  passages  of  personal  affec- 
tion for  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  penned  at  the  promptings 
of  "lovers  that  can  make  of  sentiment"  (Boccaccio  and  the 
Frenchmen),  now  unromanticized  into  mere  "folk,"  and  becomes 
in  Love's  eyes  an  "old  fool"  who  scoffs  at  him,  "that  loves  para- 
mours too  hard  and  hot"  (G.  288.  314).  So  the  god  could  never 
have  spoken  of  the  devotee,  who  himself  boasted  in  F.  (59), 
"There  loved  no  wight  hotter  in  his  life."  He  is  now  no  longer 
explicitly  writing  "in  honor  of  love"  as  in  F.  81-82.  Indeed  G. 
is  a  love-poem  without  the  love.  The  second  Prologue  has 
gained  greatly  in  external  grace  and  finish,  but  it  has  lost  the 
human  soul  of  the  cruder  first  version.37  Either  Alice  Cestre 
has  died  in  the  interim  of  six  or  eight  years  between  the  two 
Prologues,38  or  she  has  still  clung  to  her  dead  Admetus,  or  else 
Chaucer,  despite  his  vow  to  love  the  daisy  (that  is,  the  daisy- 
lady)  "till  that  myn  herte  dye"  has  ceased  to  love.  But,  in 
any  case,  a  woman  whom  the  poet  has  loved  as  an  equal  has 
gone  out  of  the  story. 

It  is  difficult  to  resist  the  conclusion  that  there  were  in 
Chaucer's  mind  strong  personal  and  local  reasons  for  the  associa- 
tion of  Alice  Cestre,  and,  through  her,  of  Alceste,  with  the  daisy. 
The  Englishwoman,  whose  affiliations  were  with  the  court,  may 
have  been  one  of  the  party  of  the  Flower,  like  Philippa  of 
Lancaster,  and  hence  may  have  gone  forth  on  May-day,  in  com- 
pany with  those  of  her  order,  clad  in  green  and  garlanded  with 
daisies,  chanting  adoration  of  the  Marguerite — thus  providing 
a  very  real  suggestion  of  the  dream  company  in  the  Prologue. 
Herein  would  lie  ample  occasion  not  only  for  Chaucer's  consist- 
ent application  of  the  Marguerite  motive — daisy  symbolism 

37  Gone  from  G.,  as  Professor  Tatlock  has  shown,  (Chronology,  p.  115) 
are  seventy  lines  more  or  less  closely  connected  with  hearty  personal  feeling — 
the  poets  repeated  expression  of  his  pleasure  in  the  daisy,  and  his  warm  love  for 
the  little  flower  and  for  her  whom  it  symbolizes,  his  description  of  his  eagerness 
to  see  it  and  of  his  long  May-day  kneeling  and  reclining  by  it  in  the  fields,  full  of 
thoughts  of  his  lady,  and  many  human  touches  in  the  dream  itself.  At  the  end, 
which  has  undergone  fewer  changes,  the  Alceste  word-play  is  still  suggested 
but  very  faintly,  as  we  have  little  sense  of  a  living  presence. 

18 1  heartily  agree  that  the  absence  from  G.  of  the  dedication  to  Anne 
points  to  a  date  after  1394  for  the  second  Prologue. 


314  Tupper 

and  daisy  garb  and  crown — to  Alice  Cestre,  the  actual  woman, 
and  to  Alceste,  her  dream  counterpart,  but  also  for  his  repeated 
references  to  the  strife  between  Flower  and  Leaf.  As  elsewhere, 
we  are  merely  weighing  probabilities. 

Now  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Chaucer  might  have  cherished 
another  woman  while  his  wife,  Philippa,  was  living.  Neither 
courtly  love  nor  human  nature  put  a  ban  upon  such  devotion;39 
and  well,  we  cannot  altogether  forget  that  unhappy  business 
of  Cecilia  de  Champagne.  But  he  surely  could  never  have  pro- 
fessed a  lavish  devotion  to  another  woman  than  his  wife  in  the 
Prologue  to  a  group  of  poems  exposing  and  berating  unfaithful 
husbands,  if  that  Prologue  was  written  before  his  wife's  death 
in  the  latter  half  of  1387.40  The  author  of  the  Canterbury  Tales 
is  a  mighty  master  of  irony.  His  sinners  loathe  and  attack  their 
own  outrageous  faults,  exhibited  in  like  degree  by  other  men. 
The  wildly  angry  Somnour  tells  the  story  of  a  friar  who  is  made 
as  wroth  as  a  wild  boar  after  sermonizing  and  pleading  against 
Ire.  The  avaricious  Pardoner,  drinking  and  blaspheming  upon 
a  tavern  bench,  directs  his  preachment  and  tale  against  Avarice 
and  Tavern  Sins.  The  Manciple,  after  large  abuse  of  the  Cook, 
scores  in  his  story  and  its  moral  a  too  free  use  of  the  tongue. 
But  the  unconscious  humor  of  each  of  these  offenders  would 
pale  beside  that  of  the  poet  himself,  should  he,  in  the  compass 
of  a  single  work,  attack  at  length  false  lovers  and  husbands  and 
prove,  even  in  words,  false  to  his  wife.  If  the  Legend  of  Good 
Women  was  written  before  Philippa  Chaucer's  death,  the  lady 

39  Coulton,  Chaucer  and  his  England,  p.  28,  says  in  another  connection: 
"Nobody  who  has  closely  studied  medieval  society,  either  in  romance  or  in 
chronicle,  would  suppose  that  Chaucer  blushed  to  feel  a  hopeless  passion  for 
another  or  to  write  openly  while  he  had  a  wife  of  his  own." 

40  The  wide  belief  that  F.  was  written  before  1387  may  explain  in  a  measure 
the  instinctive  unwillingness  of  those  who  defend  its  priority  to  recognize  the 
presence  of  an  "unknown  lady" — other  than  Anne  or  a  mythical  Greek  heroine. 
No  poet  could  be  unfaithful  in  a  poem  that  extolled  fidelity  in  marriage,  hence 
there  could  be  no  "other  woman."    That  any  scholar  thus  reasoned,  is  sheer 
assumption,  for  it  does  not  appear  that  anyone  ever  came  close  enough  to 
the  heart  of  our  matter  to  perceive  its  most  obvious  implications.    And  perish 
the  thought  that  a  man  in  praising  good  wives  could  begin  with  a  paean  upon 
his  own!    Indeed  such  a  possibility  seems  never  to  have  occurred  to  any 
interpreter.    Poor  Philippa!    That  those  who  deem  F.   to  be  late  should 
have  failed  to  find  any  traces  of  the  concealed  lady  to  whom  the  widower  might 
have  paid  legitimate  homage  is  somewhat  harder  to  understand. 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  315 

of  his  waking  moments,  she  who  is  symbolized  by  the  daisy  and 
is  extolled  in  the  lines  from  the  Filostralo,  can  be  only  the  poet's 
wife.  But  as  there  seem  to  be  no  reasons  for  equating  Alceste 
and  Philippa  either  in  name  or  in  story,  and  as  there  exist  the 
two  strong  arguments  of  characteristic  word-play  and  a  common 
widowhood  for  the  identification  of  Alceste  with  Alice  Cestre,41 
I  conclude  that  the  F.  Prologue  was  written  after  Philippa's 
passing  in  1387 — certainly  not  earlier  than  1388. 

Now  let  us  see  how  far  remaining  evidence  in  the  case — it 
is  very  slight — supports  or  opposes  this  1388  date  of  the  Legend 
Prologue.  Chaucer  could  not  have  had  access  to  Deschamps 
Lai  de  Franchise,  1385,  before  the  spring  or  summer  of  1386 
(Lowes).  But  have  we  any  right  to  draw  the  inference  that 
Chaucer  used  the  Frenchman's  poem  at  the  earliest  possible 
opportunity,  when  we  remember  that  another  important  source 
of  the  Prologue,  Froissart's  Paradys  d' Amours  had  lain  by  him 
for  nearly  twenty  years  since  the  days  of  the  Book  of  the  Duchesse? 
The  year  1386  is  valuable  only  as  a  terminus  a  quo.  Now  we 
have  seen  that  the  Anelida  and  Arcite,  which  resembles  the 
Legend  in  its  theme  of  true  wife  and  false  husband  and  in  its 
word-play  upon  the  lady's  name,  could  hardly  have  been  written 
before  1386.42  Between  the  Anelida  and  Arcite  and  the  Legend 
is  a  version  of  the  Knight's  Tale,  "al  the  love  of  Palamoun  and 
Arcite"  (which  may  have  been  long  in  the  making).  Prologue 
F,  in  no  way,  contradicts  but  rather  confirms  either  a  1387  or 
1388  date  for  the  last.  We  must  however,  give  due  weight  to 
Professor  Tatlock's  argument,43  from  the  close  likeness  between 
The  Testament  of  Love,  I,  Prol.  94-114,  and  F.  66-77,  that  Thomas 
Usk  must  have  known  the  "gleaning"  passage  in  the  earlier 
version  of.  the  Prologue  and  that  therefore  F.  was  written  some- 
time before  Usk's  death  in  March  1388,  or  rather  before  the 
penning  of  the  Testament  in  1387.  Usk's  indebtedness  to  Chau- 
cer in  this  instance — and  his  passage  is  quite  in  the  manner  of 

41  The  happy  recognition  of  the  possibilities  of  the  faithful  Alceste  as  a 
heroine,  in  the  twofold  citation  of  her  and  her  story  in  the  Troilus,  V,  1527-1533, 
1777-1778,  anticipated  by  several  years  the  far  happier  thought  of  identifying 
in  a  dream-poem  the  mythical  queen  with  a  living  woman  of  similar  name  and 
character. 

42  See  my  article,  "Chaucer's  Tale  of  Ireland,"  P.  M.  L.  A.,  June  1921. 
42  Chronology,  p.  22. 


316  Tup  per 

his  borrowings  from  the  House  of  Fame  and  Troilus,  with  altera- 
tion, expansion  and  disfigurement — would  militate  against  our 
view  that  Chaucer's  wife  was  dead  when  he  wrote  the  Legend 
Prologue.  The  time  between  Philippa's  death  in  the  summer  of 
1387  and  Usk's  execution  in  the  spring  of  1388,  seems  far  too 
short  for  so  many  happenings — the  widower's  finding  of  a  new 
love,  the  penning  of  a  long  poem  in  her  praise,  and  Usk's  use 
of  this  in  the  prologue  to  a  prose  tract  of  large  compass.  We 
can  only  overleap  the  obstacle,  which  is  a  very  real  one,  by 
concluding  either  that  Chaucer  borrowed  from  Usk,  a  possibility 
suggested  by  Tatlock  in  the  case  of  likenesses  between  the  Testa- 
ment and  the  poet's  later  works;  or  that  both  writers  drew  the 
idea,  which  has  all  the  earmarks  of  a  literary  convention,  from 
a  common  source.  It  is  noteworthy  that  this  is  the  single 
significant  parallel  between  the  two  works.  If  Usk  had  known 
the  Legend,  which  may  be  called  Chaucer's  own  "testament 
of  love,  "would  he  not  have  lifted  as  largely  from  this  as  from 
the  Boethius  or  the  Troilus  or  the  House  of  Fame?  Personally, 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Usk  did  not  know  or  use  the  Pro- 
logue and  that  the  resemblance  in  question  does  not  therefore 
militate  against  our  1388  date  for  the  first  version.  Other  men 
may  be  of  another  mind. 

With  the  passing  of  the  Anne-Alceste  equation,  if  pass  it 
ever  will,  should  also  perish  the  desperate  attempt  to  identify 
the  conventional  figure  of  the  Love  god  with  young  Richard  II. 
One  must  admit,  however,  that  Chaucer  could  hardly  have 
written  Alceste's  admonitions  to  the  god  and  ruler,  without 
some  thought  of  the  parlous  plight  of  the  English  monarch 
through  his  own  .unwisdom.  The  warnings  of  the  Thracian 
queen  are  a  medley  of  traditional  precepts  of  royal  conduct 
drearily  familiar  to  anyone  versed  in  John  of  Salisbury's  Poly- 
craticus,  in  the  "regimens  of  princes"  and  in  the  chess-book 
moralities  of  which  I  must  speak  elsewhere.  To  connect  such 
long  current  "polity"  with  this  or  that  year  of  the  young  King's 
misrule  is  a  fascinating  though  rather  futile  pastime.  For 
instance,  it  is  easy  to  show  that  such  counsel  would  have  been 
most  timely  in  the  spring  and  summer  of  1388,  and  to  indicate 
some  really  striking  verbal  parallels  between  the  cautions  of 
Alceste  (in  F.  as  well  as  G.)  and  the  petition  of  the  commons 


Chaucer's  Lady  of  the  Daisies  317 

to  the  King44  in  this  year  of  the  Merciless  Parliament.  But 
any  "chronological  conclusions/'  thus  derived,  are  admittedly 
insecure.  Our  dates  will  be  surer,  if  some  day  we  learn  some- 
thing more  of  Alice  Cestre. 

So  this  is  the  love-story  that  Chaucer  tells  in  the  F.  Pro- 
logue to  the  Legend  of  Good  Women.  To  Alice  Cestre,  whom 
he  has  known  since  his  early  days  at  court,  twenty  years  before, 
and  whom  he  now  deems  the  light  of  his  life,  his  guide,  his 
earthly  God,  he  pays  May-day  homage  through  the  daisy.  Was 
his  "lady  sovereign"  merely  a  lover  of  the  fresh  and  fair  flower, 
or  was  she  perchance  a  member  of  the  courtly  order  that  vaunted 
it  as  an  emblem?  We  know  not,  but  this  we  know — that  the 
English  poet  chose  to  symbolize  her  by  the  same  pretty  floral 
device  with  which  French  dames  of  her  class  had  been  honored 
by  their  lovers.  When  the  long  May  day  is  over  and  he  lays 
him  down  to  rest,  he  sees,  because  she  has  been  so  lately  in  his 
thought,  his  daisy-lady  transfigured  by  dream-magic  into  a 
great  queen  wearing  a  flowery  crown  of  white  and  gold  above 
her  green  raiment.  In  this  sublimated  being,  this  phantom 
of  delight,  he  fails  to  recognize  the  woman  of  his  waking  worship, 
because  his  little  wit, like  the  man  himself, is  "thilke  time  aslepe." 
Though  she  attests  full  knowledge  of  the  writings  of  all  his  life, 
and  grants  him  effective  protection  against  the  Love  god's 
wrath,  the  dreamer  seems  to  know  nought  of  her  save  that  she 
is  good.  And  then  comes  Love's  revelation  that  arouses  his 
conscious  intelligence;  and  the  lady  of  the  dream  is  known  at 
last  as  'his  own  heart's  rest,'  the  daisy-lady  of  his  adoration. 
Alceste,  in  name,  in  ideal  loving,  in  devotion  to  a  husband's 
memory,  in  transcendent  grace  and  goodness,  and  in  her  flowery 
metamorphosis,  is  no  other  than  Alice  Cestre,  Chaucer's  lady  of 
the  daisies. 

FREDERICK  TUPPER 

University  of  Vermont 

44  This  document,  couched  in  French,  is  given  in  full  by  Knighton,  Chronicle 
II,  266  f. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  KING'S  REVELS 
AT  WHITEFRIARS 

Professor  Joseph  Quincy  Adams,  in  his  Shakespearean 
Playhouses,  has  written  the  best  account  that  has  yet  appeared 
of  the  Children  of  the  King's  Revels  at  Whitefriars.  He  has 
done  much  to  relieve  history  of  some  of  the  fictions  which  the 
devious  minds  of  scholars  have  woven  about  the  company. 
Hereafter,  let  us  hope,  no  man  will  be  seduced  to  believe  with 
Fleay,  that  brilliant  exemplar  of  the  triumph  of  mind  over  fact, 
that  the  Whitefriars  boys  were  a  continuation  of  the  Children 
of  Paul's.  And  Professor  Adams  has  rightly  scorned  the  spur- 
ious document  with  which  John  Payne  Collier  sought  to  fill  the 
gaps  in  his  evidences.  The  eminent  forger  had  published  in  his 
New  Facts  regarding  Shakespeare  a  Survey  of  the  Precinct  of 
Whitefriars  containing  a  number  of  interesting  lies,  for  example 
that  the  theatre  was  situated  over  the  Bishop's  House,  was 
built  in  the  refectory  of  the  dissolved  monastery,  and  had  been 
used  as  a  theatre  for  more  than  thirty  years  past  by  the  children 
of  her  Majesty.  This  Survey  was  liberally  used  by  Cunningham 
in  an  article  on  "The  Whitefriars  Theatre,  the  Salisbury  Court 
Theatre,  and  the  Duke's  Theatre  in  Dorset  Gardens,"  published 
in  Transactions  of  the  Shakespeare  Society  (IV,  89),  and  Cun- 
ningham's article  in  turn  was  drawn  upon  by  Wheatley  and 
Cunningham  in  their  London  Past  and  Present.  Thus,  by  the 
deliberate  falsehood  of  Collier  and  the  rash  deduction  of  Fleay, 
the  Children  of  Whitefriars  were  involved  in  error  until  E.  K. 
Chambers,  with  his  admirable  essay  in  the  Modern  Language 
Review,1  and  more  recently  Professor  Adams,  have  pretty 
effectively  sifted  truth  from  fancy. 

My  own  motive  for  continuing  the  discussion  is  twofold. 
In  the  first  place,  I  have  a  little  that  is  new  to  add  to  history. 
In  the  second  place,  the  first  Whitefriars  company  interests 
me  from  a  point  of  view  which  seems  not  to  have  appealed  to 
any  other  of  the  historians.  It  interests  me  as  an  example  of 
wildcat  business.  It  was  an  ephemeral  enterprise,  promoted 
by  greed  and  managed  by  chicane.  It  was  from  first  to  last 

1  Vol.  IV,  Jan.  1909,  p.  153. 

318 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  319 

unsound,  a  parasitic  growth  on  the  Jacobean  theatre.  It  was 
doomed  to  failure  before  it  began,  and  it  left  a  trail  of  ruinous 
lawsuits  that  kept  alive  its  unsavory  memory  long  after  it  had 
died.  This  essential  unsoundness  shows  both  in  the  conduct 
of  business,  and  in  the  plays  which  the  company  produced. 

I. 

The  first  Whitefriars  company  was  rotten  from  the  start. 
Just  when  or  how  it  began  is  not  known.  The  mainstay  of  our 
knowledge  consists  in  the  extremely  interesting  lawsuit  of 
George  Andrews  v.  Martin  Slatier,  of  1609,  discovered  by  Green- 
street  and  published  in  the  Transactions  of  the  New  Shakespeare 
Society  (1887-93,  Pt.  III).  Andrews  begins  his  story  in  Febru- 
ary of  1608,  when  he  came  into  the  company  of  shareholders, 
but  the  theatre  had  been  in  operation  before  that.  The  earliest 
play  licensed  for  the  Children  of  the  King's  Revels  was  Sharp- 
ham's  Cupid's  Whirligig,  S.R.  June  29,  1607.  It  is  safe  to  infer 
that  the  play  had  been  acted  some  months  before  then.  And 
there  is  proof  positive,  as  I  shall  show  later,  that  the  company 
was  playing  in  August  of  1607.  But  whether  it  was  organized 
early  in  1607,  or  in  1606,  or  in  1605  as  Adams  supposes,  must 
remain  for  the  present  a  matter  of  conjecture.  I  see  no  reason 
to  date  the  beginning  earlier  than  the  latter  part  of  1606. 

The  leading  spirit  in  organizing  the  company  was  not,  as 
Adams  believes,  Michael  Drayton,  but  was  one  Thomas  Wood- 
ford.  This  man  may  yet  prove  to  be  an  important  figure  in 
early  Jacobean  theatrical  history.  It  is  known,  for  example, 
that  he  owned  an  18th  share  in  the  Red  Bull  Playhouse.2  A 
few  years  ago,  while  rummaging  in  that  most  fascinating  Hall 
of  Mysteries,  the  Public  Records  Office  in  London,  I  came  upon 
an  intriguing  notice  of  a  suit  for  damages  brought  by  one  Thomas 
Woodford  against  one  Edward  Peerce  in  Easter  term  of  1606. 3 
It  seems  that  on  December  2,  1604,  Peerce  fell  upon  Woodford 
and  beat  him  "ita  quod  de  vita  eius  desperabatur."  The  Court 
awarded  damages.  Unfortunately  the  casus  belli  was  not 
recorded,  nor  is  it  quite  certain  that  the  Thomas  whom  Peerce 
"verberavit,  vulneravit,  et  maletratavit"  in  1604  was  the 

1  The  decrees  in  his  suit  in  1613  against  Aaron  Holland  for  recovery  of  his 
dues  may  be  read  in  Fleay's  Hist,  of  the  Stage,  pp.  196-7. 
3  Placita  Cor  am  Rege,  Easter,  4  Jas.  I,  f  ol.  536. 


320  Hillebrand 

founder  of  Whitef riars  playhouse,  but  when  one  remembers  that 
a  man  named  Edward  Peerce  was  master  of  the  Children  of 
Paul's  in  1604,  one  is  strongly  persuaded  to  smell  out  a  theatrical 
row  between  the  master  of  Paul's  and  the  man  who  was  perhaps 
even  then  attempting  to  set  up  a  rival  company.  If  this  is 
indeed  our  Woodford,  then  his  encounter  with  Peerce  is  pro- 
phetic of  long  years  of  wrangling,  and  of  hundreds  of  pounds 
squeezed  out  of  his  dupes  with  the  powerful  aid  of  the  King's 
Bench. 

Thomas  Woodford  associated  with  himself  in  his  enterprise 
the  poet  Michael  Drayton,  probably  because  of  his  connections 
with  men  of  letters,  but  what  part  Drayton  played,  or  whether 
he  played  any,  is  hard  to  tell.  At  any  rate,  he  is  merely  a  name 
in  the  documents  which  concern  the  Whitefriars  theatre.  Wood- 
ford  then  went  about  gathering  his  shareholders.  By  August 
of  1607  he  had  added  Lording  Barry,  the  playwright,  William 
Trevill,  and  Edward  Sibthorpe,  as  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that 
on  the  12th  of  that  month  these  three,  with  Drayton,  became 
bound  to  Woodford  for  the  payment  of  £60  on  the  25th  of 
November  following.4  The  boys  were  acting  then,  as  is  proved 
by  another  lawsuit  I  found  in  the  Records  Office.5  In  Trinity 
term,  1608,  one  Richard  Edwards  sued  Thomas  Woodford, 
who  for  once  is  defendant,  for  debt  incurred  in  the  purchase  of 
various  properties  used  in  plays.  It  seems  that  on  August  30, 
1607,  Edmund  Sharpham  became  indebted  to  Edwards  in  the 
sum  of  17s.  2d.  for  "quatuor  galeris  anglice  felt  hattes  &  tribus 
legamini&ws  galeri  anglice  hatbandes,"  and  on  the  same  day 
Edward  Sibthorpe  became  similarly  indebted  in  6s.  6d.  "pro 
vno  galero  Anglice  a  felt  hatt  &  vno  legamine  galerj  anglice  a 
hat  band."  Then  Woodford,  on  December  23,  1607,  persuaded 
Edwards  to  accommodate  him  with  "vnuw  galeruw  phrigiatuw 
cum  argento  anglice  a  felt  hatt  embrodered  with  silver  &  vnuw 
ligamen  galeri  sum  margaritis  ornatuw  anglice  a  pearle  hatt 
band,"  for  use  in  a  play  to  be  given  that  day;  promising  that 
within  three  days  after  the  present  date  he  would  pay  Edwards 
the  combined  debts  of  the  other  two  men,  amounting  to  23s.  8d. 
The  trusting  Edwards  listened  to  the  wily  tongue  of  Woodford 

4  In  Easter  term,  1609,  Woodford  sued  these  four  men  for  £120  in  default 
of  payment,  and  won.     See  Placita  Coram  Rege,  Easter,  6  Jas.  I,  m.  483b. 
6  Placita  Coram  Rege,  Trinity,  6  Jas.  I,  m.  1032. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  321 

and  supplied  the  articles  of  apparel,  but  payment  was  not  forth- 
coming, neither  at  the  time  stipulated  nor  after  repeated 
demands.  The  Court  awarded  damages  and  costs  of  £5-6-8. 

This  slight  bit  of  legal  gossip  contributes  to  the  history  of 
the  Whitefriars  company  in  two  ways.  In  the  first  place,  it 
corroborates  my  description  of  the  enterprise  as  a  dishonest 
one,  and  in  the  second  place,  it  should  remove  any  doubt  that 
may  still  remain  as  to  whether  the  children  of  Whitefriars  and 
the  children  of  the  King's  Revels  were  the  same.  The  Edmund 
Sharpham  here  proved  to  be  associated  with  the  Whitefriars 
directors  was  of  course  the  Sharpham  who  in  1607  published 
Cupid's  Whirligig  as  acted  "by  the  Children  of  his  Majesty's 
Revels." 

At  some  time  between  December,  1607,  when  he  was  nego- 
tiating with  Edwards  over  the  felt  hats,  and  February,  1608, 
Thomas  Woodford  withdrew  from  the  company,  selling  out  his 
half  interest  to  Lording  Barry,  the  playwright.  The  probable 
reason  for  his  action  was  that  he  had  made  what  he  could  and 
was  escaping  before  the  crash,  which  he  could  forsee  was  inevi- 
table. His  name  is  absent  from  the  articles  of  agreement  which 
were  drawn  up  in  March  of  1608.  But  he  did  not  on  that 
account  cease  to  be  active  in  bringing  ruin  on  the  company  which 
he  had  founded. 

In  February  of  1608  George  Andrews  was  taken  in.  An- 
drews said  that  the  lease  of  the  Whitefriars  monastery  premisses 
was  made  to  Thomas  Woodford  and  Michael  Drayton  by  Lord 
Buckhurst,  but  as  regards  the  date  of  that  lease  his  language 
is  puzzling.  What  he  said  was,  that  about  February,  1608, 
Lording  Barry,  the  playwright,  pretended  to  be  possessed  of  a 
moiety  of  the  playhouse  premises  "by  and  under  a  lease  made 
thereof,  aboute  Marche  then  next  followinge,  from  the  right 
honorable  Robert,  lord  Buckhurst,  vnto  one  Michaell  Drayton 
and  Thomas  Woodford  for  the  tearme  of  sixe  yeares,  eight 
monthes  and  twentie  dayes  then  followinge."  We  should 
expect  the  lease  to  antedate  the  negotiations  with  Andrews. 
One  is  driven  to  suppose,  either  that  Woodford  had  used  some 
other  premisses  than  the  monastery  previous  to  March  of  1608, 
or  else,  as  Professor  Adams  supposes,  that  the  lease  in  question 
was  a  renewal.  I  am  inclined  to  the  first  opinion,  merely 
because  the  company  was  evidently  being  reorganized  between 


322  Hillebrand 

January  and  March  of  1608,  new  shareholders  were  being 
brought  in,  an  expert  director  was  hired,  and  articles  of  agree- 
ment were  drawn  up.  All  this  business  would  be  more  suitable 
to  a  broadening  of  the  enterprise  or  the  acquisition  of  new  prem- 
isses than  to  a  mere  renewal  of  lease. 

The  "proposition"  that  was  put  up  to  Andrews  was  very 
smooth.  The  promoters  asked  a  mere  £90  for  a  sixth  part  in 
the  house  and  furnishings,  explaining  "that  if  it  had  not  bene 
in  love  to  the  complaynante  that  they  would  not  have  parted 
soe  easely  with  it,  consideringe  the  benefitt  which  they  affirmed 
would  be  to  your  orator  the  cleere  somme  of  one  hundred  pounds 
yearely,  aboue  charges."  Then  he  was  shown  theatrical  apparel 
which  was  declared  to  be  alone  worth  £400.  Completely  taken 
in  by  these  "faire  and  false  flatteringe  speeches,"  he  paid  over 
his  money.  Then  came  disillusion.  The  apparel,  which  had 
moved  him  the  most,  he  found  to  be  worth  not  more  than  £5 
in  true  value,  and  the  expenses,  upon  which  apparently  he  had 
not  counted,  fell  upon  him  to  the  tune  of  £300.  Granting  a 
certain  amount  of  heightening  of  his  case,  I  see  no  reason  to 
doubt  the  main  truth  of  Andrews'  story.  It  fits  in  very  well 
with  what  we  know  of  the  management  of  the  King's  Revels. 

Martin  Slatier  came  in.  seemingly,  a  short  while  after 
Andrews.  In  his  Answer  to  Andrews'  Bill  of  Complaint,  he  said 
that  he  could  not  have  told  Andrews  in  February,  when  Barry 
and  Andrews  were  negotiating,  about  the  value  of  the  properties 
in  the  theatre,  nor  indeed  have  had  any  hand  in  the  deal, 
because  he  had  not  at  that  time  met  the  two  men  or  taken  any 
part  in  the  affairs  of  the  theatre.  This  may  be  true,  but  I 
doubt  it.  At  any  rate,  he  came  into  the  company  before  March 
10,  when  the  articles  of  agreement  were  signed.  This  Slatier 
was  an  actor  of  long  experience,  who  was  brought  in  to  take 
charge  of  the  boys,  train  them  and  care  for  them.  The  only 
new  fact  I  have  been  able  to  discover  regarding  him  is  not  to 
his  credit.  In  1598  he  was  sued  by  another  actor,  Thomas 
Downton,  for  the  value  of  a  play  book  lost  by  him  and  found  and 
kept  by  Slatier.  Apparently  Slatier  then  staged  it  with  his  own 
company,  for  so  I  take  the  words  "in  vsum  &  Comwodum  suuw 
proprium  disposuit  &  convertit."  Judgment  was  awarded  the 
plaintiff.6  Perhaps  it  was  in  memory  of  this  unscrupulous  deed 

6  Placita  Coram  Regc,  Trinity  term,  40  Eliz.,  Pt.  2,  m.  830b. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  323 

that  the  shareholders  in  their  articles  of  agreement  covenanted 
"that  if,  at  any  time  hereafter,  any  apparell,  bookes,  or  any 
other  goods  or  commodities  shalbe  conveyed  or  taken  awaye 
by  any  of  the  said  parties  without  the  consent  and  allowance  of 
the  said  residue  of  his  fellow  sharers,  and  the  same  exceedinge 
the  value  of  twoe  shillinges,  That  then  he  or  they  so  offendinge 
shall  forfeite  and  loose  all  such  benefitt,  profitt  and  comoditie 
as  otherwise  should  arise  and  growe  vnto  him  or  them  by  their 
shares,  besides  the  losse  of  their  places  and  all  other  interest 
which  they  may  clayme  amongest  vs." 

These  articles  of  agreement,  signed  March  10,  1608,  between 
Martin  Slatier  and  the  rest  of  the  shareholders,  form  one  of  the 
most  interesting  documents  illustrating  the  interior  economy 
of  a  Jacobean  company  that  we  possess,  but  they  belong  to 
general  theatrical  history  rather  than  to  the  present  study,  and 
so  I  shall  not  pause  over  them.  The  full  roster  of  shareholders 
now  reads:  Martin  Slatier,  Lording  Barry,  George  Andrews, 
Michael  Drayton,  William  Trevill,  William  Cooke,  Edward 
Sibthorpe,  and  John  Mason.  I  am  not  sure  that  these  men  were 
all  the  persons  interested  in  the  theatre.  There  is,  among  the 
Decrees  and  Orders  of  the  Court  of  Requests,  a  note  of  a  suit 
brought  June  27,  1610,  by  William  Trevill,  of  London,  tallow 
chandler,  together  with  Hugh  Fountayne,  Esq.,  Emanuel 
Fenton,  Thomas  Savage,  Margaret  Deborse,  Edward  Cowlin, 
Henry  Crathorne,  and  divers  others  of  the  creditors  of  Trevill, 
against  William  Methold,  William  Cooke,  Felix  Wilson,  Thomas 
Woodford,  George  Andrews,  Richard  Brogden,  Richard  Jobbes, 
Martin  Slatier,  John  Marks,  Michael  Drayton,  Elizabeth 
Brown,  Richard  Black,  and  Richard  Hunter,  others  of  his 
creditors,  to  be  relieved  in  equity  concerning  certain  debts 
which  Trevill  owed  the  defendants  upon  bonds  and  otherwise. 
The  complainants,  because  Trevill  was  very  poor  and  they  had 
pity  on  him,  consented  on  the  mediation  of  Sir  Edmund  Bowyer 
to  remit  part  of  the  debts  and  give  long  terms  of  payment.  But 
the  defendants  would  not  consent  thereto,  and,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  John  Marks,  had  gone  about  to  vex  and  annoy  Trevill 
in  common  law  upon  "divers  bonds  and  other  specialties  wherein 
or  in  the  most  whereof  the  said  Trevill  is  onelie  suretie  for  others 
although  there  are  diverse  others  more  sufficient  then  hee  bound 
with  him  in  the  same."  There  is  no  way  of  telling  whether  all 


324  Hillebrand 

these  creditors  were  concerned  in  the  Whitefriars  theatre,  but 
the  presence  of  most  of  Trevill's  associates  among  them  creates 
a  presumption. 

The  life  of  the  newly  organized  company  was  brief  and 
stormy.  Immediately  after  the  signing  of  the  articles  Lording 
Barry,  who  as  Woodford's  successor  doubtless  occupied  the 
most  important  place,  began  to  suffer  a  bombardment  of  law- 
suits. In  Easter  term  (April  15  to  May  8)  he  was  sued  by  one 
Anthony  Wilkins  on  two  counts:  first  for  £7  on  a  bond  dated 
August  15,  1607,  promising  payment  of  20s.  a  week  beginning 
October  3  next;  and  secondly  for  £4-6-9  on  another  bond  of  the 
same  date.7  Judgment  in  both  cases  was  given  the  plaintiff. 
In  the  same  term,  Thomas  Woodford  won  judgment  of  £122  for 
forfeiture  of  a  bond  dated  August  12,  1607.8  In  the  following 
Trinity  term  (May  22  to  June  12)  Woodford  brought  three 
suits  against  Barry,  two  of  £40  and  £11  on  a  bond  of  August 
15,  1607,  and  one  of  £7  on  a  bond  of  November  16.9  These 
likewise  were  successful.  Such  a  deluge  of  suits  must  have  had 
the  effect  of  greatly  cooling  Barry's  interest  in  the  Whitefriars 
theatre.  , 

The  theatre  was  closed  within  less  than  a  year  after  the 
signing  of  the  articles  of  agreement.  Andrews,  who  sued  on 
February  9,  1609,  said  that  "the  originall  lease  made  by  the 
said  Robert,  lord  Buckhurst,  for  non-payment  of  rent  due, 
before  any  assignement  of  the  said  sixth  parte  of  the  same  made 
to  your  orator,  was  forfeited  and  in  extremitie  of  la  we  lost." 
I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  Professor  Adams  that  the  crash 
came  about  the  middle  of  1608.  In  April  came  the  inhibitions 
of  acting  caused  by  the  performance  of  Chapman's  Biron  at 
Blackfriars,  and  in  July  a  further  general  inhibition  resulted 
from  the  plague,  which  raged  until  December.  But  I  am  not  so 
ready  to  agree  with  his  theory  that  the  lease  held  by  Barry  and 
his  fellows  was  transferred  to  the  company  of  Blackfriars  chil- 
dren, who  moved  over  to  Whitefriars  in  the  early  spring  of  1609. 
The  original  lease  made  by  Lord  Buckhurst  to  Woodford  and 
Drayton  was,  as  Andrews  explicitly  says,  forfeited  for  non- 

7  Placita  Coram  Rege,  Easter,  6  Jas.  I,  m.  483. 

8  Placita  Coram  Rege,  Easter,  6  Jas.  I,  m.  483b. 
•  Placita  Coram  Rege,  Trinity,  6  Jas.  I,  m.  1312. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  325 

payment  of  rent.     Corroborating  evidence  comes  from   the 
suit  of  Trevill  v.  Woodford. 

This  suit  was  referred  to  by  Cunningham  in  his  article  on 
the  Whitefriars  theatre  of  which  I  have  already  spoken.  This 
is  what  he  says:  "The  theatre  in  the  Whitefriars  was  not,  I 
believe,  rebuilt,  although  the  case  of  Trevill  v.  Woodford,  in 
the  Court  of  Requests,  informs  us  that  plays  were  performed  in 
the  Whitefriars  Theatre  as  late  as  1621;  Sir  Anthony  Ashley, 
the  then  landlord  of  the  house,  entering  the  Theatre  in  that 
year,  and  turning  the  players  out  of  doors,  on  pretence  that 
half  a  year's  rent  was  unpaid  him."  Cunningham  is  grossly 
and  inexcusably  wrong  in  his  date,  but  the  rest  of  his  facts  are 
accurate.  For  some  reason  he  printed  no  more  than  this  brief 
note  of  the  case.  Following  his  lead  I  was  able  to  find  a  summary 
in  the  Decrees  and  Orders  Books  of  the  Court  of  Requests.10 
The  suit  is  brought  by  Susan  Trevill,  widow  of  the  unfortunate 
William,  to  revive  a  suit  formerly  brought  by  her  husband 
against  Woodford  to  be  relieved  against  two  judgments  obtained 
by  Woodford  in  1608.  These  judgments  amounted  respectively 
to  £41  and  £121,  and  were  grounded  on  two  obligations  by 
which  Trevill  had  become  bound  to  Woodford.  "The  consider- 
acion  which  induced  the  said  William  Trevill  to  become  bound 
in  the  said  bonds  beinge  only  for  a  sixt  parte  of  the  Lease  of  a 
Playhouse  in  the  Whitefryers  whereunto  the  said  William 
Trevill  was  drawne  by  the  perswasion  of  Sr.  Anthony  Ashley 
knight  &  one  Mr.  Smith  &  the  Defendant  who  likewise  preuailed 
with  the  said  Trevill  (beinge  ignorant  in  the  Course  of  sharers 
in  a  Playhouse)  to  become  ingaged  in  seuerall  other  bonds  & 
billes  to  diuerse  persons  for  payment  of  diuerse  somwes  only  to 
make  a  stocke  for  supply  of  the  Playhouse  And  although  that 
the  said  Sr.  Anthony  Ashley  beinge  Landlord  on  the  Playhouse 
by  combinacion  with  the  Defendant  vppon  pretence  that  halfe 
a  yeares  Rent  for  the  Playhouse  was  unpaid  entred  into  the 
Playhouse  &  turned  the  Players  out  of  doors  &  tooke  the  ffor- 
feiture  of  the  Lease  whereby  the  said  William  Trevill  was  frus- 
trated of  all  benefitt  which  he  was  to  haue  by  the  said  Lease." 
Notwithstanding  this  loss,  the  plaintiff  goes  on  to  say,  Woodford 
took  forth  two  several  executions  upon  the  said  judgments, 
levied  the  same  upon  the  goods  of  Trevill,  and  having  satisfied 

10 17  &  18  Chas.  I,  fol.  247. 


326  Hillebrand 

himself  of  all  that  was  due  him,  delivered  up  the  bonds  to  be  can- 
celled. But  not  having  acknowledged  satisfaction  in  proper 
form,  after  about  ten  years,  that  is  to  say  in  1621,  he  threatened 
to  levy  his  judgments  again  by  scire  facias,  and  thus  frightened 
Trevill  into  paying  £6  more.  Then  Woodford  sealed  a  general 
release  to  Trevill,  which  the  latter  ignorantly  conceived  to  be 
sufficient,  not  knowing  what  satisfaction  upon  record  meant, 
and  omitting  to  have  Woodford  perform  such  satisfaction.  So 
matters  rested  for  twenty  years.  Then  Woodford,  having  got 
into  his  hands  the  bonds  and  the  release,  threatened  to  levy 
the  judgments  a  third  time.  Trevill  having  died  just  at  this 
time,  Woodford  proceeded  against  his  estate,  whereupon  the 
widow  preferred  her  bill  of  revivor  and  obtained  an  order 
reviving  all  the  former  proceedings.  The  judgment  of  the  Court 
is  that  the  judgments  were  fully  satisfied  twenty  years  ago, 
and  the  plaintiff  is  ordered  discharged  of  all  obligations  to  the 
defendant. 

These  proceedings  prove  pretty  well,  I  should  say,  what 
kind  of  man  Woodford  was.  To  win  a  judgment  of  debt,  to 
have  it  fully  satisfied,  and  then  on  two  succeeding  occasions 
extending  over  thirty  years,  to  attempt  to  execute  the  judgment 
again,  argues  an  extraordinarily  tenacious  rapacity.  Such  was 
the  founder  of  the  first  Whitefriars  theatre.  No  business  in 
which  he  had  a  main  hand  could  be  an  honest  one.  It  is  quite 
clear  that  he  floated  the  theatre  to  draw  in  shareholders  and  sell 
stock,  then  got  out  before  the  collapse,  and  thereafter  set  about 
mulcting  his  debtors. 

A  few  matters  in  this  suit  are  of  interest.  In  the  first  place, 
Andrews'  statement  that  the  theatre  was  closed  for  nonpayment 
of  rent  in  corroborated,  with  additonal  details.  The  lease  was 
originally  made  by  Robert,  Lord  Buckhurst,  but  the  landlord 
who  threw  the  company  out  was  Sir.  Anthony  Ashley.  Evi- 
dently the  property  had  changed  hands  since  the  lease  was 
made.  Lord  Buckhurst  became  the  second  Earl  of  Dorset  on 
April  19,  1608,  and  died  February  27,  1609.  The  transfer  must 
have  taken  place  before  his  death,  because  Andrews'  bill  of 
complaint  is  dated  February  9.  The  widow  Trevill  stated  that 
Ashley  combined  with  Woodford  both  in  drawing  her  husband 
into  the  trap  and  in  ousting  the  company.  This  looks  as  though 
Ashley  was  abetting  Woodford  in  his  plot  to  ruin  the  company. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  327 

One  would  like  to  know  something  more  about  the  relations  of 
Ashley  to  Woodford  and  the  Children  of  the  King's  Revels. 
And  one  would  like  to  know  more  about  "Mr.  Smith." 

Thus  ended  the  King's  Revels  at  Whitefriars.  Their  place 
was  taken  on  or  about  March  1609  by  the  expelled  children  of 
the  Queen's  Revels  from  Blackfriars,  and  the  subsequent  his- 
tory of  the  Whitefriars  theatre  belongs  to  them  and  to  their 
successors.  The  whole  organization  of  the  first  company  came 
to  an  end  in  1608.  None  of  the  shareholders  had  connection  with 
the  Queen's  Revels  company.  It  was  a  complete  smash-up. 
If  Woodford  had  founded  the  company  expressly  to  ruin  it,  he 
was  successful.  Not  George  Andrews  or  William  Trevill,  who 
paid  for  their  shares  without  receiving  any  dividends,  nor 
Richard  Edwards,  who  had  to  go  to  law  to  recover  the  cost  of 
articles  sold  to  the  company,  nor  Sir  Anthony  Ashley,  who 
evicted  the  company  for  nonpayment  of  rent,  nor  Lording 
Barry,  who  paid  for  his  investments  in  the  Court  of  King's 
Bench,  nor  Martin  Slatier,  who  with  his  family  of  ten  was  turned 
out  of  doors,  nor  I  dare  say  any  of  the  other  members  of  the 
association  except  Thomas  Woodford  could  tell  what  benefit 
they  had  derived  from  their  outlay,  or  what  chance  of  benefit 
they  stood  from  an  enterprise  so  rotten  at  heart  as  this  company 
of  the  King's  Revels  at  Whitefriars. 

II. 

Seven  plays,  aside  from  a  Torrismount  mentioned  in  the 
Andrews-Slatier  suit,  may  with  a  sufficient  degree  of  certainty 
be  assigned  to  the  first  Whitefriars  Revels  Company.  All  bear 
on  their  title  pages  the  statement  that  they  were  acted  by  the 
"Children  of  the  King's  Majesty's  Revels." 

Cupid's  Whirligig  (Edmund  Sharpham) S.  R.  June  29,  1607,  pub.  1607 

The  Family  of  Love  (Middleton) S.  R.  Oct.  12, 1607,  pub.  1608 

Humour  out  of  Breath  (Day) S.  R.  Apr.  12,  1608,  pub.  1608 

The  Dumb  Knight  (Machin  and  Markham) S.  R.  Aug.  6,  1608,  pub.  1608 

Two  Maids  of  Mortlake  (Robt.  Armin) S.  R.  ?  pub.  1609 

The  Turk  (John  Mason) S.  R.  March  10, 1609,  pub.  1610 

Ram  Alley  (Lording  Barry) S.  R.  Nov.  9,  1610,  pub.  1611 

Perhaps  we  should  add  Day's  Law  Tricks,  published  in  1608. 

Of  these  plays,  The  Twk  and  Ram  Alley  were  almost  cer- 
tainly written  for  the  company,  because  Mason  and  Barry  were 


328  Hillebrand 

shareholders.  With  almost  equal  certainty  The  Family  of  Love 
and  Two  Maids  of  Mortlake  were  not  written  for  this  company, 
but  were  revived  plays,  as  I  shall  show  later.  Cupid' 's  Whirligig 
I  believe  was  written  for  the  company,  and  in  the  absence  of  any 
clew  to  the  contrary  we  must  assume  the  same  for  Humour  out 
of  Breath  and  The  Dumb  Knight.  As  these  plays  are  all  of  them 
little  known  except  to  the  specialist,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to 
glance  briefly  over  them. 

Robert  Armin's  Two  Maids  of  Mortlake,  to  begin  with  the 
oldest,  was  written  before  the  deaths  of  Elizabeth  and  Dean 
Nowell.  When  the  Earl  is  summoned  to  court  he  says,  "We 
will  attend  her:"11  and  John  the  idiot  speaks  of  having  seen 
"Master  Dean  Nowell"  at  St.  Paul's.12  One  limit  of  composition 
is  thus  fixed  at  the  death  of  Nowell  in  1602.  The  other  may 
be  fixed  in  1597,  if  I  understand  a  passage  correctly.  Toward 
the  end  of  the  play13  Sir  William  Verger  says: 

"Yet  remember  Donington's  man,  Grimes, 
Who  for  an  heir  so  stolne  and  married, 
Was  hanged,  and  the  sergeant  at  armes, 
For  assisting  them  did  loose  his  place." 

The  Acts  of  the  Privy  Council,  under  date  June  14,  1597,  record 
that  Alice  Stoite,  a  young  woman  of  Dorset,  was  abducted  by 
one  Dinington  and  others.  No  further  particulars  are  given, 
and  I  have  been  able  to  trace  no  other  likely  reference  to  "Don- 
ington's man  Grimes,"  but  it  seems  reasonably  sure  that  the 
abduction  of  Alice  Stoite  was  the  one  meant  by  Sir  William. 
If  that  were  not  so,  the  coincidence  of  names  would  be  singular. 
It  is  not  easy  to  tell  where  Armin  was  in  the  period  1597-1602 
within  which  the  Two  Maids  was  presumably  written.  Collier, 
in  his  sketch  of  Armin's  life,14  says  that  the  actor  belonged  at 
one  time  to  the  company  of  Lord  Chandos,  who  died  in  1602, 
but  that  he  may  have  gone  over  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
company  at  the  Globe  about  1598.  Yet  the  Two  Maids  would 
seem  not  to  have  been  written  for  the  Lord  Chamberlain's 
company,  because  in  the  address  "To  the  friendly  peruser" 
Armin  says  that  the  play  "in  part  was  sometime  acted  more 

11  Sig.  B4  verso. 

»  Sig.  B4  recto. 

u  Sig.  I  versoi 

"  Pub.  Shakes.  Soc.  1846. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  329 

naturally  in  the  Citty,  if  not  in  the  hole."  This  would  exclude 
the  Globe.  Armin  himself,  as  he  goes  on  to  say,  had  acted 
"John  in  the  Hospital"  at  the  first  presentation. 

As  a  play  the  Two  Maids  leaves  a  good  deal  to  be  desired. 
Starting  out  pretty  well,  with  a  clearly  conceived  and  handled 
plot,  it  degenerates  into  episodes  which  defy  credulity.  Such 
incidents  as  the  supposed  death  of  Mary,  her  burial  in  the 
Scilly  Isles,  her  exhumation  by  the  Governor  and  restoration 
to  her  father,  savor  of  the  carefree  invention  of  Hey  wood's 
Fair  Maid  of  the  West,  which  was  written  about  the  same  time. 
The  style  is  fantastic  in  the  extreme,  being  characterized  by  a 
kind  of  grammatical  shorthand  and  a  preciosity  of  diction  that 
drives  the  reader  to  despair.  It  is  the  style  of  a  man  determined 
to  be  "literary,"  and  proud  of  his  fund  of  Latin  quotations. 

Middleton's  Family  of  Love,  thought  Fleay,  was  acted  "early 
in  1607,  after  Middleton  left  Paul's,  and  before  he  joined  the 
Blackfriars  Boys.  .  .  .  But  it  appears  from  the  Address  to  the 
Reader  that  this  play  had  been  performed  with  some  success 
before  (probably  by  the  Paul's  boys  in  1604,  when  the  Family 
of  love  were  such  subjects  of  public  attention),  and  marks  of 
alteration  are  manifest  in  the  extant  version."15  Let  us  examine 
briefly  Fleay's  evidence.  The  address  "To  the  Reader"  merely 
apologises  for  printing  the  play  when  it  was  "stale,"  after 
"the  General  voice  of  the  people  had  sealed  it  for  good."  This 
might  be  construed  to  mean  that  the  play  had  enjoyed  its  great- 
est success  prior  to  1607,  and  hence  in  another  theatre,  but  such 
an  interpretation  is  hardly  justified  by  the  wording.  As  to  the 
"alterations,"  which  Fleay  implies  were  due  to  transfer  from 
one  company  to  another,  they  consist  merely  in  the  use,  in  two 
cases,  of  two  names  for  the  same  character,  a  confusion  such  as 
one  finds  occasionally  in  Shakespeare  quartos  and  which  is 
sufficiently  explained  by  Middleton's  statement  that  the  play 
was  printed  without  proper  supervision.  Hence  Fleay's  argu- 
ment does  not  amount  to  much.  Yet  I  believe  he  was  right 
in  thinking  the  play  antedated  1607,  on  the  strength  of  an  allu- 
sion in  the  text  which  he  overlooked.  In  IV  3  (p.  81.  Vol.  Ill, 
of  Bullen's  Middleton)  Gerardine  says:  "I  am,  if  it  please  you, 
of  the  spick  and  span  new-set-up  company  of  porters."  Here 
is  a  very  definite  topical  reference.  The  company  of  porters  was 

15  Biog.  Ckron.,  II,  94. 


330  Hillebrand 

instituted,  apparently,  in  the  forepart  of  1605,  as  I  judge  from 
the  fact  that  on  June  15  of  that  year  a  ballad  was  licensed 
entitled:  "A  newe  ballad  Composed  in  commendacon  of  the 
Societie  or  Company  of  the  porters."16  Gerardine's  emphasis 
on  the  brand-newness  of  this  company  would  have  point  only 
if  it  followed  soon  after  the  event.  I  therefore  would  date  the 
play  about  the  middle  of  1605.  And  in  that  case  it  was  probably 
given  by  the  St.  Paul's  boys  for  whom  Middleton  was  then 
writing. 

Another  and  more  elaborate  topical  reference,  in  I  3,  to  a 
play  of  Samson  carrying  the  "town-gates  on  his  neck  from  the 
lower  to  the  upper  stage"  is  of  little  service,  because  the  only 
play  of  the  period  on  Samson  which  is  known  is  one  mentioned 
by  Henslowe  in  July  of  1602.  And  this  play  is  not  extant. 

The  Family  of  Love  is  not  one  of  Middleton's  best.  Although 
not  so  bawdy  as  some,  it  is  bad  enough  in  all  conscience.  The 
main  idea  of  a  gallant  who  makes  sure  of  his  mistress  by  getting 
her  with  child  strikes  the  tone  of  the  play.  Except  for  occasional 
clever  turns  of  dialogue,  such  as  only  Middleton  could  do,  there 
is  little  to  amuse  or  interest.  The  blank  verse,  which  appears 
in  the  Gerardine-Maria  plot,  is  mostly  turgid  and  cold. 

Cupid's  Whirligig,  by  Edmund  Sharpham,  was  licensed  so 
early  in  the  career  of  the  King's  Revels  as  to  give  rise  to  the 
supposition  that  it  also  was  a  revived  play.  He  had  already 
written  The  Fleire  for  the  Blackfriars  boys.  But  Sharpham  was 
in  1607  connected  with  the  King's  Revels,  as  I  have  proved  by 
the  Richard  Edwards  suit,  and  he  very  likely  wrote  his  Whirligig 
for  that  company.  In  Act  II  Nan  says  that  Sir  Timothy 
Troublesome's  heart  beats  "for  all  the  world  like  the  Denmarke 
Drummer."  If,  as  seems  likely,  this  be  a  reference  to  the  visit  of 
the  king  of  Denmark  in  July  of  1606,  the  play  could  hardly 
have  been  written  and  produced  before  1607. 

Day's  Humour  out  of  Breath  belongs  without  doubt  to  the 
spring  of  1608.  This  is  determined  on  the  one  hand  by  the  date 
of  license,  April  12,  and  on  the  other  hand  by  a  reference  to  the 
great  frost  of  December,  1607.  In  III  4  Aspero  says:  "For 
my  beard,  indeed  that  was  bitten  the  last  great  frost,  and  so  were 
a  number  of  Justices  of  the  peace  besides."  Though  Fleay  is 

16  Arber's  Stationer1!  Register. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  331 

not  accurate  in  saying  that  there  was  no  frost  between  1598  and 
1607-8,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  no  other  frost  approached 
in  vigor  that  which  began  on  December  8,  1607,  and  returned 
more  violently  on  December  22,  freezing  the  Thames  and 
keeping  it  frozen  through  most  of  January.17  In  the  address 
"To  Signior  No-body"  we  read:  "Being  to  turne  a  poore  friend- 
lesse  child  into  the  world,  yet  sufficiently  featur'd  too,  had  it 
been  all  of  one  mans  getting,  (woe  to  the  iniquitie  of  Time  the 
whilest)  my  desire  is  to  preferre  him  to  your  seruice."  This 
might  be  understood  to  mean,  and  in  fact  has  been  so  under- 
stood, that  Day  had  help  in  writing  the  play,  but  his  name 
stands  alone  on  the  title  page,  and,  more  conclusively,  there  is 
no  deviation  in  the  style  of  the  play  from  Day's  known  manner. 

This  play  is  the  only  one  on  our  list  which  one  would  mark 
as  written  for  children.  It  is  a  comedy  of  artificial  situation, 
written  without  passion  in  a  style  of  considerable  delicacy  and 
charm.  Yet  these  qualities  are  attributable  to  Day,  rather  than 
to  his  players.  He  was  the  foremost  disciple  of  Lyly  in  the 
17th  century,  and  while  undergoing  certain  inevitable  influences 
of  contemporary  drama  he  wrote  as  much  in  his  master's  vein 
as  he  could.  The  plot  of  Humour  out  of  Breath,  with  its  banished 
duke  living  in  sylvan  seclusion  and  its  regnant  duke  disguising 
himself  as  a  serving  man  to  watch  over  his  sons,  reminds  us  of 
As  You  Like  It  and  the  Fleire  (or  the  Fawn).  But  the  arti- 
ficially paired  lovers  (two  sons  and  a  daughter  with  two  daugh- 
ters and  a  son),  the  pages,  and  the  general  conduct  of  the 
dialogue  are  all  Lyly. 

Not  without  plausibility  is  the  suggestion  that  Day's  Law 
Tricks  was  also  acted  by  the  Whitefriars  boys.  The  1608  quarto 
states  that  the  play  had  been  "divers  times  acted  by  the  Children 
of  the  Revels."  Ordinarily  this  would  mean  the  Queen's 
Revels  at  Blackfriars,  and  Fleay  so  understood  it.  He  puts 
the  play  in  1606,  but  Bullen,  in  his  edition  of  Day,  shows  refer- 
ences to  speeches  in  Pericles,  which  is  generally  assigned  to 
1607-8.  It  is  perhaps  unlikely  that  Day,  after  his  disastrous 
venture  with  The  Isle  of  Gulls  produced  by  the  Blackfriars 
boys  in  1607,  should  have  written  another  play  in  the  same 
satirical  vein  for  the  same  company.  In  IV  2  Joculo,  the  page, 

»  See  Stowe's  Chronicle. 


332  Hillebrand 

tells  a  rigamarole  about  recent  events  in  England,  particularly 
a  flood  in  July  so  great  that  the  boatmen  landed  fares  in  the 
middle  aisle  of  Paul's  and  men  caught  fish  in  the  Exchange; 
this  may  be  a  reminiscence  of  the  mighty  wind  which  in  January 
of  1607  caused  an  inflooding  of  the  sea.18  The  mention  of  July 
puts  the  play  between  July  of  1607  and  the  summer  of  1608, 
when  the  company  went  out  of  existence.  The  following  allu- 
sion, if  one  couM  identify  it,  might  serve  to  date  the  play  more 
conclusively.  It  occurs  in  the  course  of  a  discussion  of  tobacco 
in  Act  III: 

"Yet  there  is  one  dunce,  a  kind  of  plodding  Poet, 
Sweares  twas  not  in  the  first  creation 
Because  he  finds  no  ballad  argument 
To  prove  old  Adam  a  Tobacconiste." 

The  Dumb  Knight,  by  Lewis  Machin  and  Gervase  Markham, 
was  another  play  with  a  satirical  tinge.  The  address  "To  the 
Understanding  Reader"  says  that  "Rumour  ...  by  the  help 
of  his  intelligencer  Envy,  hath  made  strange  constructions  on 
this  Dumb  Knight."  What  caused  these  strange  constructions 
it  is  not  easy  to  see.  Fleay  thought  the  satire  lay  in  the  subplot 
of  the  Orator  Prate,  his  wife,  and  his  clients,  but  offered  no 
explanation  of  the  satirical  point.  I  think  it  rather  more  likely 
that  if  the  play  gave  offense  it  was  throught  the  savage  attacks 
on  law  and  lawyers  which  are  put  into  the  mouths  of  Mechant. 
Berating  the  law  was  a  favorite  pastime  at  Whitefriars. 

There  are  no  references  within  the  play  to  give  us  a  clew 
to  its  date.  It  is  a  heavy-handed  tragicomedy,  whose  heroics 
and  bawdry  are  alike  without  distinction. 

The  Turk,  by  John  Mason,  and  Ram  Alley,  by  Lording  Barry, 
were  surely  written  for  the  first  Whitefriars  company,  because 
their  authors  were  shareholders  therein.  Neither,  so  far  as  we 
know,  was  connected  with  the  company  which  came  over  from 
Blackfriars  early  in  1609  and  which  had  no  business  or  other 
affiliation  with  the  ill-starred  company  launched  by  Thomas 
Woodford.  Of  John  Mason  practically  nothing  is  known. 
Professor  J.  Q.  Adams,  who  has  edited  his  play  for  Bang's 
Materialen  zur  famde  des  alteren  Englischen  Dramas,  supposes 
that  The  Turk  was  written  in  1606-7.  There  is  no  internal 

18  Stowe's  Chronicle. 


Children  of  the  King's  Revels  333 

evidence  to  assist  in  finding  the  date.  It  is  a  bloody,  extravagant 
tragedy  of  the  Marston  type,  composed  of  murders,  lust,  incest, 
ghostly  visitations,  and  seeking  comic  relief  in  a  lecherous  sub- 
plot. It  is  in  all  respects  an  imitative  play,  without  the  requisite 
energy  to  make  its  blood-and-thunder  tyrades  strike  fire. 

Ram  Alley  is  an  easy  going  pot-pourri  of  popular  situations, 
mainly  of  the  school  of  Middleton,  including  a  spendthrift 
younger  brother  who  marries  his  mistress  to  a  rascally  lawyer, 
the  rivalry  of  various  gallants  for  the  hand  of  the  rich  widow 
Taffeta,  and  a  maid  who  masquerades  as  a  man  to  follow  her 
lover.  There  are  allusions  to  the  statute  of  4  Jac.  I,  c.  V, 
(1606-7)  which  authorized  stocking  a  man  for  drunkenness,  as 
when  Justice  Tutchin  says: 

"Now  could  I  sit  in  my  chair  at  home  and  nod, 
A  drunkard  to  the  stocks  by  vertue  of 
The  last  statute  rarely." 

This  proves  that  the  play  was  not  written  before  the  organi- 
zation of  the  Whitefriars  Revels.  The  Prologue  protests  against 
"the  Satyres  tooth  and  Waspish  sting;"  declares  that  the  play 
is  to  be  free  of  any  satirical  purpose,  and  is  to  be  so  innocent 
that  even  the  Puritans  will  be  pleased.  Needless  to  say,  such 
protests  as  these  go  for  little.  This  play,  like  others  of  the  same 
company,  is  hard  on  the  legal  profession. 

III. 

I  said  at  the  beginning  that  the  first  Whitefriars  company 
was  a  piece  of  wildcat  speculation,  and  that  the  proof  of  this 
statement  was  to  be  found  in  their  conduct  of  affairs  and  in 
their  plays.  I  have  dealt  sufficiently  with  their  conduct  of 
affairs;  a  few  comments  on  their  plays  will  be  enough  to 
make  my  point  clear  in  that  respect.  In  the  first  place,  with  the 
exception  of  Middleton  and  Day  they  had  no  connections 
with  the  better  class  of  dramatists  of  the  day.  And 
Middleton  should  be  discounted  because  the  one  play  of  his 
which  they  used  was  probably  borrowed  from  another  company, 
and  he  wrote  no  more  for  them.  As  to  Day,  although  he  enjoys  a 
certain  reputation  today,  it  is  certain  that  he  had  very  little 
in  his  own  time  and  should  be  counted  as  one  of  the  obscure. 
All  the  other  men  are  nobodies.  In  the  second  place,  if  one 
considers  quality  of  play  rather  than  prominence  of  author,  the 


334  Hillebrand 

conclusion  is  equally  unfavorable.  In  the  whole  list  only  Day's 
Humour  out  of  Breath  may  be  read  with  any  sense  that  one  is 
associating  with  an  author  of  literary  taste.  All  the  rest  are 
dull,  imitative,  second-hand  material  cut  on  patterns  popular 
in  the  first  decade  of  the  17th  century,  but  without  style. 

It  is  quite  plain  what  Thomas  Woodford  and  his  coadjutors 
in  the  King's  Revels  at  Whitefriars  were  up  to.  They  intended 
to  capitalize  the  great  popularity  of  the  theatre  in  London, 
and  the  success  which  the  children's  companies  at  St.  Paul's 
and  the  Blackfriars  had  enjoyed,  by  founding  a  similar  company 
in  the  liberty  of  Whitefriars,  just  outside  the  City  (a  precinct, 
be  it  observed,  of  unsavory  reputation  in  that  day  as  it  continued 
to  be  for  a  hundred  years).  And  because  their  purpose  was  dis- 
honest (at  least  Woodford's)  they  set  about  selling  as  many 
shares  as  possible  and  putting  on  a  bold  front,  while  at  the  same 
time  they  gathered  a  shoddy  repertory  of  plays,  partly  from  old 
plays  given  elsewhere,  partly  from  amateurs  on  their  own  board 
of  shareholders,  and  partly  from  a  few  hangers-on  of  the  writing 
profession.  The  result  was  what  everyone  could  have  foreseen — 
ruin.  At  least  one  did  foresee  it,  and  saved  himself  before  the 
crash.  That  man  was  the  wily  promoter  of  the  enterprise, 
Thomas  Woodford. 

HAROLD  NEWCOMB  HILLEBRAND 

University  of  Illinois 


"DAS  KOMMT  MIR  SPANISCH  VOR" 

The  immediate  origin  of  the  expression  "das  kommt  mir 
spanisch  vor,"1 — practically  synonymous  with  the  more  usual 
proverb  "das  sind  mir  bohmische  Dorfer"2 — in  its  customary 
present-day  connotation  of  something  strange,  rare  or  outland- 
ish,3 has  probably  been  correctly  traced  to  the  seventeenth 
century.  For  although  in  discussing  it,  Borchardt4  says  that 
it  arose  at  the  time  of  the  introduction  of  Spanish  customs  into 
Germany  by  Charles  V,  he  quotes  only  Simplicissimus :  "Bey 
diesem  Herrn  kam  mir  alles  widerwertig  und  fast  Spanisch  vor" 
and  no  sixteenth  century  author.  Wander,6  too,  does  not 
attempt  to  trace  the  saying  any  further  back,  but  mentions  the 
reports  of  German  travelers  and  adventurers  who  had  been  in 
Spain  as  having  given  rise  to  it. 

In  Grimm's  Worterbueh,  sub  Spanisch  (5),  the  phrase  is 
traced  as  follows:  (1)  it  referred  to  a  proud,  haughty  person: 
Schuppius  (1663),  114:6  "da  sasz  Miillerhans  ttber  tische  und 
sasz  oben  an  und  machte  ein  solch  spanisch  gesicht,  als  wann 
er  mich  sein  lebtag  nit  gesehen  hatte";  (2)  its  meaning  was 
extended  to  refer  to  matters  that  are  strange,  unfamiliar,  less 
frequently  wondrous:  Goethe,  Egmont,  III,  2:  "ich  versprach 
dir  einmal  spanisch  zu  kommen";  (3)  a  rarer  connotation  of 
"haughty"  existed  parallelly  with  (1)  and  (2):  Weckherlin 
(1648),  665 :7  "ja,  spannisch  bist  du  neyd,  und  torrecht  du  misz- 
gunst";  (4)  the  now  current  connotation  existed  at  the  same 
time:  Schuppius  (1663),  321 :8  "es  wird  Euch  zwar,  Lucidor,  die 

1  Simrock,  Deutsche  Sprichworter,  No.  9620;  Eiselein,  No.  571. 

1Wilhelm  Borchardt,  Die  sprichwortlichen  Redensarten  (Wustmann  revi- 
sion), p.  76,  explains  its  origin  by  the  linguistically  and  geographically  exotic 
nature  of  the  Bohemian  towns,  or,  less  plausibly,  by  the  fact  that  many  of  them 
were  destroyed  beyond  recognizability  during  the  Thirty  Years'  War. 

1  Cf.  the  English  "That  is  Greek  to  me,"  the  French  "C'est  du  Latin" 
or  "Pour  moi,  c'est  de  l'H6breu"  and  the  Spanish  "Hablar  en  griego." 

4  Op.  cit,  p.  442. 

1  Deutsches  Sprichworter  Lexikon,  IV,  sub  Spanisch. 

•  Lehrreiche  Schriften,  1684. 

7  Geisttiche  und  welttiche  Gedichte,  Amsterdam,  1648. 

8  Op.  cit. 

335 


336  Zeydel 

herberg  etwas  spannisch  vorkommen,"  and  M.  Abele:9  "deme 
dergleichen,  wiewol  sonsten  gewohnliche  Wort,  fremd  und 
spanisch  vorkommen";  (5)  instead  of  the  more  common  "boh- 
misches  Dorf,"  the  phrase  "spanisches  Dorf"  was  used:  J.  V. 
Andreae:10  "die  Ding  mir  spannisch  dorffen  waren,"  and 
Goethe:11  "das  waren  dem  Gehirne  spanische  Dorfer." 

This  purely  lexicographical  presentation  of  the  matter, 
however,  offering  only  material  from  the  seventeenth  century, 
does  not  throw  much  light  upon  its  development.  In  turning 
back,  at  Borchardt's  suggestion,  to  the  sixteenth  century,  we 
find  that  Spain  and  its  people  were  practically  unknown  in 
Germany,  and  that  such  knowledge  on  the  subject  as  existed 
can  be  traced  to  unreliable,  wildly  imaginative  adventurers  or 
to  pilgrims.  In  fact,  at  the  beginning  of  the  century,  Spain  was 
hardly  considered  a  part  of  the  European  continent  at  all.  Thus 
Brant,  in  his  Narrenschiff™  tells  us: 

Ouch  hatt  man  sydt  jnn  Portugal 
Und  in  hispanyen  uberall 
Gold,  jnseln  funden,  und  nacket  lut 
Von  den  man  vor  wust  sagen  nut. 

And  Hutten  complains  in  Die  Rauber13  that  the  bishops  send  the 
people  for  penance  "in  das  ausserste  Spanien." 

But  after  the  accession  of  Charles  V,  when  Spain  became 
an  integral  part  of  the  Empire,  these  conditions  changed.  The 
Spaniards,  as  a  race,  began  to  attract  more  attention.  At  first 
we  find  ample  praise  of  Charles  V14  but  also  a  certain  solicitude 
lest  he  may  prove  too  foreign  to  play  the  role  of  a  German 
emperor.  Hutten  expresses  the  following  hope  in  his  Clag  und 
vormanung  gegen  dem  ubermassigen,  unchristlichen  gewalt  des 
Bapsts  zu  Rom:1* 

So  hoff  ich  zu  kiing  Carles  mut, 
Das  sey  in  jm  ein  Teiitsches  blut, 

»  Gerichlshandd,  I,  320,  Nurnberg,  1668. 
l*DasguteLeben,22l. 
11  Werther,  Hempel  ed.,  XIV,  69. 
u  Zarncke  ed.,  66,  53,  p.  66. 

"  D.  F.  Strauss,  Gesprache  von  Ulrich  von  Hutten,  III,  362. 
14  Cf.  Liliencron,  Die  historischen  Volkslieder  der  Deutschen,  No.  343  and 
elsewhere. 

»  Kurschner,  DNL,  17*,  pp.  242-3. 


"Das  Kommt  mir  Spanisch  Vor"  337 

Und  werd  mit  eeren  iiben  sich 
Dem  Bapst  entgegen  gwaltiglich. 

Similarly  in  the  folk-song  An  die  deutsche  Nation16  Charles  is 
praised 

in  ziichten  und  in  ehren 
ist  er  ganz  wol  erkant; 
darnach  thut  er  sich  keren, 
warm  er  das  reich  soil  mehren 
und  aller  f  tirsten  land. 

Here  it  may  even  be  possible  to  read  between  the  lines  a  certain 
apprehension  lest  this  praise  may  not  be  justified.  Hutten  goes 
so  far  as  to  hint  in  his  Beklagunge  der  Freistette  deutscher  Nation11 
at  the  fact  that  Charles  bought  his  imperial  election. 

The  period  of  expectation  soon  passed  and  any  enthusiasm 
that  might  have  existed  over  the  Spanish  explorers  and  con- 
querers  passed  with  it,  at  least  in  the  Protestant  sections.  For 
when  Charles  proved  to  be  an  enemy  of  the  Reformation  and 
when  the  Jesuits  came,  the  friendship  for  the  Spaniards  turned 
to  dislike  and  to  outright  hatred  among  the  classes  inclined 
toward  Protestantism. 

Thus  a  Protestant,  writing  on  the  war  of  Schmalkalden,  says 
in  1546 :' 8 

wo  ihr  der  sachen  nicht  kompt  vor, 
ein  Spanier  nem  einen  du eaten, 
thet  in  eins  Christen  blut  um  waten 
und  heissen  uns  die  teutschen  hund.  .  . 

and  continuing,  he  threatens  the  invading  Spanish  (lines  378  ff.) 
that  they  will  be  driven  out  of  Germany.  He  exclaims  (line  388) : 
"Got  bhut  uns  vor  den  spanischen  zungen"  and  prays  God  to 
protect  the  Germans  from  "der  Spanier  ubermut.  Ihr  herz 
und  sinn  ist  nicht  gut."  (lines  397-8).  In  No.  521  of  Liliencron's 
collection,  Charles  himself  is  charged  with  "hochmut  und 
falsche  lehr"  (line  95),  and  repeatedly  the  Spanish  intruders 
are  accused  of  murder,  adultery,  robbery, incendiarism  and  other 

16  Liliencron,  Op.  cit,  No.  469;  cf.  also  Schade,  Satiren  und  Pasquille  aus 
der  Reformationszeit,  2nd  ed.,  II,  181,  lines  194  ff. 

17  Kiirschner,  ibid.,  p.  277. 

18  Liliencron,  Op.  cit.,  No.  519,  lines  363  ff. 


338  Zeydel 

excesses.19  They  are  rebuked  for  their  "untrew"20  and  they  are 
called  "die  spanisch  sew  und  hund."21  The  Protestant  songs 
of  the  period  around  1550  are  full  of  such  references.22 

Earlier  than  this,  Hutten,  too,  in  Die  Anschawenden,  trying 
to  be  impartial,  lets  Sol  say  to  Phaethon  of  the  Spanish  war- 
riors :23  "Sun,  vor  alien  seindt  es  fleissige  dieb, aber  im  f eld  redlich, 
wie  yemant  ander.  Denn  sye  seind  geiibt,  des  kryegs  erfaren 
unnd  iiber  das  hertzhafftig  und  trotzig"  and  later  in  the  same 
work24  he  charges  them  again  with  "dieberey." 

The  sinking  of  the  Spanish  Armada  was  an  occasion  which 
Fischart  particularly  seized  for  the  purpose  of  pouring  forth  his 
venemous  hatred  of  the  Spaniards,  whom  he  conceived  as 
tyrannical,  arrogant  and  rapacious.  Immediately  after  the 
event,  in  1588,  he  wrote  his  Gantz  gedenckwiirdige  und  eygentliche 
Verzeichnuss,  wie  die  machtig  und  Prachtig  von  vielen  Jakren  her 
zugeruste  Spanische  Armada  .  .  .  abgefakren  .  .  .  und  getrent, 
erlegt,  verjagt  und  mehrtkeils  zu  grund  gerichtet  warden.  .  .  .K 
The  work  is  a  scathing  condemnation  of  the  Spanish  and  of 
their  maladministration  of  the  Netherlands.  .  The  sinking, 
says  Fischart,  is  a  righteous  work  of  God.  A  minute  description 
of  the  incident  follows,  in  which  the  chief  credit  is  given  to  the 
English  and  not  to  unfavorable  weather  conditions,  which, 
according  to  Fischart,  set  in  only  after  the  victory  had  been 
achieved.  Depositions  of  Spanish  prisoners  concerning  the  size 
and  cost  of  the  Spanish  fleet  follow,  and  finally  Fischart  bursts 
into  verse,  first  presenting  a  Latin  eulogy  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
and  then  the  German  Siegdanck  oder  Triumpjjspruch,  zu  Ehren 
der  wrtrefflichen  Konigin  in  Engellandt.  Here  Fischart  uses  a 
veritable  volley  of  nouns  and  epithets  descriptive  of  his  opinion 
of  the  Spaniards.  He  says  that  they  were  tempted  by  "Ehr- 
sucht"  and  "Geitz,"  "Weltgeitz,"  "Geltgeitz,"  "Hoffart" 

19  Liliencron,  Op.  cit.,  No.  524,  line  63;  No.  526,  strophe  33;  No.  530, 
strophe  10;  No.  587,  strophe  11. 

30  Ibid.,  No.  530,  strophes  10  and  11;  No.  570. 
» Ibid.,  No.  527,  strophe  10. 

22  Wander,  Op.  cit.,  sub  Spanier^  quotes  proverbs  which  charge  the  Span- 
iards with  faithlessness  (entries  3,  21,  37),  thievery  (45),  obstinacy  (49),  haughti- 
ness (50,  56),  braggadocio  (54),  and  mendacity  (55,  57). 

23  Kiirschner,  Op.  cit.,  17J,  p.  301. 

24  Ibid.,  p.  318. 

26  Kleinere  Schriflen,  1848,  pp.  1047-1122. 


"Das  Kommt  mir  Spanisch  Vor"  339 

"Ehrgir,"  "Hochmut,"  and  they  are  "auffgeblasene  gsellen" 
and  "unersattlich  Rauber";  they  have  no  "Gottsforcht,"  he 
adds. 

Subsequently,  when  Spanish  power  waned,  these  prejudices 
against  the  Spanish  character  seem  to  have  died  out  in  Germany, 
until  they  were  revived  during  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  The 
expedition  of  Marquis  Spinola,  an  Italian  leader  in  the  services 
of  Spain  at  this  time,  who  at  the  head  of  a  Spanish  army  plun- 
dered and  pillaged  in  Germany,  probably  contributed  to  this 
revival.  But,  as  is  correctly  noted  in  the  Grimm  Worterbuch 
article,  the  connotation  referring  to  objectionable  traits  of 
character  is  rather  rare  in  the  seventeenth  century,  making 
way  once  more  for  the  element  of  strangeness  and  exoticalness. 
This  was  doubtless  due  to  the  reports  of  travelers,  as  Wander 
says,  and  to  the  fantastic  ideas  about  Spain  and  the  Spaniards 
prevailing  at  that  time  more  than  ever  before  and  nurtured  by 
the  wandering  actors,  who  presented  exaggerated  versions  of 
Spanish  plays  of  horror,  pomp  and  bombast,  and  by  the  "Schel- 
menroman,"  in  which  Spain  is  depicted  as  a  land  of  beggars 
and  adventurers.  Works  of  literature  of  the  better  class,  such 
as  the  imitations  of  Spanish  poetry  by  members  of  the  "Blumen- 
hirtenorden,"  of  course,  never  reached  the  general  public. 

We  may,  therefore,  sum  up  by  saying  that  during  the 
earliest  period — in  the  time  of  Brant — "Spanisch"  was  con- 
sidered from  the  point  of  view  of  the  Grimm  definition  (2), 
namely,  "strange,"  "unfamiliar."  Next  there  developed  defini- 
tions (1)  and  (3),  "proud"  and  "haughty,"  also  with  the  conno- 
tation of  moral  depravity26  frequent  during  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. Then,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  definition  (2)  came 
into  usage  again,  and  with  it  the  proverb  itself  (4),  while  (1) 
and  (3)  became  subordinate.  Definition  (5)  probably  developed 
from  (4),  on  the  analogy  of  "bohmische  Dorfer." 

The  explanation  which  A.  W.  Schlegel  gives  of  Voss'  verses:27 

Fremd  wie  Bohmen  und  Spanien 
Sahe  das  Madchen  mich  an, 

x  The  implication  of  moral  depravity  passed  out  of  modern  High  German, 
but  it  is  still  contained  in  the  Low  German  "dat  kiiemt  miganzspaniskviior," 
for  which  compare  Wander  sub  Spanisch. 

"  Grimm's  Worterbuch,  sub  Spanisch,  column  1888. 


340  Zeydel 

(he  sees  in  the  "fremd  wie  .  .  .  Spanien"  a  reference  to  the 
rigid  war  discipline  which  Duke  Alba  wished  to  introduce  in 
Germany)  seems  hardly  to  be  apt.  The  very  fact  that  the  text 
has  both  "Bohmen"  and  "Spanien"  would  lead  one  to  believe 
that  Voss  had  in  mind  only  the  strange,  foreign,  unusual  element 
of  definition  (2),  with  possibly  an  admixture  of  (3),  which  he 
wished  to  express  by  his  reference  to  the  two  proverbially 
exotic  countries. 

EDWIN  H.  ZEYDEL 
Washington,  D.  C. 


A  SOURCE  FOR  "ANNABEL  LEE" 

"Annabel  Lee,"  one  of  the  most  admired  and  widely  known 
of  Edgar  Allan  Poe's  poems,  was  first  published  October  9, 1849, 
two  days  after  the  poet's  death.1  Much  has  been  written  about 
the  circumstances  of  its  publication,  particularly  as  to  the  rights 
of  rival  publishers,  and  also  about  supposed  references  in  the 
poem  to  Poe's  wife,  Virginia  Clemm,  to  Mrs.  Whitman,  and  to 
others.2  But  although  Mrs.  Whitman  was  convinced  that  the 
poem  was  composed  in  response  to  her  "Stanzas  for  Music,"3 
and  Professor  W.  F.  Melton  has  revealed  a  close  analogue  of 
the  poem  in  Poe's  prose  tale  of  "Eleonora,"4  no  real  source  of 
"Annabel  Lee"  appears  to  have  been  found. 

I. 

In  the  Charleston  Courier  of  December  4,  1807,  over  a  year 
before  Poe's  birth,  were  printed  these  lines,  together  with  the 
modest  introduction:  "Messrs.  Editors,  I  will  trouble  you  with 
an  occasional  trifle,  if  you  can  spare  it  a  corner." 

THE  MOURNER 

How  sweet  were  the  joys  of  my  former  estate! 

Health  and  happiness  caroll'd  with  glee; 
And  contentment  ne'er  envy'd  the  pomp  of  the  great 

In  the  cot  by  the  side  of  the  sea. 

With  my  Anna  I  past  the  mild  summer  of  love 

'Till  death  gave  his  cruel  decree, 
And  bore  the  dear  angel  to  regions  above 

From  the  cot  by  the  side  of  the  sea! 

1  In  the  evening  edition  of  The  New  York  Tribune.  See  Campbell,  The 
Poems  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe  (1917),  p.  294.  The  original  manuscript  is  repro- 
duced in  facsimile  in  Woodberry's  Life  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  revised  edition 
(1909),  vol.  ii,  facing  p.  352.  This  MS.  was  submitted  by  Poe  to  John  R. 
Thompson,  editor  of  The  Southern  Literary  Messenger,  in  September,  1849. 

1  Such  views  are  summarized  concisely  by  Campbell,  opus  cit.,  p.  295. 

1  These  Byronic  lines,  also  termed  "Our  Island  of  Dreams,"  together  with 
Mrs.  Whitman's  liberal  claims  stated  in  her  own  language,  may  be  found  con- 
veniently in  Caroline  Ticknor's  Poe's  Helen  (1916),  pp.  129-130. 

« South  Atlantic  Quarterly  (1912),  XI,  175  ff. 

341 


342  Law 

But  the  smile  of  contentment  has  never  return'd 

Since  death  tore  my  Anna  from  me; 
And  for  many  long  years  I've  unceasingly  mourn 'd 

In  the  cot  by  the  side  of  the  sea. 

And  her  sweet  recollections  shall  live  in  the  mind 

Till  from  anguish  this  bosom  is  free, 
And  seeks  the  repose  which  it  never  can  find 

In  the  cot  by  the  side  of  the  sea! 

D.  M.  C. 

For  comparison  let  us  quote  in  full  the  familiar  lines  of  Poe: 
ANNABEL  LEE 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  there  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee; — 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 

She  was  a  child  and  7  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love — 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee — 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  Heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that,  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud  by  night 

Chilling  my  Annabel  Lee; 
So  that  her  highborn  kinsmen  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me, 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  half  so  happy  in  Heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me: — 
Yes!  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud,  chilling 

And  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 

But  our  love,  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we — 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we — 
And  neither  the  angels  in  Heaven  above 


A  Source  for  "Annabel  Lee"  343 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee: — 

For  the  moon  never  beams  without  bringing  me  dreams 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
And  the  stars  never  rise  but  I  see  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  life  and  my  bride, 

In  her  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea — 

In  her  tomb  by  the  side  of  the  sea. 

Every  reader  will  note  the  situation  and  theme  of  both 
poems:  a  solitary  mourner  lamenting  his  separation  from  the 
long  lost  wife  of  his  youth;  the  similarity  between  the  names 
of  "my  Anna"  and  "my  Annabel";  the  underlying  cadence  of 
both  lyrics — a  line  of  anapestic  tetrameter,  followed  by  a  line  of 
anapestic  trimeter,  with  alternate  lines  riming;  the  closeness  of 
the  two  refrains:  "In  a  cot  by  the  side  of  the  sea,"  and  "In  a 
kingdom  by  the  sea;"  and  of  the  respective  conclusions:  "In  a 
cot  by  the  side  of  the  sea,"  and  "In  her  tomb  by  the  side  of  the 
sea."5  On  this  evidence  the  case  must  rest,  but  in  passing  one 
may  remark  on  the  ideas  common  to  both  poems  of  angels  and 
heavenly  regions,  of  envy,  and  of  the  dead  body  borne  away. 
Such  coincidences  and  so  many  are,  to  my  mind,  not  to  be  ex- 
plained by  the  law  of  chances. 

But  let  me  acknowledge  that  I  am  fully  sensible  of  the 
marked  contrast  between  the  poems.  "The  Mourner"  is  only  a 
fair  example  of  American  newspaper  verse  of  the  late  eighteenth 
or  early  nineteenth  century,  echoing  the  conventional  sentiments 
and  diction  of  decadent  British  classicism.  Assuming,  for  the 
moment,  Poe's  indebtedness  to  be  a  fact,  to  him  nevertheless 
must  be  credited  all  the  romantic  coloring  of  "Annabel  Lee," 
its  bold  figures,  its  rich  melody,  its  emotional  strain  and  climactic 
structure,  and  indeed  the  transformation  of  the  buried  nugget 
into  fine  gold.  Certainly  the  poetic  reputation  of  Poe  will  lose 
nothing  if  the  charge  of  borrowing  in  this  case  be  sustained. 

*  I  am  not  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  certain  texts  of  the  poem  make  this 
line  read,  "In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea,"  but,  as  Campbell  observes, 
opus  cit.,  p.  294,  the  text  followed  above  "has  an  incontestable  claim  to  finality." 
That  is  the  reading  of  Woodberry's  facsimile  of  the  MS.  See  note  1,  above. 


344  Law 

i 
II. 

"The  Mourner"  was  printed  in  the  Courier,  a  daily  news- 
paper of  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  on  December  4,  1807. 
So  far  as  my  knowledge  goes,  it  has  not  been  reprinted,  although 
it  may  easily  have  been  copied  or  borrowed  by  some  contem- 
porary newspaper.  "D.  M.  C."  was  presumably  a  local  versifier, 
the  riddle  of  whose  initials  I  am  unable  to  solve.6  Then  how 
could  his  lines  have  fallen  under  the  eye  of  Edgar  Allan  Poe? 
This  question  I  will  not  presume  to  answer  positively,  but  more 
than  one  explanation  is  possible.  Poe  was  an  editor  during  two 
or  three  periods  of  his  career,  is  known  to  have  kept  something 
of  the  nature  of  a  scrap-book,  and  to  have  at  least  taken  hints 
from  several  American  poets  of  distinctly  minor  rank.7  Now 
"The  Mourner"  may  have  got  into  some  Baltimore  or  Richmond 
paper  of  the  time,  where  it  was  later  noticed  by  Poe. 

It  is  also  possible  that  he  saw  it  in  an  old  file  of  the  Courier, 
itself.  If  Poe  had  been  a  resident  of  Charleston,  he  would  prob- 
ably have  found  such  a  file  accessible  in  three  semi-public  institu- 
tions. The  particular  file  that  I  have  used,  now  in  the  Little- 
field  Southern  History  Collection  of  the  University  of  Texas, 
was  for  more  than  a  century  in  the  possession  of  the  Charleston 
Chamber  of  Commerce.  Another  file  has  been  for  possibly  a 
still  longer  time  in  the  Charleston  Library,  and  a  third  in  the 
library  of  the  College  of  Charleston.8  Now  in  October,  1827, 
a  few  months  after  Poe  had  issued  his  first  volume  of  verse,  and 
while  he  was  enlisted  in  the  United  States  Army,  he  became 
practically  a  resident  of  Charleston,  for  he  was  stationed  at 
Fort  Moultrie  in  Charleston  harbor  and  remained  there  exactly 
one  year.9 

Granted  the  accessibility,  why  should  Poe  have  cared  to 
pore  over  twenty-year-old  files  of  even  so  respectable  and  inter- 

6  He  continued  to  send  "occasional  trifles"  to  the  Courier,  which  printed 
verses  from  him  on  December  23,  1807;  February  5,  1808;  April  7,  1808;  and 
May  31, 1808.    On  the  last  named  date  he  was  again  singing  of  Anna. 

7  Campbell,  pp.  Hi,  liii,  mentions  Chivers,  Willis,  T.  B.  Read,  Mrs.  Hale, 
H.  B.  Hirst,  G.  P.  Morris,  and  S.  W.  Cone  as  American  poets  who  may  have 
influenced  Poe. 

8  On  inquiry  last  summer  my  colleague.  Mr.  F.  F.  Covington,  Jr.,  learned 
that  both  these  libraries  still  possess  the  file  for  1807. 

» Woodberry,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  American  Men  of  Letters  (1913),  p.  37. 


345 

esting  a  paper  as  the  Courier?  A  recent  critic,  on  the  basis  of 
the  Ellis-Allan  papers  in  the  Library  of  Congress,  argues  that 
Poe  was  deeply  interested  in  learning  the  details  of  his  parents' 
lives,  and  presents  evidence  for  his  interest  in  the  fortunes  of 
the  company  of  actors  to  which  both  parents  belonged.10  Then 
on  his  first  acquaintance  with  the  city,  Charleston  must  have 
impressed  Poe  as  the  place  where  his  mother,  Elizabeth  Arnold, 
acted  soon  after  her  arrival  in  America,  many  times  later,  and 
in  the  last  months  of  her  life  on  April  28,  1811  ;u  and  likewise 
as  the  town  where  his  father,  David  Poe,  began  his  stage  career 
in  Placide's  company  during  the  season  of  1803-4.12  The  file  of 
the  Courier  during  that  winter  contains  such  comments  on  the 
elder  Poe's  acting  as  these: 

In  The  Tale  of  Mystery,  "Poe  performed  the  character  of 
Stephana  (sic)  handsomely.  He  looked  it  well,  and  his  dress 
did  credit  to  the  manager's  taste."13 

In  Richard  the  Third,  "Young  Poe,  in  the  character  of  Tressel, 
did  more  to  justify  our  hopes  of  him  than  he  has  done  in  any 
character  since  his  return  from  Savannah."14 

In  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,  "Young  Poe  being  less  than 
usual  under  the  dominion  of  that  timid  modesty  which  so 
depresses  his  powers,  acted  Don  Pedro  so  respectably  as  to 
animate  the  hopes  we  have  entertained  of  his  future  progress."16 

As  Freeman  in  George  Barnivell,  "Young  Poe  begins  to  emerge 
from  the  abyss  of  embarrassment  in  which  natural  diffidence 
from  his  first  appearance  till  but  two  or  three  of  his  last  per- 
formances had  plunged  him  so  deep  as  to  deprive  him  of  all 
power  of  exertion.  But  he  must  have  not  only  courage  but 
patience — slow  rises  the  actor."16 

True  all  these  notices  are  to  be  met  in  the  Courier  of  1804, 
while  we  are  trying  to  find  reason  for  Poe's  conning  over  a 
volume  of  three  years'  later  date.  But  what  diligent  student 
of  Poe's  biography  is  sure  that  Poe's  parents  did  not  act  in 

10  Whitty,  J.  H.,  Complete  Poems  of  Poe  (1917),  pp.  195-197. 

11  Whitty,  introd.,  p.  xxi 

"  Cf.  Woodberry,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  p.  6. 
11  Courier,  February  4,  1804. 
"Ibid.,  February  13,  1804. 
16  Ibid.,  February  29, 1804. 
"  Ibid.,  March  10,  1804. 


346  Law 

Charleston  at  some  time  during  1807?  And  it  is  a  coincidence 
that  on  the  very  page  of  the  Courier  facing  "The  Mourner"  is 
an  advertisement  of  The  Grandfather's  Will,  together  with  the 
"Grand  Historical  Pantomime  of  La  Perouse"  to  be  played  on 
the  evening  of  December  4,  1807,  by  Placide's  company.  In  the 
cast  of  characters  appear  the  names  of  Placide,  Mrs.  Placide, 
and  Turnbull,  all  fellow  actors  with  David  Poe  in  1804,  as  the 
advertisements  of  that  year  show.  All  that  we  are  trying  to 
suggest  is  a  curiosity  on  the  part  of  the  young  poet,  leading  him 
to  turn  the  pages  of  the  paper  for  1807. 

My  guess  is  that  in  some  way  like  this  the  newpaper  verses 
attracted  the  attention  of  Poe,  who  for  one  reason  or  another 
kept  a  copy  of  them,  to  be  used  many  years  later.  But  I  cannot 
fail  to  see  in  the  crude  lines  of  "D.  M.  C."  the  suggestion  for 
one  of  the  finest  lyrics  yet  produced  in  American  literature. 

ROBERT  ADGER  LAW 

The  University  of  Texas 


REVIEWS  AND  NOTES 

DONNE'S  SERMONS:  Selected  Passages,  with  an  Essay,  by 
Logan  Pearsall  Smith.  Oxford  University  Press,  pp.  lii-f- 
264. 

METAPHYSICAL  LYRICS  AND  POEMS  OF  THE  SEV- 
ENTEENTH CENTURY:  Donne  to  Butler;  Selected  and 
edited,  with  an  Essay,  by  Herbert  J.  C.  Grierson.  Oxford 
University  Press,  pp.  lviii+244. 

LES  DOCTRINES  M EDI EV ALES  CHEZ  DONNE,  LE 
POETE  METAPHYSICIEN  DE  L'ANGLETERRE 
(1573-1631).  Par  Mary  Paton  Ramsay.  Oxford  Univer- 
sity Press,  pp.  xi+338 . 

In  publishing  these  two  attractive  volumes  of  selections 
from  Donne's  sermons  and  from  the  whole  range  of  metaphysi- 
cal poetry  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the  Oxford  University 
Press  has  performed  a  needed  service  to  English  literature. 
They  will  no  doubt  contribute  to  make  Donne  and  his  followers 
appear  somewhat  more  approachable,  both  to  the  beginning 
student  and  to  the  general  reader.  The  selections  have  been 
made  with  judgment  and  taste,  and  the  introductory  essays  are 
both  sympathetic  and  illuminating,  and  yet  free  from  any 
exaggerated  claims  for  the  rather  unpopular  literature  they  in- 
terpret. Especially  welcome  is  the  volume  selected  from  the 
sermons,  for  few  students  have  ventured  to  search  through  the 
scarce  original  editions  or  the  six  volumes  of  Alford's  edition 
to  find  the  great  passages  of  Donne's  prose.  Yet  he  undoubtedly 
deserves  to  be  known  as  a  great  prose  writer.  Moreover,  these 
selections  may  lead  to  a  more  general  study  among  scholars  of 
the  whole  body  of  Donne's  sermons.  For  it  is  certain  that  no 
sound  interpretation  of  metaphysical  poetry  is  possible  without 
a  knowledge  of  Donne's  mind  and  personality;  and  such  a  knowl- 
edge of  course  necessitates  a  study  of  his  sermons  as  well  as  of 
his  verse. 

Miss  Ramsay's  book,  a  doctoral  thesis  at  the  University  of 
Paris,  is  a  study  of  all  of  Donne's  work,  both  verse  and  prose, 
to  ascertain  his  relation  to  medieval  thought.  She  rightly  insists 
on  the  importance  of  medieval  thought,  not  only  in  Donne,  but 
in  the  whole  seventeenth  century.  For  medievalism  did  not 
die  from  sheer  futility,  as  is  sometimes  believed,  nor  did  it 
suddenly  become  extinct  with  the  arrival  of  humanism.  In 
fact,  medieval  thought  not  only  remained  a  vital  force  after  the 
Renaissance,  it  even  contributed  some  valuable  elements  to 
modern  thought;  for  instance,  the  affinity  of  the  idealism  of 
Descartes  with  some  persistent  elements  in  medieval  thought 

347 


348  Bredvold 

has  often  been  the  subject  of  comment.  Much  of  the  charac- 
teristic intellectual  turbulency  of  the  seventeenth  century  is 
to  be  explained  by  this  double  nature  of  the  period,  both  medie- 
val and  modern.  In  insisting  on  this  medieval  aspect  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  Miss  Ramsay  is  following  her  eminent 
teacher  of  philosophy  at  the  University  of  Paris,  Professor 
Picavet,  whose  volumes  (Esquisse  d'une  Histoire  Generate  et 
Corn-par  ee  des  Philosophies  Medievales,  2nd  ed.,  Paris,  1907; 
Essais  sur  V Histoire  Generale  et  Comparee  des  Philosophies 
Medievales,  Paris,  1913)  deserve  the  attention  of  students  of 
literature  as  well  as  philosophy,  who  wish  to  understand  the 
history  of  thought  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries. 
M.  Picavet  has  also  emphasized  the  Neo-Platonic  or  Plotinian 
character  of  medieval  philosophy,  a  wholesome  corrective  to  the 
common  conception  that  medieval  thought  was  merely  a  series 
of  subtle  variations  on  the  syllogism.  Whatever  reservations 
philosophers  may  make  regarding  M.  Picavet's  contention,  it 
is  very  fruitful  for  the  student  of  the  literature  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries.  It  is  in  the  most  complete  disciple- 
ship  to  M.  Picavet  that  Miss  Ramsay  writes  of  Donne,  seeking 
to  explain  by  the  persistence  of  this  medieval  Plotinian  tradition 
"la  mentalite  du  poete  Iui-m6me,  et  celle  desa  generation"  (p.  2). 

But  Miss  Ramsay  finds  two  difficulties  in  this  attempt  to 
show  that  Donne  was  a  Plotinian.  In  the  first  place,  such 
authorities  as  Courthope  and  Grierson  have  spoken  of  the 
"Pyrrhonism"  of  Donne,  of  his  scepticism,  of  his  failure  to 
achieve  a  synthetic  view  of  life  and  the  world.  She  replies  by 
denying  that  Donne  was  a  sceptic.  "Nos  remarques,"  she 
says,  "sont  limitees  a  la  litterature,  mais  nous  croyons  pouvoir 
affirmer  qu'il  ne  faut  pas  parler  de  1'esprit  sceptique  dans  la 
premiere  partie  du  siecle.  L'esprit  de  critique  sceptique  ne  fit 
vraiment  son  apparition  en  Angleterre  qu'avec  Hobbes"  (pp.  11- 
12).  The  second  difficulty,  which  she  frankly  admits,  is  that 
Donne  nowhere  gives  any  systematic  account  of  his  own  philoso- 
phy. But  by  taking  passages  from  the  sermons,  letters  or  poems, 
a  paragraph  here,  a  line  or  a  fragment  of  a  line  there,  and  arrang- 
ing them  coherently,  with  illustrative  passages  from  Plotinus 
and  the  medieval  philosophers,  she  is  able  to  make  a  fairly  com- 
plete system,  as  her  chapter  headings  indicate.  The  third 
section  of  the  thesis,  devoted  to  the  exposition  of  the  "doctrines" 
of  Donne,  has  chapters  on  the  following  subjects:  "De  1'Univers 
ou  de  PEtre";  "De  Dieu";  "Des  Anges  ou  Substances  Separees"; 
"De  1'Homme";  "De  L'Union  avec  Dieu  ou  de  1'Extase";  "Des 
'Sciences.'  ' 

The  result  of  this  method  is  interesting  but  questionable, 
for  the  method  itself  is  not  without  a  danger  which  Miss  Ramsay 
has  insufficiently  guarded  against,  namely,  the  misinterpretation 
of  a  passage  apart  from  its  context.  As  it  is  necessary  to  justify 


Reviews  and  Notes  349 

this  criticism  in  as  brief  a  manner  as  possible,  I  shall  select  my 
illustrations  from  the  first  twenty  pages  out  of  the  one  hundred 
and  fifty  devoted  to  the  "doctrines"  of  Donne. 

On  the  first  page  of  this  chapter  Miss  Ramsay  says  that 
Donne  is  medieval  in  the  close  relationship  between  his  philoso- 
phy and  his  theology.  She  gives  in  a  paragraph  a  summary  of 
Donne's  thought,  which  is  at  the  same  time  a  summary  of 
Neo-Platonism.  I  quote  the  latter  half  of  the  paragraph: 

"L'Etre  Supr&ne  c'est  1'eternelle  perfection,  c'est  Dieu,  Unite  et  TrinitS. 
Le  monde  materiel  est  le  symbole  du  monde  intelligible;  Dieu  nous  parle  con- 
stamment  par  ses  creatures.  Donne  prend  plaisir  a  deVelopper  ces  idees,  il  y 
revient  a  tout  moment.  L'ame  cherche  tou jours  a  remonter  vers  Dieu.  'Dieu, 
dit  U,  'seul  est  tout;  non  seulement  tout  ce  qui  est,  mais  tout  ce  qui  n'est  pas,  tout 
ce  qui  aurait  pu  etre,  s'il  avail  voulu  que  ce  f  ut  .  .  .'  "  (p.  129). 

But  in  its  context  the  passage  quoted  does  not  suggest  that 
'Tame  cherche  toujours  a  remonter  vers  Dieu."  It  is  part  of  a 
passage  which  is  distinctly  not  Plotinian: 

"First  then,  in  our  first  part,  we  consider  the  persons,  the  shepherd  and  the 
sheep,  him  and  them,  God  and  man;  of  which  persons  the  one  for  his  greatness 
God,  the  other  for  his  littleness,  man,  can  scarce  fall  under  any  consideration. 
What  eye  can  fix  itself  upon  east  and  west  at  once?  And  he  must  see  more 
than  east  and  west  that  sees  God,  for  God  spreads  infinitely  beyond  both: 
God  alone  is  all;  not  only  all  that  is,  but  all  that  is  not,  all  that  might  be,  if  he 
would  have  it  be.  God  is  too  large,  too  immense,  and  then  man  is  too  narrow, 
too  little  to  be  considered;  for,  who  can  fix  his  eye  upon  an  atom?  .  .  .  He 
comes  to  us,  God  to  man;  all  to  nothing;  for  upon  that  we  insist  first,  as  the 
first  disproportion  between  us,  and  so  the  first  exaltation  of  his  mercy  towards 
us."  (Alford  I,  129-130.) 

In  her  enthusiastic  search  for  the  Plotinian  tradition  in 
Donne,  Miss  Ramsay  has  overlooked  some  negative  evidence 
even  in  passages  which  she  quotes.  For  instance,  impressed  with 
the  importance  of  the  reason,  the  w>0$,  in  the  Plotinian  tradi- 
tion, she  ignores  Donne's  remarkable  disparagement  of  the 
reason  just  as  she  minimizes  the  sceptical  element  in  his  work. 
She  quotes  (p.  135)  the  first  line  from  the  verse  letter  to  the 
Countess  of  Bedford: 

"Reason  is  our  soul's  left  hand,  Faith  her  right," 

but  does  not  pause  to  ask  why  reason  is  placed  in  the  second 
rank.  A  rather  remarkable  mistranslation  immediately  follows, 
on  the  same  page:  "L'homme  regenere  n'est  point  fait  de  la  foi 
seule;  il  est  compose  de  la  foi  et  de  la  raison.  Bien  que  la  racine 
de  notre  assentiment  soit  dans  la  foi,  c'est  la  raison  qui  nous 
presente  la  chose  et  rillumine."  In  the  original  the  passage 
stands  thus:  "It  is  a  great  degree  of  mercy  that  [God]  affords 
us  signs.  A  natural  man  is  not  made  of  reason  alone,  but  of 
reason  and  sense;  a  regenerate  man  is  not  made  of  faith  alone, 
but  of  faith  and  reason;  and  signs,  external  things,  assist  us 
all.  ...  He  disobeys  God  in  the  way  of  contumacy,  who 


350  1  Iredvold 

refuses  his  signs,  his  outward  assistances,  his  ceremonies  which 
are  induced  by  his  authority,  derived  for  him,  upon  men,  in  his 
church,  and  so  made  a  part,  or  a  help,  of  his  ordinary  service, 
as  sacraments  and  sacramental  things  are"  (Alford,  I,  29). 
Obviously,  the  words,  "and  signs,  external  things,  assist  us  all," 
have  been  completely  transformed  in  the  process  of  translation. 

Again,  on  page  136  an  essential  part  of  a  passage  has  been 
omitted,  and  what  is  quoted  is  consequently  liable  to  misunder- 
standing: "II  voyait  aussi  qu'elle  [la  raison]  a  ses  limites  et 
qu'elle  peut  faillir.  La  phrase  suivante  resume  bien  I'ensemble 
de  sa  pensee.  Tar  la  lumiere  de  la  raison,'  dit  Donne,  'dans  le 
theatre  du  monde,  et  par  le  moyen  des  creatures,  nous  voyons 
Dieu.'  '  The  original  is  as  follows:  "By  the  light  of  nature,  in 
the  theatre  of  the  world,  by  the  medium  of  creatures,  we  see 
God;  but  to  know  God,  by  believing,  not  only  him,  but  in  him, 
is  only  in  the  academy  of  the  church,  only  through  the  medium 
of  the  ordinance  there,  and  only  by  the  light  of  faith"  (Alford, 
I,  420). 

I  shall  take  one  more  illustration,  from  page  149  of  Miss 
Ramsay's  book: 

"Dans  un  sermon  du  mois  de  Mars,  1624,  notre  auteur  fait  allusion  a  la 
question  de  1'Ecole',  savoir:  s'il  y  a  quelque  chose  qui  soit  essentiellement  bon 
.  .  .  Sur  cette  question  du  bien  essentiel  Donne  offre  sa  r£ponse  'd'apres 
1'Ecole.'  Si  par  essentiellement  1'on  comprend  une  ide"e  d'independance,  d'exis- 
tence  parfaite  qui  subsiste  par  elle-m£me,  il  n'y  a  rien  alof  s  qui  soit  essentiel- 
lement bon  sauf  Dieu.  Mais  si  Ton  veut  dire,  au  contraire,  que  1'essence, 
Vttre,  est  bon,  toutes  choses  sont  bonnes  car  1'existence  implique  un  bien  essen- 
tiel." 

But  in  Donne's  sermon  this  question  is  debated  more  at 
length  and  with  a  different  conclusion.  Donne  develops  this 
question  of  the  non-existence  of  evil  by  reference  to  Augustine's 
reply  to  the  Manichees.  He  discusses  the  two  kinds  of  evil,  the 
malum  culpae  and  malum  poenae,  the  latter  of  which  conduces 
to  our  welfare  by  its  "medicinal  correction."  Donne  approaches 
last  the  definitely  philosophical  question  of  the  existence  of  the 
malum  culpae: 

"So  then,  this  which  we  call  malum  poenae,  affliction,  adversity,  is  not 
evil;  that  which  occasions  this,  malum  culpae,  sin  itself,  is  not  evil;  not  evil  so, 
as  that  it  should  make  us  incapable  of  this  diffusive  goodness  of  God.  You 
know,  I  presume,  in  what  sense  we  say  in  the  school,  malum  nihil,  and  peccatum 
nihil,  that  evil  is  nothing,  sin  is  nothing;  that  is,  it  hath  no  reality,  it  is  no 
created  substance,  it  is  but  a  privation,  as  a  shadow  is,  as  sickness  is;  so  it  is 
nothing.  It  is  wittily  argued  by  Boethius,  God  can  do  all  things;  God  cannot 
sin;  therefore  sin  is  nothing.  But  it  is  strongly  argued  by  St.  Augustine, 
if  there  be  anything  naturally  evil,  it  must  necessarily  be  contrary  to  that 
which  is  naturally  good;  and  that  is  God.  How,  contraria  aequalia,  says  he; 
whatsoever  things  are  contrary  to  one  another,  are  equal  to  one  another;  so, 
if  we  make  anything  naturally  evil,  we  shall  slide  into  the  Manichee's  error,  to 
make  an  evil  God.  So  far  doth  the  school  follow  this,  as  that  there,  one  arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  out  of  another,  that  is,  Bradwardine  out  of  Anselm, 
pronounces  it  Haereticum  esse  dicer e,  malum  esse  aliquid.  To  say  that  anything 
is  naturally  evil,  is  an  heresy. 


Reviews  and  ^fotes  351 

"But  if  I  cannot  find  a  foundation  for  my  comfort,  in  this  subtlety  of  the 
school,  that  sin  is  nothing  (no  such  thing  as  was  created  or  induced  by  God, 
much  less  forced  upon  me  by  him,  in  any  coactive  degree)  yet  I  can  raise  a 
second  step  for  my  consolation  in  this,  that  be  sin  what  it  will  in  the  nature 
thereof,  yet  my  sin  shall  conduce  and  cooperate  to  my  good.  .  .  ."  (Alford, 
I,  288-289). 

Certainly  Donne  could  not  indicate  more  decisively  his  own 
critical  independence  of  the  various  doctrines  of  the  scholastic 
traditions. 

Obviously,  in  trying  to  state  Donne's  "doctrines"  and  reli- 
gious experience  in  terms  of  Plotinianism,  Miss  Ramsay  has 
done  violence  to  our  conception  of  him  by  excessively  simplify- 
ing him,  ignoring  all  the  most  characteristic  extravagances, 
paradoxes,  flashes  of  insight — she  has,  in  short,  obscured  his 
peculiar  genius.  She  compares  him  (p.  12)  to  Sir  John  Davies, 
author  of  Nosce  Teipsum — a  misleading  comparison.  Davies 
was  content  with  a  thoroughly  conventional  philosophy  such  as 
never  at  any  stage  in  his  career  could  have  satisfied  Donne. 
Any  mention  together  of  these  two  men  should  rather  serve  to 
emphasize  the  personal,  individual,  original  nature  of  Donne's 
religious  experience  as  well  as  of  his  poetry.  As  Grierson  says  in 
his  Introduction  (p.  xxvii),  Donne  "is  our  first  intensely  personal 
religious  poet,  expressing  always  not  the  mind  simply  of  the 
Christian  as  such,  but  the  conflicts  and  longings  of  one  troubled 
soul, one  subtle  and  fantastic  mind."  It  is  this  unique  and  intense 
religious  experience  which  lies  back  of  the  metaphysical  conceits 
of  the  sermons,  as  of  the  religious  poetry.  It  gives  the  poetic 
force  and  the  psychological  fascination  to  the  metaphysical 
style  of  Donne.  The  editor  of  the  sermons  confesses  that  he 
finds  in  them  something  "baffling  and  enigmatic  which  still 
eludes  our  last  analysis.  Reading  these  old  hortatory  and  dog- 
matic pages,  the  thought  suggests  itself  that  Donne  is  often 
saying  something  else,  something  poignant  and  personal,  and 
yet,  in  the  end,  incommunicable  to  us.  It  sometimes  seems  as 
if  he  were  using  the  time-honored  phrases  of  the  accepted  faith, 
its  hope  of  heaven,  and  its  terror  of  the  grave,  to  express  a  vision 
of  his  own — a  vision  of  life  and  death,  of  evil  and  horror  and 
ecstacy — very  different  from  that  of  other  preachers;  and  we 
are  troubled  as  well  as  fascinated  by  the  strange  music  which 
he  blows  through  the  sacred  trumpets"  (p.  xxv). 

Throughout  her  study  of  Donne,  Miss  Ramsay  has  repeated 
that  he  was  peculiarly  the  disciple  of  Augustine  (see  pp.  179, 
181-2,  220,  225,  252-3,  257,  etc.),  but  in  her  eagerness  to  prove 
Donne  a  Plotinian  she  has  missed  the  significance  of  this  disciple- 
ship.  For  it  has  a  double  significance,  first  regarding  Donne's 
relation  to  medieval  thought,  and  second,  regarding  the  nature 
of  his  religious  experience.  As  these  are  subjects  which  I 
intend  to  develop  more  at  length  elsewhere,  I  shall  discuss  them 
here  only  very  briefly. 


352  Bredvold 

Siebeck,  the  learned  historian  of  psychology,  has  long  ago 
emphasized  that  the  influence  of  Augustine  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
especially  among  the  Nominalists  and  Mystics,  counteracted 
the  intellectualism  of  Aquinas  (See  Siebeck,  Die  Anf tinge  der 
neueren  Psychologic  in  der  Scholastik  in  Zeitschrift  fiir  Philoso- 
phic und  phil.  Kritik,  vol.  93,  1888,  pp.  188  ff.).  This  opposition 
of  religious  temperaments  was  of  course  intensified  by  the 
Reformation.  The  Jansenist  movement  in  France  was  an  illumi- 
nating phase  of  it,  and  Pascal,  far  more  than  Sir  John  Davies, 
furnishes  suggestive  parallels  to  Donne.  For  Donne  had  learned 
in  the  school  of  affliction  and  anguish,  which  he  so  often  refers 
to  as  the  best  school  for  the  soul,  that  he  needed  another  blessed- 
ness than  truth  and  knowledge.  Thomism,  in  its  intellectualis- 
tic  interpretation  of  the  world,  was  an  exposition,  under 
Neo-Platonic  and  Aristotelian  terms,  of  the  Logos.  But  both 
Augustine  and  Donne  were  dissatisfied  with  the  impersonal  and 
intellectual  conception  of  God  in  the  Platonic  tradition.  In 
Plato  we  may  find  God,  said  Donne,  but  "without  a  Christ." 
(Alford,  III,  47).  The  Word  become  flesh  and  living  among  us, 
partaking  of  our  miseries  and  frailties,  giving  us  the  inexpres- 
sible consolation  and  comfort  of  a  personal  love  and  sacrifice 
for  us,  this  was  the  religion  of  Augustine  and  Donne.  Miss 
Ramsay  has  indeed  noticed  in  passing  this  similarity  between 
Donne  and  Augustine,  and  quotes  an  eloquent  passage  on  the 
latter  from  Gaston  Boissier  (p.  252).  But  she  has  not  recognized 
that  this  peculiar  craving  for  peace  was  not  to  be  satisfied  by 
the  Plotinian  vovs.  Donne  and  Augustine  desired,  not  primarily 
to  know  God,  but  to  rest  their  souls  in  the  bosom  of  God,  in  the 
bosom  of  Christ,  who  was  God  become  humanity  and  therefore 
full  of  the  sympathy  they  craved.  This  sense  of  the  living 
personality  of  God  and  of  Christ,  and  the  dependence  of  his 
own  soul  upon  its  preciousness  in  the  sight  of  Christ,  is  the 
essence  of  Donne's  religious  experience. 

Upon  this  religious  experience  the  restless  intellect  of  Donne 
was  working,  and  the  result  was  the  "metaphysical"  or  "con- 
ceited" style.  In  his  labor  to  understand,  to  communicate, 
the  experiences  of  his  burning,  passionate  nature,  he  draws  upon 
all  life  and  all  knowledge,  upon  the  most  homely  matters  of 
daily  experience  as  well  as  upon  the  distinctions  of  the  scholastic 
philosophies.  It  is  a  great  error  to  represent  Donne  as  always 
preoccupied  with  the  subtleties  of  medieval  thought.  He  was 
really  preoccupied  with  the  subtleties  of  his  own  soul.  Donne 
preached  out  of  his  own  experience,  as  he  had  startled  his  con- 
temporaries, and  as  he  has  startled  all  his  discerning  readers 
since,  by  the  sincerity  of  his  poetry  written  out  of  his 
own  experience.  No  one  has  looked  more  directly  upon 
the  realities  of  life,  no  one  has  had  his  vision  of  reality 
less  impeded  by  tradition,  than  Donne.  But  in  the  expres- 


Reviews  and  Notes  353 

sion  of  even  the  most  subtle,  evanescent  or  mystical  phases 
of  his  experience,  he  sought  to  translate  it  into  intellect- 
ual terms,  into  "conceits."  There  is  a  truth,  in  spite  of  its 
perverse  and  unsympathetic  statement,  in  the  familiar  comment 
of  George  Macdonald,  in  England's  Antiphon:  "The  central 
thought  of  Dr.  Donne  is  nearly  always  sure  to  be  just:  the  sub- 
ordinate thoughts  by  means  of  which  he  unfolds  it  are  often 
grotesque,  and  so  wildly  associated  as  to  remind  one  of  the 
lawlessness  of  a  dream,  wherein  mere  suggestion  without  choice 
or  fitness  rules  the  sequence."  This  remark  may  at  any  rate 
serve  as  a  warning  to  us,  when  we  read  Miss  Ramsay's  book,  to 
look  for  the  solution  of  the  riddle  of  this  unique  Renaissance 
saint,  not  in  any  systematization  of  his  subordinate  thoughts, 
so  "often  grotesque,"  but  in  those  central  thoughts  which  are 
not  only  just,  but  intensely  poetical  and  intensely  human. 

Louis  I.  BREDVOLD 
University  of  Michigan 


EINFUEHRUNG  IN  DAS  STUDIUM  DER  INDOGER- 
M  AN  ISC  HEN  SPRACHWISSENSCHAFT.  By  Josef 
Schrijnen,  Professor  an  der  Reichsuniversitat  Utrecht. 
Uebersetzt  von  Dr.  Walther  Fischer,  Privatdozent  an  der 
Universitat  Wiirzburg.  Heildelberg  1921,  Carl  Winter. 
8-vo,  X+340. 

LANGUAGE.  An  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Speech.  By 
Edward  Sapir.  New  York,  1921,  Harcourt,  Brace  &  Co. 
8-vo,  VII +258. 

It  is  a  rare  pleasure  to  review  two  books  of  such  unquestion- 
able value  for  the  study  and  advancement  of  linguistic  science. 
But  while  of  equal  merit,  they  present  a  most  striking  contrast 
to  each  other,  differing  radically  in  scope,  attitude,  and  style, 
and  in  all  of  those  subtle  ways  in  which  the  writer's  personality 
is  stamped  upon  his  work. 

Schrijnen's  book,  while  written  by  a  Dutch  scholar,  is  a 
characteristic  exponent  of  German  achievements  and  the  Ger- 
man attitude  towards  science.  It  professes  to  be  a  relatively 
elementary  introduction  to  the  study  of  Indo-European  lin- 
guistics, but  at  the  same  time  it  offers  welcome  orientation  even 
to  a  well-trained  specialist  in  Indo-European  philology  and 
should  prove  an  invaluable  aid  to  linguistic  work  in  other 
branches.  Its  wealth  of  information  is  quite  out  of  proportion 
to  its  small  size.  It  contains  a  thoroughly  adequate  bibliography 
(though  I  missed  reference  to  Buck's  important  A 6/aw/-articles) ; 
a  more  detailed  discussion  of  the  general  principles  of  linguistics 
than  is  found  in  any  other  book  of  similar  scope;  a  brief,  but 
sufficient  chapter  on  phonetics,  including  a  satisfactory  account 


354  Prokosch 

of  the  present  state  of  experimental  phonetics;  and  it  presents 
Indo-European  phonology  in  a  clear  and  thoroughly  up-to-date 
although  conservative  manner.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the 
excellent  little  book  stops  short  at  this  point.  A  chapter  on 
morphology  would  seem  entirely  feasible  and  extremely  desira- 
ble. Perhaps  we  may  hope  for  a  second  volume,  filling  that 
gap?  The  Dutch  edition  (Leiden  1917)  is  not  at  my  disposal, 
and  the  preface  of  the  German  edition  does  not  suggest  any 
such  prospect,  nor  does  it  indicate  the  reason  of  this  rather 
arbitrary  limitation.  We  have  passed  that  stage  of  Indo- 
European  grammar,  it  would  seem,  when  morphology  was  either 
too  vague,  or  too  complicated  for  an  elementary  book.  Schrij- 
nen's  terseness  and  clearness  would  fit  him  admirably  for  striking 
a  happy  medium  between  the  morphological  chapters  in  the 
introductory  books  by  Meillet  and  Meringer. 

Concreteness — the  presentation  of  definite  facts  with  a 
minimum  of  stylistical  embellishment,  is  the  dominant  note  in 
Schrijnen's  book.  In  moot  questions  he  generally  refrains  from 
committing  himself,  but  offers  a  lucid  survey  over  the  prevailing 
theories.  This  is  true,  for  instance,  in  his  chapter  on  the  various 
attempts  of  linguistic  classification,  including  the  'Misch- 
sprachen'  and  the  problems  of  the  Hittite,  Etruscan  and  Basque 
languages.  Likewise,  the  question  of  the  home  of  the  Indo- 
Europeans  is  discussed  without  prejudice,  although  the  author, 
on  the  whole,  inclines  towards  the  European  hypothesis;  I 
cannot  admit,  by  the  way,  that  the  conservative  character  of 
the  Bal to-Slavic  languages  supports  that  view,  as  Schrijnen 
asserts  (p.  60);  I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  emigrant  lan- 
guages show  a  tendency  to  become  petrified — Icelandic  offers  a 
striking  instance.  The  Origin  of  Language;  Language  and 
Writing;  Language  and  Race;  Linguistic  Changes  (with  a 
valuable  digression  on  linguistic  'substrats,'  pp.  86-88) ;  Dialects; 
Social  Linguistics;  Linguistic  Psychology  (with  a  brief,  but  fair 
outline  of  the  Sievers-Rutz  investigations) — these  are  other  chap- 
ters of  the  general  part  of  the  book  that  are  characteristic  of 
the  author's  objective  and  thorough  method  of  skilful  conden- 
sation. 

Slightly  less  than  one  half  of  the  book  is  devoted  to  Indo- 
European  phonology.  The  extreme  brevity  of  the  phonetic 
chapter  (fourteen  pages,  aside  from  experimental  phonetics) 
leads  occasionally  to  questionable  statements;  for  instance, 
Schrijnen's  definition  of  sonorous  sounds  (p.  178)  does  not  apply 
to  certain  kinds  of  r  and  /,  as  the  author  states  himself  on  p.  182. 
It  is,  however,  valuable  for  the  student  of  phonetics — and  is  not 
meant  for  the  layman.  Here  as  elsewhere,  the  book  will  prove 
to  be  of  greater  advantage  to  those  students  who  have  already 
gained  some  preliminary  acquaintance  with  linguistic  principles 
and  methods  than  to  beginners.  Some  chapters,  for  instance 


Reviews  and  Notes  355 

chapter  three,  which  deals  with  the  most  important  categories 
of  phonetic  laws,  are  concentrated  to  such  an  extent  that  their 
wealth  of  information  would  bewilder  the  latter,  but  is  highly 
instructive  to  the  former. 

The  fourth  chapter  takes  up  in  some  detail  the  development 
of  the  individual  Indo-European  sounds,  in  accordance  with 
Brugmann's  methods  and  results.  In  the  paragraph  on  the 
Palatalgesetz  ('Collitz'  Law',  p.  243)  I  noticed  with  regret  that 
the  name  of  the  real  discoverer  is  mentioned  merely  incidentally, 
in  the  midst  of  five  other  names,  while  p.  34  at  least  mentions 
'vor  allem  aber  Collitz  und  Joh.  Schmidt  mit  ihren  massgebenden 
Veroffentlichungen.'  Conservative  everywhere,  Schrijnen  fol- 
lows the  traditional  theories  concerning  Gc.  8(1],  #(<?),  IE.  p, 
IE.  bh,  dh,  gh  (he  does  not  mention  my  assertion  that  they  were 
voiceless  spirants)  and  the  ablaut.  The  chapter  on  ablaut  is 
especially  clear  and  concrete,  but  the  chapter  on  the  Germanic 
soundshift  is  rather  mechanical  and  disappointing  in  a  book  of 
such  excellent  type;  the  same  is  true  of  the  treatment  of  the 
High  German  soundshift,  which  revives  the  time-honored  delu- 
sion of  its  spread  from  the  south  to  the  north  (p.  297),  and  more 
or  less  of  the  discussion  of  the  consonants  in  general.  It  is  too 
brief  for  reference  and  too  skeleton-like  for  a  physiological 
understanding  of  the  general  linguistic  trends.  But  in  this 
Schrijnen  merely  follows  the  standard  of  most  other  recent 
books  on  the  subject  and  does  not  deserve  criticism.  Wherever 
he  appears  to  fail  the  defect  is  not  his  own,  but  belongs  to  the 
present  generation  of  linguistic  science.  His  book  is  not  per- 
sonal, but  an  excellent  exponent  of  a  valuable  type. 

Sapir's  work,  on  the  other  hand,  is  personal  in  the  extreme. 
The  author  is  a  refreshing  iconoclast.  His  style  is  vivid,  teeming 
with  clever  apercus,  at  times  even  poetic.  It  is  the  style  of  the 
inspiring  lecturer,  of  the  interesting  causeur,  not  of  the  objective 
scholar  (which  Sapir  in  reality  is,  to  the  highest  degree).  The 
book  "aims  to  give  a  certain  perspective  on  the  subject  of  lan- 
guage rather  than  assemble  facts  about  it."  Schrijnen's  book 
is  all  facts:  Sapir  is  almost  anxious  to  avoid  them.  The  former 
gives  definite  information  concerning  establisht  truths;  the  latter 
delights  in  the  keen  analysis  of  basic  concepts  and  is  always 
fruitfully  suggestive  although,  of  course,  he  cannot  always 
present  us  with  concrete  results.  He  avoids  "all  the  technical 
terms  of  the  linguistic  academy,"  but  does  not  hesitate  to  coin 
a  multitude  of  new  ones.  There  is,  as  he  proudly  states,  not  a 
single  diacritical  mark  in  the  whole  book,  and  he  abstains  from 
giving  a  detailed  survey  of  phonetics,  as  being  too  technical 
and  "too  loosely  related  to  our  main  theme."  (However,  for 
the  purposes  of  the  book,  his  phonetic  chapter,  twelve  pages,  is 
quite  as  adequate  as  Schrijnen's.)  The  discussion  is  based 
chiefly  on  English  material,  but  references  to  other  languages 


356  Prokosch 

are  frequent,  and  the  author's  position  (Mr.  Sapir  is  chief  of  the 
Anthropological  Section,  Geological  Survey  of  Canada)  makes 
it  appear  natural  that  examples  are  often  drawn  from  the  lan- 
guages of  the  American  Indians.  It  is  characteristic  that  a 
warning  is  uttered  against  the  overrating  of  the  'inflective' 
type  of  languages  in  comparison  with  the  'sober  logic  of  Turkish 
and  Chinese'  and  the  'glorious  irrationalities  and  formal  com- 
plexities of  many  'savage'  languages'. — In  the  selection  of  his 
examples,  especially  on  the  side  of  phonetics,  Sapir  has  the 
advantage  of  the  active  experimenter;  a  systematized  report 
on  his  experiences  in  recording  and  investigating  primitive 
languages  would  be  of  the  greatest  interest. 

The  beaten  paths  exist  for  the  author  merely  to  be  shunned. 
For  such  commonplace  categories  as  parts  of  speech  and  inflec- 
tions he  substitutes  four  categories  of  linguistic  concepts  (the 
limitations  of  space  prohibit  my  defining  these  terms):  Basic 
concepts,  (objects,  actions,  qualities),  derivational  concepts, 
concrete  relational  concepts,  and  pure  relational  concepts;  on 
these  concepts  he  bases  a  new  classification  of  human  speech,  to 
replace  the  grouping  into  isolating,  agglutinative,  and  inflective 
languages:  Simple  Pure-relational  languages  (e.g.,  Chinese), 
Complex  Pure-relational  (Polynesian,  Turk),  Simple  Mixed- 
relational  (Bantu,  French),  and  Complex  Mixed-relational 
languages  (Semitic  and  most  Indo-European  languages). 

Unhampered  by  any  respect  for  authorities,  Sapir  displays  a 
brilliant  insight  into  the  nature  of  linguistic  processes.  Lan- 
guage is  'a  merely  conventional  system  of  sound  symbols'  (thus 
Sapir  discards  every  trace  of  a  belief  in  the  onomatopoetic  or 
interjectional  theories  of  the  origin  of  language) ;  every  language 
possesses  a  firmly  established  'pattern'  of  sounds  and  forms, 
which  is  rigidly  preserved  regardless  of  phonetic  morphological, 
or  syntactic  changes.  Single  sounds,  or  whole  series  of  sounds 
change,  but  there  is  no  loss  of  pattern.  (If  this  empirical  asser- 
tion— p.  195 — should  prove  to  be  correct,  it  would  do  away  with 
our  present  scheme  of  Indo-European  consonants,  which  is 
clearly  in  accord  with  the  phonetic  patterns  of  Sanscrit,  Thibe- 
tan, Burmese,  but  not  with  that  of  the  any  European  language.) 
While  independent  from  established  traditions,  in  fact,  almost 
intolerant  against  them,  Sapir  is  less  inaccessible  to  the  influ- 
ence of  random  assertions.  Thus,  he  attaches  considerable 
weight  to  Meillet's  and  Feist's  untenable  claim  that  'there  are  a 
surprisingnumber  of  common  and  characteristic  Germanic  words 
which  cannot  be  connected  with  known  Indo-European  radical 
elements  and  which  may  well  be  survivals  of  the  hypothetical 
Pre-Germanic  language'  (p.  226) ;  from  vague  evidence  of  this 
kind  he  infers  that  the  Germanic  languages  'represent  but  an 
outlying  transfer  of  an  Indo-European  dialect  (possibly  a  Celto- 
Italic  prototype)  to  a  Baltic  people  speaking  a  language  or 
group  of  languages  that  was  alien,  not  Indo-European.' 


Reviews  and  Notes  357 

The  chapter  on  phonetic  changes,  in  which  the  author 
rightly  sees  'the  most  central  problem  in  linguistic  history' 
is  the  most  fertile  one  of  the  book — indeed,  it  is  the  most  bril- 
liant exposition  of  the  problem  that  I  ever  read.  Every  language, 
according  to  Sapir,  possesses  a  'phonetic  drift'  (a  much  better 
term  than  the  expression  'tendency'  that  I  was  accustomed  to 
use).  This  drift  represents  a  general  movement  of  the  language 
towards  a  particular  type  of  articulation — vowels  may  tend  to 
become  higher  or  lower,  voiced  consonants  may  tend  to  become 
voiceless,  stops  may  tend  to  become  spirants.  As  an  illustration 
of  a  section  of  such  a  drift  he  sketches  an  ingenious  picture  of  the 
English  and  German  umlaut,  basing  its  systematic  spread  in 
part  on  the  same  psychological  tendency  that  gave  rise  to  the 
morphological  use  of  the  ablaut  (compare  page  147  of  my  Sounds 
and  History  of  the  German  Language) .  The  passage  is  a  strik- 
ing specimen  of  the  concrete  results  that  might  be  gained  by 
the  consistent  application  of  Sapir's  highly  subjective,  audacious, 
independent  method.  But,  of  course,  it  is  only  a  specimen. 

Schrijnen's  book  is  a  summing  up  of  a  great  past,  a  firm  rock 
in  the  present.  Sapir's  book  casts  a  divining  glance  into  the 
future.  The  former  is  of  greater  immediate  usefulness,  but 
books  of  the  latter  type,  while  mit  Vorsicht  zu  gebrauchen,  are 
more  inspiring. 

E.  PROKOSCH 

Bryn  Mawr  College 


DANTE  IN  SPAGNA-FRANCIA-INGHILTERRA-GER- 
MANIA  (DANTE  E  GOETHE).  By  Arturo  Farmelli, 
Torino,  Fratelli  Bocca,  Editori,  1922.  IX+506  pp. 

This  book  is  a  collection  of  five  essays  composed  at  various 
times,  and  here  assembled,  according  to  the  preface,  as  a  "com- 
pendium of  the  so-called  fortune  of  Dante  in  the  nations  that 
are  most  cultivated  and  richest  in  literary  and  artistic  tradi- 
tions." The  author  reminds  us  that  all  the  study  devoted  to 
Dante  fails  to  explain  "the  mystery  of  his  personality,  the 
divine  seal  that  was  impressed  upon  it." 

I.  The  first  essay,  entitled  Riflessi  di  Dante  nei  secoli  (pp. 
1-28),  is  a  lecture  delivered  by  the  author  at  Bellinzona  on 
March  24th,  1921.  It  sums  up  the  most  important  evidences 
of  Dante's  influence.  In  it  the  author  deprecates  the  vast 
amount  of  publication  occasioned  by  anniversary  celebrations. 
He  also  deplores  the  tendency  to  overlook  Dante  himself  in  the 
mass  of  commentary  devoted  to  him.  He  reminds  us  that  we 
find  in  Shakespeare  a  life  all  nature  and  instinct;  that  we  can  lull 
ourselves  to  sleep  and  forget  ourselves  in  Homer;  that  we  can 
restore  our  strength  in  the  divine  humor  of  Cervantes;  but  that 


358  Van  Home 

we  can  exalt  ourselves  and  feel  a  proud  and  powerful  human 
dignity  only  in  Dante.  Some  attention  is  paid  to  the  cult  of 
Dante  as  a  classic  shortly  after  his  death,  even  among  the 
merchant  classes  and  lower  classes  of  Italy.  We  are  reminded 
that  the  great  poet  was  not  appreciated  during  the  Renaissance, 
and  that  he  was  regarded  by  the  formalists  as  uncouth  down 
almost  to  our  own  times.  Yet,  certain  strong  spirits  in  various 
lands  loved  him,  notably  Saint  Catherine  of  Siena,  Savonarola, 
Michelangelo,  Bruno,  Campanella,  Galileo,  Vico,  Christine  of 
Pisan,  Marguerite  of  Navarre,  and  Milton.  Professor  Farinelli 
calls  attention  to  the  services  of  the  German  romanticists  in 
rescuing  Dante  from  the  contempt  of  Olympians  and  pedants. 
The  romanticists  found  Dante  akin  to  them,  even  though  they 
did  not  always  understand  him.  In  conclusion  we  are  urged, 
in  the  tribulations  of  today,  to  turn  to  Dante,  not  amid  the 
uproar  of  an  anniversary  celebration,  but  in  a  spirit  of  silence 
and  reverence. 

II.  Dante  in  Ispagna  nelV  Eta  Media    (pp.    29-195),  is  a 
reproduction,   with   changes   and   corrections,   of   a   previous 
Appunti  su  Dante  in  Ispagna  nell'  Eta  Media.1     It  is  a  species 
of  commentary  on  B.  Sansiventi's  I  primi  influssi  di  Dante,  del 
Petrarca  e  del  Boccaccio  sulla  letteratura  spagnola.2     The  dis- 
cussion goes  down  to  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century.     Many 
criticisms  and  corrections  of  Sansiventi's  work  are  offered,  and 
a  great  amount  of  new  material  is  contributed.      It  is  shown 
that  in  the  early  15th  century  there  was  more  interest  in  Dante 
in  Spain  than  in  other  countries.     Among  a  great  number  of 
writers,  especial  attention  is  paid  to  Imperial,  the  Marquis  of 
Santillana,  Juan  de  Mena,  and  the  Catalans.     Spanish  imitation 
of  Dante  lacked  the  breath  of  poetry,  and  was  confined  mostly 
to  external  matters.     The  real  Dante  was  not  understood. 
Some  of  the  allegory  of  the  Divine  Comedy  was  imitated,  mixed 
with  French  allegory.     In  Spain,  as  elsewhere,  the  episode  of 
Francesca  da  Rimini  was  popular. 

III.  A  proposito  di  Dante  e  la  Francia  (pp.  197-229),  is  a 
reprint  of  a  letter  written  by  the  author  to  a  French  friend  in 
March,  1921,  in  answer  to  a  request  for  further  material  related 
to  Farinelli's  monumental  two-volume  work  Dante  e  la  Francia 
dalV  Eta  Media  al  secolo  di  Voltaire.3    This  last-mentioned  work 
is  authoritative  and  standard,  even  though  the  nature  of  the 
material   makes   the   result   rather  barren.     A   reviewer   has 
said  that  the  whole  of  the  long,  learned  work  of  Farinelli  may 
be  summed  up  in  a  few  words  describing  the  admiration  for 

1  Giornale  storico  della  letteratura  italiana,  Supplemento  8,  1905. 

1  Milan,  Hoepli,  1902  (not  1904,  as  stated  on  p.  30) .     Cf .  Romania,  XXXII, 

1  Milan,  Hoepli,  1908  (not  1906,  as  stated  on  p.  198). 


Reviews  and  Notes    ,  359 

Dante  by  Christine  of  Pisan  and  Marguerite  of  Navarre,  and 
the  contempt  of  Voltaire,  which  in  reality  gives  "a  synthesis, 
doubtless  in  his  own  style,  but  at  bottom  faithful,  of  the  real 
thought  or  real  absence  of  thought  in  France  about  the  Divine 
Comedy."*  Farinelli's  letter  reviews  the  conclusions  reached 
in  his  great  work  on  Dante  and  France.  He  says  that  he  did 
well  to  stop  before  romanticism.  He  regrets  the  barren  nature 
of  his  results,  but  defends  them  as  facts.  His  letter  serves  as  a 
discussion  of  an  eventual  second  edition  of  Dante  e  la  Francia. 
There  is  some  attention  to  critical  theory.  Farinelli  opposes  a 
schematic  form,  according  to  which  critics  said  that  his  work 
should  be  written,  and  he  defends  his  method  of  making  Dante 
the  center  of  his  investigation  and  letting  the  discussion  lead 
him  in  natural  directions. 

IV.  Dante  in  Inghilterra  dal  Chaucer  al  Cary  (pp.  231-349), 
is  an  amplified  and  corrected  version  of  a  previous  article  of  the 
same  name.5  It  is  an  extended  review  of  Paget  Toynbee's 
two-volume  Dante  in  English  Literature  from  Chaucer  to  Cary.6 
Toynbee's  work  has  been  recognized  by  critics  as  authoritative 
and  standard.7  It  contains  an  enormous  number  of  references 
to  Dante  in  English  literature  up  to  the  year  of  Gary's  death, 
1844.  Farinelli  admits  the  learning  of  Toynbee's  work,  saying 
that  it  would  be  foolish  to  attempt  to  rival  it.  However,  even 
in  the  matter  of  simple  references,  he  adds  a  considerable 
number  of  items  to  Toynbee's  huge  list.  The  most  original 
contribution  of  Farinelli  is  his  criticism  of  Toynbee's  method. 
He  states  that  Toynbee  buried  his  own  personality  in  the  work, 
while  he  went  to  the  greatest  extreme  to  collect  others'  opinions, 
and  that  he  injured  his  work  by  adopting  methods  severely 
chronological  and  bibliographical.  Farinelli  shows  that  authors 
whose  opinions  are  naturally  related  are  often  separated  by 
many  pages  through  some  accident  of  chronology.  According 
to  Farinelli  there  is  no  aesthetic  method  in  Toynbee's  work, 
which  he  finally  styles  a  shapeless,  chaotic  mass,  in  which  one 
feels  a  secret  breath  of  life.  Toynbee  was  clearly  trying  to 
compose  a  bibliographical  work,  and  if  Farinelli's  strictures 
seem  too  harsh,  we  must  remember  that  they  are  to  be  applied 
to  Toynbee's  method,  and  not  to  its  execution.  It  is  interest- 
ing to  note  that  Ettore  Allodoli  characterized  Toynbee's  book 
as  a  bibliography  and  anthology,  and  Farinelli's  similar  work 
on  Dante  and  France  as  literary  and  historical.8 

Without  any  pretence  at  exhaustiveness  Farinelli  suggests 
some  of  the  questions  that  he  might  have  considered,  had  he 

4  E.  G.  Parodi  in  II  Marzocco,  Sept.  13th,  1908,  here  quoted  from  the 
Giornale  Slorico,  III,  397. 

6  Bullettino  della  Societd  Dantesca  italiana,  N.S.,  vol.  XVII,  pp.  1  ff. 
8  London  and  New  York,  Macmillan,  1909. 

7  Cf .  especially  Giornale  Dantesco,  XVIII,  29-36. 

8  Giornale  Dantesco,  XVIII,  29. 


360  Van  Home 

been  the  author  of  Toynbee's  work.  He  wonders  at  the  failure 
of  English  Puritans  (except  Milton)  to  admire  Dante;  at  the 
absence  of  an  appreciation  among  English  critics  of  Dante's 
knowledge  of  human  nature;  at  the  tendency  in  the  18th  century 
to  follow  blindly  French  criticism  of  Dante.  On  the  basis  of 
Toynbee's  selections  Farinelli  discusses,  in  an  interesting  man- 
ner the  disparagement  of  Dante  by  Scott,  Landor,  Sherlock, 
and  others,  the  interest  of  English  women  in  Dante,  the  work  on 
Dante  by  Italian  professors  and  patriots  in  England,  and  other 
subjects. 

V.  Dante  in  Ger  mania  net  secolo  di  Goethe  (pp.  35 1-490), 9 
has  more  unity  than  the  other  essays,  probably  because  it  is 
limited  to  the  age  of  Goethe,  and  especially  to  the  latter  part  of 
Goethe's  career.  It  is  an  extended  review  and  commentary 
based  on  a  book  by  Emil  Sulger-Gebing.10  Sulger-Gebing's 
work  has  three  parts — a  chronological  list  of  Goethe's  remarks 
about  Dante,  the  relation  between  the  two  poets,  and  traces 
of  the  Divine  Comedy  in  Geothe's  works.  The  general  opinion 
of  critics  seems  to  be  that  Sulger-Gebing  has  given  a  temperate 
exposition  of  the  somewhat  barren  facts  in  the  case — i.  e., 
that  Goethe  did  not  know  Dante  very  well,  that  he  liked 
episodes  from  the  Divine  Comedy  without  sympathizing  with 
the  work  as  a  whole,  that  his  chief  interest  in  Dante  and 
knowledge  of  him  came  in  his  last  years,  and  that  very  few 
direct  traces  of  Dante  are  to  be  found  in  Goethe,  although 
there  are  some  in  the  second  part  of  Faust. 

Farinelli's  article  is  far  more  than  a  mere  commentary  on 
Sulger-Gebing.  Years  before  he  himself  published  an  article 
on  what  a  reviewer  calls  the  tema  ingrato  of  Dante  and  Goethe." 
FarineUi  returns  to  the  theme  with  renewed  vigor.  His  dis- 
cussion does  not  deal  exclusively  with  Dante  and  Goethe,  but 
with  Dante  in  the  age  of  Goethe.  After  remarking  that  Dante 
and  Goethe  seem  at  first  to  be  widely  different,  FarineUi  points 
out  similarities  between  the  Divine  Comedy  and  Faust — in  the 
vastness  of  their  respective  worlds,  the  aspirations  of  the 
characters,  and  the  summary  of  contemporary  life.  He 
discusses  the  enthusiasm  for  Dante  felt  by  Herder,  the  Schlegels, 
Tieck,  Werner,  and  others,  and  shows  how  Schiller,  Goethe, 
Grillparzer  and  Wagner  were  bored  by  some  of  the  more 
enthusiastic  appreciations.  We  learn  that  Schelling  was  a 
sounder  critic  of  the  Divine  Comedy  than  his  predecessors,  in 

9  An  amplified  and  corrected  version  of  the  article  of  the  same  name  in  the 
Bullettino  della  Societa  Dantesca  italiana,  N.S.,  Vol.  XVI,  pp.  81  ff. 

10  Goethe  und  Dante.    Studien  zur  vergleichenden  Literalurgeschickte  (Forsch- 
ungen  zur  neueren  Liter aturgeschichle.    Erg.  v.  F.  Muncker,  XXXII),  Berlin, 
A.  Duncker,  1907. 

11  See  Giornale  slorico  della  letteratura  italiana,  XXXVI,  229,  for  a  brief 
review  of  Farinelli's  earlier  article. 


Reviews  and  Notes  361 

that  he  studied  the  poem  as  a  whole.  He  inspired  Abeken, 
Witte,  Fichte,  Hegel  and  others.  As  time  went  on,  especially 
after  1820,  there  was  a  new  and  more  scientific  interest  in  Dante. 
Schlosser,  the  historian,  was  a  keen  Dante  scholar,  and  inspired 
followers.  The  German  artists  had  a  Dante  cult. 

Farinelli  tells  us  that  Goethe  was  influenced  by  the  spread  of 
interest  in  Dante.  His  conclusions  are  not  very  different 
from  those  of  Sulger-Gebing,  although  the  form  of  discussion  is 
different,  in  not  following  an  artificial  (to  Farinelli)  scheme  of 
division  into  three  chapters.  The  conclusions  are  as  follows: 
To  know  Dante  well  Goethe  should  have  known  him  better  in 
youth;  associating  Dante  chiefly  with  the  Inferno,  Goethe  got 
an  impression  of  Dante's  austerity;  Goethe  could  never  recon- 
cile himself  to  the  shadows  and  specters  of  the  middle  ages,  for 
his  modern  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  earth,  where  his  purgatory 
and  redemption  took  place;  Faust's  restless  spirit  would  have 
been  incomprehensible  to  Dante;  Goethe  admired  Dante's 
plastic  art  and  verse  form,  but  did  not  try  to  penetrate  his 
allegory;  Goethe  did  not  venerate  Dante  as  the  romanticists 
did. 

Although  not  so  negative  as  the  results  of  the  work  on 
Dante  and  France,  study  of  Dante  and  Goethe  is  somewhat 
barren.  Yet  Farinelli  reminds  us  of  some  similarities.  Dante 
had  some  earthly,  and  Goethe  some  transcendental  qualities 
Dante  and  Goethe  approach  each  other,  not  in  philosophy  or 
science,  but  in  art,  in  penetrating  insight,  and  in  poetic  images ; 
finally  the  Divine  Comedy  and  Faust  end  in  visions  of  Paradise, 
where  the  central  theme  is  love. 

While  this  collection  of  essays  by  Farinelli  does  not  pretend  to 
form  a  complete  history  of  Dante  in  Spain,  France,  England, 
and  Germany,  it  covers  a  considerable  portion  of  the  field,  and 
it  introduces  the  reader,  through  discussions  and  bibliographical 
notes,  to  all  the  literature  on  the  subject.  Its  usefulness  is 
enhanced  by  an  index.  The  present  reviewer  is  not  competent 
to  suggest  corrections  or  additions.12  The  impression  received 
coincides  with  what  has  been  said  by  other  reviewers  in  praise 
of  the  tremendous  erudition  and  the  critical  insight  of  Professor 
Farinelli. 

JOHN  VAN  HORNE 

University  of  Illinois 

12  Very  few  slight  errors  in  accentuation  of  Spanish  names,  and  in  the 
spelling  of  English  and  German  words  have  been  noted.  On  p.  310,  the  quo- 
tation from  Moore,  One  fatal  remembrance — one  sorrow  that  throws  Its  bleak 
shade  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes,  lacks  the  word  alike  between  shade  and 
o'er.  On  p.  320,  in  the  quotation  from  Mrs.  Hemans,  read  wave  for  wade; 
in  the  same  quotation  the  verb  swelled  belongs  in  the  line  after  wave. 


NOTES 

The  initial  number  of  the  University  of  Iowa's  Philological 
Quarterly  should  be  pondered  by  those  who  take  a  dark  view  of 
American  scholarship.  Any  one  who  thinks  that  the  present 
generation  of  scholars  lacks  courage,  initiative,  and  resourceful- 
ness will  find  his  answer  here.  We  recommend  subscription 
to  the  new  quarterly,  however,  not  chiefly  as  a  recognition  of 
merit.  We  recommend  it  as  a  paying  investment.  To  judge 
from  the  interest  and  variety  of  the  first  number,  subscribers 
may  rely  confidently  upon  their  quarterly  dividends. 

The  Philological  Quarterly  is  devoted  to  the  classical  and  the 
modern  languages  and  literatures;  and  it  publishes  reviews  as 
well  as  independent  articles.  In  the  contents  of  the  first  number 
and  in  the  appended  list  of  forthcoming  articles,  one  should  note 
not  only  the  range  of  subjects  but  the  inclusion  of  papers  of 
such  general  interest  as  Professor  Cutting's  criticism  of 
Treitschke's  Deutsche  Geschichte  and  Professor  Craig's  'Problems 
in  Renaissance  Scholarship.'  Following  the  lead  of  Professor 
Manly's  article  of  fifteen  years  ago  on  Chaucer's  Knight,  Profes- 
sor Knott  brings  to  bear  upon  the  description  of  the  Merchant 
much  pertinent  information  about  fourteenth  century  commerce; 
and  Professor  Thompson,  looking  backward  to  Spenser  and  for- 
ward to  the  author  of  the  Seasons,  revives  two  almost  forgotten 
books:  one  a  book  of  emblems,  the  other  a  calendar  of  man's 
life.  The  English  field  is  further  represented  by  Dr.  Helen 
S.  Hughes's  argument  for  Fielding's  authorship  of  A  Dialogue 
between  a  Beau's  Head  and  his  Heels  and  by  Dr.  Kenyon's 
'Note  on  Hamlet.'  Mention  should  also  be  made  of  Professor 
Searles'  characteristically  entertaining  article  on  La  Fontaine, 
and  of  Professor  Ullmann's  account  of  a  Vatican  codex,  of  in- 
terest to  students  of  Caesar,  Pliny,  and  Sallust. 


362 


NOTES  ON  SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 

The  interpretation  of  the  Middle  English  Sir  Gawain  has 
been  hampered  by  peculiarities  of  dialect,  by  inaccuracies  of 
the  scribe  of  the  manuscript,  and  fundamentally  by  obscurities 
of  style  in  the  poet  himself.  The  various  translators  have  fre- 
quently been  at  variance,  so  that  no  apology  seems  necessary 
for  the  following  notes  and  discussions.  In  my  article  "Some 
Notes  on  the  Pearl,"  Publications  of  the  Modern  Language 
Association  xxxvi,  52,  I  brought  together  notable  peculiarities  of 
the  manuscript  copyist,  and  these  will  be  freely  used,  while 
some  additional  examples  may  now  be  included. 

For  conciseness  the  following  abbreviations  will  be  used. 
The  editors  Sir  Frederick  Madden,  Morris,  and  Gollancz 
will  be  designated  by  F.  M.,  M.  and  G.,  the  first  editing  for 
the  Bannatyne  Club,  the  second  for  the  Early  English  Text 
edition  of  1864,  revised  1869;  the  third  of  the  revised  text  of 
1897  and  1912.  The  prose  translation  of  E.  J.  B.  Kirtlan  (Ld. 
1912)  will  be  referred  to  as  Kt.,  that  of  Neilson  and  Webster 
(Chief  Brit.  Poets  etc.,  1916)  by  W-N.  These  two  alone  are  used 
because  presumably  more  literal  than  poetic  translations.  The 
other  poems  of  the  same  MS.  will  be  designated  as  PI.  for 
Pearl,  Cl.  for  Clannesse,  Pat.  for  Patience.  The  names  Knott, 
Napier,  Thomas,  Mrs.  Wright  refer  to  single  articles  by  those 
commentators  in  Mod.  Lang.  Notes  xxx,  102:  Ibid,  xvii,  85; 
Eng.  Stud,  xlvii,  250;  Ibid,  xxxvi,  209  respectively.  Other 
abbreviations  will  be  readily  understood,  but  Br-Str.  is  the 
Bradley-Stratmann  Dictionary,  CtDict.  the  Century. 

28  selly  in  sijt.  G.  hyphens  in  sijt,  apparently  as  if  OE. 
insiht  'narrative/  a  meaning  which  does  not  seem  to  occur  in 
ME.  Kt.  omits,  and  Thomas  seems  to  have  the  right  idea  in 
'a  marvel  to  look  upon,  a  wondrous  sight,'  perhaps  somewhat 
better  'a  marvel  in  appearance  to  the  sight.'  The  relation  of 
the  next  two  lines  is  obscured  by  W-N's  generalized  'which 
some  men  count  strange  and  extraordinary  among  the  wonders 
of  Arthur.'  It  is  'such  that  some  men  hold  it  a  marvel  to  the 
sight  and  an  extraordinary  incident  among  Arthurian  wonders.' 

363 


364  Emerson 

The  phrase  selly  in  si$t  refers  specifically  to  the  appearance  of 
the  Green  Knight  at  the  court  of  King  Arthur. 

33  stad  &  stoken.  An  alliterative  expression  meaning 
'fixed  and  established.'  The  two  lines  of  the  couplet  belong 
with  the  preceding  as  Kt.  and  W-N.  have  it,  rather  than  as  the 
punctuation  of  M.  and  G.  imply. 

46  glaumande  gle.  Br-Str.  and  Bjorkman  set  up  a  verb 
glaumen  for  this  place  only.  I  suggest  that  the  true  reading  is 
glaum  ande  gle  'noisy  joy  and  glee.'  Compare  glam  and  gle 
of  1652  and  Icl.  glaumr  beside  glamr  with  essentially  the  same 
meaning.  Note  similar  unions  of  ande  with  the  preceding  word 
in  Pat.  269,  279,  and  PI.  1 1 1  as  I  have  proposed  in  the  article 
mentioned  above  p.  61. 

55  on  sille.  M.  glossed  'seat,'  OE.  sylla  'chair,'  Kt.  render- 
ing 'in  mirth,'  W-N.  'in  the  hall.'  Br-Str.,  under  the  Sth.  suite, 
rightly  connects  it  with  OE.  syll  'sill,  base,  foundation,'  the 
phrase  here  meaning  'on  earth'  as  implied  by  the  next  line. 

60  Wyle  nw  jer  .  .  .  J?at.  Kt.  has  only  'when  the  new  year 
was  come,'  W-N.  'when  New  Year  was  fresh  and  but  newly 
come,'  but  it  is  rather  'while  the  new  year  was  so  fresh  because 
(for  the  reason  that)  it  was  newly  come.'  pat  'because'  is  both 
Old  and  Middle  English,  as  for  the  latter  in  Chaucer,  Boeth.  iii, 
pr.  iv,  34. 

62  Fro  J?e  kyng.     Kt.  'when,'  W-N.  'as  soon  as,'  wrongly 
beginning  a  new  sentence.    Fro  means  'from  the  time  that'  as 
in  PL  251,  375,  Cl.  1198,  Pat.  243.    The  nobles  were  not  served 
until  the  king  came. 

63  J?e  chauntre.    M.  glossed  'religious  service,'  Kt.  and  W-N. 
rendering  by  the  general  'chanting,'  the  latter  incorrectly  mak- 
ing this  the  conclusion  of  a  sentence  beginning  with  his  'as  soon 
as'  noted  above.     Here  chauntre  'endowment  for  saying  mass* 
is  'the  mass'  itself,  which  regularly  preceded  the  meal  in  the 
poem,  as  in  755,  1135,  1311,  1558,  and  must  be  so  assumed  in 
the  general  reference  of  1414.    The  order  of  events  is  hearing 
of  mass  in  the  chapel,  the  entrance  to  the  hall  by  the  king  and 
knights,   the  noisy  demanding  and  receiving  of  new  year's 
gifts,  the  feast  itself  with  the  double  serving  (61). 

67  jejed  jeres  jiftes  on  hij.  'Loudly  cried  new  year's  gifts.' 
The  ancient  custom  still  survives  in  Scotland  and  Europe 
generally  (Fr.  jour  d'etrennes  for  new  year's  day),  but  in  Eng- 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  365 

land  and  America  the  gift-giving  usually  belongs  only  to  Christ- 
mas. Here  line  65  would  seem  to  indicate  both  days  as  for 
gifts,  though  with  some  difference.  There  is  no  indication  of 
gifts  brought  in  from  the  outside,  and  those  that  were  lost  and 
won  were  paid  at  once  (jelde  bi  honde).  I  suspect  that  the  gift 
about  which  the  ladies  'laughed  full  loud  though  they  had 
lost,'  and  'he  that  won  was  not  wroth,'  was  a  kiss.  Evidence 
of  such  a  custom  in  later  times  is  found  in  the  Memoirs  of  Lord 
Langdale  (see  Notes  and  Queries  III,  v,  153).  At  young  people's 
parties  on  new  year's  eve  on  the  stroke  of  twelve  all  fall  to 
kissing,  each  young  man  taking  a  kiss  from  each  young  lady, 
after  which  they  separate  and  go  home.  The  custom- of  giving 
gifts  on  new  year's  day  in  Scotland  is  well  known. 

68  Debated  busyly  aboute  J?o  giftes.  M.  left  debated  un- 
glossed,  and  the  translators  have  'much  talking  was  there  about 
the  gifts'  (Kt.),  'busily  discussed'  (W-N.).  The  meaning  is 
stronger,  'strove,  contended,  disputed'  though  doubtless  in  good 
spirit.  There  were  questions  as  to  who  first  called  out  'new 
year's  gift.'  Debatande  with  hymself  in  2179  is  nearer  our  usage, 
but  even  there  it  was  no  mild  thinking  over,  but  rather  that 
implied  by  our  'cudgeling  his  brains.' 

72  waschen  wor)?yly.  M.  and  G.  put  worbyly  into  the  second 
half  line  by  their  punctuation  and  the  translators  have  followed. 
The  word  belongs  to  the  first  half  line  both  by  alliteration  and 
syntax,  odd  as  the  expression  may  seem  to  later  refinement. 

74  Whene  Guenore.  The  punctuation  of  the  printed  texts 
is  misleading.  The  when-clause  extends  to  the  end  of  line  80, 
the  next  two  lines  concluding  the  sentence.  The  when-clause 
includes  a  description  of  Guenevere  to  des  (75),  which  is  itself 
then  described  in  what  follows  to  the  end  of  80.  A  dash  after 
des  and  another  after  80  would  make  all  clear.  In  addition  there 
have  been  other  misunderstandings.  Bisides  should  be  bi  sides 
'by  the  sides' — or  'at  the  sides'  as  W-N.  has  it — here,  and  at 
856  where  W-N.  omits  it  entirely.  But  W-N.  begins  a  new 
sentence  with  line  76,  thus  obscuring  the  relation  to  the  when- 
clause.  Hir  over,  translated  by  W-N.  'over  her,'  must  surely 
be  for  her  over  'here  over,'  referring  to  the  dais  as  a  whole 
(dubbed  al  aboute),  since  the  canopy  could  not  have  been  over 
Guenevere  alone.  The  copyist  has  misunderstood  the  passage, 


366  Emerson 

probably  because  hir  and  her  are  both  used  for  'her.'  Her  after, 
her  bisyde,  herin  (here  inne}  here  utter,  all  occur  in  the  poems. 

88  lenge.  The  MS.  reading  is  confirmed  by  Knott,  and  I 
suggest  it  may  be  Scand.  lengi  adv.  'long'  which  would  have 
become  ME.  lenge.  This  may  have  been  used  by  the  poet  to 
avoid  repetition  of  longe,  although  possibly  the  MS.  form  is  by 
e-o  confusion  as  in  other  places. 

98  leve.  M.  does  not  gloss  in  this  place,  and  Kt.  generalizes 
the  two  lines  98-9.  W-N.  has  'trusting  each  to  the  other, 
leaving  the  victory  to  fortune,'  as  if  leve  'believe.'  It  seems  to 
me  better  to  assume  leve  'leave'  as  in  PI.  622,  Cl.  1233,  Pat.  401 : 
'each  one  leave  to  the  other  to  have  the  fairer  as  fortune  would 
aid  them,'  or  'him'  as  we  should  put  it. 

113  ette  wit  hymselven.  Thomas  notes  that  the  translators 
Kt.,  Weston,  and  I  may  add  W-N.,  have  misunderstood  the 
expression,  translating  'by  himself.'  It  is  of  course  'ate  with 
him,'  that  is  Bawdewyn.  To  the  note  of  Thomas  I  may  add 
the  reference  in  128  'each  two  had  dishes  twelve.'  Six  persons 
sit  at  the  high  table,  the  king  and  queen,  Gawain  and  Agravayn, 
Bawdewyn  and  Ywain  (Ywan).  Of  these  Bawdewyn  begine^ 
be  table,  suggesting  Chaucer's  the  bord  bigonne  (Prol.  to  C.  T.  52) 
upon  which  I  hope  to  make  a  further  note  in  time. 

118  Nwe  nakryn  noyse  with  J?e  noble  pipes.  Cl.  1413  is  to 
be  compared,  And  ay  be  nakeryn  noyse,  notes  of  pipes.  In  both 
places  nakeryn  (nakryn)  has  been  assumed  to  be  a  gen.  pi., 
W-N.  translating  here  'new  noise  of  kettledrums.'  It  has  not 
been  noted  that  noyse  may  well  be  a  verb  in  both  places  with 
nakryn  (nakeryn)  as  a  subject,  thus  supplying  verbs  to  lines 
which  lack  them  otherwise.  The  verb  noise(n)  is  in  good  use 
in  Middle  English,  though  we  must  use  a  different  word  today, 
as  'sound,  give  forth  a  sound,  resound.'  Nwe  is  then  'anew,' 
that  is  after  the  crakkyng  of  trumpes  which  accompanied  the 
first  course.  In  the  Cl.  passage  the  change  has  the  advantage 
of  removing  the  repetition  of  the  noun  noyse  within  three  lines, 
and  sware  be  noyse  'answered  the  sound'  (1415)  more  naturally 
follows  'and  ever  the  kettledrums  (or  nakers)  resound.'  Nakerys 
appears  in  Gaw.  1016,  but  there  in  rime  and  the  alternative 
plural  may  be  supposed  to  be  used  for  that  purpose. 

132  ff.  W-N.  reverses  132  and  133,  saying  "otherwise  this 
passage  means  that  a  second  course  comes  in  heralded  by  new 


Sir  Gaivain  and  the  Green  Knight  367 

music."  The  change  seems  to  me  unnecessary.  The  poet  says 
in  effect,  I  will  say  no  more  of  the  service  except  that  there  was 
no  lack  of  food.  Then  music  (an  oj?er  noyse) —  indicates  that 
the  course  is  completely  served  and  the  people  (J?e  lude,  which 
Thomas  erroneously  refers  to  Arthur)  are  permitted  to  eat. 
This  music  had  scarcely  ceased  when  "there  comes  into  the 
hall"  etc.  For  for  beginning  134  we  should  expect  a  yet,  but  the 
poet  seems  to  return  to  his  idea  'I  will  say  no  more'  of  130. 

144  Bot.  Napier  proposed  Both,  without  apparently  noting 
the  contrast  intended  between  the  strong  body  and  the  slender 
waist. 

149  fade.  M.  glossed  'hostile,'  comparing  Icl.  f<zd  'feud,' 
and  the  translators  have  followed,  Kt.  having  'fierce,'  W-N. 
the  gloss  of  Morris.  Br-Str.  gives  'great,  powerful'  with  a 
question.  Maetzner  has  more  nearly  the  idea  when  he  connects 
with  ON.  fddr  'splendidus,'  at  least  removing  all  conception  of 
hostility.  In  203  we  are  told  the  Green  Knight  has  no  weapons, 
and  in  266  he  himself  says:  "I  passe  as  in  pes  &  no  plyjt  seche." 
For  the  derivation,  however,  I  suggest  OE.  *fad  (gefced)  'orderly, 
decorous'  as  still  better  suiting  form  and  context.  This  would 
give  ME.  fad — fade,  the  latter  by  analogy  of  oblique  cases,  and 
would  suit  all  examples  given  by  Br-Str.  or  Maetzner. 

152  ff.  The  passage  has  given  difficulty,  as  noted  by  Thomas, 
and  has  been  variously  translated.  The  equipment  of  the  Green 
Knight  consists  of  a  coat  (cote  152),  a  mantle  (153),  a  hood  (155), 
hose  (157),  and  spurs  (158).  Scholes  I  have  elsewhere  suggested 
is  nothing  more  than  'shoeless.'  The  description  of  the  cote 
presents  no  difficulty.  Description  of  the  mantle  includes  most 
of  lines  153-5,  emphasizing  both  lining  (mensked  withinne)  and 
pane.  The  latter  has  given  most  trouble  and  been  variously 
translated.  Since  the  knight  is  dressed  in  green  (gray)?ed  in 
grene  151,  and  the  repetition  in  161),  we  must  interpret  the 
passage  with  this  in  view;  that  is,  the  cote,  mantle,  hode  must 
be  of  that  prevailing  color,  as  the  hose  is  again  said  to  be  in  157. 
The  bright  mantle,  then,  is  adorned  with  unmixed  fur,  and  is 
open  (apert)  to  show  it.  Pane  'piece  of  cloth,'  and  'rectangular 
block'  in  Gaw.  855  describing  the  bed  coverings,  is  here  I 
think  'skirt'  or  outside  of  the  mantle,  one  of  the  early  meanings 
and  still  preserved  in  Fr.  pan.  It  is  said  to  be  full  fair  (see 
dene  in  158,  161,  163  and  similar  uses  in  PL,  Cl.)  with  pleasing 


368  Emerson 

white  fur  (blaunner)  full  bright,  doubtless  about  the  edges. 
Then  the  hood  is  introduced  as  similarly  adorned  with  edging 
of  white  fur,  while  it  has  also  been  'snatched  (lajt)  from  his 
locks  and  laid  on  his  shoulders.' 

Heme  seems  the  adjective  of  the  adv.  kemely  in  1852  where 
'closely' — there  is  no  warrant  for  M's  'secretly'  there — fits  the 
place.  In  origin  heme  may  represent  an  OE.  *h<zme  from  ham 
'home/  with  such  derived  meanings  as  belong  to  the  parallel 
OHG.  heimlich  and  the  Icl.  adv.  heimolliga.  G.  has  hyphened 
it  to  the  following  wel,  but  that  word  seems  to  me  to  go  with 
haled  'hauled,  drawn  up.'  Thus  we  get  'close-fitting,  well 
drawn  up  hose  of  that  same  green  which  covered  (spenet  'fas- 
tened about,  enclosed')  his  calves.'  A  fairly  literal  translation 
of  the  whole  passage,  with  different  word  order  in  one  or  two  in- 
stances, is: 

A  splendid  mantle  above,  open,  adorned  within  with  unmixed 
fur  (or  fur  of  one  color),  the  skirt  full  fair  with  lovely  white 
fur  full  bright,  and  his  hood  also  so  edged,  which  had  been 
snatched  from  his  locks  and  laid  on  his  shoulder;  close-fitting, 
well  drawn  up  hose  of  that  same  green  that  covered  his  calves, 
and  underneath  fair  spurs  of  bright  gold  on  silk  bands  (see 
Sch.  bord  (horde)  'broad  hem  or  welt,  strip')  full  richly  barred, 
and  shoeless  under  shanks  where  the  man  rides. 

178  ful  gayn.  M.  rightly  glossed  'fit,  proper,  serviceable,' 
the  last  for  this  place,  and  Kt's  'to  the  man  he  was  full  gain' 
is  correct  enough,  in  spite  of  Thomas,  if  gain  is  the  Scotch  gane 
(gayn)  in  the  same  sense.  Thomas's  'he  matched  his  rider'  is 
far  too  general  at  least,  and  W-N's  'and  one  [the  steed]  right 
dear  to  his  rider'  has  no  justification.  The  word  is  Scand. 
gegn  'straight,  ready,  serviceable,  useful,'  as  by  Bjorkman. 

180  of  his  hors  swete.  The  translators  have  missed  the 
point,  Kt.  giving  "and  the  hair  of  his  horse's  head  was  green," 
W-N.  "and  the  hair  of  his  head  matched  that  of  his  horse,"  a 
note  to  the  latter  saying  "translating  hors  swete  of  the  MS.  as 
'horse's  suits'  ".  The  poet  says: 

Well  gay  was  this  man,  dressed  in  green, 

And  the  hair  of  its  head  of  his  good  (swete)  horse. 

Then  he  describes  the  man  in  lines  181-6,  the  mane  of  the  horse 
in  11.  187-90.  M.  had  correctly  glossed  swete  as  'sweet,  fine, 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  369 

good,'  meanings  fully  justified  by  ME.  usage.    OF.  sieute  (suite) 
is  sute  in  PL  203, 1108,  Cl.  1457,  and  could  not  be  intended  here. 

184  umbetorne.      F.    M.    suggested   'about,    around,'    M. 
'about-turned?  =  twisted?,'  and  in  his  note  the  possibility  of 
umbecorve.    The  word  is  essentially  adverbial,  from  the  parti- 
cipial adjective,  and  is  to  be  compared  with  umbegon  in  PL  210 
which  means  scarcely  more  than  'round  about' ;  compare  begone 
in  our  woe  begone  'woe  beset.' 

185  halched.     I  suggest  connection  with  OE.  hylc  'bend, 
turn,  winding,'  presumably  equivalent  to  OAng.  *helc,   WS. 
*hielc,  and  in  gradation  relation  with  ME.  halke,  OE  healoc 
'hollow,    corner,   bending'    for   OE.    healc,    OE.    hole   'hollow 
cavity.'    An  OAng.  verb  from  the  a-grade  would  be  *helcian 
(halcian),  or  the  ME.  a  might  be  a  lowering  of  the  pitch  of  the 
vowel  by  the  following  1.     The  word  halchen,  which  appears 
only  in  Gawain,  but  there  six  times,  has  meanings  which  could 
all  be  accounted  for  by  the  above  etymology. 

221  heldej  hym  in.  M.  gives  three  separate  entries  to  forms 
of  this  word.  It  is  OAng.  heldan,  WS.  hieldan,  'bend,  incline, 
tilt,'  which  like  OE.  bugan  'bow'  became  generalized  in  meaning, 
as  'go,  sit  (of  a  man),  set  (of  the  sun),'  or  other  motions  implying 
bending  or  inclining. 

229  reled  hym.  Napier  objected  to  M's  'swaggered'  as  not 
suiting  the  situation,  and  it  may  be  added  Kt's  'reeled  up  and 
down'  as  well  as  W-N's  'rode  fiercely  up  and  down'  are  equally 
bad.  Napier  proposed  to  read  hem  for  hym,  perhaps  also  making 
y$e  into  y$en  'eyes.'  No  change  is  necessary  if  we  assume  hym 
refers  to  y)e:  'He  cast  his  eye  upon  the  knights  and  rolled  it  up 
and  down.'  From  OE.  hreol  'reel'  an  OAng.  *hrelan  might  well 
mean  'make  to  reel,  stagger,  roll  (the  eyes),'  meanings  which 
would  fit  all  the  places  in  Gaw.,  and  Pat.  147,  270.  The  singular 
of  'cast  his  eye'  has  merely  been  extended  to  the  following  pro- 
noun. 

262  preve.  M's  gloss  'to  prove'  has  misled  the  translators, 
Kt.  giving  'proof  in  playing,'  and  W-N.  'proved  opponents.' 
The  word  is  OF.  prive  'particular,  familiar,'  so  'intimate, 
friendly'  here;  compare  line  902,  but  pryvy  in  PL  12,  Cl.  1748. 

267  in  fere.  P.  G.  Thomas  notes  that  Kt.  can  not  be  right 
in  translating  'in  company,'  and  proposes  'in  martial  array,' 
comparing  Scotch  in  feir  of  war.  W-N.  has  'set  out  with  a  com- 


370  Emerson 

pany,'  but  that  rendering  does  not  seem  justified  by  other  usage 
of  in  fere.  The  expression  seems  to  be  an  alliterative  formula 
in  which  in  fere,  originally  'in  company,  together,'  sometimes 
loses  its  distinctive  implication  of  'more  than  one.'  Thus  in 
Rauf  Coiljear  702  as  here  it  is  used  of  a  single  person,  and  can 
not  mean  'together'  in  the  ordinary  sense.  Here  surely  the 
Green  Knight  does  not  mean  'if  I  had  brought  others  along,' 
but  merely  'if  I  had  come  here  (together  with  you  here)  in  fight- 
ing-wise.' The  usual  'come  together'  is  here  'come'  only. 

271  were.  M.  glossed  'war'  and  the  translators  have  fol- 
lowed him.  But  'war'  is  werre  in  Cl.  1178,  Gaw.  16,  and  the 
verb  werre}  in  Gaw.  720.  I  suggest  were  'defence,  protection/ 
which  seems  to  me  better  to  suit  this  place  and  Gaw.  1628. 

296  barlay.  F.  M.  suggested  OF.  par  loi  'by  law,'  here  of 
course  the  law  of  knighthood.  I  suggest  that  the  NF.  par  lei 
would  more  closely  account  for  the  form,  and  this  is  better  than 
M's  proposal  of  a  corruption  of  by  our  Lady — the  latter  followed 
by  W-N. — or  Mrs.  Wright's  suggestion  of  OF.  bailler  'give.' 

305.  brojej.  Probably  should  be  brew,  OAng.  breg  (bregti) 
'eyelid,  eyebrow'  and  so  also  in  961.  The  o-forms  seem  to  occur 
only  in  Gaw.,  while  e-forms  appear  in  breghis  (Destr.  of  Troy 
3780);  bre;e  (Spec,  of  Lyr.  Poet.  p.  34),  bribes  (OE.  Misc.  p. 
226),  breye  (OE.  Misc.  p.  182).  The  not  uncommon  e-o  varia- 
tion would  account  for  the  MS.  form. 

310  rous  rennes  of.  M.  connected  with  rose  'praise,'  Scand. 
hros,  but  the  passage  seems  to  require  a  different  word,  as  of 
contemptuous  import.  I  suggest  a  *rus  'noise,  uproar,  boasting,' 
perhaps  OE.,  perhaps  ON.,  MnE.  rouse  'drinking  bout, shouting.' 
Skeat  notes  an  OFris.  ruse  'noise,  uproar,'  Icl.  has  rausa  'talk 
loud  and  fast,'  Shet.  ruz  'boast.'  The  translators  generalize, 
Kt.  'that  all  men  are  talking  of  for  the  whole  line,  W-N.  'that 
is  famous.'  'That  all  the  boasting  runs  of  through  realms  so 
many'  is  certainly  clear. 

372  J?at  )?ou  on  kyrf  sette.  The  translators  take  bat  as  a 
conjunction  and  on  as  'one'  (Kt.),  'a'  (W-N.),  but  the  first  is 
the  relative  'that,  that  which'  and  on  is  'in'  as  Thomas  points 
out.  As  we  should  say,  'Be  careful,  cousin,  what  thou  in  cutting 
undertakest,'  or  may'st  undertake,  since  sette  is  pres.  subj. 

380.  M.  put  a  question  mark  at  end  of  line,  and  G.  retains, 
but  the  question  is  wholly  indirect  and  a  period  is  the  proper 
punctuation. 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  371 

420  note.  F.  M.  had  suggested  Fr.  noeud  'throat-knot,' 
and  Mrs.  Wright  the  dialectal  note  'ball,  knob,  head,'  but  M's 
note  'use,  occasion,  business'  is  to  be  preferred,  as  in  PI.  155,  Cl. 
381,  727,  Gaw.  358,  599. 

435  stel  bawe.  M.  leaves  unglossed,  but  Skeat  had  rightly 
hyphened  stele-bowe  and  glossed  'stirrup'  in  Wars  of  Alex.  778. 

440  bluk.  F.  M.  suggested  blunk  (blank)  'horse,'  and  M. 
gives  both  that  gloss  and  'trunk'  for  this  place,  preferring  the 
latter  in  his  note.  OF.  bloc  has  the  meaning  'tronc'  in  Godefroy, 
and  tronc  in  Cotgrave  is  'headless  body  of  man  or  beast.'  The 
NED.  gives  'stump  or  trunk  of  a  figure  without  the  limbs,'  but 
should  give  'headless  body'  also,  with  this  place  as  an  example. 

460  be-com.  M.  gives  only  'went,'  but  it  is  rather  'came  or 
attained  to,'  that  is  after  his  journey,  as  sometimes  in  OE.,  for 
example  Andr.  931.  Kt.  has  the  impossible  'of  what  kith  or 
kin  he  was'  and  W-N.  an  unfortunate  'vanished.' 

465  breved.  Though  M.  gives  'tell'  for  PL  755,  Gaw.  1393, 
1488,  Br-Str.  glosses  'commit  to  writing'  only,  as  in  Cl.  197, 
Gaw.  2521.  ON.  brefa  had  both  meanings,  and  both  are  found 
in  these  poems. 

472  Layking  of  enterludes.  M.  did  not  gloss  layking  (ON. 
leika  'play'),  perhaps  leading  W-N.  to  the  curious  translation 
'in  lack  of  entertainment.'  Kt.  has  'gainings  and  interludes' 
instead  of  'playing  of  interludes.' 

478  doser.  M.  glossed  'back  of  seat,'  and  Br-Str.  gives  only 
'pannier,  basket.'  It  is  here  'tapistry,  curtain,  hanging  as  for 
ornament,'  on  the  wall  back  of  the  high  table  as  W-N.  implies. 

488  woj?e  J?at  J?ou  ne  wonde.  M.  glosses  wonde  'delay,' 
but  it  is  rather  'turn  aside,  hesitate,  shrink  (from  duty)'.  So 
wobe  is  'peril,  danger,'  not  'harm,  injury'  as  by  M.  See  563, 
where  'shrink'  is  also  the  meaning.  'Shrink  not  from  the  danger' 
would  seem  better  than  W-N's  'blench  not  from  the  pain,'  a 
translation  better  adapted  to  an  imminent  peril. 

504  )?repej.  Compare  Eng.  threap  'wrangle,'  Sch.  threpe 
'contend,  quarrel,'  here  best  'strives.'  Br-Str.  gives  only  'speak 
against,  contradict,'  one  meaning  only  of  the  word. 

508  BoJ?e  groundej  &  ]?e  grevej.  I  suggest  Bobebe,  assuming 
that  the  scribe  has  omitted  the  second  be. 

513  rawej.  Probably  'hedge-rows,'  a  meaning  still  dialectal 
in  East  Anglia,  according  to  Forby's  Vocabulary. 


372  Emerson 

518  Wela- wynne.  It  is  doubtful  whether  wela  should  be 
united  with  the  following  word  here,  in  Gaw.  2084,  or  in  Cl. 
831.  It  corresponds  to  OE.  wel  la  'well  lo,  O  lo,  alas/  and  the  a 
would  probably  not  have  been  preserved  in  a  wholly  unstressed 
syllable. 

531  no  sage.  M.  says  equivalent  to  segge  'man,'  but  no  such 
form  of  that  word  appears  in  the  poems,  while  sage  'wise' 
occurs  in  Cl.  1576.  Here  the  adjective  is  used  as  a  noun,  no 
sage  'no  wise  man.'  The  idea  is  'winter  comes  as  the  world 
demands  (requires),  but  no  wise  man  would  wish  it  with  its 
cold  and  trouble.' 

537  fare  on  J?at  fest.  M.  gosses  'entertainment,'  Kt.  giving 
merely  'made  a  feast,'  and  W-N.  'made  a  feast  on  that  festival.' 
The  word  is  more  general  in  meaning,  as  in  694,  PI.  832,  Cl.  861. 
Here  it  is  specifically  a  'good  time  in  farewell,  a  send-off,'  the 
feast  being  only  a  part  of  it.  Cf.  CtDict.  'doings,  ado,  bustle, 
tumult,  stir.' 

563  Quat  etc.  M.  rightly  glosses  'How,  lo,'  our  modern  what 
in  exclamations,  but  does  not  indicate  the  interjection  by  his 
punctuation  as  in  2201.  We  should  read, 

Quat!  schuld  I  wonde 
Of  destines  derf  &  dere? 
What  may  mon  do  hot  fonde? 

568  tule  tapit.  M.  suggests  connection  with  tuly  (858), 
but  there  wrongly  adds  "seems  to  be  equivalent  to  Toulouse,  77, 
which  place  seems  then  to  have  been  famed  for  its  tapestries." 
It  is  rather  the  ME.  form  of  MnE.  tulle  'fine  silk  net,'  originally 
named  from  Tulle  in  France.  The  two  forms  of  the  word  indi- 
cate a  dissyllable,  tuli  in  Bev.  of  Hamp.,  tewly  of  Skelton's 
Carl,  of  Lawr.,  tuly  in  Sloane  MS.  (CtDict.  under  tuly).  Here 
'a  carpet  of  tulle,'  not  'Toulouse'  as  W-N. 

577  knotej  of  golde.  M.  defined  as  'knobs,  rivets,'  but 
apart  from  the  fact  that  rivets  of  gold  would  have  been  ineffec- 
tive, and  knobs  have  no  meaning  except  as  connected  with 
rivets,  the  text  may  be  supported  by  the  use  of  knots  as  badges 
in  medieval  times  and  their  occasional  employment  in  attach- 
ing parts  of  the  armor.  For  heraldic  knots  of  various  English 
families  see  the  CtDict.  under  knot.  W.  H.  St  John  Hope,  in 
Heraldry  for  Craftsmen  and  Designers  pp.  184-6,  not  only 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  373 

refers  to  the  use  of  such  knots  by  certain  English  families,  but 
to  those  "pounced  upon  the  effigy  of  Queen  Anne  of  Bohemia." 
He  also  figures  an  elbow  piece  from  the  brass  of  Sir  Humphrey 
Bourchier  in  Westminster  abbey,  with  the  straps  which  fas- 
tened it  to  the  body  tied  in  the  Bourchier  knot,  though  also 
showing  the  buckle  and  narrowed  end  for  further  fastening 
perhaps.  At  least  we  may  safely  assume  that  the  knee-cops  of 
Gawain's  armor  were  attached  with  knotted  straps,  probably 
of  his  favorite  device,  and  gilded  as  implied  by  the  'knots  of 
gold.'  Since  true  love  knots  are  part  of  the  ornamentation  of 
Gawain's  "urisoun"  (608),  we  may  probably  assume  they 
were  also  used  in  this  place. 

599  Ay  quere.  Should  be  ayquere  'everywhere,'  as  implied 
by  M.  in  his  glossary. 

599  for  \>e  note  ryched.  M.  glossed  the  last  word  'enriched' 
in  this  place,  and  Kt.  has  followed,  but  M.  gave  the  correct 
'prepared'  for  2206. 

613  As  mony  burde.  W-N.  translates  'as  many  birds  there 
were  as  had  been  in  town  for  seven  winters,'  disregarding  so 
of  612  and  giving  an  impossible  meaning  to  burde  'lady,  maiden.' 
Kt.  has  the  right  idea,  but  translates  freely.  I  take  it  entayled 
(612)  is  to  be  supplied  in  proper  form  for  the  next  line.  The 
birds  and  trueloves  are  'embroidered  so  thickly  as  if  many  a 
maid  thereabout  in  the  town  had  been  embroidering  them  for 
seven  years.' 

635  in  mote.  M.  gives  OE.  mot  'assembly,  meeting,'  which 
would  spoil  the  rime  requiring  a  ME.  Q.  The  word  is  our 
'moat'  in  its  older  sense  of  'village,  city,  castle,'  as  in  PL  142  and 
often,  Pat.  422,  Gaw.  910.  Kt.  has  followed  M.,  W-N.  omitting. 

660  fynde.  M.  suggested  fyned  'ended'  with  a  question, 
W-N.  following  with  'finished  always  without  end  at  each  corner.' 
The  word  is  rather  OE.  fynde  'able  to  be  found,'  here  'to  be 
found':  'without  end  at  any  corner  anywhere  to  be  found.' 

681  hadet.  M.  suggested  halet  =  haled,  Napier  hacket  = 
hacked  'hacked  in  pieces,'  Thomas  translates  correctly  'beheaded 
by  an  elvish  man.'  OE.  (be)heafdian  'behead'  might  have 
given  haded(hadet)  beside  heded. 

angardej  pryde.  For  the  first,  various  suggestions  have 
been  made,  as  Maetzner,  NED.,  Skeat.  (Phil.  Soc.  Trans.,  1903-6, 
p.  247,  Brett  (Mod.  Lang.  Rev.  viii,  160),  but  Godefroy's  angarde 


374  Emerson 

'hauteur,    eminence,    lieu    d'observation'    would    seem    best; 
'pride  of  position'  fits  the  place  exactly. 

683  cavelounj.  The  alliteration  on  the  first  syllable  and 
kavelacon  of  2275  suggest  that  OF.  cavellacion(un)  had  been 
shortened  to  four,  perhaps  sometimes  three  syllables  in  this 
dialect.  Here  perhaps  cavelcounj  is  to  be  read. 

723  aneled.  M.  gave  'attack,  worry,'  but  the  meaning  of 
the  OF.  verb  would  justify  at  most  'raged  at'  here;  there  was  no 
definite  attack. 

726  wrathed.  See  my  note  on  Cl.  230  (Publ.  Mod.  Lang. 
Ass'n  xxxiv,  494),  and  for  the  transitive  use  here  Lay.  4577: 
J?a  sae  ]>e  wind  wraj?ede. 

729  yrnes.  See  yrne  'iron,  weapon'  in  2267.  The  word  is 
here  'irons/  that  is  'arms,  armor,'  an  ON.  meaning  apparently 
reflected  only  in  the  OE.  use  for  'spear'  or  'sword.' 

745  raged.     Mrs.  Wright  notes  the  EDD.  rag  'hoar-frost, 
rime'  and  thinks  it  better  here  than  'ragged'  from  the  context. 
On  the  other  hand  'ragged,  shaggy'  better  agrees  with  ro$e 
'rough.' 

750  carande  for  his  costes.     M.  glossed  'labours'  for  this 
place  only,  Kt.  following  with  'careful  of  his  labour.'    For  this 
Thomas  proposes  'anxious  for  his  reputation,'  and  W-N.  has 
'mourning  for  his  trials.'    The  Scand.  word  kostr  means  'chance, 
condition,  circumstance,'  generally  in  a  derogatory  sense,  and 
this  seems  best  to  suit  the  place:  'anxious  for  his  hard  lot.' 

kever.  M.  glossed  'arrive'  for  this  place,  but  the  ordinary 
meaning  'gain,  get,  attain'  is  better  here,  as  in  1221.  Kt. 
generalizes,  W-N.  has  'should  never  survive'  which  is  not  justi- 
fied by  the  word  or  the  context. 

751  servy.    M.  conjectured  servy[ce]  and  is  followed  by  G. 
and  the  translators.     Servy  may  be  for  serve  (sorve)  'sorrow,' 
following  the  usual  conception  of  the  mass  as  renewal  of  the 
sacrifice  of  Christ.    This  would  be  especially  appropriate  with 
se  'see,'  and  preserve  the  textual  reading. 

762  Cors  Kryst.  The  NED.,  basing  it  on  a  single  passage 
in  Boke  of  Curtasye  ii,  4  (Babees  Boke  p.  303)  gives  the  meaning 
'the  alphabet'  which  was  sometimes  arranged  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  a  meaning  wholly  inapplicable  here  and  other  places. 
The  usual  form  is  Crist  cross,  as  in  Lydgate  (Prohemy  Marriage) : 
How  long  agoo  lerned  ye  Crist  Cross  me  spede.  The  formula 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  375 

was  used  in  school  when  saying  the  alphabet,  but  elsewhere  also 
as  indicated  here. 

769  pyked  palays  pyned  ful  }rik.  M.  did  not  gloss  palays, 
and  Kt.,  W-N.  have  'palace,'  having  missed  Skeat  (Phil.  Soc. 
Trans.  '91-94,  368)  in  which  pyked  palays  was  shown  to  be 
'palisade  furnished  with  pikes  or  spikes.'  Xhomas,  criticizing 
Kt.,  gives  'palisade.'  See  my  discussion  of  the  two  words  in 
review  of  Menner's  Purity  (Clannesse),  Jour.  Eng.  and  Germ. 
Phil,  xx,  p.  239).  Skeat  also  explained  pyned  ful  bik  'enclosed 
full  thickly,'  not  'pinnacled'  as  by  F.  M.,  followed  by  W-N. 

777  gederej  to.  Napier's  suggestion  that  this  should  be 
gerde$  to,  on  the  ground  of  the  similar  expressions  in  2062,  2160, 
gains  added  force  if  we  assume  that  gorde)  of  2062,  gorde  of  Cl. 
911,  957  are  probably  scribal  errors  for  gerdej  (gerde).  Note  the 
similarity  of  idiom  with  to(into}  in  all  the  examples. 

790  enbaned.  In  spite  of  Skeat's  elaborate  explanation  in 
Phil.  Soc.  Trans.  1903-6,  p.  359,  it  still  seems  to  me  this  expression 
modifies  the  preceding  table}  'string  courses,'  possibly  'copings.' 
To  my  note  on  Cl.  1459  (Publ.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass'n  xxxiv,  494) 
I  add  that  the  form  here  and  in  that  place  may  mean  enband= 
enbanded,  -ed  being  equivalent  to  d  (de)  as  in  woled  for  wolde  in 
Gaw.  1508.  See  also  brende  (195)  beside  brenned  (832),  and  the 
ed—  de  rimes  in  PL  710-719. 

795  towre.  G.  alters  to  towre[s\,  and  I  judge  rightly.  The 
number  of  instances  in  which  the  scribe  has  omitted  or  miscopied 
an  inflectional  ending  is  fairly  large;  see  my  Notes  on  the  Pearl 
in  Publ.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass'n  xxxvii,  59.  In  this  poem  a  final  s 
has  been  omitted  in  lyve  (706),  water  (727),  mote  (1141),  daynte 
1266,  sybe  1868,  perhaps  lytf  1989.  The  betwene  of  the  line  sup- 
ports G's  change,  and  compare  Cl.  1383  tracked  toures  bitwene. 

798  chymnees.  Viollet-le-Duc  (Diet,  de  V Architect.  Franc. 
iii,  196  ff.)  discusses  them  at  length,  and  on  p.  181  gives  a 
chateau  well  illustrating  a  chimney  coming  out  of  a  bastel-rof 
'tower-roof.' 

820  jarked  up  wyde.  M.  glossed  'made  ready'  for  this  place, 
and  the  translators  have  misunderstood  the  passage,  Kt. 
having  extemporized  'swung  the  broad  gate  widely  on  its 
hinges,'  W-N.  somewhat  less  specifically  'opened  up  wide  the 
broad  gate.'  parked  must  correspond  to  Sch.  yerk(yark)  'beat, 
strike'  and  various  allied  meanings.  With  to  in  ^arkid  to  be 


376  Emerson 

(Wars  of  Alex.  2449)  and  jarkit  tope  yatis  (Destr.  of  Troy  10738) 
it  means  'threw  together,  shut  to,'  and  here  'thrown  up,'  as 
often  of  a  gate  back  of  the  drawbridge  of  a  castle,  that  is  the 
portcullis.  When  Gawain  leaves  the  castle  (2069-70)  the  double 
gates  within  are  unbarred  .  .  .  upon  hope  halve,  no  mention 
being  there  made  of  the  portcullis  between  the  drawbridge  and 
inner  gates,  perhaps  because  already  raised. 

821  he  hem  raysed  rekenly.  Kt.  had  translated  without 
authority  'saluted  them  royally,'  the  salutation  not  being  men- 
tioned until  line  829.  Thomas  proposed  'cause  to  rise,'  and 
W-N.  has  'he  raised  them  courteously,'  both  as  if  referring  to 
gates,  though  only  one  is  mentioned.  Surely  Gawain  would  have 
had  nothing  to  do  with  raising  the  gates,  had  there  been  more 
than  one.  I  suggest  that  hem  should  be  hym,  'raised  himself 
promptly'  meaning  no  more  than  'he  bestirred  himself.' 

841  felde.  The  rime  with  welde,  for-^elde  would  seem  to 
require  a  close  e,  which  might  be  accounted  for  by  a  rare  deriva- 
tive verb  from  OE.fealdan,  OAng.  fdldan  'fold.'  Yet  compare 
the  rime  with  elde,  ReL  Ant.  i,  120. 

849  lee.  M.  glossed  'land,  plain,'  but  it  is  le  'protection, 
shelter'  as  Msetzner  and  Br-Str.  The  line  is  a  compliment  to 
the  protecting  power  of  the  knight  of  the  castle,  a  meaning 
which  the  translators  have  somewhat  missed. 

863  charge.  M.  did  not  gloss  and  the  translators  have  missed. 
The  verb  means  'to  put  on  as  a  charge,  to  wear,'  the  line:  'for 
wearing  and  changing,  and  to  choose  of  the  best.' 

884  tapit.  G.  emends  to  tabil  'table,'  and  some  such  emenda- 
tion must  be  made.  I  suggest  the  possibility  of  tablet  (tablit) 
'little  table,'  since  Gawain  alone  is  served,  and  perhaps  making 
easier  the  copyist's  blunder. 

890  Double  felde.  M.  places  with  felde  (841)  'folded, 
embraced,'  but  does  not  explain.  The  translators  have  correctly 
'double  fold,'  that  is  'double  portion,'  but  without  further 
explanation.  I  think  felde  is  another  case  of  e-o  confusion  by 
the  scribe,  and  that  we  should  read  folde.  The  illustration  of 
feme  'foam,'  given  by  M.,  is  not  a  parallel. 

932  hersum.  M.  says  "attentive  and  hence  devout,"  the 
NED.  adopting  the  latter  for  this  place  only.  Sch.  hersum 
'strong,  rank,  harsh'  (of  flesh)  would  hardly  seem  the  same 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  377 

word,  unless  greatly  modified  in  meaning.  I  suggest  an  OE. 
*hersum  'noble,  excellent,'  like  herllc  from  adj.  her  'noble.' 

941-2  J?enne  .  .  .  )?enne.  M.  and  G.  separate  941  from 
942  by  a  period  after  the  former,  then  connecting  942  directly 
with  the  following  lines.  Kt.  follows  M.  exactly,  W-N.  connect- 
ing the  two  lines  with  'and.'  The  period  belongs  after  940,  and 
the  two  penne's  introduce  correlative  clauses  where  we  should 
make  the  first  subordinate  and  use  whenne. 

943  of  flesche  and  of  lyre.  M.  glossed  lyre  'complexion, 
countenance,'  which  the  translators  have  followed  (Kt.  'counte- 
nance,' W-N.  'face,'  and  Kt.  the  latter  in  2050).  Even  Maetzner 
says  it  can  hardly  be  distinguished  from  OE.  hleor  'cheek,  counte- 
nance.' The  latter,  however,  is  distinguished  as  lere  in  PI. 
398,  Gaw.  318,  418.  Scotch  retains  this  word  as  lire  (OE.  lira) 
'flesh,  muscle'  as  distinct  from  bone,  and  lyre  in  this  general 
sense  appears  in  Cl.  1687,  Gaw.  2050,  2228.  In  the  latter  ex- 
amples the  meaning  might  be  'body'  as  derived  from  'flesh  of 
body.'  Here,  since  'muscle'  as  a  synonym  for  'flesh'  seems 
inappropriate,  I  suggest  the  more  general  'body'  or  'form'  as 
giving  the  essential  idea. 

945  wener.     M.   and   Knigge   derive  from   Scand.   vann 
'promising,  fair,'  but  Bjorkman  (Scand.  Loan-Words  in  ME. 
p.  83)  assumes  a  native  original,  as  OE.  wene,  with  the  same 
meanings. 

946  ches.     M.  has  again  confused  by  his  punctuation,  I 
think,  since  the  line,  though  without  connecting  link,  belongs 
with  the  preceding.    That  is,  though  without  expressed  union 
of  the  clauses,  Gawain's  wish  to  approach  and  salute  the  lady 
is  owing  to  her  great  beauty.     I  would  use  a  dash  after  potf, 
and  a  period  after  hende.    M.  glossed  ches  'perceived,  discerned,' 
meanings  appropriate  enough  for  798  but  not  suitable  here. 
Here  it  is  'chose  to  go,'  though  not  quite  'walked'  as  W-N., 
since  Gawain  does  not  go  forward  until  he  has  asked  permis- 
sion of  his  host  (971).    The  poet  introduces  the  idea  of  Gawain's 
wish,  then  stops  to  describe  the  fair  lady's  attendant  (947-69), 
and  takes  up  the  action  again  in  970. 

958  Chymbled.  Clearly  a  native  word  parallel  to  Scand. 
kimbla  'truss  up,  fasten,'  not  'folded'  as  M.  and  Kt.,  'wrapped' 
as  W-N.  The  'gorger'  itself  comes  up  over  the  chin  in  'milk- 
white  coverings,'  as  today  in  the  dress  of  certain  nuns. 


378  Emerson 

965  for  gode.  The  rime  with  brode,  lode  implies  an  open  Q 
as  if  gpde  'God'  in  a  lengthened  oblique  case  form.  So  M. 
suggests  with  a  question  here  and  in  1822,  and  I  think  it  may 
be  more  fully  affirmed.  For  gode  'for  good,  finally'  would 
certainly  be  inappropriate  to  1822,  while  for  'because  of,  on 
account  of,  by'  is  not  uncommon  in  the  oath.  See  Maetzner  for 
other  examples.  Kt.  omits  the  expression  in  both  places, 
W-N.  translating  'forsooth'  in  the  first,  and  by  the  impossible 
'great'  in  the  second. 

985  mene.  M.  reads  mene,  but  suggests  meve  in  footnote. 
In  his  glossary,  however,  he  places  with  mene  'signify'  in  the 
special  sense  of  'devise'  for  this  place,  'make  attempt  on  (?)'  for 
1157.  G.  alters  the  first  mene  to  meve  and  suggests  the  same  for 
the  second.  The  MS.  reading  may  be  kept  by  assuming 
OF.  mener,  for  which  Cotgrave  gives  the  meanings  'bring, 
lead,  guide,  conduct,  .  .  .  move,  induce,  toll  on,  persude; 
also  to  subdue,  overreach,  fetch  in.'  The  first  meanings  fully 
suit  this  place:  'that  most  mirth  might  bring  (lead,  move, 
induce).'  The  example  at  1157  will  be  dealt  with  there. 

992  kyng  ...  lyjt.  G.  alters  to  lord,  and  Knott  suggests 
kynghte  since  the  two  words  are  sometimes  confused.  I  would 
keep  the  MS.  reading,  assuming  that  the  lord  of  the  castle  has 
become  by  his  action  of  beginning  the  games  the  king  of  Christ- 
mas; see  Strutt,  Sports  and  Pastimes  p.  270.  For  ly)t  M.  has 
no  gloss,  but  Kt.  has  'light,'  and  W-N.  'lights,'  as  if  light  for 
retiring  as  in  1685.  I  suggest  that  it  may  mean  'leave  off, 
cease  (the  play),'  a  meaning  belonging  to  the  corresponding 
Scand.  letta. 

1006  Bi  uche  grome.  Bi  must  be  a  conj.,  equivalent  to  bi 
pat  'by  that'  as  in  1169,  2032,  and  Cl.  403.  I  suggest  that  grome 
'lad,  servant,'  correctly  used  in  1127,  is  here  an  error  for  gome 
'man.'  Perhaps  the  confusion  is  due  to  the  bi  which  was  sup- 
posed to  introduce  the  agent  of  the  action. 

1009  &  to  poynte  hit  etc.  Kt.  had  erred  entirely  in  trans- 
lating 'yet  perad venture  I  may  take  the  trouble.'  Thomas 
gives  the  sense,  but  very  freely,  in  'even  though  I  should  make  an 
effort  to  describe  it.'  W-N.  has  'though  to  note  it  I  took  pains 
belike,'  with  a  footnote  'the  clause  literally  translated  is  insig- 
nificant.' All  is  made  right  by  assuming  &*  as  'if,'  a  frequent 
use:  'if  to  point  it  (describe  it)  I  yet  took  pains  (punished  my- 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  379 

self)  perad venture.'  Napier  proposed  )ef  'give'  for  jet,  appar- 
ently forgetting  that  the  poet  always  uses  gef  for  the  former. 

1012.  J?urj  her  dere  dalyaunce  of  her  derne  wordej.  G. 
alters  the  first  her  to  pe,  but  with  a  slight  misunderstanding  it 
seems  to  me.  Of  may  be  read  as  'with,  by  means  of,'  as  in  Cl. 
1271,  1276  among  other  examples:  'Through  their  pleasant 
dallying  with  their  secret  (whispered,  confidential)  words.' 

1032  &  he  hym  wayned  hade.  M.  suggested  pat  for  6r, 
and  G.  so  alters  the  text.  The  MS.  reading  may  be  retained 
with  6*  as  'if  and  wayned  as  wayved  'turn  aside.'  This  fits 
better  with  the  following  line:  'if  he  (Gawain)  ha,d  turned  aside 
(turned  himself)  so  as  to  honor  his  house  on  that  festival.' 

1038  heje  kyng.  There  should  be  no  hesitancy  in  reading 
as  a  compound  here  and  in  1963,  as  well  as  hy^e-tyde  'festival 
(of  the  church)'  in  932,  1033,  both  being  retentions  of  common 
compounds  of  Old  English.  Note  the  alliterative  stress  on 
heje  (hy)e)  in  all  these  examples. 

1060  Steven.  M.  glossed  'conference'  here  and  at  2194, 
2213.  Jn  all  these  places  and  in  2238  the  meaning  is  rather 
'promise,  agreement,'  a  meaning  belonging  to  the  Scand.  word, 
though  not  recorded  for  OE.  Kt.  rightly  'covenant,'  W-N. 
'agreement.' 

1068-70.  The  punctuation  of  M.  and  G.  is  misleading,  and 
the  translators  have  generalized  or  made  various  shifts.  They 
have  also  misunderstood  for  'because,  for  the  reason  that,' 
and  the  subjunctive  greve.  The  passage  means:  'Now  it  behooves 
thee  to  linger;  because  I  shall  show  you  the  goal  of  your  endeavor 
(terme)  by  the  end  of  the  time,  let  the  green  chapel  grieve  you 
no  more.'  For  terme  'goal  (  of  your  endeavor)'  see  Chaucer's 
Boeth.  iii,  met.  ix,  54. 

1072  Quyle  forth  dayej.  OE.  usage  and  most  ME.  examples, 
as  cited  by  Maetzner  and  the  NED.,  indicate  a  meaning  'late 
in  the  day  (night)'  for  forth  with  ME.  daye  (nitfe),  but  here 
'later  days'  seems  necessary.  Is  it  possible  the  expression  means 
'the  fourth  day,'  or  'four  days,'  there  being  exactly  four  days 
before  new  year's?  Daye}  may  be  an  error  for  daye. 

1074  in  spenne.  Br-Str.  confuses  spenne  'space,  interval' 
with  spenne,  NF.  espinei  'thicket,  thickset  hedge,'  the  latter  in 
Gaw.  1709,  1896.  The  former  is  attributed  to  ON.  spinna 
'spasm'  with  a  question,  but  is  more  likely  Scand.  sp'dnn  'span,' 


380  Emerson 

cognate  with  OE.  spann,  which  would  better  account  for  the 
form.  Cf.  on  pe  spene,  Wars  of  Alex.  4162. 

1092  Whyl  I  byde  etc.  The  punctuation  of  M.  and  G. 
obscures  the  passage  I  think,  and  makes  the  syntax  more 
difficult.  The  host  has  asked  Gawain  whether  he  will  keep  to 
his  promise  (halde  )ns  hes),  and  Gawain  answers  'Yea,  Sir, 
forsooth,  while  I  bide  in  your  castle;  be  prompt  in  (to)  your  com- 
mand.' Then  the  host  outlines  his  plan  for  the  day.  There 
should  be  a  semicolon  after  borje.  Hes  1090  should  probably 
be  hest  as  in  1039,  1092,  PL  633,  Cl.  94,  341,  1636. 

1096  messe-quyle.  M.  and  Maetzner  assume  'mass-time,' 
but  Thomas  argues  for  'dinner-time.'  For  messe  he  compares 
the  word  in  1004,  where  however  it  means  'course  at  meal.' 
While  masse  (mas)  is  the  usual  form  of  the  word  mass,  messe 
occurs  in  Gaw.  1690  and  in  rime  in  PL  497.  The  mass  preceded 
meat  (note  on  63),  and  the  host  would  hardly  have  suggested 
disregard  of  the  service  which  he  observes  so  religiously,  even 
before  hunting  (1135,  1414,  1690). 

1 100  je  lende.  I  suggest  beginning  the  sentence  in  the  middle 
of  1099  with  til,  and  carrying  it  through  to  wende,  with  a  dash 
after  1101.  Kt.  has  incorrectly  'at  the  end'  for  je  lende,  and 
W-N.  omits  entirely. 

1114  daylyeden,  &  dalten  untyjtel.  For  the  first  verb  M. 
gives  'dally,'  the  correct  form  of  which  appears  as  daly  in  1253. 
I  suggest  Scand.  deila  in  the  intransitive  sense  of  'contend, 
quarrel,'  here  'bandying  pleasantries.'  Compare  PL  313  where 
the  ay  is  required  by  the  rime,  although  it  has  been  similarly 
misunderstood  by  editors  as  I  have  pointed  out  in  "Some  Notes 
on  the  Pearl,"  Pull.  Mod.  Lang.  Ass'n  xxxvi,  67.  A  medial  or 
final  ye  means  e  sometimes  as  in  myerpe  (860),  topasye  PL  1012, 
reynye)  Cl.  592.  Untyjtel  F.  M.  glossed  'merrily,'  M.  'unre- 
strainedly' "if  not  an  error  for  untyl  nytfe."  The  word  occurs  as 
a  noun  in  Layamon  with  the  meaning  'bad  custom,  ill  usage/ 
or  as  Br-Str.  'want  of  discipline.'  Here  there  can  be  no  bad 
sense,  and  'bold  bantering'  is  perhaps  the  idea. 

1116  frenkysch  fare.  The  only  other  example,  frankish 
fare  of  the  Chester  Myst.,  Flood  100,  seems  used  satirically  as 
if  'pretence,  pretended  politeness,'  while  here  we  have  the  good 
sense  'French  manners,  politeness.'  The  people  have  been  con- 
ducting themselves  rather  boisterously,  but  now  return  to  more 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  381 

conventional  ways  as  the  jollity  subsides.  This  is  made  clearer 
in  the  next  line,  which  seems  to  describe  the  more  conventional 
manner  of  people  bidding  each  other  goodnight  after  such  an 
evening:  'They  stood  up  (as  if  to  go),  they  stopped  (delayed, 
lingered),  they  spoke  quietly  (said  little  things).' 

1150  quethe.  Bjorkman  apparently  agrees  with  Morsbach 
(Scand.  Loan-Words  in  ME.  p.  163)  in  assuming  OE.  cwide, 
with  influence  of  cwedan,  while  Knigge  had  proposed  Scand. 
kvifir.  I  suggest  Scand.  kvadr,  in  Icl.  only  'song,  poem'  but 
doubtless  with  other  meanings,  as  'saying,  announcement,  prom- 
ise.' See  quepe-word  'promise'  of  Prompt.  Par.  Even  'song' 
would  not  be  an  impossible  meaning  for  the  word  as  applied 
to  the  huntsman's  notes  on  the  horn;  cf.  Turbervile,  Booke  of 
Hunting,  at  the  end  for  the  musical  measure  of  the  "seeke" 
or  quest  of  this  line. 

1153  stablye.  M.  glossed  'station  of  huntsmen,'  but  it  is 
rather  'huntsmen'  themselves.  Cotgrave  has  establies  'com- 
panies, squadrons  or  battalions  of  soldiers  .  .  .  appointed 
togither  unto  certain  places  or  standings,  which  they  were  to 
hold  or  make  good,'  and  here  'a  company  of  hunstmen'  for  the 
same  purpose.  Turbervile  (Booke  of  Hunting,  Tudor  and 
Stuart  Library  reprint,  p.  246)  calls  them  sidelayes. 

1157  mene.  See  note  on  985.  ME.  menen,  OF.  mener,  was 
recognized  by  Maetzner  for  two  examples  in  Destr.  of  Troy, 
where  it  occurs  also  in  one  or  two  other  instances,  and  compare 
Br-Str's  entry  with  a  question.  I  suggest  it  is  also  found  in 
Gol.  and  Ga-w.  96  and  in  Piers.  PL  B  15,  397  (C  18,  176).  In  all 
these  cases  it  has  been  confused  by  the  English  editors  with 
ME.  menen  'signify,  tell.'  In  most  of  these  instances,  as  here, 
the  meaning  is  that  of  Cotgrave's  'subdue,  overreach,  fetch  in' 
or  'in  fight  to  pursue  hard  or  give  hard  chase  unto.'  The  special 
relation  to  hunting  is  vouched  for  by  Cotgrave's  mal  menee, 
one  meaning  of  which  is  'imbossed  or  almost  spent,  as  of  a 
Deere  by  hard  pursuit,'  and  by  his  noun  menee  a  meaning  of 
which  is  'the  direct  or  outright  course  of  a  flying  Deere.'  The 
noun  occurs  in  Twici's  Art  de  Venerie  for  another  meaning, 
the  note  on  the  horn  signifying  the  course  of  the  flying  deer, 
and  is  admirably  explained  in  the  edition  of  Twici  by  Alice 
Dryden  (1908). 


382  Emerson 

For  further  explanation  of  the  phrase  mene  to  pe  male  dere 
it  is  to  be  noted  that  Twici  says  the  menee  should  not  be  blown 
for  the  hare,  because  "at  one  time  it  is  male  and  at  another 
time  female."  Tfiis  is  made  more  explicit  by  the  Craft  of 
Venery  (about  1450)  which  says  the  mene  may  be  blown  only 
"of  iij  males  &  one  female,  that  is  to  sey  of  the  hert,  of  the 
wolfe  male  and  female,  and  of  the  bore." 

It  is  clear,  I  think,  that  the  MS.  reading  mene  in  both  in- 
stances should  be  retained. 

1158  hay  &  war.  Should  be  printed  "hay"  and  "war," 
indicating  the  shouts  to  the  deer — "hay,"  "ware."  For  the 
latter  see  Turbervile,  pp.  41,  107. 

1161  uche  wende  under  wande.  M.  assumed  a  verb  for 
wende  and  inserted  pat,  which  G  rightly  omits.  Wende  is  a  noun 
'turn,'  as  often.  Wande  was  glossed  by  M.  'bough,  branch'  for 
this  place,  and  the  translators  have  followed.  It  is  rather  wande 
'difficulty,  hesitation,  doubt,'  Scand.  vandi,  as  in  Curs.  Mund. 
8465,  (Bjorkman,  Scand.  Loan-Words  p.  225).  Under  wande 
'under  difficulty,  in  hesitation'  adds  a  distinctive  feature  to  the 
description;  as  the  deer  turn  their  flanks  in  their  hesitation  the 
arrows  fly. 

1167  at-wapped.    M.  glossed  'escape'  for  this  place  and  Cl. 
1205.    The  more  vivid  'rush  through'  would  better  fit  the  places 
and  better  connect  the  word  with  wappe  (1161)  and  Cl.  882. 

1168  be  resayt.    To  the  definition  and  quotation  from  Tur- 
bervile given  by  the  NED.  may  well  be  added  another  from  the 
same  Booke  of  Hunting:  "And  the  last  sort  of  greyhounds  [that 
is  of  his  three  divisions]  towards  ye  latter  end  of  ye  cource  is 
called  receit  or  backset:  These  last  Greyhounds  are  commonly 
let  slip  full  in  the  face  of  the  Deare,  to  the  end  they  may  the 
more  amase  him" — p.  247   of  reprint.     Note  gre-hounde^   of 
1171,  compared  with  hounde)  of  1139. 

1169  Bi  J?ay  .  .  .  taysed.    Bi  equivalent  to  bi  pat  'by  that, 
by  the  time  that'  as  in  1137.     Taysed  'harassed,  driven,'  from  a 
Scand.  teisa  corresponding  to  OE.  t&san   (Bjorkman,  Scand. 
Loan-Words  p.  50).    The  action  is  well  explained  by  Turbervile, 
p.  246: 

"By  this  worde  Teaser  is  ment  the  first  Greyhounds,  or  brase  or  lease  of 
Greyhoundes,  which  is  let  slip  either  at  the  whole  hearde,  to  bring  a  Deare 
single  to  ye  course,  or  els  at  a  lowe  deare  to  make  him  straine  before  he  come 
at  the  sidelayes  and  backsets." 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  383 

1170  J>e  lede?  were  so  lerned  etc.  The  men  were  so  skilled 
at  the  stations  in  the  low  lands  and  the  greyhounds  so  large,  that 
they  got  them  at  once.  The  translators  have  taken  pat  geten  as 
a  phrase  describing  gre-houndej,  rather  than  the  conclusion  of 
the  sentence. 

1175  launce  &  lyjt.  The  first  has  as  its  object  abloy  above 
and  is  used  in  the  sense  of  'speak,  utter  forcibly,'  as  in  Cl.  668, 
Pat.  350,  489.  Ly$t  can  scarcely  be  a  verb  here,  it  seems  to  me, 
and  I  suggest  an  adverbial  use  of  'light,  cheery.' 

1177  derk  nyjt.  Meter  and  syntax  of  the  weak  adjective 
require  derke,  as  in  my  note  Imperfect  Lines  in  Pearl  etc.  (Mod. 
Phil,  xix,  139. 

1 183  derfly  upon.  Upon  must  here  be  'open'  as  several  times 
in  PL  and  CL,  and  here  the  verb.  I  suggest  a  hit  has  dropped  out 
before  it,  thus  clearing  the  passage.  Kt.  omits,  and  W-N. 
admits  his  'and  then  distinctly'  is  "not  quite  sure." 

1199  space  quat  ho  wolde.  M.  and  G.  insert  in  before  space, 
but  without  very  satisfactory  meaning.  I  suggest  the  possibility 
of  space  as  the  infinitive  with  wolde.  The  verb  is  used  intransi- 
tively in  the  sense  of  'walk,  ramble,  roam,'  and  might  here  have 
the  more  general  'do,  perform  in  space.' 

1206  lete.  M.  gave  'look'  for  the  meaning  in  this  place,  and 
W-N.  follows,  but  'appear,  comport  herself,  seem'  would  some- 
what better  express  the  idea. 

1210  true.  M.  suggests  with  a  question  "adj.  used  substan- 
tively,  truth,"  but  it  is  the  OE.  treow  'fidelity,  agreement, 
truce'  as  W-N.  gives  it.  Kt.  omits  the  difficult  clause,  W-N. 
connecting  with  the  following  line:  'unless  we  can  make  a  truce 
I  shall  bind  you'  etc.  Is  the  clause  not  rather  disjunctive,  'but 
truce  may  shape  us  (bring  us  in  accord)?' 

1215  jeje.  The  word  must  represent  an  OAng.  *geian,  WS. 
*gceian,  corresponding  to  Scand.  geyjan  'bark,  scoff  at,  abuse' 
with  its  hard  g.  The  meaning,  too,  is  not  'ask'  as  M.,  but  'cry 
out'  as  also  in  67  and  CL  846. 

1224  happe  yow  here.  The  line  has  given  difficulty,  but 
seems  to  mean  "I  will  wrap  up  the  other  half  of  you  also,'  that 
is,  make  you  even  more  my  prisoner. 

1238  won.  M.  glosses  'power  or  will,  or  rather  possession' 
for  this  place,  'riches,  wealth'  for  1269.  The  translators  gen- 
eralize. It  is  better  OE.  wun(n)  'pleasure'  corresponding  to 


384  Emerson 

OHG.  wunna  (Ger.  wonne),  beside  the  OE.  wyn(n)  correspond- 
ing to  OHG.  u'unni.  Layamon  also  has  both  winne  and  wun 
(wunne,  wonne).  The  meaning  'pleasure'  would  better  fit  both 
places  in  Gawain,  and  Cl.  720,  as  well  as  perhaps  PL  32. 

1250  littel  daynte.  Kt.  had  kept  'little  dainty'  somewhat 
obscurely.  Thomas  translated  'it  would  be  a  sign  of  low 
breeding,'  W-N.  'it  would  show  but  small  discernment.'  It  is 
rather  'it  would  be  of  little  importance.'  Gawain  has  professed 
his  unworthiness,  and  the  lady  says  in  effect,  my  judgment  is  of 
little  importance,  but  there  are  enough  who  would  rather  possess 
you  than  'much  of  the  gold  or  treasure  that  they  have.' 

1256  louue.  G.  says  'MS.  doubtful/  as  M.  had  implied, 
but  Knott  thinks  clear,  though  without  explaining  the  form. 
It  seems  not  to  be  the  native  word  love  'praise,'  OE.  lofian,  but 
the  aphetic  form  of  OF.  alouer,  Lat.  laudare,  with  the  same 
meaning.  See  alow  of  PL  634. 

1 265-6  Thomas  says : ' 'This  difficult  passage  probably  means 
'Even  though  other  people  have  received  much  from  their 
friends  in  return  for  their  deeds,  yet  the  prize  they  win  is 
nothing  in  comparison  with  mine.'  '  W-N.  has  'People  judge  a 
person's  deeds  largely  from  the  accounts  of  others;  but  the  praise 
that  they  accord  my  deserts  is  but  idle.'  I  suggest  a  somewhat 
different  interpretation.  Above,  to  Gawain's  profession  of 
unworthiness,  the  lady  had  said  there  are  ladies  enough  that 
prize  you  highly.  Upon  this  Gawain  turns  the  compliment 
graciously,  saying  in  substance  what  others  think  is  of  no  impor- 
tance, it  is  your  opinion  I  prize  most.  I  would  translate,  then, 
beginning  with  1263:  'Madame,'  quoth  the  merry  man,  'Mary 
repay  you,  for  I  have  found  in  good  faith  your  liberality  excel- 
lent. And  others  full  commonly  of  other  people  take  their 
actions  (follow  what  other  people  do  or  think),  but  the  nice 
things  they  say  in  regard  to  my  deserts  are  of  no  value;  it  is  the 
estimation  of  yourself  who  knows  naught  but  good,'  with  the 
implication  'that  I  prize.' 

1283-7.  M.  suggests  ho  were  for  /  were,  and  Napier  accepted, 
adding  two  other  textual  changes,  hi  slode  for  his  lode,  and 
bourne  for  burde.  He  translated:  'Even  though  she  was  the 
fairest  lady  the  knight  had  in  mind,  the  less  love  entered  into 
him  on  account  of  the  loss  (danger)  he  was  seeking,  that  is  the 
return  blow  he  had  to  receive.'  G.  made  the  words  of  the  lady's 


Sir  Gau'ain  and  the  Green  Knight  385 

musing  (be  burde  in  mynde  hade)  a  quotation,  and  this  W-N.  has 
followed.  I  would  slightly  alter  the  latter 's  translation  thus: 
'Though  I  were  the  fairest  woman/  the  lady  thought  to  herself, 
'the  less  love  [there  would  be]  in  his  conduct  on  account  of  the 
perilous  adventure  he  has  sought  without  ceasing — the  stroke 
that  must  overcome  him —  and  it  must  needs  be  finished.'  She 
sees  she  has  failed  in  her  purpose  and  proceeds  to  take  her  leave. 

1293  Bot  bat  je  be  Gawan.  The  translators  add  a  negative, 
assuming  hot  is  the  ordinary  disjunctive.  Yet  if  hot  is  read  'ex- 
cept,' the  negative  is  scarcely  necessary. 

1301  Bi  sum  towch  of  some  tryfle.  Is  not  bi  wrongly  intro- 
duced from  the  preceding  phrase,  and  the  rest  of  the  phrase  an 
appositive  of  cosse? 

1304  fire.  M.  suggested  fere  'fear'  and  the  translators  have 
adopted,  W-N.  noting  the  obscurity  of  the  expression.  I  suggest 
fire  may  be  fir  re  'further';  'as  it  becomes  a  knight,  and  further 
lest  he  displease  you.'  Forms  with  single  or  double  consonants 
are  not  uncommon  in  the  poems,  as  biges  (9)  -digged  (20). 

1315  With.  G.  alters  the  text  to  Wat),  but  Knott  feels 
doubt  about  the  matter.  It  might  be  assumed  that  with  of  the 
preceding  line  had  been  wrongly  brought  down  by  the  copyist, 
as  bi  in  1301,  but  with  better  suits  the  last  line  of  the  quatrain, 
and  I  think  should  be  retained. 

1328  asay.     To  the  excellent  note  of  Bruce  (Eng.  Stud. 
xxxii,  23)  may  be  added  the  more  explicit  statement  of  Turber- 
vile(p.  134): 

The  deare  being  layd  upon  his  backe,  the  Prince,  chiefe,  or  such  as  they 
shall  appoint  commes  to  it:  And  the  chiefe  hunstman  (kneeling,  if  it  be  to  a 
Prince)  doth  holde  the  Deare  by  the  forefoote,  whiles  the  Prince  or  chief  cut  a 
slit  drawn  alongst  the  brysket  of  the  deare,  somewhat  lower  than  the  brysket 
towards  the  belly.  This  is  done  to  see  the  goodnesse  of  the  flesh,  and  how  thicke 
it  is. 

From  the  explicit  account  of  Turbervile  it  would  seem  that 
sisilte  of  the  Part,  of  Three  Ages  70  should  be  slite  'slit,'  perhaps 
an  error  for  silite  with  intrusive  vowel  between  s  and  /. 

1329  fowlest  of  alle.    M.  does  not  gloss,  apparently  assum- 
ing the  usual  meaning.    The  Dictionaries  do  not  give  an  appro- 
priate  meaning.     Kt.   omits,   but   W-N.   translates  correctly 
'leanest  of  all.'    See  use  of  the  word  in  Baillie-Grohman's  Master 


386  Emerson 

of  Game  vii,  p.  55;  of  the  wolf:  "The  foulest  and  most  wretched 
for  he  ...  is  most  poor,  most  lean,  and  most  wretched." 

1333  }?e  bale?  out  token.  M.  glosses  bale)  as  'bowels,'  and 
apparently  assumes  out  token  as  adverb  and  verb  'took  out.' 
However  the  bowels  are  not  removed  until  line  1336,  and  perhaps 
on  this  account  W-N.  translates  bale)  as  'paunch'  in  spite  of  the 
plural  form  of  the  word.  I  suggest  that  out  token  may  be  an 
error  for  outtaken  'except,'  with  confusion  of  a-o:  "They  break 
the  belly  except  the  bowels,  cunningly  cutting,'  that  is  lest  they 
open  the  bowels  themselves.  For  the  latter  compare  line  82 
of  Parl.  of  Three  Ages: 

Lesse  the  poynte  scholde  perche  the  pawnche  of  the  guttys. 

Lystily  is  'cunningly'  as  in  1190,  not  'quickly,  promptly'  as  M., 
or  'eagerly'  as  W-N.  here. 

1336  wesaunt.  Bruce  says:  "Surprising  in  1.  1336  from  the 
modern  point  of  view  is  the  use  of  wesaunt  (weasand)  for 
esophagus  instead  of  windpipe."  This  is  surely  wrong.  The 
gargulun  of  1335,  1340,  is  the  throat  cavity  as  a  whole,  in  which 
the  esophagus  has  been  cut  and  knotted  up,  as  in  lines  1330-31, 
perhaps  with  the  paunch,  or  first  stomach,  already  removed  if 
line  1334  is  so  interpreted.  Then  the  huntsman  returns  to  the 
throat  cavity,  severing  the  weasand  from  the  windpipe  (wynt- 
hole),  and  now  removing  that  and  the  vital  organs — note 
be  lyver  &  pe  ly)te$  of  1360 — with  the  bowels  (gutty?). 

1345  Evenden.  M.  suggested  evenend  'evenly,  perpendicu- 
larly' and  the  translators  have  followed.  But  evenden  is  the 
correct  past  tense  form  of  ME.  evenen,  make  even,  leveled,' 
perhaps  'cut  evenly'  as  in  Icl.  jafna.  The  next  clause  explains 
it,  'that  they  hung  all  together.'  Turbervile  (p.135)  makes  a 
special  point  of  this  process:  "And  about  the  winding  up  of  the 
noombles  there  is  also  some  arte  to  be  shewed." 

1356  Jmrj  bi  ]>e  rybbe.  M.  and  G.  place  a  comma  after 
bur),  thus  wrongly  separating  it  from  the  rest  of  the  half  line, 
of  which  it  is  the  alliterative  word:  'They  pierced  through  by 
the  rib  each  thick  side.'  The  hanging  of  the  sides  to  the  ho^es 
of  be  fourche)  is  especially  noted  as  an  English  custom  by  Tur- 
bervile (p.  134):  "The  hinder  feete  must  be  to  fasten  (or  hardle 
as  some  hunters  call  it)  the  hanches  to  the  sydes." 

1358  Uche  freke  for  his  fee.  According  to  Turbervile  (p.  129) 
and  the  French  custom,  the  right  shoulder  "perteineth  to  the 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  387 

huntsman  which  harbored  him  [the  deer];"  "that  other  shoulder 
pertayneth  to  the  rest  of  the  huntsmen." 

1360  j?e  le)?er  of  ]?e  paunchej.  Turbervile  (p.  135)  notes  as 
an  English  custom:  "We  use  to  rewarde  our  houndes  with  the 
paunche,  being  emptied  first." 

1381  wayth.  M.  glossed  'game,  venison,'  and  Kt.  uses  the 
latter  word,  W-N.  the  more  general  'store.'  Br-Str.  gives  only 
'hunting'  for  the  cognate  English  wdpe,  OE.  wad  f.,  and  this 
word.  The  meaning  is  the  specific  Scand.  'spoil  of  hunting 
(or  fishing),'  here  'game.' 

1386  &  I  haf  worthily  J?is  wonej  wythinne.  M.  took  &•  as 
and  'if/  and  G.  alters  to  pat,  also  inserting  wonnen  before  pis. 
Knott  thought  the  reading  might  be  kept  with  pis  referring 
forward  to  the  kiss  of  the  next  lines.  It  seems  to  me  a  second 
alliterative  word  in  the  first  half  line  is  necessary,  but  I  would 
suggest  placing  wonnen  before  wane}  and  assume  the  scribe 
had  been  misled  by  the  similarity  of  the  two,  writing  but  one. 

1399  lowe.  Napier  suggested  as  aphetized  form  of  alowe 
'praise,'  and  I  may  note  in  its  favor  the  rime  alow-innoghe  of 
PL  634-36,  and  the  similar  aphetic  form  in  Gaw.  1256. 

1403  walle  wyn.  M.  glossed  'choice,'  as  if  wale,  and  the 
translators  have  followed.  I  suggest  as  more  likely  an  OAng. 
wall  'hot,'  WS.  weall,  appearing  as  a  noun  weall  'boiled  or 
mulled  wine'  and  in  the  compound  weall-hat  'boiling  hot.' 
The  adjective  is  here  weak  after  pe  and  dissyllabic  in  the  meter, 
or  possibly  we  have  here  another  tautological  compound  walle- 
wyn  'mulled  wine,'  so  appropriate  for  the  season.  Cf.  wallid 
wyn  in  Destr.  of  Troy  386. 

1407  G.  put  a  semicolon  at  end  of  line,  in  place  of  M's 
comma,  thus  separating  it  from  the  following  line  with  which  I 
believe  it  belongs.  The  two  lines  explain  the  new  agreement, 
all  the  verbs  being  past  subjunctives  indicating  unreality — 
action  not  yet  completed.  They  mean:  'Whatsoever  new  things 
they  should  acquire,  at  night  when  they  should  meet  they  should 
make  to  agree  with  the  covenants  before  the  whole  court.' 
The  agreement  is  not  made  'in  the  presence  of  all  the  household' 
as  Kt.,  or  'before  all  the  court'  as  W-N.,  because  Gawain  and 
the  Green  Knight  are  alone  in  the  chamber,  as  indicated  by 
lines  1402  and  1410-11.  For  of  'with,  in  regard  to'  see  numerous 


388  Emerson 

examples  in  Clannesse.      The  translators  have  made  various 
other  changes. 

1421  Sone  )?ay  calle  of  a  quest.    W-N.  has  paraphrased  'Soon 
they  heard  the  cry  of  the  dogs,'  but  it  is  rather  'Soon  they  (the 
hounds  just  uncoupled)   indicate  by  their  call   (or  cry)   the 
quest,  or  pursuit  of  the  game.'    See  kryes  in  the  same  sense  in 
1701.    Turbervile  tells  us  call  on  was  the  regular  term  in  his 
time  (p.  242): 

When  hounds  are  first  cast  off  and  finde  of  some  game  or  chase,  we  say 
They  call  on. 

1422  menged.    M.  glossed  'remarked,  announced,'  but  it  is 
rather  'disturbed,  stirred  up,'  ordinary  meanings  of  the  verb 
and  here  appropriate  to  the  finding  of  the  boar.    W-N.  general- 
izes in  'caught  the  scent,'  and  Kt.  has  wrongly  connected  the 
relative  clause  with  hunt,  which  he  incorrectly  translates  as  a 
plural. 

1423  Wylde  wordej  hym  warp.    The  translators  take  hym  as 
a  plural  referring  to  houndej,  and  we  must  read  either  houndej 
.  .  ,  hem  or  hounde  .  .      hym.    The  former  would  seem  to  be 
implied  by  reason  of  Turbervile's  careful  description  on  p.  158, 
in  which  he  emphasizes  the  necessity  for  many  hounds  in 
hunting  the  boar. 

1426  glaverande  glam.  Maetzner  gives  this  one  example  of 
the  verb  with  the  meaning  'belfern'  of  hounds,  a  meaning 
scarcely  in  accord  with  that  in  PI.  688.  I  suggest  gla-oer  ande 
glam  'clamor  and  din,'  ande  having  been  misread  as  in  PI.  Ill, 
Pat.  269,  279,  Gaw.  46.  The  verb  ros  is  a  plural  in  Cl.  671, 
Pat.  139. 

1440  for  ]?e  sounder.  M.  suggested  fro,  and  Knott  apparently 
agrees.  Mr.  W.  A.  Peters,  in  reading  the  poem  with  me,  pointed 
out  that  for  pe  sounder  very  properly  modifies  for-olde,  so  that 
no  change  is  necessary:  'That  creature  long  since  too  old  for  the 
herd  (sounder)'  as  implied  in  the  next  line.  In  his  first  edition 
M.  also  proposed  adding  waned  to  alliterate  with  wijt,  and  in 
his  second  severed  after  sythen.  Apparently  without  knowing 
this  C.  Brett  (Mod.  Lang.  Rev.  viii,  160)  suggested  adding 
sing(u~)ler,  sengler  'solitary,  separate,'  or  sengle  'single'  in 
sense  of  'separate.'  No  addition  seems  necessary,  in  spite  of 
the  lack  of  an  s-word  in  the  second  half  line.  Lines  1439-40,  I 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  389 

take  it,  explain  he  of  1438  and  belong  together,  rather  than  as 
the  translators  have  taken  them. 

1444  boute  spyt  more.    Napier  objected  to  spyt  'spite,'  and 
assumed  an  aphetic  form  of  respyt  'respite,  delay,'  as  Thomas 
later.    Spyt,  however,  has  the  sense  of  'injury,  outrage,'  the 
meaning  in  PI.  1138,  and  well  adapted  here.    The  phrase  then 
means  'without  further  outrage'  than  hurling  to  the  earth  the 
three  men  referred  to  in  the  previous  line. 

1445  }>is  o}>er  halowed  hyghe  ful  hyje,  as  Knott  reads.    The 
first  half  of  the  line  seems  too  long,  and  hyghe  ful  hy$e  difficult  of 
explanation  unless  hyghe  is  an  exclamation  as  W-N.  takes  it. 
I  suggest  a  copyist's  blunder  in  hyghe,  corrected  to  ful  hy$e  as 
he  saw  his  mistake;  compare  pe  masse  pe  mase  (Cl.  395),  mevand 
mevande  (Cl.  783).    Hy)  (he),  hi))  'high'  is  regularly  spelled  with  j, 
not  gh. 

1452  hurtej  of.  The  quite  exceptional  use  of  'hurts'  with 
'off'  suggests  a  copyist's  error  for  hurley  or  hurtle^,  either  of 
which  would  give  better  sense  and  suntax. 

1463  onlyte  drogen.  On  lyte  as  a  compound  (M.,  G.)  is 
impossible,  since  on  must  receive  the  stress  in  the  alliteration. 
On  is  here  the  adverb.  Lyte  is  the  indefinite  pronoun  meaning 
'few,'  as  in  701,  1776,  and  Cl.  119:  'And  many  grew  fearful 
thereat,  and  few  advanced  (drew  on).'  Misled  by  M.  and  G. 
the  translators  have  'and  drew  back  somewhat'  (Kt.),  'gave 
back  a  little'  (W-N.). 

1476  til  )?e  sunne  schafted.  M.  suggested  with  a  question 
sattled,  and  gave  the  meaning  here  'set,  sank,'  G.  altered  the 
last  word  to  schifted,  Kt.  then  translating  'shifted  westward' 
and  W-N.  'declined.'  The  idea  'set,  sank,  declined'  can  not  be 
right,  since  the  hunt  goes  on  for  some  time  (1561-1600),  the  boar 
is  dressed  in  the  field  (1601-14),  and  the  hunters  come  home  in 
proud  procession.  I  suggest  a  vb.  *schaften  'become  like  a  shaft, 
shoot  out  in  rays  like  shafts'  as  at  noon,  the  hunters  having 
set  out  in  the  early  morning  (1415).  In  the  general  sense  it 
occurs  in  the  modern  verb  as  in  Thornbury,  Turner  II,  88: 
"There  was  the  storm  rolling  .  .  .  and  shafting  out  its  lightning 
over  the  Yorkshire  hills."  For  shaft  of  the  sun  see  PI.  982,  pat 
schyrrer  pen  sunne  wyth  schaftej  schon,  that  is  the  sun  at  its 
brightest,  and  Pat.  455-6  with  the  same  idea.  So  Wars  of  Alex. 
1544,  Als  it  wer  shemerand  shaftez  of  pe  shire  son.  The  NED. 


390  Emerson 

has  set  up  the  vb.  shaft  'to  set?'  with  this  one  example,  sufficient 
reason  for  explaining  otherwise  if  possible. 

1480  layde  hym  Jryse  wordej.  M.  suggested  sayde,  spoiling 
the  alliteration.  The  idiom  is  found  in  Icl.  leggja  or'd  'lay  a  word, 
remonstrate,'  which  suits  the  place  exactly,  much  better  also 
than  Kt's  'talked  with  him  earnestly,'  or  W-N's  'addresses 
these  words  to  him.' 

1481-4.  The  punctuation  of  M.  has  perhaps  misled,  the 
first  sentence  closing  with  1483:  'Sir,  if  you  be  Gawain  it  seems 
to  me  strange — a  man  that  is  always  so  disposed  to  good  and 
knows  not  how  to  take  upon  himself  (undertake)  the  manners  of 
society  (company).'  Then  she  adds  specifically  'And  if  one 
shows  you  how  to  know  them  (Ipe  costej),  you  cast  them  from 
your  mind,'  thus  leading  up  to  the  salutation  of  the  kiss  which 
she  implies  she  expected  as  she  entered,  and  of  which  she  speaks 
at  once.  W-N.  has  mistaken  horn  for  a  personal  reference:  'and 
should  after  making  acquaintance  with  a  person  cast  him  utterly 
from  your  mind.' 

1512.  This  is  the  crucial  line  of  a  passage  which  has  given 
difficulty  and  been  variously  translated.  I  would  suggest  a 
semicolon  after  chose.  The  lady  has  finished  her  praise  of  Sir 
Gawain,  but  instead  of  completing  her  sentence,  begun  with 
what  were  pe  skylle,  she  begins  anew:  'the  chief  thing  praised' 
etc.  Such  change  of  construction  is  a  not  uncommon  feature 
in  the  poem;  see  1481-4,  for  example.  The  second  half  of  the 
line  is  then  the  subject  of  is  in  the  next,  making  a  change  to  in, 
as  M.  suggested,  unnecessary. 

1514  J?is  .  .  .  )?is.  G.  alters  the  first  pis  to  pe  and  Knott 
agrees.  The  change  seems  to  me  unnecessary,  since  pis  tevelyng 
refers  explicitly  to  layk  of  luf  in  the  preceding  line,  pe  chef  pyng 
alosed  of  1512.  The  second  pis  =pise  'these.'  The  example  is 
not  quite  parallel  to  that  of  1112  where  we  should  probably  use 
'the  .  .  .  this.' 

tevelyng.  Br-Str.  rightly  gives  as  a  noun,  the  NED.  listing 
only  under  the  verb  level.  The  form  would  suggest  Scand. 
tefla,  rather  than  OE.  taflian.  The  meaning  'sport'  (Br-Str.) 
fits  with  game  of  love  (layk  of  luf),  but  perhaps  'adventuring' 
would  better  carry  the  somewhat  playful  reference  of  the  lady. 
See  also  Mrs.  Wright's  excellent  note. 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  391 

1515  tytelet  token.  M.  placed  a  comma  after  the  first  word 
and  glossed  it  as  a  noun  'commencement,  chief,'  G.  and  the 
translators  following.  I  take  it  as  the  aphetic  past  participle  of 
entytelen  and  modifier  of  token.  The  'entitled  sign'  or  'titular 
token'  is  the  meaning,  in  contrast  with  the  following  'text' 
(tyxt),  and  the  two  equivalent  to  our  title  and  text. 

1523  of  your  hed  helde.  I  propose  if  for  of,  as  it  must  be 
in  1799,  and  as  if  must  be  read  for  uf  in  2343.  This  makes  the 
syntax  of  helde  simple,  although  a  puzzle  to  the  translators,  Kt. 
merely  paraphrasing,  W-N.  having  'yet  have  I  never  heard  from 
your  head  a  single  word.' 

1561-66.  The  punctuation  of  M.  and  G.  has  obscured  the 
sense  I  think,  together  with  some  incorrect  glosses,  as  of  M's 
'mischievous'  for  uncely,  'rushes'  for  swynge).  Kt.,  too,  takes 
best  as  'beast'  W-N.  correctly  as  'best.'  Uncely  is,  I  am  inclined 
to  think,  a  curious  writing  of  unsly  'uncunning,'  with  ce  for  s  as 
often  in  final  position.  Swyngej  is  'swings  round,'  that  is  to 
stand  at  bay  as  in  the  next  line,  rather  than  'rushes'  as  by 
M.  and  W-N.  Turbervile  (p.  149,  158)  makes  this  a  character- 
istic of  the  boar,  to  be  expected  unless  there  is  special  provision 
against  it.  I  would  translate  the  whole  passage: 

But  the  lord  launches  out  full  often  over  the  lands,  follows  his  artless  swine 
that  swings  round  by  the  banks,  and  bit  asunder  the  backs  of  the  best  of  his 
braches  where  he  stood  at  bay,  till  bowmen  broke  it, — so  fiercely  flew  the  arrows 
there  when  the  folk  gathered. 

For  uncely  'uncunning,  artless'  I  asssume  the  writer  referred  to 
the  boar's  foolishly  turning  at  bay  so  often,  as  compared  with 
the  method  of  the  hart,  and  later  of  the  fox.  For  'swings  round 
by  the  banks'  compare  'got  the  bank  at  his  back'  of  1571. 

Felle  (1566)  was  glossed  'many'  by  M.,  as  iifele,  and  W-N. 
makes  it  both  'many'  and  'fell,'  using  both  in  the  translation. 
I  suggest  it  is  the  adverb  'fiercely'  from  the  adj.  felle,  the  adv. 
appearing  a.?,  felly  in  2302  with  the  y-e  interchange  as  in  so  many 
words. 

1570  rasse.  No  satisfactory  etymology  has  been  suggested, 
but  an  OE.  noun  *rds  f.  'rising'  would  have  become  early  ME. 
rase,  and  by  shortening  rasse.  This  would  account  for  Cl.  446, 
rasse  of  a  rok  'rising  or  peak  of  a  rock,'  here  'rising  or  perpendic- 
ular slope'  of  a  cliff.  The  boar,  running  beside  the  stream, 


392  Emerson 

comes  to  a  narrow  place  with  abrupt  sides,  and  takes  his  stand 
at  bay  in  a  hollow  of  the  cliff. 

1573  wyth  hym  ]?en  irked.  The  translators  have  missed  the 
force  of  the  passage,  Kt.  generalizing  as  often;  W-N.  misreading 
nye  (1575)  as  'approach,'  thus  disregarding  its  difference  from 
ne^e,  'draw  nigh,  approach,'  the  regular  form  of  that  word,  in 
the  same  line;  Thomas  incorrectly  translating  nye  as  'injure,' 
perhaps  following  M.,  and  neglecting  entirely  the  important 
wyth  hym  at  the  beginning.  The  latter  means  'over  against, 
opposite  him,'  nye  'annoy,  harrass,'  that  is  break  the  bay  as  in 
1564.  M.  had  also  wrongly  glossed  on-ferum  as  'afar,'  when  it 
here  means  'from  afar.'  By  stoden  is  probably  not  the  colorless 
'stood  by,'  but  the  more  active  'stood  about,  surrounded,'  not 
unlikely  'engaged.' 

1580  J>at  breme  watj  brayn-wod  bothe.  As  Knott  pointed 
out  there  is  no  &°  after  breme,  and  I  suggest  that  a  comma  after 
wat},  with  bothe  in  the  sense  of  'also'  makes  all  right.  The 
sentence  is  carried  on  through  the  first  two  lines  of  the  next 
stanza,  Til  of  1581  not  meaning  'Then'  as  Kt.  or  'When'  as 
W-N.  Compare  for  the  same  feature  the  close  of  stanza  xiv 
of  the  first  Fit  of  the  poem.  All  were  loath  to  attack  him 
closely  'until  the  knight  came  himself  etc.  The  full  pause 
belongs  after  1582,  as  another,  not  indicated  by  M.  or  G., 
after  1585. 

1590  upon  hepej.  The  phrase  scarcely  means  as  much  as 
'in  a  heap,''  but  rather  'together'  as  OE.  on  heape  in  Wonders  of 
Creation  69;  see  also  the  examples  in  Maetzner  under  meaning  4. 
The  next  lines  show  that  the  knight  is  clearly  in  full  command  of 
himself,  and  at  once  gives  the  fatal  thrust  in  exactly  the  right 
spot.  Compare  Maetzner's  heap  4:  "mit  den  Prapositionen  on 
und  to  entspricht  das  Substantiv  ofter  dem  deutschen  zu  Hauf, 
zusammen." 

1593  slot.  M.  glossed  'pit  of  the  stomach'  but  notes  that 
some  give  it  'hollow  above  the  breast  bone,'  a  meaning  which 
best  fits  both  this  place  and  1330.  Here,  as  the  boar  presents 
his  breast  in  the  forward  rush,  the  knight  thrusts  through  to  the 
heart,  as  in  the  former  passage  the  huntsman  opens  the  slot  to 
reach  the  upper  part  of  the  esophagus.  Kt.  has  followed  M's 
incorrect  gloss. 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  393 

1603  Brachetes  bayed  J?at  best.    Turbervile  makes  a  special 
point  (pp.  127,  193)  of  bringing  the  houuds  up  to  the  dead  hart 
or  fox,  in  order  "to  byte  and  teare  him  about  the  necke,"  and 
doubtless  something  of  the  same  sort  is  here  intended. 

1604  chargeaunt.     M.  gives  'dangerous'  with  a  question, 
and  Kt.  uses  that  word.     W-N.  has  'swift,'  as  if  'charging.' 
The  meaning  is  'burdensome'  as  by  Br-Str.,  'laborious,  fati- 
guing.' 

1623  ]?e  lorde  ful  lowde.  The  line  is  one  of  the  cruxes  of  the 
poem.  M.  in  a  note  suggested  adding  lalede  'cried,'  but  it 
makes  the  line  too  long.  Thomas  proposed  omitting  £r,  thus 
giving  sense  and  syntax  to  the  line,  or  making  lowde  a  verb 
from  OE.  hlydan,  with  insuperable  difficulties  in  the  phonology 
it  seems  to  me.  Perhaps  as  simple  a  change  as  any  is  to  assume 
the  omission  of  watj  'was'  after  lorde,  'the  lorde  was  full  loud  in 
his  speech.'  Cf  151  where  wat$  must  be  supplied  before 
grayped,  and  perhaps  1826. 

1627  largesse.  M.  implied  largenesse  by  his  side-note 
'length  and  breadth,'  and  the  translators  have  followed  in  one 
way  or  another.  This  misses  the  point,  it  seems  to  me.  The 
lord  first  'tells  them  the  story  of  the  gift  (largesse),'  that  is,  for' 
Gawain,  and  then  more  specifically  'of  the  length,  the  wicked- 
ness also,  of  the  defence  of  the  wild  boar  where  he  fled  in  the 
wood.'  As  usual  in  such  cases  the  boar  would  run  a  short 
distance  and  then  stand  at  bay — Ful  oft  he  bydej  pe  baye  (1450). 
His  'wickedness,'  or  viciousness — the  use  of  the  moral  word  is  a 
neat  touch — in  defence  is  well  illustrated  by  the  lines  which 
follow  1450  and  1561.  Incidentally,  M.  glossed  were  (1628) 
as  'hostility,'  assuming  connection  with  werre  'war,'  but  Br- 
Str.  gives  it  correctly.  The  translators  have  dodged  this  import- 
ant word.  See  note  on  271. 

1634  &  let  lodly  Jjerat.  M.  glossed  'loudly'  with  a  question, 
but  the  only  other  lodly  of  the  poems  is  the  adv.  'loathsomely, 
hatefully,  discourteously'  as  in  1772.  This  might  be  retained 
here  if  the  clause  could  mean  'he  appeared  horrified  thereat.' 
I  suggest,  however,  the  possibility  of  ledly  'princely,  in  princely 
manner,'  with  scribal  error  of  o  for  £.  Compare  ledisch  (ludisch) 
in  Cl.  73,  1375,  with  the  probable  meaning  of  'princely.' 

1639  He  \>Q  haj?el.  M.  supplied  hent  after  He  and  G.  retains. 
In  spite  of  Knott  some  change  seems  necessary.  The  simplest 


394  Emerson 

would  perhaps  be  to  read  He(nt)  or  He(lde)  for  He,  assuming 
more  direct  connection  with  the  preceding  line. 

1648  trestes  alofte.  M.  and  G.  supply  on  before  trestes, 
doubtless  with  line  884  in  mind.  The  MS.  reading  may  be 
retained,  however,  with  alofte  'above,'  a  preposition  here. 

1666  he.  M.  and  G.  suggest  ho,  but  comparison  with  stanza 
xi  shows  that  the  lord  of  the  castle  is  intended.  In  each  case 
the  lord  and  Gawain  retire  together  and  make  their  agreement 
for  the  next  day,  the  lady  who  is  so  intimately  involved  not 
being  present.  Compare  1030,  in  which  it  is  specifically  stated 
that  the  lord  of  the  castle 

Ledes  hym  to  his  awen  chambre,  J>e  chymne  besyde. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  first  evening,  as  indicated  by  977,  they 
are  all  together,  the  agreement  not  then  involving  the  lady. 

1680  Now  brid  tyme  browe  best.  M.  made  prowe  a  noun, 
but  the  noun  is  pro,  as  in  Cl.  754,  Pat.  6,  from  Scand.  prd. 
Thomas  proposed  prowes,  comparing  Seven  Sages  2062,  Men 
sais  pe  prid  time  throwes  best,  but  this  seems  to  me  to  obscure 
the  relation  of  the  last  clause  of  the  line.  The  MS.  reading  may 
be  kept  by  taking  prowe  as  an  infinitive  dependent  on  penk. 
The  lord  of  the  castle  would  encourage  Gawain,  whose  growing 
impatience  (1660)  he  may  have  seen,  and  whose  desire  to  leave 
(1670)  he  is  trying  to  overcome.  He  has  just  said  you  have 
twice  proved  faithful,  and  adds  'Now  the  third  time,  on  the 
morrow,  think  to  throw  (succeed)  best.'  To  make  the  last 
clause  a  separate  sentence  as  does  W-N.,  or  connect  it  with  the 
following  as  does  Kt.  seems  to  me  to  destroy  its  effectiveness. 

1699-1700.  The  two  lines  have  given  trouble,  M.  even 
proposing  to  alter  a  trayteres  to  a  traveres  'a  traverse,  obliquely, ' 
Kt.  and  W-N.  following.  Thomas  has  the  right  idea,  but  has 
not  followed  the  sense  or  syntax  as  closely  as  might  be  in  his 
'a  vixen  slinks  along  with  subtle  wiles.'  Turbervile,  pp.  192-3, 
explains  why  all  the  hounds  are  not  uncoupled  at  once,  and 
elucidates  these  lines.  He  says, 

It  is  not  good  to  cast  off  too  many  hounds  at  once,  because  woods  and 
coverts  are  full  of  sundry  chases,  and  so  you  should  have  your  kennell  undertake 
sundry  beastes  and  lose  your  pastime. 

Even  though  only  a  few  hounds  have  been  uncoupled  there  are 
difficulties  in  finding  Reynard.    These  are  briefly  suggested  in 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  395 

these  lines:  'Some  fell  in  with  the  scent  where  the  fox  had 
rested  (and  perhaps  the  implication  is  remained  there),  trailed 
often  a  traitoress  (that  is  a  vixen  or  some  other  game)  by  trick 
of  her  wiles.'  Then,  however,  a  kennet,  or  small  hound,  comes 
upon  the  right  scent  and  'cries  therof.'  Bade  (1699)  seems  to  be 
the  only  example  of  the  past  tense  in  a  rather  than  0,  and  may 
be  a  case  of  confusion  between  a-o  as  in  coste$  for  caste)  of  1696. 

1704  &  hefyske?  hem  before.  M.  glossed  fyske)  'runs'  and 
the  translators  have  followed,  notwithstanding  its  colorlessness 
and  Br-Str.'s  better  gloss.  The  Norwegian  dialectal  fjaska 
'hoax'  from  'wander  about'  would  admirably  fit,  if  we  take  &• 
as  'if:  'if  he  ran  here  and  there  before  them  to  deceive  them, 
they  soon  found  him.' 

1706  wrejande  hym  ful  weterly.  M.  gave  the  right  deriva- 
tion for  the  first,  OE.  wregan,  but  the  inexact  meaning  here  're- 
viling' which  Kt.  has  modified  to  'scolded'  and  W-N.  to  the 
colorless  baying.'  Thomas  proposed  'betraying,'  but  I  think 
it  is  rather  'accuse,  denounce,'  that  is  for  his  treachery  in  de- 
ceiving them,  as  in  1704,  and  making  clear  the  discovery. 
'Denounced  him  clearly  with  an  angry  cry'  would  express  the 
idea,  and  give  force  to  the  personalizing  of  the  situation.  M. 
had  also  wrongly  glossed  weterly  as  'fiercely,'  and  W-N.  has 
followed  although  it  is  certainly  connected  with  OE.  witer 
'wise,  knowing,  evident.' 

1710  strothe  rande.     M.  glossed  strothe  'rugged,  wild,'  and 
Kt.  has  'rugged  path'  for  the  two  words,  W-N.  'rugged  rand,' 
explaining  the  latter  as  'unploughed  strip  by  woodside.'     E. 
Ekwall  (Angl.  BeibL  xxix,  200)  has  conclusively  shown  that 
strothe  is  Scand.  stor~5  f.  'wood,'  and  exists  in  numerous  English 
place  names  of  the  northern  counties.     Doubtless   the  two 
words  are  here  a  compound  meaning  'edge  or  margin  of  wood, 
woodside.'    Rand  occurs  in  many  OE.  compounds.    Although 
Ekwall  does  not  mention  strope  men  of  PI.  115,  we  may  assume  a 
similar  compound  strope-men  'woodmen'  as  sufficiently  clearing 
that  sometime  crux. 

1711  Went  haf  wylt  of  J?e  wode.    M.  proposed  went  'thought,' 
as  if  for  wende,  and  wylt  as  if  for  willed  'wandered,  escaped.' 
G.  read  haf-wylt,  perhaps  accounting  for  W-N's  curious  'half 
escaped  from  the  wood  he  turns  with  wiles  from  the  hounds.' 
M.  seems  to  me  right,  with  haf  as  infinitive,  a  not  uncommon 


396  Emerson 

form  in  the  poems:  'weened  to  have  wandered  (escaped)  from 
the  wood,'  explained  in  the  following  'with  wiles  (escaped) 
from  the  hounds.  It  is  another  diversion  in  the  fox's  many  at- 
temps  to  get  away. 

1713  )>er  J>re  j?ro  .  .  .  al  graye.  M.  is  clear  enough  in  his 
side-note  that  the  fox  is  here  "attacked  by  the  dogs,"  and  Kt. 
follows,  except  that  he  wrongly  attributes  al  graye  to  the  fox. 
W-N.  has  the  amusing  'three  stout  hunters  in  gray  threatened 
him  at  once."  Theprepro  al  graye  are  greyhounds  as  in  Turber- 
vile's  directions  for  hunting  the  fox  (pp.  192-3),  although  the 
latter  also  says  (p.  189),  "He  is  taken  with  Houndes,  Grey- 
houndes,  Terryers,  Nettes  and  ginnes." 

1722  clatered  on  hepes.  The  NED.  places  under  clatter 
with  the  less  common  meaning  of  'clatter  down,  fall  in  heaps,' 
and  the  translators  agree.  I  suggest  that  it  would  be  better  to 
take  on  hepes  as  'together,'  since  'clatter  together'  would  better 
express  the  idea  of  a  great  noise.  This  would  agree  with  the 
poet's  use  of  on  hepes  in  1590,  and  of  clatered  in  Cl.  972.  In  Cl. 
912  clater  upon  hepes  does  seem  to  have  the  meaning  'shatter, 
fall  down.' 

1727  out  rayked.  Probably  an  unrecorded  compound 
out-rayked  'wandered  out,  swerved  out,'  of  course  intentionally 
as  implied  by  so  reniarde  wat}  ivyle.  In  the  same  way  reled  in 
ajayn  is  rather  'dodged  in'  I  think,  than  'slunk  in  (Thomas), 
'reeled  in'  (W-N.).  In  both  cases  the  action  is  intentional  on 
the  part  of  the  fox. 

1729  bi  lag  mon.  In  favor  of  Gollancz's  emendation  to 
bilaggid  men  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  the  past  participle 
without  final  d  almost  certainly  occurs  in  the  rime  of  PL  1177, 
while  e-o  are  also  occasionally  confused  in  the  MS. 

1734  payre.  M.  glossed  'injure,  impair'  for  this  place,  but 
the  verb  is  intransitive  as  in  650,  1456,  and  Cl.  1124,  the  infini- 
tive dependent  upon  let  of  the  preceding  line.  The  lady  'let 
not  the  purpose  that  was  fixed  in  her  heart  be  impaired,  or  fail.' 

1736  mery  mantyle.  M.  did  not  gloss  or  record  mery,  but 
Kt.  translates  'merry,'  W-N.  'gay.'  Comparing  the  whole 
expression  with  that  in  153,  878,  I  suggest  that  mery  is  mere 
'bright,  excellent'  with  final  y  for  e,  as  frequently  in  the  poems. 
The  lady's  mantle  is  again  described  as  a  clere  mantyle  in  1831, 
where  clere  is  'bright,'  confirming  the  point  above.  The  word 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  397 

merry  is  regularly  myry  in  the  poems,  except  in  Gaw.  1885, 
1953,  and  perhaps  in  Cl.  1760,  where  mery  may  be  for  mere 
'bright'  distinguished,'  as  here. 

1738  hwes  goud  on  hir  hede.  M.  did  not  gloss  or  record 
goud  but  the  translators  have  assumed  gold,  Kt.  having  'no 
hues  of  gold  her  head  adorning,'  W-N.  'no  ornaments  of  gold.' 
I  suggest  'no  good  colors  on  her  head  (that  is  no  head  covering) 
except  the  jewels  skilfully  (hager  stones  'skilful  jewels')  set 
about  her  head-dress  (perhaps  net  of  gold).'  For  alliteration 
ha$er  adj.  is  used  for  the  adverbial  idea. 

1750  drej  droupyng  of  drem  draveled.  M.  glossed  dre$  as 
'fierce,  bold,'  but  it  is  rather  'continued,'  so  'long'  and  perhaps 
here  'wearisome':  'In  long  slumber  of  a  dream  (or  dreamy 
slumber).'  Draveled  was  glossed  by  M.  'slumbered  fitfully' 
with  comparison  of  OE.  drefan  'disturb,  trouble.'  I  suggest  a 
ME.  *drawlen  (drawelen)  'drag  out,  linger,  be  slow,  correspond- 
ing to  Icl.  dralla  from  dragla,  and  based  on  OE.  dragan  'draw.' 
The  ME.  drawlin  is  then  the  original  of  MnE.  drawl.  The 
latter  word  early  meant  'drag  out,  be  slow,'  not  alone  of  speech 
as  now,  and  admirably  fits  this  place.  Cf .  E.  Fris.  drauelen 
(draulen).  The  NED.  examples  are  of  the  16th  ct. 

1755  Bot  quen  J>at  comly.  The  clause  lacks  a  verb,  and  I 
propose  Bot  quen  com  pat  comly,  assuming  that  com  .  .  .  comly 
has  confused  the  scribe:  'But  when  came  that  comely  [one] 
he  recovered  his  wits.'  Kt.  makes  comly  apply  to  Gawain,  and 
W-N.  assumes  it  is  an  adverb  'fairly,'  both  omitting  he. 

1769  mare.    Gollancz  reads  Mare  'Mary'  as  I  think  rightly, 
another  case  of  final  e  for  y,  OE.  ie.    Knott's  suggestion  that 
mare  may  be  mare  he  seems  less  effective.     In  support  of  Gol- 
lancz's  suggestion  note  hir  knytf  and  the  prayer  of  Gawain  in 
1776  ff.    For  stod  =  stode  (see  my  article  in  Mod.  Phil,  xix,  139) 
Stode  and  mynne  are  subjunctives:  'Great  peril  would  have  stood 
between  them,  if  Mary  should  not  be  mindful  of  her  knight.' 
Miss  Day  (Mod.  Lang.  Rev.  xiv,  414)  thought  mynne  should  be 
mynned,  to  agree  in  tense  with  stod(e),  comparing  out-fleme  of 
PI.  1177.    It  seems  to  me  better,  however,  to  assume  mynne  is 
present  subjunctive,  with  such  abrupt  change  of  tense  as  is 
common  in  the  poem. 

1770  prynce.    In  his  side-note  M.  had  read  'prince'  and  Kt. 
follows.    W-N.  translates  'princess,'  as  I  think  rightly,  a  final 


398  Emerson 

s  having  been  carelessly  omitted  by  the  scribe  as  in  some  other 
examples. 

1780  lyf.  In  his  notes  M.  suggested  lef  'loved  (one)'; 
no  change  is  necessary;  lyf  'life'  is  equivalent  to  'living  one.' 

1796  sweje  doun.  M.  placed  with  swe)  'follows'  of  1562, 
and  Br-Str.  under  swogen  'sound,'  as  if  an  old  strong  past  tense, 
but  that  is  certainly  impossible.  Miss  Day  (Mod.  Lang.  Rev. 
xiv,  403)  rightly  suggested  a  past  tense  of  swei^en  'sway,  bend,' 
with  final  d  absorbed  by  the  following  d  or  at  least  omitted  as  in 
some  other  past  tenses;  compare  }edoun  =  jede  doun  of  1595. 
'She  bent  down,'  better  than  'stooped'  of  M.  and  the  translators, 
since  she  seems  to  be  sitting  on  the  bed  as  in  1193,  with  which 
compare  1780  and  1797.  In  Pat.  the  past  tense  is  both  sweyed 
(151)  and  sweyed  (236),  with  which  compare  sweyed  (Gaw.  1429) 
and  this  form.  Swey  of  Pat.  429  M.  had  rightly  placed  under 
sweijen,  though  Br-Str.  assumes  as  another  strong  past  of 
swogen.  Schwahn  recognized  no  such  past  in  these  poens. 

1805  Bot  to  dele  yow.  M.  and  G.  connect  with  preceding 
line,  but  Kt.  and  W-N.  rightly  with  the  following  it  seems  to  me, 
although  not  so  correctly  making  it  a  separate  sentence.  They 
have  also  misunderstood  the  following  clause,  translating  'that 
would  avail  but  little,'  'that  would  profit  but  little,'  as  if  the 
verb  were  subjunctive.  I  would  make  it  an  indicative  clause 
modifying  drurye:  'but  to  deal  to  you  (give  you  some  token) 
for  love  that  has  availed  nothing,  it  is  not  to  your  honor'  etc. 
He  is  mildly  reminding  her  that  she  has  not  succeeded  in  her 
endeavor. 

1825  swere.     G.  alters  to  swere[s],  as  if  a  final  s  had  been 
absorbed  by  the  following  s,  but  it  may  be  the  past  swere  like 
swer  in  Cl.  667,  very  likely  both  with  e  by  scribal  confusion 
with  o.     For  swyftel  I  suggest  swyfte  by  from  b-l  confusion; 
see  2051. 

1826  sore.     Some  slight  alteration  is  necessary.     Sore  might 
possibly  be  from  OE.  sargian  'grieve'  modified  by   analogy. 
It  seems  more  likely  that  it  is  the  adjective  sore  as  in  1987,  the 
second  6°  of  the  line  to  be  omitted,  or  perhaps  better  a  wat}  to 
be  supplied  before  sore. 

1830  leke.  M.  glossed  'fastened,  encircled,'  but  wrongly 
referred  it  to  OSwed.  lycka.  It  is  OE.  lucan-leac  'close,  fasten,' 
as  in  PL  210.  Leke  umbe  'closed  about'  gives  the  idea  of  encircled. 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  399 

1823  Nojt  hot  arounde  brayden,  beten  with  fyngrej.  The 
translators  have  missed  the  point  I  think,  Kt.  having  'all 
embroidered  with  finger  work,'  W-N.  'broidered  all  around, 
decked  with  fringes,'  reading  fyngre}  as  if  fryngej.  Fyngres 
'fingers'  occurs  at  841,  and  twice  in  Cl.  (1533,  1553)  beside 
fyngeres  the  same  number  of  times,  and  need  not  be  changed. 
Neither  translator  takes  account  of  notf  bot  'naught  except.' 
The  poet  is  emphasizing  the  simplicity  of  the  gift,  as  the  lady 
does  in  her  pa)  hit  unworpi  were  of  1835  and  hit  is  symple  in 
hitself  of  1847.  I  would  render  'naught  embroidered  except 
around  (the  edges),  ornamented  with  fingers  (or  finger  work).' 
It  is  golde  hemmed  only  at  2395.  The  peculiar  use  of  beten 
'embroidered,  ornamented'  I  have  explained  at  length  in  an 
article  to  appear  later. 

1847.  The  question  seems  to  me  to  end  with  hitself,  after 
which  she  adds  &°  so  hit  well  seeme}  etc. 

1859  Jjuldged  with  hir  }?repe.  The  first  from  OE.  dyldigian, 
as  Skeat  (Phil.  Soc.  Trans.  1891-4,  p.  371),  not  dolgian  as  M., 
an  interesting  example  of  OE.  d-\-y  becoming  ME.  dg(j).  It 
means  then  'become  patient,'  not  'endure.'  prepe,  too,  is 
'rebuke'  as  in  2397,  not  the  milder  'chiding':  'then  he  became 
patient  with  her  rebuke  and  suffered  her  to  speak.' 

1863  for.  M.  proposed  fro  and  G.  puts  it  into  the  text, 
Knott  agreeing  and  the  translators.  But  for  'on  account  of, 
because  of,'  a  common  meaning,  makes  the  text  right. 

1868  on  J?rynne  syj>e.  M.  glossed  'three,'  disregarding  the 
syntax  with  on  'an  (a)'  as  in  PL  9,  530,  869,  Cl.  1358.  On 
prynne  sype  is  'a  third  time,'  the  three  kisses  which  Gawain 
returns  to  his  host  in  1936  are  those  of  1785,  1796,  and  this  place. 
prynne  is  'three'  with  plural  nouns,  as  in  Cl.  606,  1727,  but 
'threefold,  third'  here. 

1875  ful  holdely.  M.  glossed  'faithfully,  carefully,'  and  W-N. 
translates  'full  cleverly.'  It  is  more  exactly  'full  loyally,' 
referring  to  his  promise  of  864.  M's  side-note  'conceals  the 
love-lace  about  his  person'  is  not  justified  by  the  text,  since  it 
is  only  the  next  day  that  he  dons  it  with  no  concealment,  the 
Green  Knight  not  then  being  present;  see  2032. 

1895  forfaren.  M.  glossed  'destroyed,'  and  Kt.  'killed.' 
W-N's  'overtaken'  is  better,  but  'outstripped'  still  nearer  the 
idea  of  the  rare,  forefaren  (forfaren).  The  Green  Knight  has 


400  Emerson 

not  only  overtaken  but  come  up  ahead  of  the  fox.  Both  Kt. 
and  W-N.  have  broken  the  sentence  relation  by  a  new  and  less 
fortunate  punctuation. 

1902  arered.  M.  glossed  'retreated'  without  explanation, 
and  it  can  hardly  be  from  OE.  ardtran  'raise,  rear  up,'  or  from 
OF.  arier e  'backward.'  It  seems  to  me  also  that  the  idea  should 
be  'escaped,'  as  indicated  by  the  next  line,  and  I  therefore  pro- 
pose ared  with  dittograph  of  re,  from  OE.  *dhreddan  'escape.' 
Ared  would  then  be  for  areded  with  final  d  for  -ded  as  in  blende 
for  blended  in  1361,  rebounde  for  rebounded  in  Cl.  422. 

1915  mute.  M.  glossed  'meet,  meeting  of  hunters,'  as  dis- 
tinct from  mute  'pack  of  hounds'  in  1451,  1720,  and  is  followed 
by  Kt.  W-N.  uses  mute  itself,  explaining  in  a  footnote  'the 
note  that  recalls  all  the  dogs,"  while  CtDict.  says  'cry  of  hounds' 
for  this  place  only.  The  word  is  the  same  in  all  places  in  the 
poem,  here  myriest  mute  being  simply  'merriest  pack,'  the  idea  of 
the  cry  being  made  clear  by  men  herde  and  the  following  line. 
Strutt,  using  an  early  Book  of  Venerye,  tells  us  mute  is  the  correct 
term  for  a  pack  of  hounds,  as  kennel  (kenel)  1140  is  for  ratches — 
Sports  and  Pastimes,  p.  19. 

1941  As  is  pertly  payed.  Thomas  translated  'provided  the 
bargain  is  promptly  paid,'  criticizing  Kt's  'quickly  is  given  the 
bargain  I  drove.'  W-N.  has  'so  long  as  the  debts  that  I  owed 
are  properly  paid.'  Pertly  is  I  think  'openly,'  as  in  544.  In  the 
previous  speech  the  host  has  implied  that  Gawain  had  obtained 
something  more  than  he  has  returned  'in  achievement  of  this 
purchase  if  ye  had  good  bargains.'  This  implication  Gawain 
turns  aside  by  his  'Yea,  of  the  bargain  no  matter  (charg),  since 
(as)  the  bargains  that  I  owed-for  have  been  openly  paid.'  He 
wishes  to  make  clear  that  nothing  has  been  concealed.  Perhaps 
chepe)  (1941)  should  be  chepe  on  account  of  the  verb  and  of 
chepe  in  1940. 

1946  ]?ro.  The  comma  should  be  after  this  word  as  the  second 
alliterative  word  of  the  line,  pro  is  adverbial,  as  in  1021,  and 
perhaps  in  both  places  with  the  verbs  of  strong  motion  has 
something  of  the  meaning  'precipitately.' 

1956  Bot  if.  Kt.  has  missed  entirely  in  his  'that  they  were 
in  danger  of  losing  their  heads  or  of  becoming  drunken,'  while 
W-N.  has  also  wrongly  interpreted  douthe  in  'as  if  the  court 
were  mad  or  else  drunk.'  The  line  qualifies  so  glad:  'Gawain 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  401 

and  the  goodman  they  were  both  so  glad — unless  the  noble 
men  [that  is  Gawain  and  his  host]  had  become  dotards  or  else 
were  drunk.'  The  poet  is  capable  of  a  little  humor  now  and  then. 

1958  sejen.  M.  glossed  'arrived'  without  explanation,  but  it 
is  for  sijen  as  Schwahn  takes  it,  from  OE.  slgan  'sink,  fall' 
with  the  derived  meanings  'come,  arrive'  in  Middle  English. 
Schwahn  wrongly,  however,  connects  with  seye  'pass'  of  1879, 
seyed  pp.  of  Cl.  353,  a  weak  derivative  verb,  OE.  s&gan  'cause 
to  fall,'  with  intransitive  meaning,  perhaps  by  confusion  with 
the  strong  verb. 

1964  I  jef  yow  me  for  on  of  yourej.  Kt.,  without  much 
regard  to  forms,  and  omitting  1965  entirely,  while  generalizing 
part  of  1966,  translates:  'I  pray  thee  to  grant  me  one  of  your 
men  if  thou  wilt,  to  show  me  as  thou  didst  promise  the  way  to 
the  Green  Chapel.'  W-N.  takes  jef  as  'give'  and  renders:  'I  can 
only  give  you  myself  to  be  one  of  your  men,  if  that  pleases 
you'  etc.  This  makes  little  sense,  it  seems  to  me,  and  $ef  'give' 
is  impossible,  since  that  verb  always  appears  in  these  poems 
with  g,  never  j,  and  j  is  here  necessary  for  the  alliteration.  I 
believe  Kt.  has  the  right  idea,  and  that  we  have  here  a  simple 
request  for  a  guide  with  no  suggestion  of  repayment  for  so 
slight  a  favor  as  direction  for  a  distance  of  less  than  two  miles 
(1078).  To  make  the  text  agree  I  propose  jej  (}e}e)  'ask,  beg,' 
as  in  67,  1215.  The/  may  represent  of,  the  whole  ^eje  of,  which 
the  scribe  has  abbreviated  by  supposing  $e$e  a  dittograph: 
'For  I  beg  you  for  myself  one  of  yours,  if  it  please  you'  etc. 

1968  dele.  Kt's  'endure'  and  W-N's  'take'  are  not  easily 
derived  from  OE.  dalan  'deal,'  but  the  parallel  Scand.  deila 
meant  'discern'  and  that  would  well  fit  this  place,  may  possibly 
have  belonged  to  the  OE.  word. 

1970  rede.  M.  glossed  'maintain'  with  a  question,  but  it  is 
rather  the  archaic  noun  reed  (rede}  'counsel'  as  Kt.,  or  possibly 
OAng.  rede,  WS.  rctde  'ready,'  with  which  compare  redly  (373) 
beside  redily  (392). 

1972  drechch.  Only  the  verb  appears  in  OE.  dreccean 
'harass,  delay,'  and  the  dialectal  dretch  'go  heavily,  daudle, 
delay,'  pointed  out  by  Mrs.  Wright,  but  an  OE.  noun  *drece 
(drecce)  'hindrance,  delay'  must  be  assumed. 

1975  J?e  lorde  Gawayn  con  J?ank.  Thomas  notes  that  Kt. 
had  taken  J>e  lorde  as  the  subject,  instead  of  Gawayn,  and  I  may 


402  Emerson 

add  that  W-N.  has  done  the  same,  besides  misunderstanding 
the  following  line.  Gawain  had  already  thanked  his  host  for 
his  hospitality  in  1962-3,  and  he  now  thanks  him  specifically 
for  the  new  promise  to  furnish  him  a  guide — 'such  honor  he 
[the  lord]  would  contrive  for  him.'  Weve  in  the  OE.  sense  of 
'contrive,  plan'  as  well  as  'weave'  fits  both  this  place  and  2359, 
for  both  of  which  M.  assumes  'give.'  This  led  Kt.  to  translate 
the  line  'such  worship  he  would  him  give,'  with  such  ambiguity 
in  the  pronouns  as  to  leave  doubt  of  its  relation  to  the  line 
preceding. 

1999  dryvej  to.  Napier  proposed  to-dryvej  drives  away,' 
forgetting  perhaps  that  OE.  drifan  had  the  intransitive  meaning 
'drive  on,  rush  with  violence,'  the  first  of  which  would  admirably 
suit  this  place.  Compare  also  PI.  30,  and  1094.  We  must 
assume,  I  take  it,  that  the  poet  goes  back  to  describe  the  close 
of  the  previous  day  and  the  coming  of  the  storm,  of  which  the 
gaiety  in  the  castle  had  made  all  oblivious. 

This  fine  description  has  been  variously  treated  by  the 
translators,  Kt.  rendering  norpe  by  'the  north  in  the  weather' 
and  wylde  by  'wilds'  instead  of  'wild  creatures.'  W-N.  has 
needlessly  broken  up  lines  2001-3,  it  seems  to  me,  and  places 
of  pe  norpe  with^>£  snawe  of  the  next  line,  making  'the  snow  from 
the  north.'  I  thkik  we  may  better  keep  the  lines  2001-3  to- 
gether as  specific  instances  of  the  wylde  wederej  of  2000.  Norpe, 
too,  I  think  must  be  'north  wind,'  since  the  colde  has  been  men- 
tioned in  2001,  and  it  would  be  the  north  wind  which  would 
make  the  cold  more  bitter.  I  would  render:  'Clouds  drove  the 
keen  cold  (kenly  J?e  colde)  to  the  earth,  with  near  enough  of  the 
north  wind  to  vex  the  naked — the  snow  bit  full  sharply  that 
nipped  the  wild  creatures.' 

2026  His  cote  etc.  The  punctuation  of  M.  and  G.  is  mis- 
leading. The  cote  is  the  cote  armure  of  586,  a  sleeveless  surcoat 
of  light  cloth  worn  over  the  ring-mail  armor,  having  upon  it  the 
cognisance  (cf.  in  schelde  6*  cote  of  637)  of  clere  werke)  (pi.  for 
emphasis)  ennurned  upon  velvet,  precious  stones  fastened  about 
and  adorning  it  (the  cognisance).  Besides,  the  coat  has  em- 
broidered seams,  and  is  fairly  furred  within  with  fair  fur  linings 
(pelures). 

2032  balje  haunchej.  M.  glossed  'round  or  smooth'  and 
Kt.  has  adopted  the  latter.  Br-Str.  has  'flat-topped'  on  the 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  403 

strength  of  balwe  'planus'  in  Prompt.  Parv.,  while  W-N.  renders 
'broad.'  The  word  clearly  implies  an  adj.  parallel  to  the  OE. 
sb.  belg  'bag,  bellows,  pod,'  and  meaning  'bulging.'  The  sword 
belt  was  placed  below  the  waist  and  hung  down  over  the  broadest 
part  of  the  hips.  The  literal  'bulging  haunches'  is  sufficiently 
and  more  elegantly  expressed  today  by  'broad  thighs  or  hips.' 
Like  this  word  OE.  belg  regularly  appears  in  the  poem  with  a, 
by  lowering  of  pitch  under  the  influence  of  /  and  perhaps  the 
preceding  b.  Bi  at  the  beginning  of  the  line  is  'by  that,  by  the 
time  that,'  or  here  'after.' 

2035  J?at  gay  wel  bisemed.  Kt.  takes  bisemed  as  'folded,' 
and  makes  gay  an  attributive  modifier  of  gordel.  W-N.  takes 
be  gay  as  referring  to  Gawain — who,  I  judge,  was  anything  but 
gay  as  he  prepares  for  this  venture — rendering  'which  became 
him  well.'  The  punctuation  of  the  modern  editions  has  again 
misled.  Gay  is  a  predicate  adj.,  'that  seemed  very  gay  upon  the 
royal  red  cloth  that  was  rich  to  behold.' 

2053  ioy  mot  J?ay  have.  Gollancz  alters  bay  to  he  and  Knott 
approves.  I  believe  the  MS.  reading  should  be  kept.  Gawain 
is  here  interested  especially  in  the  retainers  who  are  seeing  him 
off,  and  'joy  may  they  have'  to  so  goodly  a  company  is  a  natural 
wish.  That  he  should  recognize  their  relationship  to  master 
and  mistress,  and  praise  them  also  in  2055-7,  does  not  seriously 
interfere  with  the  unity  of  the  speech  primarily  in  relation  to  the 
retainers.  He  first  wishes  them  joy,  he  includes  them  in  his 
pious  desire  that  God  may  reward  all  in  the  castle  (and  also 
you  all),  and  his  final  thought  is  of  repayment  to  them  spe- 
cifically if  he  should  be  able.  I  suggest  that  some  such  words  as 
hem  maynteines  are  to  be  understood  with  lady  (2054),  as  'the 
dear  lady  alive  looks  after  them,'  to  which  Gawain  adds  the 
parenthetical  'may  love  betide  her.'  On  lyve  is  a  mere  tag  for 
alliterative  purposes,  as  upon  londe  of  2058,  upon  lyve  of  2095, 
and  as  it  is  a  tag  for  rime  in  Chaucer's  Leg.  of  Good  Worn.  1792. 
The  past  subjunctives  of  2058-9  express  Gawain's  serious  doubt 
of  the  outcome  of  his  journey,  and  should  be  rendered  into 
modern  English  with  present  optatives  'and  if  I  may'  etc. 

2071  bredej.  M.  glossed  'bounds,  limits'  and  assumed  OE. 
brerd  as  the  original.  He  rightly  glossed  the  same  word  in  Pat. 
184  as  'board,'  referring  it  properly  to  OE.  bred,  still  retained 


404  Emerson 

in  the  same  form  and  sense  in  Scotch.  Here  the  OE.  neuter 
shows  lengthening  in  the  oblique  cases. 

2082  byled.  M.  glossed  'boiled'  and  the  translators  have 
followed.  The  form,  however,  can  not  be  from  OF.  boillir 
'boil,'  and  I  propose  OE.  bylgean  'bellow,'  here  'roar,'  Scotch 
having  both  bitty  and  bellow  from  that  verb.  As  Skeat  points 
out,  confusion  between  OE.  bellan  'bellow,  roar,'  and  belgan 
'be  angry'  may  account  for  the  form  of  bellow.  Besides, 
boyled  'boiled'  occurs  at  2174. 

2084  Welawylle.  M.  glossed  'very  lonesome,  desert,'  and 
Kt.  has  'lonesome,'  W-N.  'dreary.'  We  should  read  Wela 
•wylle  (see  note  on  518),  the  second  word  being  Scand.  willr 
'wild,'  as  in  the  compound  wyl-dr ernes  of  Pat.  473.  Wela  is 
'lo,  alas.' 

2103.  M.  and  G.  separate  the  line  from  the  two  following 
as  does  W-N.  Kt.  unites  correctly,  but  renders  somewhat 
inaccurately  'and  such  chance  he  achieves  that'  etc.  Better 
'he  achieves  the  destiny,  or  carries  out  the  purpose  (chevej  J>at 
chaunce)  that  there  passes'  etc. 

2111  may  ]?e  knyjt  rede.  M.  inserted  I  before  may,  mis- 
understanding the  clause,  and  perhaps  on  this  account  Kt.,  W-N. 
omit  entirely.  It  adds  a  necessary  element  to  the  description, 
'if  the  knight  (of  the  Green  Chapel)  chooses.'  He  implies  with 
some  delicacy,  you  (Gawain)  may  escape,  but  it  would  be  only 
because  the  knight  does  not  choose  to  kill  you.  G.  retained  the 
MS.  reading. 

2123  &  oj^ej  in-noghe.  Has  not  6*  been  added  by  scribal 
error,  perhaps  owing  to  the  &'s  preceding?  Ope)  in-noghe  should 
be  the  direct  object  of  I  schal  swere  of  2122. 

2 140  Now  etc.  Now  is  used  in  the  sense  of  'now  that,  since' 
as  in  Cl.  75  and  occasionally  in  all  periods:  'Now  that  thou 
speakest  so  much —  that  thou  wilt  take  thine  own  trouble  to 
thyself,  and  it  pleases  thee  to  lose  thy  life — I  care  not  to  hinder 
thee.'  W-N.  separates  the  wow-clause  from  its  conclusion,  mak- 
ing 6*  of  2142  'if,'  but  I  think  not  wisely.  M.  makes  lette  a 
noun,  but  only  the  verb  occurs  in  the  poems. 

2167  }>e  skwej.  F.  M.  suggested  'groves,  coverts,'  M. 
'clouds,  shadows,'  translating  'the  shadows  of  the  hills  appeared 
wild  (desolate)  to  him.'  Br-Str.  also  gives  'shadow,'  assuming 
OE.  scua  (scuwa),  and  skwe,  skwes  (Cl.  483,  1759)  must  be 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  405 

'cloud,  clouds.'  On  the  other  hand,  as  Mrs.  Wright  has  pointed 
out,  there  is  an  English  dialectal  skew  'precipitous  bank'  and  I 
may  add  a  Scotch  skew  'oblique  part  of  a  gable,'  probably  the 
word  in  this  place.  Scowtes  is  Scand.  skuti  'protecting  rock' 
as  by  Bjorkman  }Scand.  Loan-Words  p.  134),  though  he  wrongly 
follows  Br-Str.  in  giving  the  meaning  as  'cave  formed  by  pro- 
jecting rocks.'  Skayved  would  seem  to  be  a  verb,  perhaps  an 
unrecorded  Scand.  *skeifa,  parallel  to  skeifr  'askew,  oblique,' 
Scotch  skeif  'shrivelled  dwarf.'  Mrs.  Wright  compares  dialectal 
skeaf  'steep  bank,'  doubtless  from  an  OE.  *sc<zf  parallel  to  the 
Scand.  words  cited.  The  line  would  then  seem  to  mean  some- 
thing like  'the  steep  sides  of  the  projecting  rocks  were  precipi- 
tously overhanging,  or  were  threatening,  he  thought.'  It  is 
difficult  to  believe  Gawain  was  stopped  by  shadows. 

2173  forj.  M.  placed  with  forth  (forthe)  and  glossed  'passage, 
ford,  stream,'  the  translators  following.  If  not  a  scribal  error, 
it  may  be  OE.furh  in  sense  of  'channel,'  'furrow'  being  restricted 
to  a  channel  made  by  the  plow.  The  cognate-  Icl.  for  means 
'drain,  sewer.'  There  seems  in  the  situation  no  occasion  for  a 
'ford.' 

2177  riche.  G.  suggests  "read  riche  bridle,"  and  W-N.  has 
followed,  but  surely  M's  side-note,  making  it  refer  to  the  horse, 
is  better. 

2181  glodes.  M.  glossed  'clod,  clump,  hillock,  tuft'  with 
question  marks.  I  suggest  here,  in  2266  and  PL  79,  glades 
(glade)  with  a-o  confusion  by  the  scribe.  The  meaning  'bright, 
open  space'  would  seem  to  fit  better  than  'path'  from  OE. 
geldd,  as  perhaps  also  in  Wars  of  Alex.  1334. 

2189  Wowayn.  A  good  example  of  o  for  a  by  scribal  con- 
fusion here  and  in  2479,  all  other  forms  having  a. 

2207  bi  rote.  M.  glossed  the  phrase  'cheerfully,  confidently,' 
connecting  rote  with  OE.  rot  'cheerful.'  The  rime,  however, 
requires  an  open  o,  and  I  propose  OF.  rote  'routine,  repetition.' 
Bi  rote  modifies  ryched  'is  prepared  by  repetition,  methodically.' 

2251  grwe.  M.  glossed  'will,'  assuming  OF.  gre,  but  without 
showing  how  the  two  could  be  connected.  The  word  is  the 
Scand.  gru  'horror,  dread,  fear,'  as  in  our  gruesome.  Kt.  follows 
M.,  and  W-N.  has  the  weak  'not  a  whit'  for  no  grwe. 

2263  as  drej.  M.  glossed  the  adj.  'fierce,  bold,'  but  it  is 
rather  'enduring,  lasting,  continuing  to  the  end,'  and  the  adv. 


406  Emerson 

here  'enduringly,  continuously.'  Thomas  has  'as  steadily,' 
W-N.  'as  earnestly. '  From  Ga wain's  point  of  view  it  is  'threaten- 
ingly,' thus  misleading  Morris.  So  Morris  glossed  munt  (2260) 
'feigned'  when  it  is  'aimed,  purposed,'  and  the  translators  have 
used  the  former  idea  either  with  munt  or  ailed.  From  what 
comes  much  later  we  know  that  the  Green  Knight  was  feigning, 
but  it  is  not  so  stated  in  the  text  and  did  not  appear  so  to 
Gawain. 

2274  myntest.    Mrs.  Wright  notes  that  the  word  dialectally 
in  England  has  the  meaning  'make  a  feigned  attempt  at,'  but 
surely  Gawain  did  not  feint  when  he  struck  and  severed  the 
Green  Knight's  head.    The  verb  here  means  'purpose,  intend, 
aim'  as  in  Cl.  1628. 

2275  kest  no  cavelacion.     M.  glossed  'strife'  here,  and  'dis- 
pute' for  683.    Kt.  has  'did  no  cavil  at  all,'  which  is  better  in 
our  modern  idiom  of  'made  no  caviling.'    W-N's  'tried  no  tricks' 
is  too  strong.    The  Green  Knight  is  twitting  Gawain  of  trifling, 
as  by  using  fyked  (2274),  OSwed.  fikja,  'fidget,  trifle,'  a  more 
opprobrious  word  than  'shrank'  of  Morris  and  Kt.    Even  W-N's. 
'winced'  is  a  little  too  strong  for  the  Green  Knight's  biting  taunt. 

2294  raveled.  In  Cl.  59,  890  occurs  a  ropeled  and  in  Parl.  of 
Thre  Ages  (261)  rotheled.  M.  suggested  OE.  hrafiian  'be  quick' 
for  the  former,  but  the  meaning  does  not  well  fit.  Menner 
(Glossary  to  Purity)  proposed  ON.  hrdpa  'strip,  disable,'  but 
neither  meaning  or  form  would  fit  all  examples.  There  is 
possibility  of  a  verb  based  on  Scand.  rada  'set  in  order'  which 
would  satisfy  Cl.  59,  Parl.  of  Thre  Ages  261,  where  set  in  order 
words  would  mean  'speak.'  As  'set,  fix'  it  would  explain  Gaw. 
2294,  and  as  'set  himself  Cl.  890.  M.  glossed  'fixed,  rooted' 
for  this  place  without  further  explanation.  The  a-q  variation 
may  be  dialectal  or  scribal. 

2297  J?e  hyje  hode.  Kt.  had  rendered  'hold  high  thy  hood,' 
and  Thomas  mistakenly  'be  worthy  of  the  high  rank.'  W-N. 
has  'fine  hood,'  which  rightly  implies  the  compound  hy$e  hode, 
better  rendered  by  'high  hood.'  It  is  the  capados  of  572,  and 
since  given  by  Arthur  a  kynge}  capados  pat  closes  his  swyre  (186), 
necessitating  the  command  of  the  Green  Knight. 

2305  on  lyte.  M.  does  not  gloss,  and  Kt.  omits,  while  W-N. 
translates  as  'a  bit'  as  if  lyte  'little.'  This  seems  insignificant 
after  lenger  and  I  propose  Scand.  lyti  'fault,  flaw,  vice,'  ME. 
lite,  here  'at  fault,  faultily,  improperly.' 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  407 

2312  snyrt.  M.  and  Br-Str.  do  not  gloss  or  recognize,  but 
it  is  Scand.  snerta  'touch,'  a  more  delicate  word  than  the  'cut' 
of  the  translators,  and  showing  the  less  serious  purpose  of  the 
Green  Knight. 

2316  sprit  forth  spenne  fote.  The  first  may  be  Scand. 
spretta  'spurt  out  (of  water),  start,  spring,'  or  if  OE.  spryttan, 
from  which  Skeat  derives  spurt  (spirt},  then  with  a  meaning 
not  recorded  in  the  older  language.  The  NED.  gives  a  spen- 
foot  based  on  this  single  example,  and  with  the  suggested  meaning 
'with  feet  close  together'  from  spen  'clasp,  fasten.'  The  context 
seems  to  me  to  require  something  like  'quickly,'  and  I  suggest  a 
compound  of  Scand.  spenna  'spend' — or  possibly  OE.  spendan — 
like  spend-thrift  on  the  one  side  and  hot-foot  on  the  other. 

2326  &  foo.  M.  connected  with  OE.  fdh  'hostile,  foe,'  but 
did  not  note  its  adverbial  character  here,  'hostilely,  fiercely, 
modifying  $elde  of  the  preceding  line.  Kt.  has  'my  foe,'  for  the 
rime  perhaps;  W-N.  omits. 

2337  rykande  rurde.  M.  and  G.  alter  to  r[a]ykande,  M. 
glossing  'loud,  strong,  literally  rushing'  from  rayke.  Unfor- 
tunately rayke,  Scand.  reika,  does  not  mean  'rush'  but  'wander, 
stagger'  or  ideas  closely  connected.  Mrs.  Wright  notes  dialectal 
rick  'rattle,  jingle,  chatter,'  sometimes  'grumble,  scold,'  but  with 
no  derivation,  and  it  seems  to  me  hardly  the  right  idea.  I  propose 
Scand.  rikja  'reign,  rule,'  here  'commanding,'  ME.  rikien 
(rikeri). 

2344.  M.,  G.  add  6*  after  waret,  but  needlessly,  since  the 
second  half  of  the  line  'to  thee  have  wrought  grief  explains  the 
first  half  line. 

2346  sore  with  ryjt.  Sore  makes  no  sense  here  and  I  propose 
fore  'for'  as  in  PL  734:  'I  scratched  thee  with  no  scratch,  for'  etc. 
For  confusion  olf—s  note/0  'so'  Cl.  1233,  1452,  Gaw.  282,  384, 
718,  1304;  unfavere  'unsavory'  Cl.  &22;fyn  =  syn  'since'  Pat.  35; 
sor=for  in  PL  700;  luslych  —  luflych  in  Gaw.  1583;  clesly  = 
chefly  in  Gaw.  850.  The  translators  felt  the  inadequacy  of 
'sore,'  and  Kt.  has  'though  with  right  I  proffered  it  to  thee,'  and 
W-N.  has  disguised  it  under  'which  was  but  justice,  considering 
the  covenant'  etc. 

2346  rove  \>e  wyth  no  rof.  For  rove,  Scand.  rifa,  the  most 
effective  word  here  is  'scratch,'  one  of  its  regular  meanings. 
Rof  suggests  an  OE.  *rdf  'scratch,  tear,  rend.'  The  milder  word 


408  Emerson 

better  conveys  the  meaning  of  the  Green  Knight  than  Kt's 
'cut  thee  not  at  all,'  W-N's  'gave  thee  no  blow.' 

2350  for  \>e  morne.  W-N.  has  'this  morning,'  Kt.  correctly 
'for  the  morning  when  thou  didst  kiss'  etc.  The  latter,  however, 
has  greatly  erred  in  translating  2252  as  'and  for  the  two  kisses,' 
W-N.  here  correctly  'for  these  two  occasions'  etc. 

2254  Trwe  mon  trwe  restore.  The  translators  have  appar- 
ently misunderstood  the  subjunctive  of  condition  in  restore, 
both  rendering  as  an  indicative  of  fact.  It  means  'if  a  true  man 
truly  restore,  then  need  a  man  fear  no  harm.' 

2370  gryed.  Doubtless  from  a  Scand.  verb  based  on  gru 
'horror,'  used  in  2251  and  explained  in  a  note  on  that  line.  M. 
rightly  compared  OHG.  gruen  'feel  horror,'  and  Mrs.  Wright 
the  English  dialectal  gry  'shiver,  shudder  in  fear,'  here  of  course 
'in  shame.' 

2379-80.  The  translators  have  taken  for  as  a  preposition, 
and  cowardyse  as  subject  of  tajt,  but  I  think  for  is  the  conjunction. 
The  subject  of  tajt  is  care  of  py  knokke,  and  cowardyse  is  the 
object,  the  whole  explained  in  the  next  line. 

2387  Letej  me  overtake  your  wylle.  Kt.  is  certainly  in  error 
in  his  'let  me  but  thwart  thy  will,'  and  W-N's  generalizing  'let 
me  but  please  you  now'  misses  the  idea.  Gawain  has  confessed 
his  fault  and  asks  for  another  trial — and  efte  I  schal  be  ware. 
He  here  says  'let  your  good  will  (that  is  rather  than  your  evil 
nature)  overtake  or  possess  me,  and  next  time  I  shall  be  wary.' 
Overtake  represents  OE.  oferniman  'take  possession  of  or 
perhaps  here  the  more  modern  'come  up  with,'  as  in  Icl.  yfer- 
taka. 

2396  For  hit  is  grene  as  my  goune.  Kt.  connects  with  the 
preceding  line,  rendering  for  'and.'  W-N.  misses  a  little  in 
'since  it  is  green,  as  is  my  gown,'  instead  of  'since  it  is  green  as 
my  gown.'  That  is,  worn  on  Gawain's  royal  red  cote-armure 
(2036),  it  would  constantly  remind  him  of  the  Green  Knight  as 
well  as  his  adventure.  So  Gawain  accepts  it  as  shown  by  line 
2433. 

2409  I  haf  sojorned  sadly.  Kt's  'sadly'  was  criticized  by 
Thomas  who  puts  it  too  strongly  in  "I  have  been  entertained 
only  too  well.'  Sadly  is  properly  'satisfactorily,'  perhaps  here 
'pleasantly'  as  in  Pat.  442. 

2411  &  comaundej  me.  Clearly  a  scribal  error  for  comendej 
me;  see  commende  Cl.  1. 


Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  409 

2422-26.  From  our  point  of  view  the  passage  is  confused  in 
its  syntax,  or  at  least  in  order  of  words.  Of  individual  words, 
forn  is  Scand.  forn  'of  old,  in  old  times,  'here  used  adverbially. 
Muse  has  come  a  long  distance  from  its  original,  OF.  muse 
'mouth,  muzzle,'  muser  'hold  mouth  in  air  and  sniff  about'  as 
of  a  dog  in  hunting,  then  'muse,  dream'  and  dialectally  'go  in 
listless  manner'  as  Mrs.  Wright  pointed  out.  C.  Brett  (Mod. 
Lang.  Rev.  xiv,  8)  thought  'gaze  fixedly  or  lovingly  on,'  from 
some  other  examples,  but  here  probably  no  more  than  'dream 
about,  live  carelessly,  as  distinct  from  the  great  heroes  men- 
tioned, pyse  oper,  I  take  it,  erroneously  includes  pe  freest, 
as  Milton  in  his  well-known  "and  fairest  of  her  daughters  Eve." 
A  different  order  of  words  makes  all  clear  I  think:  'for  these 
who  followed  all  good  fortune  excellently  (that  is  that  lived 
well)  were  of  old  the  noblest  of  those  (}>yse  oj>er)  who  mused 
away  under  heaven,  and  they  were  all  bewiled  by  women  with 
whom  they  associated.'  'Were  nobler  than  all  those'  would  be 
the  modern  way  of  expressing  the  idea. 

2431  saynt.  M.  glossed  'rich  stuff,  Fr.  samit,'  and  Br-Str. 
places  it  under  the  latter  word  with  a  question.  The  translators 
have  'samite.'  The  use  of  sylk  immediately  after  seems  to 
indicate  that  samit  'rich  silk  stuff'  could  not  be  intended.  It 
should  be  noted  that  sayn  =  saynt  'sword-belt'  occurs  in  589,  and 
that  Gawain  might  well  say  here — the  poet  requiring  three 
s-words  for  the  line — he  does  not  care  for  the  girdle  or  sash  in  its 
ornamental  character.  I  would  keep  the  MS.  reading,  using 
'sash'  or  'scarf  in  rendering  the  word  sayn. 

2447  &  koyntyse  of  clergye.  M.  suggested  in  for  6*  and  G. 
retains  the  suggestion,  but  I  think  with  a  misunderstanding  of 
the  syntax,  as  by  the  translators  also.  Koyntyse  is  governed  by 
pur)  of  the  preceding  line  as  truly  as  mytf.  I  would  also  make 
pe  maystres  of  Merlyn  explain  craftes  as  an  appositive,  and 
begin  the  new  sentence  with  many.  Bernlak,  I  take  it,  is  ex- 
plaining his  own  title  de  Hautdesert  when  he  refers  to  the  myjt 
and  koyntyse,  in  which  he  is  wel  lerned.  To  assume  that  ivel 
lerned  directly  applies  to  Morgne  la  Faye  requires  a  modifica- 
tion of  the  text,  as  that  proposed  by  M.,  or  the  addition  of  hatz 
before  wel  lerned  changes  unnecessary  with  the  interpretation  I 
have  given.  Of  course  Bernlak's  skill  has  also  come  from  Morgne 
la  Faye,  and  he  goes  on  to  explain  that  in  the  following  lines. 


410  Emerson 

Kt.  has  taken  the  passage  in  this  sense,  though  not  otherwise 
following  the  syntax  as  closely  as  might  be  done,  and  especially 
missing  maystres  of  Merlyn  in  'she  was  the  mistress  of  Merlin.' 
W-N.,  in  following  the  general  idea  of  M.,  has  paraphrased 
2447-8  with  extreme  freedom  in  'she  has  acquired  deep  learning, 
hard- won  skill.' 

2448  mony  ho  taken.  Some  change  in  the  line  is  necessary 
and  M's  suggestion  of  adding  hat)  seems  to  meet  the  case, 
although  I  should  place  it  before  rather  than  after  ho.  Mony 
refers  to  the  persons  overcome  by  Morgne  la  Faye  as  Kt.,  not 
the  maystres  as  W-N. 

2452  goddes.  Should  be  goddesse,  as  shown  by  rime  and 
stress. 

2460  Gaynour.    Should  be  Gwaynour,  as  shown  by  74  and 
109,  the  Gwenore  of  those  examples  representing  monophthong- 
ing  of  the  ai(ay)  diphthong. 

2461  gopnyng  .  .  .  gomen.    M's  emendation  of  the  first  to 
glopnyng  'fright,  amazement'  seems  necessary.  Gomen  W-N. 
translates  'man,'  as  if  gome,  but  quite  needlessly  assuming 
textual  error.     Gomen  'game'  is  here  something  like  'magical 
device,  trick.'    G.  reads  spekere  for  speked,  I  judge  rightly. 

2494  ]?at  frayned.  The  sentence  ends  at  this  point,  as  W-N. 
indicates,  not  at  the  end  of  the  line  as  by  M.  and  G.  The  last 
clause  belongs  with  the  following  lines. 

Some  interesting  notes  on  a  passage  in  Sir  Gawaine  have  re- 
cently appeared  in  K.  Sisam's  Fourteenth  Century  Verse  and 
Prose,  but  they  came  too  late  to  be  discussed  in  this  paper. 

OLIVER  FARRAR  EMERSON 
Western  Reserve  University 


SIEBEN  BRIEFE  VARNHAGENS  VON  ENSE  AN 
J.  P.  ECKERMANN 

I 

Ew.  WOHLGEBOREN 

werden  schon  aus  mittelbar  vernommener  Nachricht  von 
meinem  iiblen  Ergehen  mich  giitigst  entschuldigt  haben,  dass 
meine  dankende  Erwiederung  auf  Ihre  freundliche  Zuschrift  so 
lange  verzogert  bleibt!  Ich  war  in  der  That  diese  ganze  Zeit 
her  nicht  anzuklagen,  sondern  zu  bedauern,  and  leider  sind  die 
Storungen  in  Gesundheit,  Arbeiten  und  Umgangsverhaltnissen 
mit  der  eigentlichen  Krankheit  noch  bei  weitem  nicht  abgethan; 
jedoch  sehe  ich  sie  abnehmen,  und  suche  sie  taglich  mehr  zu 
bemeistern,  so  dass  ich  getrost  der  bessern  Jahreszeit  entgegen 
blicken  darf .  Sie  haben  mich  hoch  erfreut  durch  die  Mittheilung 
des  anmuthigen,  lieblichen  Gedichts,  welches  jenem  herrn- 
hutischen  durch  Naivitat  sich  gliicklich  anschliesst,  durch 
frohlichere  Heiterkeit  aber  noch  einen  Vorzug  hat;  dass  Sie  bei 
dem  Anlasse  so  giitig  an  mich  gedenken  und  sich  bemiihen 
wollten,  habe  ich  Ihnen  mit  innigster  Dankbarkeit  anzurechnen! 
Was  Sie  von  den  geselligen  Umstanden  und  Anregungen,  die 
das  Gedicht  umgaben,  zu  bemerken  finden,  ist  vollkommen 
richtig,  man  sieht  den  ganzen  Kreis,  und  darf  hochstens  wiin- 
schen,  durch  den  Namen  der  Dame  den  letzten  Rathselzug  des 
Ganzen,  unbeschadet  dem  Reize  desselben,  noch  gelost  zu  sehen. 

Den  neuen  Theil  der  italianischen  Reise  habe  ich  mit  un- 
saglichem  Behagen  noch  darniederliegend  ausgelesen,  mich 
ganz  darin  eingewickelt,  und  Warme  und  Leben  daraus  in  mich 
einstromen  lassen.  Ich  mochte  den  Hrn.  Minister  von  Hum- 
boldt  bewegen,  eine  wenn  auch  nur  kurze  Anzeige  des  Buches 
zu  schreiben,  weiss  aber  freilich  nicht,  ob  es  mir  gelingen  kann. 

Ich  selbst  gedenke  noch  einen  Artikel  iiber  den  Briefwechsel 
von  Schiller  und  Goethe  zu  liefern,  wie  wohl  ich  es  schwer  finde, 
etwas  auch  nur  einigermassen  Geniigendes  iiber  einen  so  reichen 
Gegenstand  zu  sagen,  bei  welchem  auch  bei  iippigster  Erorterung 
stets  noch  die  argsten  Auslassungssiinden  unvermeidbar  sind. 
Das  Februarhef  t  der  hiesigen  evangelischen  Kirchenzeitung  von 

411 


412  Schreiber 

Hengstenberg  enthalt  eine  Kritik  des  Briefwechsels  aus  dem 
Standpunkte  der  Frommlinge,  die  mehr  Graten  als  Salbung 
haben.  Man  urtheilt  hier  mit  christlicher  Liebe  verdammend; 
mich  diinkt,  das  Aktenlesen  war  schon  Strafe  fiir  diese  Richter. 
Von  ihnen  offentlich  Notiz  zu  nehmen,  ware  zu  viel  Ehre;  man 
muss  diese  Leute  aus  der  Literatur  moglichst  aussperren,  wo 
sie  nur  die  Luf  t  verderben. 

Bei  dieser  Gelegenheit  hatte  ich  eine  Frage.  Schiller  spricht 
in  einem  der  Briefe  von  einer  Stelle  in  Wilhelm  Meisters  Lehr- 
jahren  als  der  einzigen,  welche  metaphysischen  Bezugs  in  dem 
Buch  sei:  so  ganz  offen  kann  sie  nicht  vorliegen,  denn  Schiller 
selbst  ist  nicht  versichert,  ob  Goethe  gleich  errathen  werde, 
welche  damit  gemeint  sei;  mir  ist  wirklich  das  Suchen  vergeb- 
lich  gewesen,  konnen  Sie  mir  Auskunft  geben? 

Eine  andere  Bemerkung  reihet  sich  hier  an.  "Wie  es  dein 
Priester  Horaz  in  der  Entziickung  verhiess"  fiihrt  mein  Gedacht- 
nis  schon  von  friiher  Jugend  her,  da  mir  zur  hochsten  Freude 
eine  Notiz  der  Schule  in  dem  modernen  Gedicht  als  vergnii- 
gendes  Leben  erschien.  Die  neueste  kleine  Ausgabe  hat  die 
Stelle  noch  ebenso,  nur  die  um  ein  halbes  Jahr  spatere  in  Oktav 
giebt  anstatt  Horaz  den  Namen  Properz.  Unabsichtlich  scheint 
ein  solcher  Wechsel  kaum  moglich;  was  kann  ihn  aber  begriind- 
en?  Der  Bezug  auf  die  Stelle  in  dem  Carmen  saeculare  war 
deutlich  und  fest,  mir  ist  nicht  erinnerlich,  welch  andere  im 
Properz  ihn  aufnehmen  konnte. 

Verzeihen  Sie,  dass  ich  Sie  mit  meinen  philologischen 
Anliegen  und  Zweifeln  belastige;  die  schone,  verdienstliche 
und  beneidenswerte  Aufgabe,  der  Sie  sich  bei  den  Werken 
unsres  Autorfursten  unterzogen  haben,  muss  freilich  Ihnen 
vorzugsweise  auch  dergleichen  zuzuwenden  verleiten. 

Wollen  Sie  giitigst  dem  Hochverehrten  den  wiederholten 
Ausdruck  meiner  ehrfurchtsvollen  und  dankbarsten  Gesinn- 
ungen  darbringen!  Auch  Frau  von  Goethe  und  deren  Hrn. 
Gemahle  bitte  ich  meine  angelegentlichste  Empfehlung  zu 
machen.  Ich  bin  tief  beschamt,  mein  feierlich  gegebenes  Wort 
wegen  eines  Beitrags  zum  Chaos  noch  nicht  gelost  zu  haben, 
aber  die  Herrscherin  moge  den  Kranken  nicht  verdammen  und 
dem  Genesenen  neue  Frist  schenken!  Unter  alteren  Schriften 
fand  sich  zu  meinem  wahren  Verdrusse  nichts,  was  nicht  politi- 
schen  Beischmack  gehabt  hatte,  im  Chaos  aber  kann,  diinkt 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  413 

mich,  viel  eher  noch  ein  unerfiilltes  Wort  als  ein  politisches 
aufbewahrt  sein.  Das  gliicklichste  Zeichen  gewahrter  Huld 
und  Nachsicht  wiirde  fiir  mich  sein,  wenn  die  mir  fehlenden 
spateren  Blatter,  von  Nrn.  3  an,  erwiinscht  eingingen!  Die 
desfallsige  Bitte  geschieht  auch  im  Namen  meiner  Frau,  die 
sich  Frau  von  Goethen  eifrigst  empfehlen  lasst! — 

Moge  der  harte  Verlust,  welcher  zuletzt  den  edlen  weimari- 
schen  Kreis  betroffen,  dort  durch  den  allgemeinen  Anteil  etwas 
gelindert  werden,  und  die  herbe  Trauer  nicht  zu  lange  das  heitre 
Andenken,  welches  die  schonste  Ehre  der  Abgeschiedenen  ist, 
unterdriicken ! 

Mit  vollkommener  Hochachtung  und  aufrichtiger  Ergeben- 
heit  habe  ich  die  Ehre  zu  verharren 

Ew.  Wohlgeboren 

Berlin,  den  12.  Marz  gehorsamster 

1830.  K.  A.  Varnhagen  von  Ense. 

/  Mir  fallt  beiliegendes  Blatt  in  die  Hande;  in  den  meinen 
vertrocknet  es  ungereift,  vielleicht  wissen  Sie  jemand,  der  es 
griinen  macht!  Die  Meinung  ist  gut,  das  Aufgeschriebene  ist 
nur  wie  miindliche  Ausserung  zu  nehmen! 

Einlage  zu  I. 
Vorschlag  zu  einem  Weimarischen  Lexikon. 

tibersicht  des  gesammten  Weimarischen  Lebens  in  den 
(im  Goetheischen  Zeitalter — durchstrichen)  letzten  sechzig 
Jahren.  Ein  biographisch  =  kritischer  Bestandtheil  und  ein 
topographischer. 

Die  Artikel  konnen  von  verschiedenen  Verfassern  her- 
riihren,  nur  miissten  diese  iiber  die  allgemeinen  Grundsatze  fur 
die  Arbeit  sich  verstandigt  haben. 

Alle  Namen  von  irgend  einer  Bedeutung,  die  am  Hof,  im 
Staatswesen,  in  Literatur,  Geselligkeit,  Kunst  und  sonstiger 
Beziehung  dem  Weimarischen  Kreise  langere  oder  klirzere  Zeit 
angehort.  Also  zunachst  das  regierende  Haus  in  seinen  einzelnen 
Gliedern.  Die  Staatsbeamten.  Die  Gelehrten.  Die  Mittel- 
punkte  und  die  Talente  der  Geselligkeit.  Die  Kiinstler.  Die 
Schauspieler.  Die  irgend  namhaften  Leute  auch  unterer  Klas- 
sen.  Die  Fremden,  welche  langer  oder  wiederholt  dort  verweilt, 
fiir  die  Zeit  ihres  Aufenthalts  und  Wirkens.  (Die  Herzogin 
Amalia,  Graf  Gortz,  Frau  von  Kalb,  Wieland,  Herder,  Corona 


414  Schreiber 

Schroter,  Meyer,  Falk,  Bertuch,  Mieding,  Jagemann,  Vulpius, 
Frau  von  Stael,  Camille  =  Jordan,  Frau  von  Helvig,  Fernow, 
Humboldt,  Schlegel,  Riemer,  Wolff,  Sophie  Mereau,  und  wie  sie 
alle  heissen,  in  bunter,  dem  Alphabet  gehorchender  Mischung). 
Kurze,  rasche  Notizen  iiber  die  ausseren  Lebensumstande  der 
Personen;  geistreiche  Bezeichnung  ihres  Wesens,  ihres  Auftre- 
tens,  Einwirkens;  biindiges  Urtheil  iiber  ihr  literarisches  und 
sonstiges  Verdienst,  nach  eines  jeden  Fach  und  Abgranzung. 
Goethe's  biographisch  =  literarische  Anmerkungen  zu  Diderots 
Rameau  waren  das  beste  Vorbild.  Wo  der  Stoff  es  darbietet, 
konnte  auch  grossere  Ausfuhrlichkeit  gestattet  sein,  besonders, 
wenn  gerade  der  Gegenstand  nicht  an  andern  zuganglichen 
Orten  schon  in  gehoriger  Beleuchtung  steht.  Ein  grosserer, 
interessanter  Artikel  ware  z.  B.  iiber  den  Freiherrn  Siegmund 
von  Seckendorf  zu  liefern,  oder  iiber  Ludwig  Wieland.  Goethe 
bediirfte  nur  3  Zeilen;  Geburt,  Titel,  Ankunft  in  Weimar.  Bei 
Wieland,  Herder,  Schiller,  kame  es  auf  gute  Art  an  die  bekann- 
ten  Quellen  anzudeuten,  und  mit  einigen  kiihnen  Umrissen  zu 
vervollstandigen.  Heiter,  eigen,  taktvoll. 

Es  diirfte  unumganglich  notig  sein,  Jena  hiebei  nicht  anders, 
denn  als  einen  Theil  von  Weimar  anzusehen  (Weimar  =  Jena, 
wie  schon  gesagt  worden).  Also  Fichte,  Schelling,  Hegel, 
Reinhold,  Paulus  u.s.w.  gehorten  ebenfalls  in  die  Reihe. 

Der  topographische  Bestandtheil  gabe  gleicherweise  alpha- 
betische  Auskunft  iiber  die  Anstalten,  Anlagen,  Wohnungen, 
Garten,  Umgegenden,  von  welchen  man  eine  bestimmte  Notiz 
wiinschen  kann. 

Miisste  ein  solches  Buch  nicht  hochst  anziehend,  gehaltvoll 
und  geniiglich  werden  konnen?  Wiirde  nicht  durch  dasselbe 
ein  wahrhaftes  literarisches  Bediirfniss  befriedigt,  welches  sich, 
je  weiter  wir  von  dem  Anf  angspunkte  des  bestimmten  Zeitraumes 
uns  entfernen,  und  doch  in  der  von  daher  stammenden  Bildung 
fortschreiten  und  uns  befestigen? 
Berlin,  in  Oktober  1829. 

II 

Ich  erlaube  mir,  Ihnen,  Hochgeehrter,  hiebeiliegenden 
Abdruck  einer  kritisch  =  polemischen  Anzeige  zu  iiberreiehen, 
die  soeben  erscheint,  und  mit  starken  Schlagen  die  dunkeln 
und  feigen  Bemiihungen  zu  treffen  wiinscht,  welche  den  dahin- 
geschiedenen  Meister  verunglimpfen  wollen,  und  dadurch  uns 


Sieben  Briefe  Varnhagens  von  Ense  415 

Allen,  die  wir  in  seinem  Geiste  und  Namen  verbunden  sind, 
geradezu  personliche  Feinde  werden.  Ich  war  es  mir  und  meiner 
anhanglichen  Verehrung  des  grossen  Todten  schuldig,  wenig- 
stens  einmal  in  dieser  Richtung  mitauf  zutreten;  es  ist  geschehen, 
wie  ich  hoffe  auf  den  gegebenen  Punkte  zum  guten  Erfolg, 
und  damit  moge  es  denn  sein  Bewenden  haben!  Es  ware  wohl 
so  thoricht  als  vergeblich,  wollten  wir  iiberall  Wache  stehen  und 
Hand  anlegen,  wo  Ungebiihr  oder  Stumpfheit  sich  an  dem 
hohen  Namen  versiindigt;  aber  zuweilen  muss  doch  dem  Gesch- 
meiss,  und  gerade  vorzugsweise  solchem,  das  sich  heuchlerisch 
herausschleicht,  ein  Wedelschlag  verabreicht  werden. — Wenn 
Sie  finden,  dass  ich  nicht  ganz  iibel  gethan,  so  soil  es  mich 
sehr  f reuen !  Ich  habe  Hrn.  Kanzler  von  Miiller  ebenf alls  einen 
Abdruck  zugesandt,  und  ihm  dergleichen  auch  fur  Hrn.  Dr. 
Karl  Wilhelm  Miiller,  Hrn.  Professor  Riemer  und  Hrn.  Dr.  A. 
Schiitze  beigelegt. — 

Empfangen  Sie  den  wiederholten  Ausdruck  meiner  hochacht- 
ungsvollster  Ergebenheit,  worin  ich  gehorsamst  verharre 

K.  A.  VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE 
Berlin,  den  17.  September 
1832. 

Ill 

Berlin,  den  20.  Mai  1836. 

Als  ich  Ihre  giitige  Sendung,  Hochverehrter,  vor  einigen 
Tagen  empfing,  war  deren  voller  Werth  mir  schon  vertraut, 
mein  Gemiith  von  ihm  erfiillt,  mein  Geist  erf rischt  und  gekraf  t- 
igt.  Ich  besass  Ihr  Buch  schon,  hatte  es  ganz  durchgelesen, 
zum  Theil  auf's  neue  vorlesend  genossen,  dariiber  viel  gedacht 
und  mancherlei  besprochen.  Dasselbe  von  Ihnen  zu  empfangen, 
war  mir  nun  abermals  eine  grosse  Freude,  fur  die  ich  Ihnen 
herzlich  danke  und  wahrhaft  verpflichtet  bin!  Sie  irren  gewiss 
nicht,  wenn  Sie  voraussetzen,  dass  ich  an  Ihren  Bestrebungen 
den  warmsten  Antheil  nehme,  dass  Ihre  Erf olge  mir  in  zwiefacher 
Hinsicht,  fiir  Sie  personlich,  und  fur  die  Sache,  welcher  Sie 
Ihre  Thatigkeit  widmen,  nur  werth  sein  konnen.  Ich  rufe 
Ihnen  die  treusten  Gluckwunsche  zu,  sowohl  wegen  dessen,  was 
Sie  uns  gegeben  haben,  als  wegen  des  guten  Eindruckes,  der 
da  von  auf  Sie  zuriickkehrt !  Der  Erfolg  in  dem  edlen  Kreise  von 
Weimar  ist  gewiss  der  belohnendste,  er  sichert  Ihnen  den  aller 
verwandten  Kreise,  die  sich  in  Deutschland  hundertfaltig 


416  Schreiber 

wiederholen.  Dass  die  vortreffliche  Frau  Grossherzogin,  zu 
der  auch  ich  wie  zu  einem  Goethe'schen  Hochbilde  gern  ver- 
trauend  aufblicke,  Gunst  und  Schutz  Ihrem  Buche  gewarht,  1st 
durchaus  wiirdig  und  ersprieslich.  Die  ganze  Erscheinung  tritt 
unter  guten  Zeichen  hervor! — 

Ihre  Einleitung  muss  Ihnen  den  Antheil  und  das  Zutrauen 
jedes  Lesers  erwerben,  ich  habe  die  reinste  Hochachtung  fiir 
Sie  empfunden.  Ihrer  gewissenhaften  Redlichkeit,  Ihrer  sorg- 
faltigen  Treue  und  Wahrhaftigkeit  vertraue  ich  unbedingt. 
Bei  Ihrem  Geschaft  sind  diese  Tugenden  alien  andern  voraus- 
zubedingen,  sie  allein  geben  die  Biirgschaf  t,  dass  Sie  den  achten, 
wahren  Goethe  iiberliefern. — Aber  auch  dem  Geiste  Goethe's 
mussten  Sie  innig  vertraut  sein,  um  sein  Wort  so  wiederzuge- 
ben. — Was  Sie  geleistet,  ist  dankenswerth,  ist  unschatzbar,  fur 
Sie  und  den  alten  Meister  gleich  ehrenvoll;  die  Saat  wird  auf- 
gehen,  und  sich  ausbreiten  und  fortpflanzen  unberechenbar! 

Fordern  Sie  nicht,  dass  ich  iiber  Goethe's  Worte  hier  auch  nur 
im  Allgemeinen  ein  Urtheil  ausspreche!  Alles  Einzelne  fiihrt 
hier  auf  den  ganzen  Mann  zuriick,  auf  die  schonste  und  grosste 
Erscheinung  eines  Genius,  der  seine  Bewunderer  noch  stets 
iiberrascht  und  verwirrt,  wenn  sie  ihn  langst  zu  kennen  wahnen. 
Ihre  Mittheilungen  stromen  mir  unaufhaltsam  in  alles  bisherige 
Goethesche  ein,  und  ich  muss  sie  mir  auf  jedem  Punkte  erst 
wieder  ausgleichen  und  klar  werden  lassen.  Unendlich  sind  die 
Denkstoffe,  die  sich  dabei  erheben,  gestalten! — Die  Giite,  die 
Frommigkeit,  die  Arbeitsstrenge,  die  Menschenliebe  Goethe's 
treten  bei  Ihnen  herrlich  hervor,  und  riihren  mich  oft  zu  Thranen. 
Diese  sittliche  Seite  wird  nur  immer  grosser  werden,  wenn  auch 
die  Widersacher  grade  dagegen  noch  lange  am  heftigsten 
streiten ! — 

tiber  das  Buch  zu  reden  muss  ich  mir  einstweilen  versagen. 
Hr.  Kanzler  von  Miiller  wird  Ihnen  gesagt  haben,  wie  es  mir 
ergangen  ist,  wie  es  mir  noch  ergeht.  Ich  bin  krank,  ich  kann 
nicht  arbeiten,  ich  darf  nicht!  Es  ist  sehr  zweifelhaft,  ob  ich  mich 
noch  wieder  kraitig  zusammenraffe. — Fiir  unsre  Jahrbiicher 
hat  Hr.  Professor  Weisse  die  Anzeige  bereits  ubernommen;  sie 
ist  also  in  sehr  guten  Handen. — Aufmerksam  will  ich  Sie  auch 
auf  Einiges  machen,  was  mir  als  fiir  die  Mitternachtzeitung 
bestimmt  dieser  Tage  vor  Augen  gelegen,  und  was  baldigst  dort 
gedruckt  sein  wird. — 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  417 

Die  Gegener  Goethe's  scheinen  mir  in  manchem  Betreff 
erbitterter  als  je;  es  giebt  gekrankte  Eitelkeiten,  die  schlechter- 
dings  keine  Ruhe  haben,  und  an  ihrem  Gelten  verzweifeln,  wenn 
Goethe  gilt.  Sie  wollen  ihn  mit  Gewalt  herunter  haben,  oder 
doch  eng  umschranken.  Wilhelm  Schlegel  geht  darin  voran, 
Tieck  ist  nicht  frei  davon,  Steffens  um  so  strafbarer  damit 
behaftet,  als  er  sich  nicht  die  Miihe  nimmt,  das  Spatere  von 
Goethe,  das  er  verwirft,  auch  nur  gehorig  zu  kennen;  der  Schweif , 
den  Schleiermacher  zuriickgelassen,  ist  auch  in  diesem  Sinne. 
Diese  alle  kann  man  nicht  versohnen,  man  muss  sie  treffen  und 
beseitigen.  Die  jiingeren  Talente  finden  da  reichliche  Aufgabe, 
und  haben  der  Nemesis  manches  einzubringen ! — 

Etwas  mehr  Freimiithigkeit  hatte  ich  manchen  Ihrer 
Andeutungen  gewiinscht.  Die  Sternchen  sind  mir  oft  lastig, 
wo  sie  iiberdies  unnothig  scheinen.  Ich  machte  mir  nichts 
daraus,  wenn  mich  Goethe  auch  einmal  namentlich  gescholten 
hatte,  wie  z.  B.  bei  der  Frage  nach  der  rheinischen  Stadt  in 
Hermann  und  Dorothea.  Ein  Vorbehalt,  mich  zu  vertheidigen, 
bliebe  mir  ja  doch.  Uberhaupt  bin  ich  mit  vielen  Ausspriichen 
nichts  weniger  als  einverstanden,  hatte  starke  Einwendungen, 
entgegengesetzte  Ansichten;  allein  was  will  das  sagen?  Hier 
ist  von  Goethe  die  Rede,  und  nicht  von  mir,  oder  diesem  und 
jenem! — 

Gern  sendete  ich  Ihnen  als  Gegengabe  fur  Ihr  schones 
Geschenk  meine  neuesten  Biicher.  Leider  fehlen  mir  die  Ex- 
emplare,  und  zwar  buchstablich  von  dem  einen  Buche,  denn  sie 
sind,  einige  vorausgesandte  ausgenommen,  noch  nicht  hier. 
Die  Sachen  kommen  Ihnen  wohl  zeitig  genug  sonst  zu 
Gesichte! — 

Empfehlen  Sie  mich  giitigst  alien  theuren  Mitgliedern  und 
Genossen  Ihres  schonen  Lebenskreises,  besonders  Frau  von 
Goethe  und  Fraulein  von  Pappenheim!  Mit  innigster  Hochach- 
tung  treulichst  verharr'  ich 

Ihr 

ergebenster 

VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE 
IV 

Berlin,  den  18.  Juni  1836. 

Heute  Vormittag  ist  ein  Brief  an  die  Gebriider  Reichenbach 
abgegangen,  welche  ich  ersucht  habe,  Ihnen,  Verehrtester,  die 


418  Schreiber 

"Galerie  von  Bildnissen"  fordersamst  einzusenden.  Sie  haben 
Recht,  dass  Sie  das  Buch  verlangen,  und  ich  schame  mich,  dass 
Sie  mich  erinnern  mussten.  Ich  habe  damit  Ihr  Geschenk 
ohnehin  noch  lange  nicht  wett. — Es  ist  ein  ordentliches  Ereig- 
niss,  so  gross  und  allseitig  und  fast  unbestritten  ist  der  Erfolg 
Ihres  Buches,  das  wahrhaft  ein  Lebensbuch  heissen  kann,  weil 
es  aus  dem  Leben  kommt  und  in's  Leben  geht.  Goethe's  Macht 
und  Ansehen  thut  sich  darin  auf  das  herrlichste  dar.  Die 
Widersacher  miissen  fur  den  Augenblick  weichen,  sie  konnen 
nicht  anders,  wenn  sie  auch  ihren  Grimm  desshalb  nicht  aufgeben. 
Mit  unsern  Berliner  Anzeigen  werden  Sie  zufrieden  sein.  Fur 
die  Jahrbiicher  wird  Weisse  Gutes  liefern;  der  Aufsatz  in  der 
Staatszeitung  ist  von  Dr.  Gruppe,  der  dort  oft,  und  nicht  immer 
so  gut,  sich  vernehmen  lasst;  in  der  literarischen  Zeitung  hat 
Dr.  Mundt  gesprochen,  im  Gesellschafter  ein  Hr.  Bernstein, 
der  sich  Rabenstein  nennt,  und  ein  wackerer  junger  Mann  ist; 
in  dem  Conversationsblatte  ist  ein  Auszug  von  Dr.  Marggraff. 
Alles  das  wirkt  giinstig  zusammen.  Was  ich  lieferen  konnte, 
habe  ich  dem  Dr.  Laube  fur  seine  Mitternachtzeitung  gegeben, 
wo  es  schon  abgedruckt  steht.  So  friedlich  und  gutmiithig, 
wie  Sie,  kann  ich  die  Sache  nicht  behandeln,  ich  muss  bisweilen 
den  Feind  angehen  und  treffen;  hier  begegnet  er  mir  allzu  oft 
und  allzu  dreist  in  den  Freunden  Schleiermachers,  Tiecks,  ja 
in  Tieck  und  Steffens  selber.  Doch  soil  meine  Mittheilung 
soviel  als  moglich  anonym  bleiben,  damit  mir  das  Spiel  nicht 
verdorben  werde.  Etwas  Ausfiihrliches  und  Griindliches  zu 
liefern,  habe  ich  jetzt  weder  Krafte  noch  Stimmung.  Ich 
kann  nur  abgerissen  und  obenhin  schreiben. — 

Eine  Stelle  Ihres  Briefes  sieht  so  aus,  als  hatte  ich  erwartet, 
in  Ihrem  Buche  vorzukommen.  Liesse  sich  etwas  in  meinem 
Briefe  so  deuten,  so  ist  es  schlecht  ausgedrlickt.  Ich  wollte 
nur  sagen,  dass  ich  Tadel  und  Schelte  mit  meinem  Namen 
zusammenstehend  recht  gut  vertragen  kann,  und  dergleichen 
auch  Andern  zumuthen  mag.  Am  wenigstens  will  ich  Feinde 
schonen,  die  muss  man  schlagen! — Die  Sternchen  S. 226  habe 
ich  also  wirklich  falsch  auf  Heine  gedeutet!  Und  ich  glaube, 
es  ist  Vielen  so  begegnet.  Die  Berichtigung  diirfte  jetzt  unbe- 
denklich  sein,  da  Platen  nicht  mehr  lebt. — Von  Heine  lesen  Sie 
vor  allem  das  Buch  der  Lieder,  dann  das  Buch  Legrand  im 
zweiten  Theile  der  Reisebilder,  und  die  franzosischen  Zustande. 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  419 

Freilich  muss  man  diesen  Schriftsteller  in  seiner  Gesammtheit 
auffassen,  will  man  ihn  recht  wiirdigen;  etwas  Unausgesproch- 
enes  hat  man  ohnedies  bei  jeder  seiner  Schriften  nachzu- 
tragen,  es  ist  ein  Ruckhalt,  der  sich  in  seiner  tiefsten  Seele 
versteckt,  und  den  er  gewissermassen  eben  desshalb  mit  Worten 
sogar  verlaugnet. — 

Mir  will  die  Feder  heute  nicht  fort,  ich  muss  aufhoren.  Die 
Hitze  lasst  mich  meinen  Krankheitszustand  nur  iibler  emp- 
finden.  In  drei  Wochen  will  ich  in's  Seebad  reisen,  wahr- 
scheinlich  nach  Holland.  Ein  letzter  Versuch,  ob  ich  genesen 
kann! — 

Ich  freue  mich  so  oft  ich  Ihr  Buch  aufschlage,  der  Zueignung 
an  die  Frau  Grossherzogin.  Das  ist  wahrhaf  t  Weimars  wiirdig. 
In  dieser  herrlichen  Fiirstin  haben  wir  die  fortdauernde  Wirk- 
samkeit  und  B.luthe  des  Geistes  und  Sinnes  zu  verehren,  durch 
welche  Weimar  gross  geworden.  Ich  wiinsche  Allen  Gliick,  denen 
es  vergonnt  ist,  an  solche  Erscheinung  sich  anzuschliessen. 
Wohl  weiss  ich,  dass  uberall  Schranken  und  Hemmungen  sind, 
und  dass  auch  die  Hochstehenden  nicht  alles  konnen;  allein 
ich  sehe  im  weitesten  Gesichtskreise  und  auf  den  hochsten  und 
glanzvollsten  Punkten  wenig,  was  sich  mit  solchem  Dastehen 
vergleichen  kann. — 

Grussen  Sie  wiederholt  Frau  von  Goethe  und  Fraulein  von 
Pappenheim,  Hrn.  von  Muller,  Hrn.  Professor  Riemer,  Hrn. 
Dr.  Schiitze  und  wer  sonst  meiner  gedenken  mag! — Kommt  ein 
Russe,  Hr.  von  Melpunoff  aus  Moskau,  nach  Weimar,  so  nehmen 
Sie  ihn  f reundlich  auf ! — Was  sagen  Sie  zu  der  Riickwendung  der 
jungen  Schriftsteller  zu  Goethe!  Gutzkow!  Ich  wusst'  es 
vorher,  und  es  wird  noch  besser  kommen.  Ich  bin  froh,  dass 
ich  an  diesen  Talenten  nicht  nur  kein  Argerniss,  sondern  auch 
Hoffnung  nahm! — Dr.  Laube  ist  voller  Lob  iiber  Ihr  Buch. — 

Leben  Sie  wohl!  Ich  bin  erschopft. — Mit  inniger  Hochacht- 
ung  und  herzlicher  Zuneigung  Ihr 

ergebenster 

VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE 
V 

Berlin,  den  7.  Mai  1838. 

Ich  sage  Ihnen  meinen  herzlichen  Dank,  verehrter  Herr  und 
Freund,  fur  das  schone  und  werthe  Geschenk  Ihrer  gesammelten 
Gedichte,  die  sich  mir  in  dieser  Jahreszeit  wie  ein  Friihgarten 


420  Schreiber 

darboten,  wahrend  noch  die  wirklichen  Garten  in  Frost  und 
Schnee  verschlossen  lagen.  Jetzt  bliiht  und  grunt  nun  alles 
urn  die  Wette,  und  die  Poesie  erscheint  in  ihrem  wahren  und 
vollen  Glanze!  Dass  die  Ihrige  einem  Lebenskreise  angehort, 
der  mir  besonders  werth  und  vertraut  ist,  brauch  ich  Ihnen 
nicht  erst  zu  versichern;  ich  mochte  mich  aber  auch  riihmen, 
dass  mein  Geflihl  von  manchen  zarten  Faden  sich  willig  urn- 
stricken  lasst,  denen  Andre  achtlos  oder  unfiigsam  sich  ent- 
ziehen.  Weimar  und  Goethe,  diese  Namen  schon  versetzen 
mich  in  geweihte  Stimmung.  Fahren  Sie  fort,  diesen  Tempel- 
dienst  zu  pflegen,  dessen  man  schon  allzusehr  vergisst,  einst 
aber  um  so  herrlicher  wieder  eingedenk  sein  wird! — 

Durch  ein  giinstiges  Ungefahr  bin  ich  im  Stande,  Ihr  dichter- 
isches  Geschenk  durch  ebensolche  Gegengabe  zu  erwiedern. 
Ich  sende  Ihnen  Ludwig  Robert's  Gedichte,  deren  Herausgabe 
mir  obgelegen.  Nehmen  Sie  diese  beiden  Bandchen  freundlich 
auf!  Auch  hier  werden  Sie  viele  Beziige  auf  Goethe  finden, 
und  unter  diesen  gewiss  willkommen. — 

Sie  rufen  mir  die  traurige  Erinnerung  meiner  misslungenen 
Seebadreise  vor  zwei  Jahren  zuriick!  Leider  hat  sich  dieses 
Misslingen  im  vorigen  Jahre  wiederholt;  ich  war,  anstatt  nach 
Helgoland  oder  Norderney  zu  gelangen,  nur  in  Hamburg 
krank,  und  kehrte  von  dort  hierher  zuriick. 

Seitdem  quaF  ich  mich  in  meinen  zwar  wechselvollen,  aber 
immer  traurigen  Zustanden  so  weiter,  und  bin  nur  froh,  wenn 
ich  durch  Arbeit  mich  beschaftigen  und  tauschen  kann!  Dop- 
pelt  beklag'  ich  mein  Unwohlsein  jetzt,  wo  neben  dem  Friihjahr 
auch  die  Anwesenheit  verehrter  hoher  Personen  mich  erregt, 
und  wiinschen  und  streben  heisst,  ohne  dass  mir  ein  Erfolg 
beschieden  sein  kann.  Ich  muss  leider  verzichten,  mich  zur 
Aufwartung  bei  Ihrer  Kaiserlichen  Hoheit  der  Frau  Grossher- 
zogin  einzufinden !  Ein  Missgeschick,  das  ich  schon  zum  zwei- 
tenmal  erfahre! — 

Ihnen  wiinsche  ich  von  Herzen  jede  Forderniss  in  den  Bahnen 
des  Lebens  und  der  Literatur!  Warum  lassen  Sie  aber  Ihre 
kritischen  Gaben  in  letzterer  so  ganzlich  ruhen?  Fiir  Ihre 
eigentlichen  Erzeugnisse,  Darstellungen  oder  Bekenntnisse, 
wag'  ich  keine  Andeutung,  da  muss  innrer  Antrieb  und  achte 
Gelegenheit  entscheiden;  aber  eine  fortgesetzte  Reihe  gediegener 
scharfer,  eindringender  Kritiken  diirften  Ihre  Freunde  und  Sie 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  421 

selbst,  diinkt  mich,  Ihrer  Feder  schon  abfordern,  und  Sie  und 
die  Sache  wiirden  davon  guten  Vortheil  haben! — Konnten  Sie 
nicht  mit  Hrn.  Dr.  Kiihne  dariiber  Riicksprache  nehmen? — 
Verzeihen  Sie,  wenn  die  Theilnahme  vorlaut  wird,  und  ver- 
kennen  Sie  solche  nicht  desshalb! — 

Mit  innigster  Hochachtung  und  treuster  Ergebenheit 
Ihr  gehorsamster 

VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE 

Dass  ich  nicht  anders  als  liegend  schreibe,  sag'  ich  besser 
ausdriicklich,  als  dass  es  bloss  der  Brief  verrathe  durch  sein 
gestortes  Wesen. — 

Fraiilein  Allwine  Frommann  habe  ich  hier  mit  grosster 
Freude  wiedergesehen;  ich  hoffe,  es  wird  ihr  hier  gef alien. 
Gestern  sah  ich  auch  Frau  von  Gustadt,  leider  verweilt  sie 
nicht!  Eine  herrliche  Erscheinung! — 

Dass  Sie  in  Ihren  Gedichten  die  sinnreiche  Anmuth  und 
Feinheit  Voltaire's  uns  wiederbeleben,  hat  mich  besonders 
angesprochen;  eine  Merkwiirdigkeit,  die  gewiss  seit  vierzig 
Jahren  in  unserer  Literatur  nicht  mehr  vorgekommen  war.  In 
dieser  Richtung  ist  viel  zu  leisten!  Der  Inhalt,  besonders  der 
franzosische,  des  achtzehnten  Jahrhunderts,  hat  sich  uns  fast 
bis  zur  Unkenntlichkeit  verdunkelt,  und  doch  liegen  zahllose 
Wurzelfasern  unsers  starksten  Lebens  dort! — 

VI 
An  Hrn.  Dr.  Eckermann,  in  Weimar. 

Sie  empfangen,  Verehrtester,  durch  Hrn.  Dr.  Carriere  meine 
herzlichen  Griisse!  Lassen  Sie  sich  diesen  meinen  jungenFreund 
bestens  empfohlen  sein,  und  fiihren  Sie  ihn  gefalligst  auch  zu 
Hrn.  Professor  Riemer,  und — ist  sie  noch  nicht  abgereist — zu 
Frau  von  Goethe,  mit  freundlichsten  Begriissungen  von  mir. 
Unter  besten  Wiinschen  Ihr  hochachtungsvoll  ergebener 

VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE 
Berlin,  den  26.  Marz  1839. 

VII 
Geehrtester  Herr  und  Freund! 

Das  Anliegen  eines  gelehrten  jungen  Freundes  lasst  mich 
diese  Zeilen  an  Sie  schreiben,  fur  die  ich  Ihre  Giite  bestens  in 
Anspruch  nehme.  Hr.  Dr.  Guhrauer  in  Breslau  vermuthet, 
oder  vielmehr  glaubt  zu  wissen,  dass  Goethe  einen  literarisch  = 
historischen  Aufsatz  iiber  Joachim  Jungius  hinterlassen  hat, 


422  Schreiber 

und  wiinscht  sehr,  da  er  eine  Arbeit  iiber  diesen  Philosophen 
unternehmen  will,  die  Goethe'schen  Blatter  einsehen  zu  kon- 
nen;  indess  mochte  eine  Mittheilung  in  der  Handschrift  viel- 
leicht  unthunlich  diinken,  und  so  erlaubt  er  sich  die  Frage  und 
Bitte,  ob  nicht  der  Aufsatz  in  der  neuen  Ausgabe  der  Goethe'- 
schen Werke  Platz  finden  und  zum  allgemeinen  Nutzen  Verof- 
fentlicht  werden  konnte?  Steht  dies  in  Ihrer  Hand,  Verehr- 
tester,  so  thun  Sie  es  doch,  und  seien  Sie  des  eifrigsten  Dankes 
dafiir  im  Voraus  versichert! — Da  ich  einmal  diesen  Gegenstand 
beriihrt  habe,  so  kann  ich  nicht  umhin,  eine  sehnstichtige 
Klage  auch  wegen  der  Goethe'schen  Briefe  auszusprechen,  von 
denen  uns  eine  Auswahl  durch  Hrn.  Kanzler  von  Miiller  und 
eine  grosse  Hauptsammlung  durch  die  Cotta'sche  Buchhand- 
lung  langst  versprochen  worden;  aber  Jahr  auf  Jahr  vergeht, 
und  es  erfolgt  nichts,  und  ich  fiirchte  die  schatzbaren  Mittheil- 
ungen  nicht  mehr  zu  erleben,  obschon  ich  gewiss  zu  denen  gehore, 
die  sie  zu  wiirdigen  und  zu  geniessen  am  meisten  berufen  sind! 

Die  angedeutete  Besorgnis  darf  ich  mit  einigem  Nachdruck 
aussern,  da  mir  vor  kurzem  ein  Unfall  zugestossen  ist,  der  sich 
in  solchem  Betreff  wohl  als  eine  Mahnung  nehmen  lasst.  Am 
9ten  Februar  wurde  mir  die  linke  Seite  des  Gesichts  gelahmt, 
nicht  epileptisch,  wie  der  Arzt  versichert,  sondern  nur  rheuma- 
tisch,  doch  immer  ein  ernstlicher  Zufall.  Zwar  war  die  Lahmung 
schon  nach  14  Tagen  gehoben,  und  jetzt  ist  keine  Spur  mehr 
da  von  zu  sehen;  aber  ich  leide  fortwahrend — fast  den  ganzen 
Winter — an  katarrhalsich  =  nervosen  tJbeln,  und  darf  erst  im 
wirklichen  Sommer  davon  ganzlich  zu  genesen  hoffen! 

Sagen  Sie  giitigst,  ich  bitte,  Hrn.  Hofrath  Riemer,  dass  auch 
nur  die  immer  wiederkehrenden  Krankheitsleiden  mich  ver- 
hindert  haben,  ihm  liber  sein  Buch  zu  schreiben,  und  ihm,  wie 
ich  es  gewollt,  fur  die  herrliche,  reiche  Gabe  von  Herzen  zu 
danken.  Ich  las  es  vorigen  Sommer  in  Kissingen  und  Wies- 
baden, dankten  ihm  jeden  Tag  die  besten  Stunden  und  die 
schonste  Stimmung,  und  war  betriibt  als  es  zu  Ende  ging.  Ich 
habe  seitdem  noch  viele  Personen  getroffen,  auf  welche  das 
Buch  in  gleicher  Weise  gewirkt  hat,  auch  einige  Fremde  aus 
England,  die  ganz  davon  eingenommen  waren.  Unter  den 
deutschen  Landsleuten  sind  aber  vorzugsweise  die  schlechten 
Stimmen  laut  geworden,  in  denen  stupide  und  bose  Sinnesart 
jede  richtige  Wiirdigung  unmoglich  machte.  Es  tut  mir  weh, 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  423 

ihn  dieses  Loos  erfahren  zu  sehen,  das  freilich  bei  unsern  Zu- 
standen  gar  leicht  zu  gewahrtigen  steht.  Desto  mehr  freute 
mich  eine  Anzeige  in  unsrer  Staatzseitung,  deren  Verfasser  ich 
nicht  habe  nennen  horen. — 

Darf  ich  Sie  bitten,  wenn  die  Gelegenheit  giinstig  ist, 
Ihrer  kaiserlichen  Hoheit  der  Frau  Grossherzogin  meine  tiefste 
Verehrung  zu  Fiissen  «u  legen?  Das  Bild  der  hohen  Dame 
gehort  zu  dem  edelsten  Schmuck,  der  meinen  Lebenstagen 
geworden  ist! 

Empfehlen  Sie  mich  bestens  dem  Hrn.  Kanzler  von  Miiller 
und  alien  Freunden  und  Freundinnen,  die  sich  in  Weimar 
freundlich  meiner  erinnern  mogen! — Vor  allem  bewahren  Sie 
mir  Ihre  giitige  Wohlmeinung,  und  bleiben  Sie  der  innigen 
Hochachtung  und  Ergebenheit  versichert,  worin  ich  treulichst 
verharre 

Ihr 

ergebenster 

VARNHAGEN  VON  ENSE 
Berlin,  den  26.  Marz  1842. 

ANMERKUNGEN  ZU  DEN  BRIEFEN 

Die  sieben  Briefe  stammen  aus  der  beriihmten  Autographen-Sammlung 
Alexander  Meyer-Cohns;  sie  befinden  sich  nun  in  der  Speckschen  Goethe  Samm- 
lung  hi  der  Yale  Universitats  Bibliothek.  Zum  Teil  shid  sie  unveroffentlicht. 
Kurz  vor  seinem  Tode  hat  Meyer-Cohn  vier  Briefe  aus  der  Sammlung  hi  ehiem 
privat  gedruckten  Pamphlet  in  den  Druck  gegeben:  "Gruss  aus  Badersee!  Herrn 
Dr.  Erich  Schmidt  den  20.  Juni  1893  (Geburtstag)  gesendet."  (Varnhagen  von 
Ense  an  Eckermann.)  4  S.  (Nicht  im  Handel.)  Mir  war  diese  kleine  Schrift  nicht 
zuganglich;  die  Jahresberichte  (1893:  IV;  1,  c,  134)  lieferten  mir  den  einzigen 
Aufschluss,  wo  von  4  kurzen  Briefen  aus  den  Jahren  1830-1836  gesprochen 
wird.  Ich  finde  es  fur  angebracht  diese  nicht  unwichtigen  Briefe  mit  einiger 
Erlauterung  an  einem  zuganglicheren  Orte  wieder  drucken  zu  lassen,  da  sie  uns 
doch  einige  intimere  Blicke  in  das  Wirken  des  Altmeisters  gewahren. 

die  Mitteilung  des  anmutigen,  lieblichen  Gedichts.  .  .  . 

Gliicklicherweise  ist  uns  der  Brief  Eckermanns  an  Varnhagen  von  Ense 
erhalten  worden  (Biedermanns  Gesprache,  Bd.  IV,  S.  176),  der  uns  vollen 
Aufschluss  tiber  diese  ziemlich  dunkle  Stelle  giebt. 

Weimar,  November,  1829.  "Herrvon  Goethe  erzahlte  mir,  dass  er  Ihnen 
ein  auch  mir  bekanntes  Hermhutsches  Gedicht  zugesandt  habe,  welches  einer 
gunstigen  Aufnahme  sich  zu  erfreuen  gehabt;  er  fuhr  fort  mir  zu  erzahlen,  dass 
er  dasselbe  Gedicht  vor  vielen  Jahren  mit  nach  Karlsbad  genommen,  wo  der 
naive  Ton  und  heitre  gradsinnige  Vortrag  viel  Vergniigen  gemacht,  auch  dasselbe 
bei  immer  neu  zutretenden  Personen,  wie  es  im  Bade  geschieht,  ofters  sei  vor- 


424  Schreiber 

gelesen  worden. — Dadurch  habe  man  es  nun  fast  auswendig  gelernt,  einzelne 
Stellen  daraus  bei  geselligen  Vorfallenheiten  angewendet,  z.B.: 

Item  Klapperschlangen  und  der  Art  Geschwanz. 

wenn  man  unangenehmen  Personen  begegnete  und  sie  begriissen  musste.  Auch 
seien  in  diesem  Rhytmus  manche  Artigkeiten  und  Erwiderungen  zutage  ge- 
kommen. 

Nun  aber  bei  eintretendem  Geburtstag  einer  holden  liebenswerten  um- 
worbenen  Dame  habe  der  Dichter  nichts  heitereres  darzubringen  gewusst,  als 
ein  in  der  bekannten  Schnurre  dahinlaufendes  Gedicht,  welches  denn  auch  von 
ganz  erfreulicher  Wirkung  und  sonst  gutem  geselligem  Erfolg  gewesen. 

Da  nun  Goethe  mir  das  Gedicht  selbst  vortrug,  musste  mir  notwendig  bei 
der  Heiterkeit  und  Anmut  desselben,  der  Gedanke  beigehen,  ob  es  nicht  freund- 
h'ch,  ja  notwendig  sei,  es  Euer  Hochwohlgeboren  mitzuteilen;  ich  erhielt  hierzu 
die  willigste  Erlaubnis  und  fiige  deshalb  eine  Abschrift  hier  bei." 

Am  19.  September  waren  Rahel  und  Varnhagen  in  Weimar  bei  Goethe  zu 
Gaste.  Da  Varnhagen  gerade  zu  dieser  Zeit  sich  eingehend  mit  einer  Biographic 
des  Grafen  Zinzendorf  beschaftigte,  wird  wohl  dieses  Thema  of ters  besprochen 
worden  sein.  Schon  am  23.  September  schreibt  Goethe  an  Varnhagen  nach 
Berlin  um  ihn  wegen  des  Empfanges  einer  in  Holz  geschnitzten  Vase  zu  danken. 
Um  einen  Teil  seiner  Schuld  abzutragen,  iibersandte  (Tagebiicher  XII.  128,  den 
22.  und  23.  September  1829)  er  ein  frtiher  erwahntes  Herrnhutisches  Gedicht 
"welches  vielleicht  fur  das  Anmuthigste  gehalten  werden  kann,  was  aus  der 
Religionsansicht  jenes  merkwiirdigen  Mannes  (Graf  Zinzendorf),  dessen  Ge- 
schichte  Sie  so  viel  Aufmerksamkeit  gewidmet,  hervorgegangen.  Moge  uns  Ihre 
desshalb  unternommene  Arbeit  bald  zu  Gunsten  kommen."  Goethe  verfolgte 
eifrig  und  mit  wahrem  Interesse  Varnhagens  Plane.  Am  23.  Januar  1830 
aussert  er  den  Wunch,  "ob  wir  die  Biographic  des  frommen  Oberhirten  einer  so 
weit  ausgebreiteten  Gemeine  wohl  auch  bald  zu  hoffen  haben."  Am  12.  Mai 
1830  driickt  er  sich  sehr  giinstig  iiber  die  erhaltene  Biographic  aus.  (Die  Bio- 
graphic des  Grafen  Zinzendorf,  erschien  zu  Berlin  1830  als  5.  Band  von  Varn- 
hagens Biographischer  Denkmalen.)  "Nach  Lesung  Ihres  hochst  schatzbaren 
Werkes,  mit  welchem  ich  sehr  angenehme  Stunden  zugebracht,  indem  es  mir 
viele  bedeutende  Erinnerungen  hervorrief,  wie  es  mich  denn  auch  jetzt  noch  zu 
unablassigem  Denken  auffordert,  schreibe  ich  nur  mit  dem  Wenigsten:  dass 
Ihre  Behandlung  der  Lebens-und  Leidensgeschichte  eines  so  einflussreichen 
Mannes  meinen  ganzen  Beifall  erworben  hat." 

Die  Abschrift  des  Herrnhutischen  Gedichts  (in  Johns  Hand),  fiir  welches 
sich  Varnhagen  auch  recht  schon  bedankt,  aber  bedauert,  dass  es  nicht  in  den 
Rahmen  seiner  Biographie  passe,  da  es  erst  zehn  Jahre  nach  dem  Tode  des  Grafen 
Zinzendorf  verfasst  wurde,  ist  eine  Reimepistel,  die  der  Herrnhuter  Gregor  aus 
Bethlehem  in  Nordamerika  im  Juni  1771  seiner  Tochter  zu  ihrem  elften  Ge- 
burtstage  nach  Herrnhut  geschickt  hatte:  "Meiner  Tochter  Christiane  Gregorin 
zu  ihrem  eilftem  Geburtstage  den  13.  October  1771,  aus  Bethlehem  nach 
Herrnhut."  Eine  Abschrift  dieser  Epistel  in  Riemers  Hand,  befindet  sich 
gleichfalls  im  Familienarchiv  des  Grafen  von  Werthern  auf  Beichlingen.  Die 
tlberschrift  steht,  von  derselben  Hand,  auf  einem  blauen  Couvert,  dessen 
Riickseite  von  unbekannter  Hand  die  Notiz  tragt:  "v.  Tiimmel  aus  Amerika 
erhalten.  Das  Original  hat  Goethe  und  dafiir  diese  Abschrift  selbst  gefertigt." 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  425 

(Letzteres  ist  ein  Irrtum,  die  Abschrif  t  ist  von  Riemer.)  Die  im  Goethe' schen 
Nachlass  befindliche  Niederschrift  ist  gleichfalls  eine  Copie.  Die  Herausgeber 
der  Sophien  Ausgabe  hielten  es  fur  wert  das  "anmutige"  Reimstiick  wiederab- 
zudrucken.  (Sophien  Ausg.  5.  Bd.  2.  Abth.  S.  139  ff.) 

Das  "anmuthige,  liebliche  Gedicht,  welches  jenem  herrnhutischen  dutch 
Naivitat  sich  gliicklich  anschliesst"  ist  ein  Gedicht  Goethes:  "Zum  einund- 
.zwanzigsten  Juni,  Carlsbad  1808";  im  Ton  und  Charakter  eine  Nachahmung 
obengedachter  Reimepistel.  Die  Dame  war  natiirlich  fiir  Varnhagen  nicht  zu 
erraten. 

Die  Tagebiicher  geben  folgenden  Aufschluss:  1808  (im  Apparat  steht  1818) 
18.  Juni:  Friih  das  Gedicht  auf  Sylviens  Geburtstag  angefangen.  19.  Juni: 
Am  Gedicht  fortgefahren.  20.  Juni:  Die  Festepistel  auf  morgen  vollendet  und 
abgeschrieben.  21.  Juni:  Sylviens  Geburtstag. 

Sylvie  von  Ziegesar  (1785-1853)  war  die  jiingste  Tochter  von  Goethes 
Freunde,  dem  Gotha-Altenburgischen  Minister  und  Wirklichen  Geheimen  Rath, 
Freiherrn  von  Ziegesar. 

tJber  Goethes  Verhaltnis  zu  Sylvie  sieh:  G-Jb.  XVIII.  98  ff;  Enthiillung 
des  Goethe-Denkmals  in  Franzenbad.  Gaedertz;  Zwei  Damen  der  Weimarer 
Hofgesellschaft,  Westermanns  Monatshefte  Bd.  71,  568.  H.  H.  Houben; 
Goethe  und  Sylvie  von  Ziegesar.  Munch.  N.  N.  N.  112. 

Noch  einmal  erwahnt  Goethe  die  zwei  Gedichte.  Tagebucher  1821.  8. 
April:  "Herrnhuter-Epistel.  Festgedicht  in  demselben  Tone."  Bei  Goethe  war 
an  diesem  Tage  eine  grossere  Gesellschaft  versammelt.  Ich  vermute,  dass  sich 
die  Gesellschaft  in  ein  Gesprach  Uber  herrnhutische  Angelegenheiten  einh'ess 
und  Goethe  die  zwei  Gedichte  zur  Verlesung  brachte. 

Den  neuen  Theil  der  italienischen  Reise.  .  .  . 

Goethe's  Werke.  Vollstandige  Ausgabe  letzter  Hand.  Siebenundzwanzig- 
ster  Band.  Stuttgart  und  Tubingen,  in  der  J.  G.  Cotta'schen  Buchhandlung, 
1829. 

Der  Minister  von  Humboldt  ist  Wilhelm.  Seine  eingehende  Besprechung 
von  Goethes  zweitem  Aufenthalte  in  Rom  erschien  in  den  Jahrbuchern  fiir 
wissenschaftliche  Kritik,  September  1830,  Nr.  45-47.  S.  353-374.  Die  Recension 
ist  wiederabgedruckt  in  Wilhelm  von  Humboldts  gesammelten  Werken,  Bd.  2, 
S.  215-241. 

iiber  den  Briefwechsel  von  Schiller  und  Goethe.  .  .  . 

Den  ersten  Artikel  iiber  den  Briefwechsel  veroffentlichte  Varnhagen  in  den 
Berliner  Jahrbiichern  fiir  wissenschaftliche  Kritik,  Mai  1829,  S.  679-691.  Am 
10.  Mai  sandte  Varnhagen  einen  Abdruck  an  Goethe.  Vom  Goethe-Schillerschen 
Briefwechsel  erschienen  die  zwei  ersten  Teile  1828,  die  vier  letzten  1829.  In 
einem  Briefe  vom  26.  Marz,  1830  meldet  Varnhagen  an  Goethe,  dass  seine  An- 
zeige  des  Briefwechsels  demnachst  in  Druck  kommen  werde. 

Schiller  spricht  in  einem  der  Briefe.  .  .  . 

In  Schillers  Briefe  vom  9.  Juli  1796  lautet  es:  "Zu  meiner  nicht  geringen 
Zufriedenheit  habe  ich  in  dem  8ten  Buche  auch  ein  paar  Zeilen  gefunden,  die 
gegen  die  Metaphysic  Fronte  machen,  und  auf  das  speculative  Bedurfniss  im 
Menschen  Beziehung  haben." 


426  Schreiber 

Obige  Stelle  deckt  sich  nicht  ganz  genau  mit  der  Anfiihrung  Varnhagens, 
doch  war  keine  andere  in  dem  Briefwechsel  aufzufinden.  Jonas  glaubt  Schiller 
habe  wohl  an  die  Stelle  im  ersten  Kapitel  des  achten  Buches  gedacht:  "O  der 
unnotigen  Strenge  der  Moral!  rief  er  (Wilhelm)  aus,  da  die  Natur  uns  auf  ihre 
liebliche  Weise  zu  allem  bildet,  was  wir  sein  sollen!  O  der  seltsamen  Anforder- 
ungen  der  biirgerlichen  Gesellschaft,  die  uns  erst  verwirrt  und  missleitet,  und 
dann  mehr  als  die  Natur  selbst  von  uns  fordert!  Wehe  jeder  Art  von  Bildung, 
welche  die  wirksamsten  Mittel  wahrer  Bildung  zerstort  und  uns  auf  das  Ende 
hinweist,  anstatt  uns  auf  dem  Weg  selbst  zu  begliicken!" 

"Wie  es  dein  Priester  Horaz.  ,  .  . 

Nach  Gottlings  (Professor  der  Philosophic  in  Jena)  Vorschlag  an  Goethe 
den  22.  April  1827:  "muss  Horaz  wohl  dem  Properz  weichen;  denn  Euer  Excel- 
lenz  hatten  wohl  den  Vers  dieses  Dichters  im  Sinne  III,  21,  17  omnia  Romanae 
cedent  miracula  terrae."  Goethe  verwarf  aber  spater  die  Beziehung  auf  Properz, 
da  die  Anspielung  des  Horaz  Carmen  saeculare  V,  9  betraf:  A  Ime  Sol — possis 
nihil  urbe  Roma  Visere  maius. 

Unser  Varnhagenscher  Brief  tragt  das  Datum,  den  12.  Marz  1830;  am  17. 
war  Eckermann  bei  Goethe  zu  Tische,  wo  er  Varnhagens  Brief  vorgelesen  haben 
diirfte.  Eckermann  berichtet  in  seinen  Gesprachen:  "Ich  sprach  mit  ihm  iiber 
eine  Stelle  in  seinen  Gedichten,  ob  es  heissen  mtisse:  "  'Wie  es  dein  Priester  Horaz 
in  der  Entzuckung  verhiess,' "  wie  in  alien  alteren  Ausgaben  steht;  oder,  "  'Wie 
es  dem  Priester  Properz  u.s.w.,' "  welches  die  neue  Ausgabe  hat." 

"Zu  dieser  letzteren  Lesart"  sagte  Goethe,  "habeich  mich  durch  Gottling 
verleiten  lassen.  Priester  Properz  klingt  zudem  schlecht,  und  ich  bin  daher  fUr 
die  frtihere  Lesart." 

Die  Stelle  in  der  XVten  Elegie  heisst  eigentlich: 

Hohe  Sonne,  du  weilst  und  du  beschauest  dein  Rom! 
Grosseres  sahest  du  nichts  und  wirst  nichts  grosseres  sehen, 
Wie  es  dein  Priester  Properz  in  der  Entziickung  versprach. 
Eine  Lesart  "verhiess"  war  in  keiner  Ausgabe  aufzufinden.     Scheinbar  hat 
Eckermann  abgeschrieben,  was  Varnhagen  falsch  zitiert  hatte. 

Unter  der  neuesten  kleinen  Ausgabe  mit  Horaz  wird  wohl  die  Taschenaus- 
gabe  letzter  Hand  von  Cotta,  wovon  Bd.  1-10  im  Jahre  1827  erschienen,  ge- 
meint  sein.  In  so  fern  mir  die  Quellen  zur  Verfiigung  gestanden,  folgen  zwei 
Ausgaben  mit  der  Lesart  Properz,  namlich  die  Octav  Ausgabe  letzter  Hand, 
von  der  Bd.  1-2  im  Jahre  1827  erschienen  und  eine  klein  Octav  Ausgabe  bei 
Cotta,  deren  erster  Band  die  Jahreszahl  1828  tragt.  Letztere  ist  weder  bei 
Hirzel  noch  im  Apparate  der  Sophien-Ausgabe  angefiihrt.  Im  Inhalts-und 
N amen-V erzeichnisse  iiber  sdmtliche  Goethe1  sche  Werke  u.s.w.  von  Christian 
Theodor  Musculus  unter  Mitwirkung  des  Hofraths  und  Bibliothekars  Dr.  Riemer. 
Stuttgart  und  Tubingen,  1835,  findet  die  erste  Abandoning  von  Properz  zu 
Horaz  statt.  Dieses  Verzeichnis  erschien  als  Anhang  der  Ausgabe  letzter  Hand. 
Unter  Horaz  steht:  "Horaz  I,  255  (anstatt  Properz)."  Unter  Properz  ist  kein 
Hinweiss  auf  I,  255;  also  miisste  man  es  so  verstehen,  dass  man  sich  Horaz 
denke,  wo  eigentlich  Properz  geschrieben  steht.  Im  folgenden  Jahre  1836 
erschien  die  hoch  4  Ausgabe  in  zwei  Banden  von  Riemer  und  Eckermann,  wo 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  427 

Horaz  wieder  zur  Geltung  kommt.    Offenbar  war  es  dann  durch  Varnhagens 
Anregung,  dass  diese  Abanderung  vor  sich  gegangen  ist. 

"Das  Chaos,"  das  von  Ottilie  gegriindete  Blatt  (1829),  welches  als  Privat- 
zeitung  im  Weimarer  Kreise  cursirte,  erschien  an  den  Sonntagen.  Goethe  gab 
selbst  ofters  Gedichte  hinein. 

Moge  der  harte  Verlust.  .  .  . 

Am  14.  Februar  1830  erfolgte  der  Tod  der  Grossherzogin  Luise. 

Mir  fallt  beiliegendes  Blatt  .  .  .   VorsMag  zu  einem.  .  .  . 

Der  interessante  Vorschlag  Varnhagens  verdient  eines  naheren  Eingehens. 
Aus  seinem  innersten  Wesen  heraus  entspringt  dieser  Plan.  Wenn  immer  nur 
geistreiche  Frauen,  wohlerzogene  Diplomaten  und  gewahlt  redende  Hofmanner 
darzustellen  gewesen  waren,  hatte  Varnhagen  "das  Blatt  gewiss  zum  griinen 
gebracht";  an  den  Geistesstrahlen  der  Heroen  deutscher  Literatur  wie  Schiller, 
Herder,  Wieland,  Fichte  und  dergleichen  ist  es  vertrocknet. 

Varnhagen  allererst  schien  die  Biographic  als  eine  besondere  Kunstform  in 
die  deutsche  Literatur,  als  einen  eigenen  Zweig  der  deutschen  Geschichts- 
schreibung  eingefiihrt  zu  haben.  Wer  irgend  in  Deutschland  eine  Biographic 
zu  schreiben  hatte,  der  vvandte  sich  an  Varnhagen  als  den  in  solchen  Dingen 
unumganglichen  Mann.  Viele  batten  bei  Nennung  des  Namens  Varnhagen 
kaum  eine  andere  Vorstellung  als  die  eines  Schriftstellers,  der  Biographien 
verfasst  und  dabei  den  Stil  Goethes,  des  alternden  Goethe,  affektierte.  Figuren 
und  Figiirchen  zusammenzusetzen  und  an  einanderzureihen,  da  liegt  sein  Talent 
und  sein  Verdienst.  Ein  Weimarisches  Lexikon  von  Varnhagens  Hand  ware 
eine  unversiegbare  Quelle  fiir  den  Forscher  geworden. 

Schon  seit  1825  hatte  sich  Varnhagen  mit  dem  Gedanken  Goethe- Weimar 
getragen:  "Weimar  ist  fast  nur  ein  Abglanz  von  Goethes  Geist,  das  ganze  Land 
ist  von  ihm  befruchtet;  alle  Anstalten,  Einrichtungen,  Pflanzungen,  Bauten 
tragen  seinen  Anteil;  die  Wissenschaften,  die  Kunst,  die  Lebensbildung  hangen 
mit  seinem  Dasein  zusammen."  (Blatter  zur  preussischen  Geschichte  IH,  1868. 
S.  322.) 

Im  September  1829  war  Varnhagen  in  Weimar,  schon  im  Oktober  entwirft 
er  seinen  Plan  zum  Lexikon;  also  seine  frischesten  Eindriicke  hatte  er  hier  zu 
Papier  gebracht.  Fortwahrend  ist  er  bestrebt  ein  Gesammtbild  Goethes  zu 
gewinnen;  ein  Gesammtbild  des  Goethe 'schen  Kreises  sich  zu  veranschaulichen. 
Zehn  Jahre  spater  entspringt  seinem  Him  ein  dem  Lexikon  gleichender  Plan. 
"In  den  Goethe-Zelterschen  Brief  en  stecken  was  fiir  Goldkorner!  Es  sind 
Spriiche  und  Urteile  darin,  die  man  zu  ganzen  Abhandlungen,  zu  Erzahlungen 
und  Predigten  ausfiihren  konnte.  Mir  ist  eigentlich  die  Masse  noch  zu  klein, 
die  Lebensfiille  nicht  vollstandig  und  mannigfach  genug.  Ich  mochte  die 
sammtlichen  Briefe  von  Goethe,  Schiller,  Jakobi,  Fichte,  Rahel,  Humboldt, 
Wolf,  Voss  u.s.w.  in  eine  grosse  Sammlung  chronologisch  vereinigt,  und  noch 
mit  Erlauterungen  ausgestattet  sehen;  das  miisste  eine  merkwiirdige,  grossartige 
Anschauung  deutschen  Lebens  geben!"  (Varnhagens  Tagebucher  I.  S.  241). 

Der  Vorschlag  zu  einem  Weimarischen  Lexikon  wartet  noch  seiner  Erfiillung. 
Mehrere  Anlaufe  sind  dazu  getan  worden,  die  aber  kaum  das  von  Varnhagen 
gewiinschte  Gesammtbild  bieten.  Die  Hauptversuche  auf  diesem  Gebiete 
kamen  wahrend  der  achtziger  Jahre.  Friedrich  Zarncke  entwirft  1888  einen 


428  Schreiber 

interessanten  Plan.  (Sieh  die  Einleitung  zu  seinem,  "Kurzgefassten  Ver- 
zeichnis  der  Originalaufnahmen  zu  Goethes  Bildniss." 

Franz  Neubert  in  seinem,  "Bilderbuch  fiir  das  deutsche  Volk"  tritt  in 
seinen  Bestrebungen  Varnhagen  vielleicht  am  nachsten.  Aus  den  Erwagungen 
heraus,  dass  Goethe  dem  Deutschen  der  Gipfelpunkt  seiner  geistigen  Kultur  ist, 
entstand  der  Plan  zur  Herausgabe  eines  fiir  weitere  Kreise  bestimmten  Bilderat- 
lasses  zu  Goethes  Leben  und  Wirken,  "der  die  Ortlichkeiten,  an  denen  der 
Dichter  geweilt  hat,  die  Personen,  die  ihm  durch  Verwandtschaft  und  Freund- 
schaft  nahe  gestanden  haben  oder  die  auf  eine  andere  Weise  zu  ihm  in  Beziehung 
getreten  sind,  vorfiihren,  zugleich  durch  Wiedergabe  Goethe'scher  Handzeich- 
nungen,  Zeugnisse  seiner  praktischen  Tatigkeit  auf  dem  Gebiete  der  bildenden 
Kunst  aufweisen  und  auch  Illustrationen  zu  Goethe  'schen  Werken  wiedergeben 
sollte." 

Anmerkungen  zu  Diderots  Rameau.  .  .  . 

Schon  seit  1811  hatte  sich  Varnhagen  mit  "Rameau"  befasst.  (Unter der Ab- 
teilung  "Goethe"  in  den  Vermischten  Schriften  Bd.  II.  S.303  ff.)  Im  November 
1821  schickt  Varnhagen  Goethe  ein  Buch,  das  ihm  von  Oelsner  aus  Paris  uber- 
mittelt  worden  war,  mit  beifolgendem  Excerpte  aus  dem  Briefe  Oelsners:  "Das 
Buch  ist  nicht  wie  es  scheinen  konnte,  das  franzosische  Original  von  Diderot, 
sondern  eine  Ubersetzung  der  tJbersetzung  von  Goethe  .  .  .  Jedermann 
glaubt  das  Original  zu  lesen.  Solches  ware  noch  mehr,  wenn  sich  der  Uber- 
setzer  strenger  an  den  deutschen  Text  gehalten  hatte." 

Ifber  den  Freiherrn  von  Seckendorf,  hat  uns  Varnhagen  selbst  unterrichtet. 
In  dem  ersten  Teil  seiner  vermischten  Schriften  wurde  der  Artikel  aufgenom- 
men,  leider  ohne  Datum.  Der  ganze  Ton  am  Anf ang  des  Artikels  lasst  vermuten, 
dass  er  als  eine  Lieferung  zum  Lexikon  gelten  sollte.  Von  Seckendorfs  Bezie- 
hungen  zu  dem  Weimarischen  Kreise  bemerkt  er:  "Mit  Herder  und  ganz  be- 
sonders  mit  Wieland  lebte  er  in  herzlicher  Freundschaft,  mit  Goethe'n,  der 
gleich  dem  Herzog  nicht  so  schnell  jede  Darbietung  sich  geniigen  liess,  wenig- 
stens  in  gutem  Vernehmen  und  wechselseitiger  Anerkennung." 

Die  kritisch-polemische  Anzeige  ist  mir  unbekannt  geblieben. 

Als  ich  Ihre  gutige  Sendung.  .  .  . 

Gesprache  mit  Goethe  in  den  letzten  Jahren  seines  Lebens  1823-1832. 
Von  J.  P.  Eckermann.  Leipzig,  Brockhaus,  1836,  1.  u.  2.  Th. 

Fiir  unsere  Jahrbticher  hat  Hr.  Professor  Weisse.  .  .  . 

Weisses  Anzeige  erschien  in  den  Jahrbiichern.  Sie  wurde  spater  abge- 
druckt  in  seinem  Werke:  "Kritik  und  Erlauterung  des  Goethe'schen  Faust" 
als  V.  Zugabe  in  dem  Anhange  "Zur  sittlichen  Beurtheilung  Goethe's." 

"Was  mir  fur  die  Mitternachtszeitung  bestimmt  dieser  Tage  vor  Augen 
gelegen,  und  was  baldigst  dort  gedruckt  sein  wird"  deckt  sich  nicht  schon  mit 
Varnhagens  Ausserung  einen  Monat  spater.  "Was  ich  liefern  konnte,  habe 
ich  dem  Dr.  Laube  fiir  seine  Mitternachtszeitung  gegeben,  wo  es  schon  abge- 
druckt  steht."  Varnhagen  hat  sich  spater  gewiss  eines  besseren  bedacht  und 
es  fiir  gut  gehalten  Eckermann  dariiber  zu  benachrichtigen.  "Doch  soil  meine 
Mitteilung  soviel  als  moglich  anonym  bleiben,  damit  mir  das  Spiel  nicht  ver- 
dorben  werde,"  f  iigt  er  naif  hinzu.  Varnhagen  hat  zuweilen  wohl  einen  Scriben- 
ten,  der  sich  an  Goethe  versiindigt,  mit  kiihler  Vornehmheit  abgestraft,  sonst 
hielt  er  sich  wohlweislich  der  offentlichen  Polemik  fern. 


Sieben  Brief e  Varnhagens  von  Ense  429 

Stejfens  um  so  slrafbarer.  .  .  . 

Gegen  Steffens  wendet  er  die  Spitze  seines  Angriffes  ganz  besonders.  In 
einem  Briefe  an  Neumann  den  27.  Dez.  1832  aussert  er  sich:  "Von  Steffens 
verdriesst  mich  die  engherzige  Beschrankung  am  meisten.  Er  kann  so  grossinnig 
und  geistesf  rei  sein.  Aber  da  lasst  er  sich  von  Gunst  und  Furcht  bethoren !  dass 
er  schon  vor  Jahren  verschiedentlich  ausserte,  er  sei  recht  neugierig,  wie  Goethe 
einmal  sterben  wiirde,  hat  mir  immer  sehr  missf alien.  Wie  klein  und  unkundig !' ' 

bei  der  Frage  nach  der  rheinischen  Stadt.  .  .  . 

Am  7.  November  1823  schrieb  Varnhagen  an  Goethe:  "Die  Ortlichkeit 
insbesondere  hat  etwas  unbeschreiblich  Anziehendes;  man  meint  diese  Stadt 
und  Gegend  zu  kennen,  man  will  sie  wiederfinden,  und  die  Einbildungskraft 
schweift  angstlich  \iber  alle  Eindriicke  hin,  welche  die  reichen  Lande  langs  des 
Oberrheins  in  ihrer  tieferen  Erstreckung  dem  Reisenden  ehmals  iiberschwang- 
lich  dargeboten,  ohne  dass  die  Wahl  sich  entscheiden  und  feststellen  will!  Ein 
bestimmter  Ort  aber,  eine  bestimmte  Gegend,  das  nehmen  wir  fur  gewiss  an, 
hat,  wenn  auch  nur  durch  einige  gliickliche  Punkte,  die  Grundlinien  der  ganzen 
Schilderung  geliefert.  Lebhafter  und  beseelter  Frauenanteil  legt  uns  diesen 
Gegenstand  besonders  ans  Herz,  iiber  ihn  zuforderst  wiinschen  wir  Aufschluss 
zu  erhalten,  und  wagen  denselben,  da  ja  die  Zeit  solcher  Mitteilungen  gekommen, 
durch  das  schon  gliicklichst  dafiir  bestehende  Organ,  die  Hefte  von  Kunst  und 
Alterthum,  auch  fiir  andere  zu  Nutz  und  Frommen,  freundlichst  und  ehrer- 
bietigst  zu  erbitten !"  Es  ist  sehr  zweifelhaf t,  ob  Goethe  brieflich  auf  diese  Frage 
einging;  viel  eher  hat  er  sie  ignoriert.  Erst  1836  in  Eckermanns  Gesprachen 
wurde  uns  Goethes  Stellung  zu  dieser  Frage  bekannt.  Man  mochte  vermuten, 
das  von  Eckermann  Dez.  1826  iiberlieferte  Gesprach  gehore  in  den  Dez.  1823 
und  sei  eine  direkte  Antwort  auf  Varnhagens  ungehorige  Frage.  "Da  wollen 
sie  wissen,  welche  Stadt  am  Rhein  bei  meinem  Hermann  und  Dorothea  gemeint 
sei.  Als  ob  es  nicht  besser  ware,  sich  jede  beliebige  zu  denken.  Man  will  Wahr- 
heit,  man  will  Wirklichkeit  und  verdirbt  dadurch  die  Poesie." 

Gern  sendete  ich  Ihnen  als  Gegengabe.  .  .  . 

Wohl  die  "Galerie  von  Bildnissen  aus  Rahel's  Umgang  und  Brief wechsel." 
Herausgegeben  von  K.  A.  Varnhagen  von  Ense.  Leipzig,  Reichenbach.  1836. 
Th.  2.  (Sieh  den  folgenden  Brief.) 

besonders  Fraulein  von  Pappenheim 

Fiir  Fraulein  von  Pappenheim  hat  sich  Varnhagen  besonders  interessiert. 
(Sieh:  Aus  Goethes  Freundeskreis.  Erinnerungen  der  Baronin  Jenny  von 
Gustedt,  herausgegeben  von  Lily  von  Kretschman.  Braunschweig,  G.  Wester- 
mann.  VII  und  510  SS.) 

Die  Sternchen  S.  226.  .  .  . 

Aus  Varnhagens  Gesprachen  mit  Goethe  entnehmen  wir:  "Einigemal 
sind  in  Eckermann's  Buche  Sternchen  angebracht,  wo  wir  gerne  den  Namen 
sahen.  Zum  Beispiel,  wenn  es  heisst:  "  'Noch  in  diesen  Tagen  habe  ich  Gedichte 
von  .  .  .  gelesen,  und  sein  reiches  Talent  nicht  verkennen  konnen.  Allein, 
wie  gesagt,  die  Liebe  fehlt  ihm,  und  so  wird  er  auch  nie  so  wirken,  als  er  hatte 
miissen.  Man  wird  ihn  fiirchten,  und  er  wird  der  Gott  derer  sein,  die  gem  wie 
er  negativ  waren,  aber  nicht  wie  er  das  Talent  haben.'  "  Heine,  der  doch  mit 
obigen  Sternchen  ohne  Zweifel  gemeint  ist,  kann  mit  der  Anerkennung  seines 
Talents  wohl  zu  frieden  sein;  denn,  dass  ihm  Goethe  die  Liebe  abspricht,  damit 


430  Schreiber 

ist  die  Sache  noch  nicht  ausgemacht,  man  kann  auch  von  Goethe'n  appelieren; 
u.s.w"  In  Klammern  steht  hinzugefiigt:  "(Nach  zuverlassiger  Auskunft  ist 
jedoch  nicht  Heine,  sondern  Graf  Platen  gemeint.)"  1837. 

Kommt  ein  Russe.  .  .  . 

Den  18.  Juni  1836  schreibt  Varnhagen  in  sein  Tagebuch  (also  am  selben 
Tage,  da  er  den  Brief  an  Eckermann  schreibt):  "Herr  von  Melgunoff  (sic)  aus 
Moskau  kam  zu  mir.  Ein  geistvoller,  tiichtiger  Russe,  sehr  Russe,  aber  wie 
Deutschland  sie  wiinschen  kann." 

Gutzkowt    Ich  wussf  es  vorher 

Gutzkow  hatte  eben  veroff entlicht :  Ueber  Gothe  im  Wendepunkte  zweier 
Jahrhunderte.  Berlin,  1836.  Die  Einleitung  tragt  das  Datum,  Frankfurt,  im 
April  1836. 

Ich  sage  Ihnen  meinen  herzlichen  Dank.  .  .  . 

Gedichte  von  J.  P.  Eckermann.  Leipzig  Brockhaus.  1838.  R.  M.  Meyer 
sagt  von  dieser  Sammlung:  "Seine  poetischen  Plane  zerflossen,  und  ein  Band- 
chen  Gedichte,  das  1838  erschien,  zeigt,  dass  auch  seine  poetische  Kraft  zer- 
flossen war." 

ich  sende  Ihnen  Ludwig  Robert's  Gedichte. 

Ludwig  Robert  war  ein  Bruder  Rahels.  Goethe  liess  ein  Drama  von 
Robert  in  Weimar  auffiihren.  In  einem  Briefe  an  Frau  von  Eybenberg  driickt 
er  sich  sehr  ungiinstig  dariiber  aus.  Die  Gedichte  enthalten  viele  Beziige  auf 
Goethe,  dessen  Stil  er  gewissenhaft  nachahmte. 

Sie  empfangen.  .  .  . 

"Doktor  Carriere  ist  von  Reisen  zuriickgekehrt,  und  will  Privatdozent  bei 
der  Universitat  werden.  Verstarkung  der  Hegelianer."  Varnhagens  Tage- 
bttcher  I,  S.  245.  (10.  Dezember  1840.) 

Joachim  Jungius  (1587-1667)  was  einer  der  bedeutendsten  Geistesheroen, 
der  uns  aus  dem  Zeitalter  des  Dreissigjahrigen  Krieges  entgegenragt.  Goethe 
kam  auf  diesen  interessanten  Philosophen  wahrend  seiner  Beschaftigung  mit  der 
Metamorphose  der  Pflanzen.  Goethe  hatte  sich  in  den  letzten  Jahren  seines 
Lebens  angeschickt,  ein  kurzes  Leben  Jungius  zu  schreiben;  es  ist  aber  nur 
Fragment  geblieben.  Zum  erstenmale  wurde  das  Fragment  in  Dr.  Guhrauers 
Buch:  Joachim  Jungius  und  sein  Zeitalter  Nebst  Goethe's  Fragment  iiber 
Jungius,  1850  abgedruckt.  Guhrauer  berichtet  in  seiner  Einleitung:  "Die 
Liberalitat  und  Uneigenniitzigkeit  endlich,  womit  die  Gebriider  von  Goethe  die 
kostbare  Reliquie  aus  dem  Archiv  ihres  unsterblichen  Grossvaters  darboten  und 
uberliessen,  sichert  ihnen  den  aufrichtigen  Dank  aller  wahren  Verehrer  Goe- 
the's." Das  Fragment  wurde  zuerst  der  Hempelschen  Ausgabe  einverleibt. 

eine  Auswahl  von  Herrn  Kanzler  von  Mutter.  .  .  . 

Weder  Kanzler  von  Mullers  noch  die  Cotta'sche  Hauptsammlung  sind 
erschienen. 

Sagen  Sie  giitigst.  .  .  . 

Riemers  Buch  heisst:  Mitteilungen  iiber  Goethe.  Aus  miindlichen  und 
schriftlichen,  gedruckten  und  ungedruckten  Quellen.  2  Bande.  Berlin,  Verlag 
von  Duncker  und  Humblot.  1841. 

CARL  F.  SCHREIBER 

Yale  University 


SHELLEY'S  CHARLES  THE  FIRST 

Shelley  was  one  of  those  poets  who  apparently  never 
thought  either  of  destroying  or  carefully  preserving  their 
fragments.  He  was  a  modest  man  in  the  estimate  he  put  upon 
his  own  work,  and  his  own  generation  did  little  to  encourage 
him  to  preserve  even  his  completed  works,  not  to  mention  those 
left  unfinished.  Nevertheless  there  are  few  English  poets  whose 
collected  works  show  such  a  large  proportion  of  fragments. 
Between  one-fourth  and  one-third  of  the  Woodberry  edition  is 
taken  up  with  poems  of  this  class.  Shelley  was  characteristically 
fitful  and  impulsive  about  beginning  a  poem,  just  as  he  was  in 
undertaking  his  various  "practical"  projects.  The  plotting  of 
longer  poems  was  undoubtedly  difficult  for  him.  The  indiffer- 
ence or  antagonism  of  the  public  was  at  times  depressing. 
These  facts,  together  with  the  inconstancy  of  his  nature,  easily 
suggest  why  so  many  poems  were  begun  and  never  finished. 
The  survival  of  the  fragments  is  the  result  of  Mary  Shelley's 
religious  regard  for  all  the  poet's  relics,  and  their  availability 
to  the  scholar  is  due  chiefly  to  the  painstaking  devotion  of  such 
earnest  Shelleyans  as  Dr.  Garnett  and  Mr.  Buxton  Forman. 

In  themselves  it  is  doubtful  if  most  of  these  fragments  add 
much  to  the  total  value  of  Shelley's  work  simply  as  poetry, 
but  in  their  connections  some  of  them  are  worthy  of  more  atten- 
tion than  they  have  yet  received.  Most  prominent  in  this  class 
is  Charles  the  First,  which  represents  an  earnest  attempt  to 
write  successful  acting  drama  after  the  composition  of  The 
Cenci  and  has  a  significant  bearing  on  Shelley's  dramatic 
ambitions.  Had  the  play  been  successfully  concluded  it  is  not 
at  all  unlikely  that  Shelley  would  have  turned  his  attention 
definitely,  for  a  time  at  least,  to  the  writing  of  drama. 

Charles  the  First  was  written  at  various  times  between 
January  and  June,  1822,  but  the  idea  of  the  play  had  been  in 
Shelley's  mind  since  1818.  According  to  Mary  Shelley,  he 
advanced  but  slowly  with  it  and  finally  threw  it  aside  for  The 
Triumph  of  Life,  which  he  left  unfinished  at  his  death.  There 

431 


432  White 

are  frequent  allusions  to  this  drama  in  Shelley's  correspondence 
which  make  it  clear  that  this  was  one  of  his  favorite  and  most 
ambitious  projects.1  Before  he  had  himself  entertained  the 
idea  of  writing  a  drama  on  the  subject  of  Charles  I  he  had  urged 
Mrs.  Shelley  to  undertake  the  task,  and  she  had  apparently 
done  so.2  Mrs.  Shelley  abandoned  the  play  "for  lack  of  the 
necessary  books  of  reference,"3  and  Shelley  himself  took  up  the 
idea  later.  An  ulterior  object  of  the  play  was  to  procure 
£100  to  lend  to  Leigh  Hunt.4  Shelley  intended  making  it  a 
careful,  finished  play,  adapted  to  the  stage,  and  free  from  parti- 
san feeline.  He  writes  to  Leigh  Hunt  that  if  he  can  finish 
Charles  the  First  as  planned  it  will  surpass  The  Cenci,5  and 
assures  his  publisher,  Oilier,  that  if  finished  it  will  be  a  good 
play.6  He  tells  Trelawny7  "I  am  now  writing  a  play  for  the 
stage.  ...  In  style  and  manner  I  shall  approach  as  near 
our  great  dramatist  as  my  feeble  powers  will  permit.  King 
Lear  is  mv  model." 

But  there  were  difficulties  upon  which  it  seems  Shelley 
had  not  counted.  He  had  never  been  able  to  interest  himself 
in  English  history8  and  he  found  his  plotting  more  difficult  than 
he  had  anticipated.9  He  tells  Peacock  that  it  is  "a  devil  of  a 
nut  to  crack."10  Finally  he  tells  Hunt  and  Gisborne  that  he 
does  nothing  with  Charles  the  First  because  there  is  nothing  to 
inspire  him  to  undertake  any  subject  deeply  and  seriously.11 
Medwin  comments12  on  Shelley's  sporadic  manner  of  writing 
Charles  the  First,  his  difficulties,  and  his  final  abandonment  of 
the  play.  "Nothing,"  says  Medwin,13  "could  so  far  conquer  his 
repugnance  as  to  complete  it." 

1  R.  Ingpen:  Letters  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  608, 626, 805, 857,  872,  916,  928, 
872,  916,  928,  930, 934°,  945,  955,  957. 

2  Ingpen,  626.    See  also  Mrs.  Shelley's  note  to  The  Cenci. 

3  Mrs.  J.  Marshall:  Mary  W ottstonecraft  Shelley,  217. 
4 Ingpen,  945. 

5 Ingpen,  934. 

6  Ingpen,  857,  916. 

7  E.  J.  Trelawny:  Records  of  Shelley,  Byron  and  the  Author,  79. 
8 Ingpen,  608. 

9 Ingpen,  965. 

10  Ingpen,  928. 

11  Ingpen,  945,  977. 

12  Thomas  Medwin:  Life  of  Shelley,  340-343. 
™  Op.  til.,  221. 


Shelley's  "Charles  the  First"  433 

The  fragment  has  received  very  little  attention  from  critics. 
Dowden  rather  slights  it  in  his  Life  of  Shelley,  merely  quoting 
from  Shelley's  letters  and  commenting  that  the  play  contains 
admirable  dramatic  writing  but  contains  no  evidence  of  be- 
coming a  well-built  tragedy.14  Smith's  Critical  Biography 
devotes  six  pages  to  defending  the  dramatic  character  of 
The  Cenci  but  contains  never  a  word  about  Charles  the  First. 
Rabbe's  Shelley — His  Life  and  His  Works,  Helene  Richter's 
Shelley,  and  H.  Druskowitz's  Shelley  merely  mention  it  in 
passing,  without  considering  its  merits.  Rossetti's  Memoir  of 
Shelley,  Symonds's  Shelley,  and  Sharp's  Life  of  Shelley  ignore 
it  completely.  A.  Clutton-Brock  treats  it  rather  perfunctorily15 
and  concludes  that  the  scenes  "contain  a  good  deal  of  eloquent 
talk,  but  there  is  no  movement  and  little  character  in  them." 
The  fragment  is  more  adequately  treated  by  John  Todhunter, 
Stopford  Brooke,  and  H.  S.  Salt.  "As  far  as  it  goes,  Charles  the 
F^rst  is  a  striking  and  powerful  attempt,"  concludes  H.  S.  Salt.16 
Stopford  Brooke17  finds  it  "full  of  steady  power,  power  more 
at  its  ease  than  in  The  Cenci,"  and  Todhunter  sketches  the 
characters  in  the  play  and  discovers  many  indications  of  a  high 
dramatic  quality.18  Dr.  E.  S.  Bates,  in  Shelley's  The  Cenci, 
devotes  considerable  space  to  the  discussion  of  Shelley's 
possibilities  as  a  dramatist,  but  dismisses  Charles  the  First 
with  a  half-paragraph  of  less  than  a  dozen  lines. 

When  we  consider  that  Charles  the  First  is  after  all  only  a 
fragment  we  need  not  wonder  that  so  many  writers  on  Shelley 
have  passed  it  by  without  examination  or  without  comment. 
But  it  is  a  fairly  large  fragment,  of  two  complete  and  three 
incomplete  scenes,  totalling  over  800  lines.  It  was  the  object  of 
rather  considerable  and  anxious  thought  on  the  part  of  the  poet. 
It  was  written  after  The  Cenci  and  was  intended  for  the  stage. 
It  was  Shelley's  only  attempt  at  practical  drama  after  The 
Cenci,  and  his  letters  show  that  it  was  a  serious,  thoughtful 
attempt.  When  these  facts  are  considered,  Charles  the  First 
becomes  an  important  piece  of  evidence  on  the  moot  question 

14  Op.  cit.,  ii,  476. 

15  Shelley— The  Man  and  the  Poet,  268. 
»  A  Shelley  Primer,  77. 

17  Preface  to  Selections  from  Shelley,  xlix. 

18  A  Study  of  Shelley,  271-281. 


434  White 

of  Shelley's  ability  to  develop  into  a  great  dramatist.  And  this 
fact,  in  turn,  makes  it  worth  while  to  attempt  to  discover  just 
why  the  drama  was  not  finished. 

The  reasons  ordinarily  assigned  are  that  Shelley  either 
lacked  the  constructive  ability  and  power  of  continued  applica- 
tion necessary  to  complete  the  play  or  that  his  distaste  for  the 
study  of  history  was  so  great  that  he  was  unable  to  master  his 
material.  The  first  view  is  supported  by  the  lack  of  structural 
unity  found  in  many  of  Shelley's  longer  poems,  by  the  long 
list  of  his  other  poems  left  incomplete,  by  the  apparent  dilatori- 
ness  with  which  Shelley  treated  the  project,  and  by  Shelley's 
own  admissions  that  the  play  was  providing  such  difficulties 
that  he  could  not  "seize  upon  the  conception  of  the  subject  as 
a  whole."19 

It  is  also  a  matter  of  record  that  Shelley  disliked  history. 
Rosetti20  quotes  two  utterances  of  Shelley  on  the  subject  of 
history: 

"I  am  determined  to  apply  myself  to  a  study  that  is  hateful  and  disgusting 
to  my  very  soul,  but  which  is  above  all  other  studies  necessary  for  him  who  would 
be  listened  to  as  a  mender  of  antiquated  abuses — I  mean  that  record  of  crimes 
and  miseries,  history."  (1812) 

"I  am  unfortunately  little  skilled  in  English  history;  and  the  interest  that 
it  excites  in  me  is  so  feeble  that  I  find  it  a  duty  to  attain  merely  to  that  general 
knowledge  of  it  which  is  indispensable."  (1818) 

Against  this  evidence  we  must  bear  in  mind  the  fact  that 
Shelley  did  accomplish  in  The  Cenci  a  task  of  construction  some- 
what similar  to  that  which  Charles  the  First  presented,  though 
not  so  difficult  in  the  nature  of  its  materials.  It  might  be 
added  that  Prometheus  Unbound  was  successfully  resumed  after 
an  interruption  and  that  the  twenty  days  between  Shelley's 
admission  that  he  had  ceased  working  on  Charles  the  First  and 
the  date  of  his  death  was  not  a  sufficient  lapse  of  time  to  show 
that  the  play  had  been  abandoned.  As  for  Shelley's  professed 
aversion  for  history,  it  is  a  matter  of  record  that  he  was  by  no 
means  negligent  of  historical  reading.  Of  the  fifty-one  books 
listed  by  Mrs.  Shelley  as  read  by  Shelley  in  181521  eighteen 
are  historical  or  biographical,  twenty-one  are  poetry,  and  the 

19  Ingpen,  955. 

40  Memoir  of  Shelley,  133. 

21  Mrs.  J.  Marshall,  op.  cit.,  123. 


Shelley's  "Charles  the  First"  435 

remaining  twelve  are  of  a  dramatic,  philosophical,  or  sociological 
character. 

Thus  there  is  not  sufficient  evidence  to  show  that  Shelley 
abandoned  Charles  the  First  on  account  of  inability  to  complete 
it,  or  even  that  he  had  definitely  abandoned  the  play.  A  more 
reasonable  hypothesis  to  go  upon  is  that  Shelley  would  probably 
have  returned  to  the  play  later.  It  is  well  known  that  during 
his  last  days  Shelley  suffered  under  considerable  depression  of 
spirits.  Hellas,  he  writes  to  John  Gisborne,  was  written  in 
"one  of  those  few  moments  of  enthusiasm  which  now  seldom 
visit  me  and  which  make  me  pay  dearly  for  their  visits,"22 
and  in  the  same  letter  he  remarks,  "I  write  nothing  but  by 
fits."  When  a  man  who  feels  himself  unappreciated  by  his 
public  and  who  is,  in  addition,  too  depressed  to  compose 
to  advantage,  throws  aside  a  piece  of  work  on  which  he  has 
expended  the  preparation  Shelley  gave  to  Charles  the  First, 
it  is  more  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  will  return  to  it  later 
than  that  he  has  finally  abandoned  it.  Shelley  required  enthusi- 
asm to  sustain  him  in  his  work.  Prometheus  Unbound  and  The 
Cenci  furnished  subjects  on  which  he  could  easily  become 
enthusiastic,  but  Charles  the  First  offered  some  complications  in 
the  usual  formula  of  Shelley's  sympathies.  The  Roundheads  as 
lovers  of  liberty  could  appeal  to  his  enthusiasm,  but  as  religious 
bigots  they  must  have  repelled  him.  Cromwell  the  liberator  was 
adaptable  enough  to  the  Shelleyan  formula,,  but  Cromwell  the 
despot  offered  awkward  complications.  Whether  or  not  he  could 
have  overcome  this  conflict  of  sympathies  is  a  question  that 
cannot  be  answered,  but  the  fact  that  the  complications  existed 
must  have  had  its  influence  in  causing  him  to  desist  from  the 
play. 

When  we  examine  the  scenes  singly  for  evidences  of  drama- 
tic power  or  weakness,  we  find  the  first  scene  probably  the  best 
of  the  five.  It  shows  an  eye  for  theatrical  values  that  is  sur- 
prising in  one  with  so  little  actual  knowledge  of  the  stage  as 
Shelley  had.  As  an  opening  scene  for  a  historical  play  it  could 
hardly  be  improved  upon.  The  key  to  the  dramatic  struggle  is 
revealed  at  once  by  the  dramatic  contrast  of  royal  splendor  with 
Puritan  sourness.  The  masque,  with  its  spectacular  value  of 

"  Ingpen,  953. 


436  White 

color  and  movement,  gives  evidence  of  an  eye  for  theatrical 
effectiveness  that  one  would  hardly  have  suspected  Shelley  of 
possessing.  It  is  as  theatrically  effective  as  the  masques  in  the 
Elizabethan  plays  from  which  Shelley  doubtless  got  the  idea. 
The  entry  of  Leighton,  a  victim  of  royal  tyranny,  gives  addi- 
tional point  to  the  complaints  of  the  citizens.  The  dialogue 
is  at  least  as  dramatically  effective  as  that  of  The  Cenci.  The 
characters  are  carefully  distinguished.  The  first  citizen  is  mod- 
erate in  his  opinion  and  talks  little.  The  second  citizen,  an 
old  man,  is  a  bitter  and  uncompromising  hater  of  Court  and 
Church,  and  voices  his  invectives  without  restraint.  The  third 
citizen  chimes  in  with  the  second,  and  the  youth  is  a  visionary 
with  an  eye  single  to  beauty.  In  general  the  scene  is  somewhat 
comparable  to  Shakspeare's  opening  scene  in  Julius  Caesar, 
but  Shakespeare's  speeches  are  shorter  and  more  realistic,  and 
his  scene  concludes  with  a  promise  of  further  vigorous  action, 
whereas  the  conclusion  of  Shelley's  scene  does  not  point  directly 
to  any  subsequent  related  action. 

The  second  scene  contains  502  lines.  It  contains  practically 
no  action  such  as  would  advance  the  drama.  Like  the  first 
scene,  it  is  introductory  and  expository.  The  King,  the  Queen, 
Laud,  Strafford,  Cottington,  St.  John,  and  the  Fool,  Archy, 
are  introduced  and  made  to  reveal  something  of  their  characters. 

Charles  is  weak,  but  not  utterly  bad.  There  is  a  nobility,  a» 
gentleness  and  grace  about  him  that  makes  a  wistful  and  poetic, 
rather  than  a  heroic  appeal.  The  Queen  is  clear-sighted,  ambi- 
tious and  autocratic,  but  she  loves  Charles  and  their  children — 
a  Shelleyan  Lady  Macbeth.  She. manages  Charles  with  the 
greatest  ease.  Strafford  is  thoroughgoing  in  his  hatred  of  the 
people,  but  is  apparently  sincere  in  his  loyalty  to  the  King. 
Laud,  however,  is  a  bigot  of  the  most  vengeful  and  cruel  type; 
there  are  strong  indications  that  had  the  play  been  finished 
he  would  have  been  made  into  an  inhuman  type  of  Evil  in  the 
form  of  religious  bigotry,  just  as  the  Jupiter  of  Prometheus 
Unbound  may  be  said  to  typify  abstract  Evil  and  Count 
Cenci  Evil  in  the  concrete.  The  Fool  is  fashioned  after  the 
fool  in  Calderon's  Cisma  de  Inglaterra  and  the  fool  in  Shakes- 
peare's King  Lear.  He  resembles  Lear's  fool,  however,  only 
in  his  understanding  of  the  real  situation;  there  is  no  compari- 
son between  the  two  as  to  wit.  In  exaggerated  Romantic 


Shelley's  "Charles  the  First"  437 

fashion  Charles  is  made  to  attribute  a  kind  of  super-rational 
insight  to  the  Fool,  on  the  score  of  his  being  a  little  crack- 
brained.  Shelley  even  imitates  the  anachronisms  of  the 
Elizabethans  and  makes  the  Fool  crack  a  jest  on  pantisocracy — 
this  for  the  benefit  of  the  Lakers.  The  King  consents  to  the 
bloody  stamping  out  of  the  Scotch  revolt.  The  attitude  of  the 
King's  side  is  made  clear  in  this  scene.  Thus  at  the  end  of  692 
lines  Shelley  has  made  the  audience  familiar  with  the  nature 
of  the  conflict,  the  attitude  of  each  side,  and  the  principal 
forces  on  one  side.  He  has  prepared  for  the  first  clash — the 
expedition  against  the  Scots — but  he  has  failed  to  motivate 
the  action.  The  forces  that  are  to  work  on  the  King's  weakness 
and  produce  his  ruin  are  made  evident  in  this  scene.  They  are 
the  pride  and  ambition  of  the  Queen,  the  veangeful  fanaticism 
of  Laud,  and  the  fierce  intolerance  of  Strafford. 

The  third  scene  is  incomplete.  It  is  a  Star  Chamber  trial 
and  shows  the  first  actual  conflict  between  the  opposing  forces. 
It  also  further  develops  the  character  of  the  chief  villian,  Laud. 

The  fourth  scene,  also  unfinished,  shows  Hampden,  Pym, 
Cromwell,  Cromwell's  daughter,  and  Sir  Harry  Vane  on  the 
point  of  flight  to  America.  Their  arrest,  which  would  have 
provided  action  for  the  scene,  is  not  reached.  The  fifth  scene 
is  a  mournful  song  by  Archy,  and  was  probably  intended  to  be 
the  last  scene,  after  Charles'  execution. 

Shelley's  further  plans  for  the  drama  are  to  be  found  in  the 
third  of  his  notebooks.  As  deciphered  by  Forman,  the  whole 
plan  is  as  follows:23 

ACT  Isx  The  Mask 

Scene  1.  St.  —  Bastwick  &  citizens — to  him  enter  Leighton: 
&  afterwards  An  old  man  &  a  Law  Student. 

Scene  2.  The  interior  of  Whitehall— The  King  Wentworth, 
Laud,  Ld  Keeper  Coventry  Lord  Essex  Archy  to  them  enter  Dr. 
John,  Noy,  &  the  lawyers — circumstances  indicative  first  of  the 
state  of  the  country  &  Government,  &  the  demands  of  the  King 
and  Queen,  Laud  &c.  secondly  of  the  methods  for  securing 
money  &  power. 

11  The  Shelley  Notebooks,  privately  printed,  edited  by  H.  B.  Forman,  iii, 
103. 


438  White 

Scene  3.d  Pym,  Hazelrig  Cromwell,  young  Sir  H.  Vane, 
Hampden  &  —  their  character  and  intentions — a  their  embarka- 
tion— Cromwells  speech  on  that  occasion — high  commission 
pursuivants. 

Messengers  of  council. 

The  imprisonment  of  members  of  Parliament.    Lauds  excessive 
thirst  for  gold  &  blood.    Williams  committed  to  the  Tower  to 
whom  Laud  owed  his  first  promotion 
ACT  2d  Scene  2 

Chiefs  of  the  Popular  Party,  Hampden's  trial  &  its  effects — 
Reasons  of  Hampden  &  his  colleages  for  resistance — young 
Sir  H.  Vane's  reasons:  The  first  rational  &  logical,  the  Second 
impetuous  &  enthusiastic. 

Reasonings  on  Hampden's  trial  p.  222. 

The  King  zealous  for  the  Church  inheriting  this  disposition 
from  his  father. 

This  act  to  open  between  the  two  Scotch  Wars. 
Easter  day  1635 

The  reading  of  the  Liturgy 
Lord  Tiquai 

The  Covenant 

The  determined  resistance  against  Charles  &  the  liturgy — 

Worse  than  the  worse  is  indecision 

Mary  di  Medici  the  Queen  came  to  England  in  1638.  it 
was  observed  that  the  sword  &  pestilence  followed  her  wherever 
she  went  &  that  her  restless  spirit  embroiled  everything  she 
approached. 


The  King  annulled  at  York 
Many  unlawful  grants  &c  in  wh 

This  concludes  Shelley's  plan,  but  at  the  top  of  one  of  the 
pages  is  pencilled: 

ACT  2 

After  the  1st  Scottish  War 
and  at  the  bottom: 

The  End—  Stafford's  death. 

It  is  hardly  worth  while  to  enter  into  a  detailed  discussion  of 
this  plan.  It  shows  that  Shelley  had  planned  the  drama 
beyond  the  point  where  he  ceased  writing.  Scenes  III  and  IV 
as  written  are  amplified  and  modified  from  the  plan  for  scene  III, 


Shelley's  "Charles  the  First"  439 

and  the  later  scenes  of  the  poem  as  written  are  not  accounted 
for  in  the  plans  at  all.  This  is  an  indication  that  Shelley 
followed  his  plans  very  loosely  and  is  supported  by  the  plan 
itself,  which  is  disorganized  and  includes  what  seems  to  be 
data  from  his  reading  about  Mary  di  Medici,  along  with  a 
line,  "Worse  than  the  worse  is  indecision,"  which  looks  like 
the  text  for  a  contemplated  speech.  That  Shelley  had  nearly 
finished  one  act,  according  to  his  plans,  without  having  planned 
in  advance  more  than  one  scene  of  the  next  act  is  a  strong 
indication  that  he  was  having  serious  difficulty  with  the  plotting. 

The  drama  contains  some  speeches  fully  comparable  to  those 
of  The  Cenci.  The  attack  on  the  nobility  by  the  Second  Citizen,24 
the  impassioned  lines  on  liberty  spoken  by  Hampden,25  and 
Archy's  song  are  the  best  speeches.  The  trial  of  B.astwick 
in  scene  iii  is  the  best  sustained  passage  of  dramatic  verse. 

The  speeches  have  the  peculiar  Shelleyan  intensity  of  feel- 
ing that  characterizes  the  blank  verse  of  Shelley's  other  plays. 
There  is  also  present  the  touch  of  Shakespearean  diction  en- 
countered in  all  the  other  plays  except  Prometheus  Unbound. 
"Vile  participation"  (I,  79),  recalls  Shakespeare's  use  of  the 
expression  in  /  Henry  IV,  III,  ii,  87.  "Withal"  in  the  sense  of 
"with"  in  "catch  poor  rogues  withal,"  (I,  160),  is  like  the 
Shakespearean  use  of  the  word  in  such  expressions  as  "bait 
fish  withal"  etc.  Archy's  "your  quiet  kingdom  of  man"  suggests 
Julius  Caesar,  II,  i.  68,  "The  state  of  man  like  to  a  little  king- 
dom," also  Macbeth  I,  iii,  140.  King  Lear's  comment,  "a 
bitter  fool"  (I,  iv,  150),  is  reflected  in  the  Queen's  "Archy  is 
shrewd  and  bitter,"  II,  460.  Hampden's  passionate  speech  on 
liberty  in  scene  four  owes  something  to  Gaunt's  famous  patri- 
otic speech  in  Richard  II.  There  are  indifferent  puns  in  the 
Shakespearean  manner  and  a  number  of  lines  with  only  an 
indefinite  Shakespearean  suggestiveness,  such  as  "the  base 
patchwork  of  a  leper's  rags"  (I,  234),  and  "Thou  perfect,  just, 
and  honorable  man"  (II,  319). 

We  may  say  of  the  fragment  of  Charles  the  First  that  it  is  at 
least  equal  to  The  Cenci  in  its  use  of  dramatic  blank  verse,  and 
that  in  it  Shelley  shows  an  increased  skill  in  individualizing 

24 1, 150-175. 
» IV,  14-36. 


440  White 

minor  characters.  It  shows  an  increased  ability  to  motivate 
the  action  and  a  closer  attention  to  stage  effects.  Yet  it  shows 
also  a  failure  in  the  only  humorous  character  attempted,  and 
its  action  is  certainly  slow  in  getting  started.  Shelley's  notes 
on  the  drama  very  significantly  say  a  good  deal  more  about 
speeches  and  reasons  and  less  about  actions  than  might  be 
expected.  Shelley's  plans  and  letters  show  that  the  structure 
gave  him  difficulties,  and  the  three  consecutive  scenes  of  the 
first  act,  while  no  more  loosely  connected  than  many  an  Eliza- 
bethan chronicle  play,  are  certainly  too  loosely  connected  for 
good  acting  drama  even  upon  a  stage  where  Elizabethanism 
had  become  a  fad. 

There  are  available  only  three  English  plays  with  which 
Shelley's  fragment  may  be  compared.  Reinhard  Fertig,  in 
Die  Dramatisierungen  des  Schicksals  Karls  I  von  England?* 
gives  brief  summaries  and  discussions  of  nine  English  dramas 
on  the  subiect  and  mentions  two  no  longer  to  be  found.  There 
is  nothing  in  his  thesis  that  would  indicate  any  connection 
between  Shelley's  fragment  and  any  of  the  other  dramas. 
Only  two  of  these  plays,  W.  Harvard's  King  Charles  the  First, 
An  Historical  Tragedy  written  in  imitation  of  Shakespeare 
(1737)  and  W.  G.  Wills'  Charles  the  First,  An  Historical 
Tragedy  in  four  Acts  (1875),  are  available  for  closer  comparison 
with  Shelley.  Neither  of  the  plays  shows  the  slightest  connec- 
tion with  Shelley's  fragment,  except  that  all  three  are  avowed 
imitations  of  Shakespeare.  Both  begin  the  action  at  a  later 
point  than  that  reached  by  Shelley.  The  first  is  dull,  declama- 
tory, and  without  sufficient  action.  Its  one  would-be  tragic 
scene  is  merely  sentimental.  The  second  has  considerably 
more  dramatic  merit.  The  blank  verse  is  good,  the  play  is  well 
constructed,  and  the  characters  are  well  drawn.  With  Henry 
Irving  in  the  title  r61e,  it  held  the  stage  for  two  hundred  nights. 
Structurally  it  is  greatly  superior  to  Shelley's  play.  Browning's 
Strajford,  written  for  Macready  in  1837,  though  it  makes 
Strafford  and  not  Charles  the  central  figure,  should  be  con- 
sidered as  belonging  to  the  same  group  of  plays.  Strajford  is 
more  compact,  more  realistic,  and  more  objective  than  Charles 
the  First,  yet  the  individual  scenes  are  harder  to  understand. 

*  Erlangen,  1910. 


Shelley's  "Charles  the  First1'  441 

Charles  the  First  is  the  more  diffuse,  ideal,  and  poetic,  and,  so 
far  as  can  be  judged  from  its  unfinished  condition,  would  very 
likely  have  been  structurally  inferior  to  Browning's  play. 
In  everything  except  structure  Charles  the  First  compares 
favorably  with  the  other  dramas  dealing  with  Charles  the 
First,  but  structurally  Shelley's  drama  appears  inferior. 

NEWMAN  I.  WHITE 
Trinity  College 


GOTHIC  NOTES 

I 

On  the  Gothic  Dative  Construction  ANAHAIMJAIM  WISAN,  II.  Cor. 

V,8 

In  the  following  passage,  II.  Cor.  V,  8,  appan  gatrauan 
jah  waljam  mais  usleipan  us  pamma  leika  jah  ANAHAIMJAIM 
WISAN  at  fraujin,  'we  are  of  good  cheer  and  are  willing  rather  to 
be  absent  from  the  body,  and  to  be  at  home  with  the  Lord/ 
we  have  in  Gothic  an  interesting  example  of  an  adjective 
(anahaimjaim)  referring  to  the  subject  of  the  principal  verb 
(waljam),  yet  standing  in  the  dative  case.  Since  the  principal 
verb  is  used  with  a  dependent  infinitive  (wisan),  the  explana- 
tion for  the  use  of  the  dative  instead  of  the  nominative  case  of 
the  adjective  must  lie  in  the  nature  of  the  construction  of  the 
adjective  +  the  infinitive.  Most  commentators  (cf.  Gabelentz, 
Loebe,  Uppstrom)  explain  the  dative  anahaimjaim  as  being  due 
to  unsis  understood  with  waljam.  This  seems  to  me,  however, 
to  be  no  explanation  at  all,  first  because  there  is  no  reason  why 
unsis  should  be  used,  and  secondly  because  no  reason  is  stated 
as  to  why  unsis  should  be  in  the  dative  case.  There  can  be  no 
question  of  Greek  influence,  since  the  Gothic  anahaimjaim 
wisan  renders  a  simple  Greek  infinitive  hdrj^rjaai.  The 
whole  passage  reads  in  the  original  Greek:  dappovnev  81  nal 
evdoKOVfjiev  /xaXXop  kKdrjuijcrai  kit  rov  trcojuaTOs  KO.I  hdrjfUTJcrai  Tpos  rbv 
Kvpiov. 

It  should  be  noted  in  the  first  place  that  the  infinitive  de- 
pendent upon  waljam  is  the  substantive  verb  wisan.  That 
this  infinitive  is,  however,  used  as  an  impersonal  verb,  is  evi- 
dent from  the  fact  that  the  predicate  adjective  is  not  in  the 
nominative  but  in  the  dative  case  (i.  e.,  ANAHAIMJAIM  wisan). 
The  idea  in  the  passage  is,  then,  literally  expressed:  "We 
deem  it  better  (for  us  =  unsis)  to  be  at  home  with  the  Lord 
(than  to  be  away  from  the  Lord)."  In  impersonal  construc- 
tions with  the  substantive  verb  'to  be'  the  person  affected  is 

442 


Gothic  Notes  443 

regularly  expressed  in  the  dative  case,1  but  since  in  the  passage 
in  question  the  pronoun  (i.  e.,  unsis)  is  already  implied  in  the 
principal  verb  waljam,  it  is  omitted  in  connection  with  the 
substantive  infinitive  wisan,  but  the  adjective  (i.  e.,  anahaim- 
jaim)  referring  to  this  pronoun  must,  nevertheless,  still  remain 
in  the  dative  case.  The  repetition  of  the  pronoun  is  not  neces- 
sary, wherever  the  pronoun  is  easily  understood  from  the  pre- 
ceding clause;  cf.  e.  g.,  gop  bus  ist  hamfamma  in  libain  galeipan, 
Pau  twos  handus  habandin  galeipan  in  gaiainnan,  Mark  IX,  43 
(so  likewise  Mark  IX,  45  and  47). 

The  chief  difficulty  in  understanding  the  dative  construc- 
tion in  this  passage  lies,  I  think,  in  the  fact  that  the  impersonal 
infinitive  phrase,  anahaimjaim  wisan,  is  separated  from  the 
principal  verb  by  another  infinitive  phrase,  usleipan  us  pamma 
leika,  which  no  doubt  is  personal  in  character  (i.  e.,  waljam  mats 
usleipan  us  pamma  leika,  'we  choose  rather  to  go  out  of  the 
body'),  since  the  impersonal  construction  with  an  adjectival 
idea  is  chiefly  confined  to  the  substantive  verb  wisan  and  its 
inchoative  equivalent  wairpan.  Were  an  adjective  used  with 
usleipan,  we  should  expect  the  nominative  case2  (i.  e.,  a  predicate 
nominative  *anahaimjai) . 

That  the  dative  case  of  the  person  with  the  impersonal  verb 
'to  be'  +  a  neuter  adjective  is  a  native  Germanic  construction 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  The  vitality  of  the  construction  is 
proved  by  its  frequent  occurrence  in  all  the  Old  Germanic 
languages  and  especially  in  Old  Norse.3  In  the  Elder  Edda 
and  the  language  of  poetry,  where  the  earlier  native  syntactical 
status  of  the  language  is  more  fully  preserved,  this  idiom  is 
extremely  common.  In  the  Solarljdd  (30),  for  instance,  we 
read:  gdtt  er  uuammalausum  vera,  'it  is  well  [for  a  man]  to  be 
without  fault,'  for  which  we  have  as  a  parallel  in  Gothic,  for 
instance,  gop  ist  unsis  her  wisan  over  against  the  Greek  accu- 

1  Cf.  Streitberg,  Gotisches  Elementarbuch,  §253,  2;  Wilmanns,  Deutsche 
Grammatik,  III,  1,  §64,  1;  III,  2,  §303,  1,  2,  3. 

*  Cf.  the  personal  construction  of  the  infinitive  (gdeikan)  after  usdaudjam; 
usdaudjam,  jafifre  ANAHAIMJAI  jafipe  AFHAIMJAI,  waila  galeikan  imma,  II.  Cor. 
V,9  'we  make  it  our  aim,  whether  at  home  or  absent,  to  be  well-pleasing  unto 
him.' 

3  Cf.  Nygaard,  Norroen  Syntax,  §100.  Nygaard's  examples  are,  however, 
taken  almost  entirely  from  the  sagas  and  later  Old  Norse  literature. 


444 


sative  of  the  pronoun,  Ka\6v  tariv  ^juas  <S3e  dvat,  'it  is  good  for 
us  to  be  here/  Mark  IX,5  (so  also  Luke  IX,  33). 

But  a  closer  parallel  to  our  Gothic  sentence  under  discussion 
(waljam  mais  usleipan  —  jah  anahaimjaim  wisan)  may  be 
seen  in  the  following  passage  from  the  Hdvamal*  (70)  : 

Betra  er  lifdum  en  se  dlifdum 

'it  is  better  [for  a  man]  [to  be]  alive  than  dead.'  Parallel  to 
betra  is  the  Gothic  •waljam  mais  ('we  think  it  better,'  'we  choose 
rather')  ;  parallel  to  the  impersonal  verb  er  is  the  Gothic  infini- 
tive wisan;  and  parallel  to  the  adjective  lifdum  is  the  Gothic 
anahaimjaim,  both  adjectives  in  the  dative  case  referring  to  the 
person  affected.  The  pronoun  in  both  the  Gothic  and  the  Old 
Norse  is  omitted,  because  it  can  easily  be  construed  from  the 
context.  Now,  when  we  examine  the  second  clause  of  the  Old 
Norse  sentence  (viz.,  en  se  dlifdum),  the  parallel  with  the  Gothic 
becomes  even  closer,  for  the  adjectival  idea  expressed  by  betra 
in  the  first  clause  is  carried  over  into  the  second  clause,  just  as 
the  adjective  idea  implied  in  mats-}-  waljam  ('we  deem  it 
better')  is  carried  over  from  the  first  clause  into  the  second 
clause,  jah  anahaimjaim  wisan.  In  the  Old  Norse  the  imper- 
sonal construction  obtains  in  both  clauses,  in  the  Gothic  only 
in  the  second  clause,  because  only  in  the  second  clause  is  the 
substantive  verb  'to  be'  (wisan)  used. 

The  impersonal  construction  of  the  substantive  verb  'to  be* 
-fa  neuter  adjective  with  the  dative  of  the  person  affected  is 
so  common  in  all  the  Old  Germanic  dialects  as  to  need  no 
comment5  (cf.  the  Gothic  gadof,  azetizo,  rapizo,  aglu,  gop  ist, 
etc.).  But  in  our  sentence  under  discussion  the  neutral  adjec- 
tival idea  in  connection  with  the  impersonal  verb  'to  be'  is  not 
so  clearly  in  evidence,  inasmuch  as  this  idea  is  not  expressed 
thru  an  adjectival  form  in  direct  connection  with  the  infinitive 
(i.  e.,  *gob  anahaimjaim  wisan)  but  is  implied  in  the  verb 

4  The  quotations  from  the  Elder  Edda  are  here  taken  from  Hildebrand's 
edition,  Paderborn,  1876.    I  have  chosen  this  edition  (old  as  it  is)  because  of  the 
excellent  normalization  of  the  text. 

5  A  most  illuminating  discussion  of  this  construction  in  Anglo-Saxon  may 
be  found  in  Morgan  Callaway's  monograph  "The  Infinitive  in  Anglo-Saxon," 
1913,  chap.  IX,  "The  Predicative  Infinitive  with  Dative  Subject,"  pp.  127-131. 
Cf.  also  chap.  XVI,  "The  Infinitive  in  the  Other  Germanic  Languages"  (ibid.) 
pp.  231  ff. 


Gothic  Notes  445 

waljam  ('we  choose'  =  'we  deem  it  good') ;  cf .  ivaljam  mats — 
[unsis]  anahaimjaim  wisan  with  gop  ist  imma  mais,  Mark  IX,42. 
Since  anahaimjaim  is  in  the  dative  case,  we  must  necessarily 
conclude  that  the  infinitive  wisan  is  impersonal  in  character  and 
equivalent  in  its  finite  form  to  the  impersonal  ist,  regularly 
used  with  neuter  adjectives  or  with  substantives.6 

This  discussion  of  the  dative  construction  with  the  imper- 
sonal verb  'to  be'  in  Gothic  leads  me  to  my  final  objective, 
viz.,  the  use  of  a  dative  adjective  in  a  much  disputed  passage  of 
the  Old  Norse  Lokasenna  (53): 

heldr  pu    hana  eina 

Idtir    med  dsa     sonum 

vammalausum  VERA. 

Most  all  commentators  are  agreed  that  hana  eina  (3rd. 
pers.  fern,  sing.)  is  used  here  in  place  of  the  first  person  sing, 
referring  to  the  speaker,  viz.,  Sif.  The  sense  of  the  passage  is, 
then:  "Let  her  (  =  me)  alone  of  all  the  children  of  the  Aser  be 
without  fault."  But  the  adjective  vammalausum  (vamlauso, 
Codex  Regius)  'without  fault'  is  in  the  dative  case.  Since  both 
the  gender  and  the  case  of  vammalausum  (if  we  consider  it  as  a 
dative  singular)  is  not  in  agreement  with  the  construction 
required  after  Idtir  (cf.  hana  eina,  ace.  fern,  sing.),  most  com- 
mentators have  with  Palsson  adopted  the  reading  vammaiAUSA. 
(ace.  fem.  sing.). 

Better  and  Heinzel7  (II,  p.  263)  explain  the  dative  vam- 
malausum as  due  to  confusion  with  the  preceding  dative  sonom; 

•  Cf.,  for  instance,  bruks,  wan,  ist.  Parallel  to  the  Gothic  natih  aims  JUTS 
(dat.)  wan  ist,  Luke  XVIII,22,  Mark  X,  21,  we  find  in  Old  Norse,  for  instance: 

Lokasenna  30. 
era  J?£R  vamma  vant 

Voluspd  11. 
var  JJEIM  vettergis 
vant  or  gidli 

Skirnismdl  22. 
era  M£R  gulls  vant 

In  the  Old  Norse,  vant  is  a  neuter  adjective. 

7  "Man  verbessert  leicht  uammalausa  und  erklart  den  falschen  Dativ  aus 
dem  vorhergehenden  gopom."  Why  Better  and  Heinzel  say  "aus  dem  hervor- 

gehenden  gopom"  instead  of  "aus  dem  hervorgehenden  sonom"  is  not  clear  to 

0 

me,  since  all  the  readings  of  the  passage  have  sonom  (not  gopom)  in  the  line  di- 
rectly preceding  vammalausum. 


446  Sturtevant 

which  is  undoubtedly  the  correct  explanation  so  far  as  it  goes. 
But  the  same  commentators  seem  to  think8  that  the  dative 
vammalausum  (-\-vera)  is  here  after  the  verb  Idtir  analogous  in 
construction  with  the  dative  vammalausum -{-the  verb  'to  be' 
(vera}  in  its  finite  form;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  phrase  gdtt  er  vam- 
malausum vera,  Sdlarljod  30. 

Since  the  verb  Idta  requires  an  accusative  object9  (with  or 
without  the  infinite  vera},  the  infinitive  vera  (with  Idta}  must 
be  personal  in  character  and  therefore  there  can  be  no  parallel 

between  the  personal  construction  hana  eina  Idtir  pu 

VAMMALAUSUM  vera  and  the  impersonal  construction  gdtt 
er  VAMMALAUSUM  vera.  The  infinitive  phrase  in  the  former 
sentence  would  in  its  finite  form  be:  hon  ein  (nom.)  er  VAM- 
MALAUS  (nom.)  with  predicate  nominative  adjective. 

This  fact  is  clearly  recognized  by  Bugge  in  his  edition 
of  the  Elder  Edda  (p.  121,  footnote),  where  he  says:  "Dativen 
vammalausom  kan  jeg  ikke  ret  forklare  mig;  ti  Sdlarlj.  V,  30, 

L.  6:  gdtt  er  vammalausum  vera  og  lignende  Steder ere  ikke 

analoge.  Kan  Dativen  vaere  opstaat  ved  Attraction  til  sonom? 
Man  skulde  vente  vammalausa,  hvilket  Gunn.  Palsson  har 
villet  indssette." 

There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  first  point  of  confusion 
in  the  scribe's  mind  was  the  dative  form  sonum  which  imme- 
diately preceded  the  adjective  in  question.  But  possibly  the 
scribe  also  confused  the  personal  with  the  impersonal  con- 
struction used  with  the  substantive  verb  vera,  especially  since  a 
dative  (sonum)  intervenes  between  the  finite  verb  (Idtir}  and  the 
adjective  in  question.  In  other  words  we  may  have  here  a 
case  of  contaminated  syntax,  such  as  often  occurs  when  one 
construction  suggests  another. 

Altho  the  scribe  may  have  been  led  into  using  the  dative 
case  of  the  adjective  because  of  the  dative  form  sonum  imme- 
diately preceding,  his  confusion  may  have  been  further  in- 
creased by  the  fact  that  the  personal  construction  with  the 
substantive  verb  vera-\-a.  neuter  adjective  is  sometimes  inter- 

8  Better  and  Heinzel  (ibid.) :  "Aber  es  bleibt  seltsam,  dass  Solarlj.    30 
dasselbe  Wort  auch  in  grammatisch  auffalliger  Weise  gebraucht  wird,  gott  er 
vammalausum  vera." 

9  Cf.  Nygaard,  Norroen  Syntax,  §89,  d.    Among  other  examples  Nygaard 
quotes  here:    Visburr  let  hana  eina  (sc.  vera  Hkr.  14,  11). 


Gothic  Notes  447 

changeable  with  the  impersonal  construction;  thus,  for  instance, 
we  may  say  either  Hit  er  ilium  at  vera10  or  Hit  er  illr  at  vera,10  'it  is 
bad  [for  one]  to  be  bad.'  But  the  personal  construction  (equi- 
valent in  sense  to  the  impersonal)  with  the  substantive  verb 
vera  seems  to  be  extremely  rare  in  the  earlier  language  of  the 
Elder  Edda.  Here  I  have  found  only  two  such  cases  of  the 
personal  construction  (over  against  a  very  large  number  of  the 
impersonal),11  viz., 

Hdvamdl  71. 

blindr12  er  betri 

en  brendr  se 
and  Sigurdarkv.inskamma6l. 

Semri13  vceri  Gudrun, 

systir  ykkur, 

frumver  sinum 

[at  fylgja  daudum] 

Evidently  both  constructions  (personal  and  impersonal)  were 
possible  even  in  the  language  of  the  Elder  Edda,  and  this  fact 

10  Quoted  from  Lund's  Oldnordisk  Ordfjjningslcere,  (Copenhagen,  1862), 
p.  378.    Cf.  also  Holthausen's  Altisl.  Ekmentarbuch,  §484:  "letlr  er  lauss  atfara, 
leicht  ist  es,  frei  zu  fahren."    This  construction,  however,  seems  to  be  confined 
in  prose  literature  to  cases  where  the  infinitive  does  not  have  reference  to  a 
particular  grammatical  subject.    Where  the  person  referred  to  is  mentioned,  the 
pronoun  stands  regularly  in  the  dative  case  with  the  predicate  adjective  in 
agreement;  thus,  betra  er  JȣR  at  vera  cdotiM. 

11  Cf.  Hvm.123,  Lokas.30,  Vqlusp.\\,  Hamdism.15,  Skirnism.22,  Fdfnism.31, 
H.  HjoroM,  #.#.1,46.  #.#.11,25. 

12  Cf.  Hdvamdl  70. 

betra  er  lifdum 
en  se  dlifdum. 

It  will  be  noted  that  in  the  personal  construction  both  adjectives  belri  and 
blindr  are  nom.  masc.  I  find  in  the  Elder  Edda  no  such  construction  as  betra 
(neut.)  er  blindr  which  would  be  exactly  parallel  to  the  prose  construction  Hit 
er  illr  (at  vera). 

11  Cf.  #.#.1,46. 

Vari  ykkr,  Sinfjqtli, 

scemra  miklu 

gunni  at  heyja. 

In  the  personal  construction  (semri  vari  Gudrun)  the  adjective  semri  is  nom. 
fern.,  but  we  have  no  predicate  adjective  used  after  semri  (instead  we  have  an 
infinitive  phrase  at  fylgja  daudum).  If  a  predicate  adjective  had  been  used,  it 
would  have  been  in  the  nom.  case  (fern,  sg.)  in  agreement  with  Gudrun,  just  as 
blindr  (nom.  masc.  sg.)  is  in  agreement  with  the  subject  of  er  (blindr  er  betri). 


448  Sturtevant 

may  have  contributed  to  a  confusion  between  the  personal  and 
the  impersonal  construction,  even  where  with  the  personal 
construction  an  accusative  (instead  of  a  nominative)  is  required, 
as  after  the  verb  Idta. 

Furthermore,  there  are  a  few  verbs  of  Commanding  which 
may  require  either  the  dative  or  the  accusative  of  the  person 
+  the  infinitive;  thus,  we  may  say  either  hann  baud  JJEIM  at 
far  a  FYRSTUM14  or  hann  baud  J>A  at  far  a  fyrsta.14  It  is,  therefore, 
not  inconceivable  that  the  choice  of  the  dative  or  the  accusative 
of  the  person  +  the  infinitive  after  such  verbs  of  Commanding 
may  have  further  confused15  the  scribe  so  that  he  used  the  dative 
of  the  adjective  (vammalausum)  +  the  infinitive  (vera),  where 
the  accusative  (i.  e.,  vammalausa)  is  required  after  the  verb  of 
Causing  or  Permitting  (Idta).  The  plural  form  of  the  dative 
vammalausum  must,  however,  have  been  due  to  a  confusion 
with  the  plural  dative  sonum  of  the  previous  line. 

Returning  to  our  passage  in  Gothic,  II.  Cor.  V,  8,  waljam 

mais anahaimjaim  wisan,  the  question  arises  as  to  whether 

the  personal  construction  here  after  waljam  mais  would  have 

been  permissible,  i.  e.,  waljam  mais *ANAHAIMJAI  wisan. 

Certain  it  is  that  so  long  as  the  impersonal  construction  is  used, 
the  adjective  in  question  cannot  stand  in  the  nominative  case, 
for  there  occurs  in  Gothic  no  construction  parallel  to  the  Old 
Norse  Hit  er  illr  at  vera.  Considering  further  the  fact  that  in  the 
older  language  of  the  Poetic  Edda  this  personal  construction 
(equivalent  in  sense  to  the  impersonal)  with  the  substantive 
verb  +  an  adjective  is  extremely  rare,  it  seems  hardly  likely 
that  the  personal  construction  could  occur  in  Gothic  (which 
is  of  still  earlier  origin  than  Old  Norse),  even  after  a  finite 
verb  like  waljam.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  we  have 
here  after  waljam  mais  the  impersonal  construction  with  the 
substantive  verb  lends  evidence  to  the  assumption  that  the 
personal  construction  (equivalent  in  sense  to  the  impersonal) 
with  the  substantive  verb  +  an  adjective  in  Old  Norse16  was 

14  Quoted  from  Lunds  Oldnordisk  Ordftfjningslare,  p.  378. 

15  Cf.  the  same  confusion  between  the  dative  and  accusative+the  infinitive 
in  Anglo-Saxon  after  the  verb  la-tan,  Morgan  Callaway,  Jr.,  "The  Infinitive  in 
Anglo-Saxon,"  1913,  chap.  IX,  "The  Predicative  Infinitive  with  Dative  Sub- 
ject," p.  129-130. 

16  Cf.  blindr  er  betrl  =  blindum  er  betra,  'it  is  better  (for  a  man  to  be)  blind.' 


Gothic  Notes  449 

not  a  Common  Germanic  (gemeingermanisch)  construction  but 
rather  a  later  specific  North  Germanic  construction.  This 
assumption  is  further  borne  out  by  the  fact,  as  stated  above, 
that  this  type  of  personal  construction  is  found  chiefly  in  the 
sagas  and  later  literature  and  not  in  the  more  archaic  language 
of  the  Elder  Edda.  The  dative  adjective  anahaimjaim  in  our 
passage  clearly  represents  the  normal  construction  of  the 
predicate  adjective  in  Germanic  after  the  impersonal  substan- 
tive verb  (wisari)  +  a  neuter  adjective  (expressed  or  implied). 

II 
On  the  Plural  Inflection  of  Consonantal  Stems 

a)  Consonantal  Stems  Ending  in  -R 

In  the  plural  inflection  of  Gothic  consonantal  stems  ending 
in  -r,  denoting  family  relations,  all  the  forms  are  phonetically 
correct1  except  the  nominative  plural: 
Nom.     bropr-jus 
Gen.       brdpr-t 
Dat.       brdpr-um 
Ace.        bropr-uns 

Since  the  endings  of  the  dative  and  of  the  accusative  (  =  P.G.-*n, 
-ns)  are  identical  with  those  of  the  M-inflection  (brdbr-um: 
brdpr-uns  like  son-um:son-uns),  the  nominative  plural  ending 
(P.G.-tz,  *brdbr-iz>*brobr-is>*brdprs,  cf.  O.  N.  brjpr,  fepr, 
etc.)  was  by  force  of  analogy  made  to  conform  with  that  of  the 
^-inflection  (brdbr-jus  like  sun-jus). 

The  question  now  arises  as  to  why  the  form  brdbr-t  gen. 
plur.  was  not  driven  out  by  the  form  *brdbr-iw-£  in  conformity 
with  the  endings  of  the  w-inflection,  just  as  earlier  *brdpr-s 
nom.  plur.  was  replaced  by  brdpr-jus. 

A  possible  answer  to  this  question  may  lie  in  the  fact  that  in 
Gothic  the  genitive  plural  ending  -2  was  added  directly  (i.  e., 
without  an  intervening  vowel)  to  the  root  of  all  the  vocalic 
declensions  (except  the  w-declension),  just  as  in  the  case  of  the 
consonantal  declension.  Neither  the  stem  vowel  -a-  in  *dag- 
-a-:  *har-ja-  etc.,  nor  the  stem  vowel  -i-  in  *balg-i-  appeared 

1  Cf.  Streitberg's  Urgerm.  Grammatik,  §179,  2,  3,  4,  pp.  251-252.  There 
is  no  necessity  for  believing  that  the  accusative  plural  form  brdpr-uns  is  an  ana- 
logical form,  like  the  nominative  brdpr-jus,  after  the  model  of  the  M-stems,  as 
H.  Osthoff  maintains,  "Zur  Frage  des  Ursprungs  der  germanischen  N-Decli- 
nation,"  P.  B.  Beitr.,  Ill,  p.  62. 


450  Sturtevant 

in  the  genitive  plural  dag-%:  har-jt:  balg-t.  The  genitive  plural 
formation  of  the  consonantal  stems,  therefore,  conformed  with 
that  of  the  a-  and  the  f-stems  (bropr-e  =  dag-e:balg-e).  In  the 
nominative  plural,  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  no  such  con- 
formity, since  here  the  stem  vowel  appeared  in  the  vocalic 
declensions  (cf.  *brobr-s  with  dag-o-s:balg-ei-s:sun-ju-s}.  It  is 
possible  that  the  genitive  plural  form  brobr-8,  unlike  the 
nominative  plural  *brdf>r-s,  escaped  the  analogy  of  the  u- 
declension  because  of  the  fact  that  all  noun  declensions  in 
Gothic,  except  the  u-  declension,  added  e  directly  to  the  stem 
(without  an  intervening  vowel)  in  the  genitive  plural.  We 
have,  therefore,  the  example  of  the  a-  and  the  i-  stems  as  a 
factor  in  favor  of  retaining  the  regular  phonetic  form  brobr-$, 
whereas  the  nom.  plur.  formation  *brdbr-s  was  peculiar  to 
the  consonantal  stems  alone. 

b)  The  Consonantal  Stem  *AITHS-AN- 

We  are  now  fairly  certain  that  all  the  extant  forms  of  the 
Gothic  word  *atihsa  (  =  O.  N.  uxi:oxi,  O.H.G.  ohso,  Angs. 
oxa)  belong  to  the  w-inflection  with  the  exception  of  the  genitive 
plural  auhsne.  This  assertion  is  based  upon  Streitberg's  inves- 
tigations of  the  Gothic  text,  as  contained  in  his  edition  "Die 
Gotische  Bibel"  (Heidelberg,  1908),  which  must  certainly  be 
viewed  as  the  final  authority  regarding  the  reading  of  the 
Gothic  text  and  its  relation  to  the  original  Greek.2  Streitberg's 
final  conclusions  as  to  the  correct  reading  of  the  Gothic  text 
give  us,  so  far  as  we  possess  the  evidence,  the  following  inflection 
of  the  Gothic  word  *auhsa: 

Sing.  Plur. 

Nom. 

Gen.  auhsnd 

Dat.  atihsau*  auhsunP 

Ace.  atihsau* 

We  see  then  that  only  the  genitive  plural  remained  exempt 
from  the  w-analogy. 

2  Cf.  Wilhelm  Braune's  review  in  Liter aturblatt,  Oct.  1908,  p.  325-329. 

3  Formerly  accepted  reading,  auhsan   (Cast.),   adhsin  (Uppstr.),  I.  Tim. 
V,18;  Streiberg,  p.  425. 

4  Formerly  accepted  reading,  atihsan  (Uppstr.),  I.  Cor.  EX,9;  Streitberg, 
p.  261. 

5  Formerly  accepted  reading,  atihsunns  (Uppstr.),  I.Cor.  IX,9;  Streitberg, 
auhswn  us-,  p.  261. 


Gothic  Notes  451 

In  his  review  of  Streitberg's  text  (in  Liter aturbl.,  Oct.  1908, 
p.  327)  Braune  says  in  regard  to  the  retention  of  the  phonet- 
ically correct  form  auhsne:  "Bemerkenswert,  dass  auch  bei  den 
Verwandtschaftsnamen  gerade  der  g.  pi.  sich  der  w-Analogie 
entzog." 

Since  the  Gothic  consonantal  (-an-)  stem  *auhs-an-  retained 
its  regular  phonetic  form  in  the  genitive  plural  (atihsn-$)  in 
spite  of  the  w-analogy,  we  may  conclude  that  this  fact  was  due  to 
the  same  reason  as  in  the  case  of  the  consonantal  stems  ending 
in  -r  (brdpr-e),  i.  e.,  possibly  because  the  genitive  plural  ending 
of  the  consonantal  stems  conformed  with  that  of  the  a-  and  the 
t-stems  (auhsn-e:brdbr-t  =  dag-e:balg-e}. 

One  certain  point  of  contact  with  the  w-stems  was  the 
dative  plural  *auhs-n-um  (  =  Angs.  ox-n-um,6  O.  N.  yx-n-um: 
jx-n-um  with  i-umlaut  from  the  nom.  plur.  yxn:tj>xn)  which 
like  the  genitive  plural  auhs-n-e  probably  appeared  with  the 
Schwundstufe  of  the  suffix  vowel  i.  e.,  -n,  (cf.  ab-n-e:ab-n-am, 
nam-n-e;nam-n-am,  etc.).  Probably  too  like  the  genitive  and 
dative  plural  stem  the  stem  of  the  accusative  plural  likewise 
appeared  with  the  Schwundstufe7  of  the  suffix  vowel,  i.  e., 
*auhs-n-t  which  with  the  regular  ending  -ns  would  give  us 
*auhsn-uns*  (like  brdpr-uns).  Indeed,  we  may  conclude  that 
the  Schwundstufe  of  the  suffix  vowel  obtained  thruout  the  plural 
in  Gothic,  just  as  in  the  consonantal  stem  *man-n-.  This 
contention  is  borne  out  by  the  fact  that  in  North  and  West 
Germanic  the  plural  forms  likewise  appear  with  the  Schwund- 
stufe of  the  suffix  vowel,  cf.  O.  N.  yxn,  nom.  and  ace.,  yxna 
(uxna)  gen.,  yxnum  dat.  and  Angs.  <zxvn:exvn  (along  side  of 
ox  An,  later  form)  nom.  and  ace.,  oxna  gen.,  oxnum  dat.,  for  it 
is  not  likely,  as  Kauffmann  points  out  (P.  B.  Beitr.,  XII,  p.  543, 
Anm.)  that  from  the  genitive  plural  alone  (i.  e.,  Goth.  auhsn$, 

«  Cf.  O.  Fris.  dch-n-um,  dch-n-on  (Riistr.  29,  27)  dat.  plur.  (Angs.  fag-urn), 
and  the  Angs.  dat.  plurs.  wordig-n-um,  beo-n-um,  fld-n-um,  etc. 

7  Cf.  Streiberg's  Urgerm.  Grammatik  §180,  2,  p.  256;  R.  Kogel,  P.  B. 
Beitr.,  VIII,  p.  115  f.  and  F.  Kauffmann,  ibid.,  XII,  p.  543  f. 

8  Cf .  Sanskrit  uk$n-ds,  Greek  app-os.    For  the  relation  of  the  Schwundstufe 
to  the  Vollstufe  of  the  suffix  vowel  in  the  Germanic  weak  declension  see  H. 
Osthoff,  "Zur  Frage  des  Ursprungs  der  germanischen  2V-Dedination."  P.  B. 
Beitr.,  Ill,  p.  1-89  and  "Zur  Geschichte  des  schwachen  deutschen  Adjecti- 
vums,"  Forschungen  im  Gebiete  der  indo germanischen  nominalen  Stammbildungs- 
lehre  II,  1876. 


452  Sturtevant 

O.  N.  uxna  (for  *oxna),  Angs.  oxnag)  the  syncopated  form  of  the 
root  (P.  G.  *ohs-n-)  could  only  later  in  the  various  dialects  have 
spread  to  all  the  other  cases  of  the  plural. 

The  loss  of  the  -n-  suffix  in  the  w-forms  of  the  Gothic  word 
may  have  been  due  to  the  example  of  the  nominative  singular 
*auhsa,  in  which  the  -n-  did  not  appear.10  The  dative  and 
accusative  plural  forms  *atihs-n-um:*atihs-n-uns  then  became 
atihs-um  (I.  Cor.  IX,  9):  *atihs-uns,  and  the  word  went  over 
without  the  -n-  suffix  into  the  w-inflection  (cf.  the  consonantal 
root-stem  *fot-}t  except  in  the  genitive  plural11  (atihsn-£). 

Ill 

On  the  Weak  Inflection  of  the  Predicate  Adjective 

The  predicate  adjective  in  Gothic  is  regularly  inflected  in 
the  strong  form,  but  there  are  several  cases  in  which  the  weak 
inflection  is  used.  The  following  cases  are  noted  by  Streitberg 
(Got.  Elementarbuch,  §273,  Anm.  2):  sa  GAWILJA  ist,  avrbs 
0weu5oK6t  Cor.  VII,  13;  swa  UNFRObANS  sijup,  otfrws  avorjroL 

lore  Gal.  Ill,  3;  haita pd  unliubdn  LiusdN,  /caXco-co rffv 

OVK  rjyaTrrjij.kvr]v  ruairrinkv^v  Rom.  IX,  25;  insandid£dun   LAUS- 

HANDJAN,   0,T€ffT€i\aV  KfVOV  Mk.  XII,  3. 

In  all  these  cases  the  predicate  adjective  refers  to  a  person 
(or  persons)  and  since  no  arbitrary  line  can  be  drawn  between 
the  adjective  in  its  purely  adjectival  function  and  its  use  as  a 
substantive,  it  is  most  probable  that  we  here  have  to  do  with 

'  That  Angs.  oxna  (gen.  plur.)  is  an  older  form  than  oxena  is  proved  by  the 
fact  that  oxena  is  not  found  except  in  the  manuscripts  of  a  later  date,  cf.  F. 
Kauffmann,  P.  B.  Beitr.,  XII,  p.  528,  Anm.  The  North  and  West  Germanic 
*ox-na  (O.N.  ux-na,  Angs.ox-na)  may  therefore  be  directly  derived  from  Gothic 
atihs-n$.  Similarly,  North  and  West  Germanic  *ux-n-um  dat.  plur.  (O.N.yoc- 
n-um,  Angs.  ox-n-um)  may  go  back  to  Gothic  *atihs-n-um. 

10  Cf .  the  plural  forms  of  weak  masculine  stems  in  Old  Norse,  where  the 
-n-  suffix  is  dropped  by  analogy  with  the  singular  forms  (e.g.,  ux-ar :  ox-ar  in 
conformity  with  ux-i:  ox-i,  etc.).   The  later  a-forms  in  Old  Norse  are  without  the 
-n-  suffix,  just  as  the  later  «-forms  in  Gothic. 

11  It  should  be  noted  that  also  in  North  Germanic  the  -n-  of  the  stem  in 
nouns  of  the  consonantal  declension  is  more  often  preserved  in  the  genitive 
plural  than  in  any  other  case,  cf.  fern,  dw-stems  gen.  plur.  O.N.  kuin-NA:  kuen-tiA., 
gat-NA  etc.,  and  neuter  on-stems  hjart-NA,  etc. 


Gothic  Notes  453 

Jellinek's  'semantische  Substantivierung.'1  This  is  all  the  more 
probable  in  view  of  Osthoff's2  theory  (in  which  Brugmann3 
essentially  concurs)  that  the  weak  adjective  in  Germanic 
represents  the  continuation  of  the  Indo-Germanic  w-substantive 
which  served  to  designate  living  beings. 

Many  more  cases  could  be  added  to  the  list  (given  by  Streit- 
berg)  of  predicate  adjectives  used  in  the  weak  inflection,  but 
since  many  of  these  adjectives  are  restricted  to  the  use  of  the 
weak  inflection4  they  have  been  formally  classified  as  substan- 
tives and  thereby  excluded  from  the  syntactical  category  of 
adjectives.  Nevertheless,  wherever  such  a  substantivized 
adjective  is  used  in  a  predicative  function  it  is  a  question 
whether  there  is  any  essential  difference  between  the  usage  of 
such  an  adjective  and  the  usage  of  any  other  predicate  adjective 
in  the  weak  form,  such  as  noted  by  Streitberg  (ibid.,  §273, 
Anm.  2).  Take,  for  instance,  unkarja,  which  because  it  is  found 
only  in  the  weak  inflection,  is  classified  as  a  substantive.  In 
the  phrase  ni  sijais  UNKARJA  pizds  in  pus  anstais,  I.  Tim.  4,  14, 
unkarja  does  not  differ,  for  instance,  from  the  predicate  adjec- 
tive unfrdbans  in  the  phrase  swa  UNFR6bANS  sijup,  Gal.  Ill,  3, 
with  respect  to  the  syntactical  usage  of  the  weak  inflection. 
Evidently,  unkarja  was  restricted  to  its  substantival  usage, 
while  unfrdbs  was  not.  Why  the  adjective  unfrops  in  this 
particular  passage  was  substantivized,  seems  to  me  a  purely 
arbitrary  question. 

Similarly,  Ulfila  uses  unwita  (formally  classified  as  a  sub- 
stantive) as  well  as  the  adjective  unfrops  to  translate  exactly  the 
same  idea  as  represented  by  the  Greek  a^jpcoj^  'ignorant/ 
'unintelligent.'  If  unfrdps  is  in  its  predicative  function  substan- 

1  Cf.  M.  H.  Jellinek,  Anz.  fda.,  XXXII,  7-8;  "Zum  schwachen  Adjectiv," 
P.  B.  Beitr.,  XXXIV,  581-584. 

*  Cf.  H.  Osthoff,  "Zur  Geschichte  des  schwachen  deutschen  Adjektivums," 
Forschungen  im  Gebiete  der  ind-ogermanischen  nominalen  Stammbildungslehre  II, 
1876. 

1  Cf.  K.  Brugmann,  Vgl.  Grammatik,  II,  I2,  292  ff. 

4  The  following  list  of  such  substantivized  weak  adjectives  is  given  by 
Streitberg  (Got.  Elementarbuch,  §187,  6):  fullawita,  unwita,  ushaista,  andaneipa, 
alabarba,  uswena,  un-usfairina,  usfilma,  qibuhaftd,  inkilbd,  attawaurstwa,  usgrud- 
ja,  unkarja,  laushandja,  ingardja-jd,  swultawairbja. 

1  Cf.  ofa  tcroftai.  &<i>puv,  ni  sijau  UNWITA,  Il.Cor.  XII,  6  and  fij  ris  fie 
56£7j  8.<f>pova  elvai,  ibai  kwas  mik  muni  UNFRODANA,  Il.Cor.  XI,  16. 


454  Sturtevant 

tivized  by  the  use  of  the  weak  inflection,  I  can  see  no  essential 
difference  between  this  adjective  and  unwita;  cf.  swa  UNFR6J?ANS 
sijup,  Gal.  Ill,  3  and  ni  wiljau  izwis  UNWITANS,  I.  Cor.  X,  1. 
The  difference  here  lies  rather  in  the  formal  restriction  of 
unwita  to  its  substantival  usage,  whereas  unfrops  had  not  suf- 
fered any  such  restriction.  We  may  assume  that  the  difference 
in  sense  between  the  substantival  and  adjectival  usage  in 
Gothic  was  essentially  the  same  as  is  the  difference  in  New 
High  German  between,  for  instance,  unverstandig  and  ein 
Unverstandiger,  both  of  which  may  be  used  as  predicate  modifiers 
of  the  verb. 

When  an  adjective  has  become  restricted  to  the  substantival 
usage  (cf.  Gothic  unkarja,  unwita,  etc.)  new  semantic  elements 
are  added  with  a  resultant  weakening  of  the  original  adjectival 
notion.6  Thus,  N.H.G.  ein  Junge  has  come  to  mean  'a  youth,' 
'a  lad,'  a  conception  in  which  other  semantic  notions  are 
prevalent  besides  that  of  the  original  adjective  (cf.  ein  Junger). 
This  type  of  substantivized  adjective  is  designated  by  Jellinek 
as  "semantische  Substantivierung,"  whereas  the  type  wherein 
the  adjective  still  retains  its  regular  adjectival  inflection  (cf. 
ein  Junger)  is  designated  as  "syntaktische  Substantivierung" 
(ibid.,  p.  582). 

Wherever  an  adjective  has  become  restricted  to  a  substantival 
usage  (as  Gothic  unkarja,  unwita,  etc.)  we  are  permitted  to 
classify  such  an  adjective  formally  as  a  substantive,  but  I  see 
no  reason  why  any  adjective  in  Gothic  should  not  become 
substantivized  in  the  same  way  as  unkarja  and  unwita,  even 
tho,  like  fr dps,  it  might  also  be  used  with  the  regular  adjectival 
endings.  The  attempt  to  make  in  such  cases  a  formal  distinc- 
tion between  the  weak  substantive  and  the  weak  adjective 
has  resulted  in  the  classification,  for  instance,  of  the  predicate 
adjective  unfropans  (Gal.  Ill,  3)  as  irregular  but  the  substan- 
tive unwitans  (I.  Cor.  X,  1)  as  regular,  altho  both  are  used 
in  the  same  construction,  i.  e.,  as  predicate  modifiers  of  the 
verb.  I  can  see  no  difference,  for  instance,  between  the  nature 
of  the  weak  predicate  adjective  unfr6pans  (Gal.  Ill,  3)  and 
that  of  the  weak  adjective  blindans  (twai  blindans,  Mat.  IX, 

•  Cf.  M.  H.  Jellinek,  "Zum  schwachen  Adjectiv,"  P.  B.  Beitr.,  XXXIV, 
582  f. 


Gothic  Notes  455 

27)  or  of  the  weak  adjective  daupans  (daupans  ni  urreisand, 
I.  Cor.  XV,  16);  yet  here  Delbriick7  attempts  to  distinguish 
between  'a  substantivized  adjective'  and  'a  genuine  substantive 
existing  along  side  of  an  adjective  with  like  form.'  In  all  these 
cases  the  weak  form  of  the  adjective  simply  indicates  its 
substantival  usage. 

The  substantivization  of  the  predicate  adjective  may, 
to  be  sure,  have  been  favored  by  the  peculiar  conditions  under 
which  the  adjective  in  question  was  used.  Thus,  for  instance, 
the  use  of  the  weak  inflection  of  the  predicate  adjective  liubdn 
in  the  phrase  haita  pd  unliubdn  LIUBON  (Rom.  IX,  25)  may 
have  been  favored  by  the  fact  that  this  adjective  stood  in 
apposition  with  the  regular  weak  adjective  unliubdn.91  The 
parallel  TJ\V  owe  rjyairrmkvriv  rjjair^fj.kv'rjv  may  thus  have  been 
better  preserved  by  substantivizing  the  predicate  adjective, 
i.  e.,  by  keeping  both  adjectives  weak  in  the  Gothic. 

It  is  impossible  to  determine  whether  or  not  the  use  of  the 
weak  predicate  adjective  wundan  in  the  phrase  pana  stainam 

wairpandans haubip  WUNDAN  brahtedun,  Kancivov  Xit?o/3o- 

\rj<ravTes  (Mk.  XII,  4)  was  in  any  measure  due  to  the  parallel 
usage  of  the  substantivized  predicate  adjective  laushandjan  in 
the  previous  verse  (insandidtdun  LAUSHANDJAN,  airkarci^av 
ntvbv,  Mk.  XII,  3)  or,  as  Lichtenheld  suggests,9  to  the  influence 
of  the  foregoing  demonstrative  pana,  with  which  wundan  stands 
in  apposition.  But  I  see  no  reason  why  we  may  not  assume 
that  the  weak  inflection  of  the  predicate  adjective  both  in  the 
case  of  laushandjan  and  of  wundan  was  due  to  the  same  cause, 
viz.,  to  the  substantivization  of  the  adjective. 

7  Cf.  B.  Delbriick,  "Das  schwache  Adjektiv  and  der  Artikel  im  Germani- 
schen,"  /.  F.  XXVI,  p.  195:  "So  wird  also  blindans  (twai  blindans,  Matth.  9, 
27)   wohl  nicht  ein  substantiviertes  Adjektivum  sein,  sondern  ein  echtes 
neben  dem  gleichformigen  Adjektivum  bestehendes  Substantivum.     Gewohn- 
lich  heissen  die  Toten  daupai,  einigemal  daupans,  was  ein  sonderbarer  tJT>erfluss 
ware,  wenn  eine  tatsachliche  zweite  Substantivierung  des  Adjektivums  vor- 
lage,  was  aber  begreiflich  ist,  wenn  man  ein  Subst.  daupa  annimmt." 

8  A.  Lichtenheld,  however,  holds  ("Das  schwache  Adjectiv  im  Gotischen," 
Z.fda.  XVIII,  31)  that  the  weak  form  of  the  adjective  liubdn  was  most  probably 
due  to  the  influence  of  unliubdn  which  directly  precedes  it :    "Der  pradicatsaccu- 
sativ  liubdn  hat  hier  merkwiirdigerweise  schwache  form,  da  doch  sonst  alles  was 
pradicat  heisst  stark  geht.  doch  wird  das  vorhergehende  unliubSn  die  ursache 
sein." 

•  Cf.  A.  Lichtenheld,  ibid.,  p.  31. 


456  Sturtevant 

The  use  of  the  weak  adjective  in  its  predicative  function 
seems  to  me,  therefore,  satisfactorily  explained  by  Professor 
Jellinek's  theory10  of  'semantische  Substantivierung'  which  I 
here  quote  in  full:  "Substantivierung  des  adjectivs  ist  ein 
rein  syntaktischer  begriff;  es  heisst  nichts  anderes,  als  dass 
ein  wort,  das  formell  adjectiv  ist,  in  syntaktischen  verbindungen 
erscheint,  die  dem  substantiv  vorbehalten  sind.  Aus  einem 
adjectiv  wird  ein  substantiv  gebildet  mit  modificierter  bedeut- 
ung.  Die  vom  adjectiv  hervorgehobene  eigenschaft  dient  in 
dem  abgeleiteten  wort  zur  andeutung  eines  complexes  von 
eigenschaften.  parba  ist  nicht  jemand,  der  etwas  braucht, 
sondern  der  standig  in  not  ist,  iraoxos." 

ALBERT  MOREY  STURTEVANT 
Kansas  University 

"  M.  H.  JeUinek,  Anz.  fda.,  XXXII,  7. 


DIE  HEIMAT  DER  ADRESSATEN  DES  HELIAND 

(Fortsetzung) 
B.  LANDSCHAFTLICHE  EIGENHEITEN 

1.  Sand: 

Schon  zu  Beginn  dieses  zweiten  Kapitels  haben  wir  auf  die 
Ersetzung  des  biblischen  Felsengrabes  durch  ein  "Grab  im 
Sande"  als  charakteristisch  fiir  eine  Eigenheit  der  Landschaft, 
in  welcher  wir  die  Adressaten  des  Heliand  zu  lokalisieren  haben, 
hinge wiesen.  Wir  fiigen  hier  noch  andere  Stellen  an,  wo  der 
Dichter  im  Gegensatz  zur  Bibel  oder  doch  abweichend  von  ihr 
den  "Sand"  einfiihrt  (wir  zitieren  auch  hier  nach  Otto 
Behaghel  "Heliand  und  Genesis"  2.  A,  Halle  a/S,  Max  Nie- 
meyer,  1910): 

v.  1372-3:    ac  it  firiho  bam  f6tun  spurnat 
gumon  an  greote  (vom  Seesalz) ; 

v.  1723:       suluuiad  an  sande  (die  Seeperlen  durch  die  Schweine); 

v.  5532:       Thuo  sia  thar  an  griete  galgon  rihtun  (vgl.  o.  Einl.  zu  cap.  II); 

v.  5727 :       foldu  bif elhan  (den  Leichnam  des  Gekreuzigten) ; 

v.  5824:  thit  graf  an  theson  griote, — was  um  so  auffallender  ist,  als  der 
Dichter,  als  ob  er  sich  des  inneren  Widerspruches  garment  bewusst 
wiirde,  sich  gleichzeitig  eng  anlehnt  an  die  biblischeDarstellung  von 
dem  Felsengrab,  z.B.  gleich  danach  v.  5826:  "an  theson  stene 
innan";  und  vorher  ofters,  z.B.  v.  5791-2:  thena  gr6tan  sten,  v. 
5794:  an  themo  felise,  v.  5804:  thie  grdto  sten  fan  them  grabe, 
etc.— 

v.  1818-19:  the  im  be  uuatares  stade 

an  sande  uuili  selihus  uuirkean 

Da  wir  auf  dies  Gleichnisbild  Christi  von  dem  unpraktischen 
Hausbau  spater  unter  Nr.  6  noch  naher  einzugehen  haben  wegen 
des  fiir  unsere  Beweisfiihrung  hochbedeutsamen  "uuestrani 
wind"  (v.  1820),  so  moge  hier  die  eine  Bemerkung  geniigen: 
wahrend  Jesus  nur  davon  spricht,  dass  der  unweise  Mann  sein 
Haus  "auf  Sand"  baut,  f  iigt  unser  Dichter  die  nahere  Bezeichnung 
"be  uuatares  stade"  hinzu;  sei  es  unwillkiirlich,  weile  er  eben 
uberall  dieses  Meeresgestade  vor  sich  sieht,  sobald  er  von 
"Sand"  redet;  sei  es  absichtlich,  weil  seine  Leser  als  Kusten- 
bewohner  die  von  Christus  hier  illustrierte  Torheit  noch 
viel  klarer  erkennen  mussten,  wenn  von  jenem  Toren  berichtet 
wird,  dass  er  sein  Haus  dicht  an  das  Meeresufer  hinbaut,  ohne  an 

457 


458  Metzenthin 

die  doch  jedem  Kiistenbewohner  nur  zu  wohl  bekannten  Gefah- 
ren  zu  denken.  Jedenfalls  setzt  dieser  Zusatz  des  Dichters  bei 
seinem  Publikum  eine  vollige  Vertrautheit  mit  den  Schrecken 
des  "Hochwassers"  fiir  den  Strandbewohner  voraus,  die  in  der 
biblischen  Quelle  garment  ins  Auge  gefasst  sind. 

Zum  Schluss  unserer  Betrachtung  iiber  den  Sand-Charakter 
der  Heimat  der  Adressaten  mag  es  von  Wert  sein,  darauf 
hinzuweisen,  wie  iiberraschend  zahlreich  die  mit  "Sand"  gebil- 
deten  Ortsbezeichnungen  in  dem  Gebiete  sind,  auf  das  uns  der 
Heliand  selbst  als  Heimat  seiner  Leser  hinweist,  namlich  das 
westliche  Kiistengebiet  von  Holstein  und  Schleswig.  Wir  haben 
dort  namlich  noch  heute  folgende  18  Sand-Namen  von  Ort- 
lichkeiten: 
3  Inseln  in  der  Elbe  bei  Hamburg:  zweimal:  Schweinesand 

(vgl.  oben  v.  1723:  die  Perlen  und  die  Schweine  im  Sande), 

einmal  Pagensand. 
7     Inseln  in  der  Elbmundung:  Franzosen-,  Knechts-,  Meden-, 

Steil-,  Haken-,  Helm-,  Vogel-Sand. 
5     entlang    der    Kiiste:  die    nordfriesischen    Inseln:  Busch-, 

Rahel-,  Siidewig-,  Korn-,  Kiel-Sand; 

2  an  der  Westkiiste:  dieHalbinselDieksandundBlauortsand: 
1  weiter  im  Lande:  "Frosleer  Sandberg." 
Klingt  diese  Fiille  von  achtzehn  Sandnamen  nicht  wie  eine 
Einladung,  unsern  Heliand  dor  thin  zu  verse  tzen  als  in  das 
Gebiet,  fur  das  er  bestimmt  gewesen  ist?  In  Ostfriesland,  wohin 
manche  Forscher  den  Heliand  verlegen  wollen,  finden  sich 
Sand-Namen  hochst  selten.  Dort  hatte  sich  seit  Alters  "Watt" 
fiir  Sand  eingebiirgert.  Im  sildlichen  Sachsen  wiederum  finden 
wir  ahnlich  wie  in  Palastina:  Berge,  Felsen,  Steine,  Taler  und 
fetten  Boden.  Und  auch  im  ostlichen  Holstein  fehlen  die  Sand- 
namen vollig,  d.  h.  in  dem  Gebiet,  das  Karl  der  Grosse  i.  J.  804 
an  die  slavischen  Abotriten  geschenkt  hatte  als  eine  Belohnung 
fiir  ihre  Hilfe  bei  der  "Bekehrung"  derselben  Sachsen,  zu  deren 
Bekehrung  oder  Belehrung  ja  auch  unser  Heliand  bestimmt  war. 
Dieses  Os/holstein,  Wagrien  genannt,  war  schon  damals  im 
Gegensatz  zu  Westholstein  mit  Wald,  bekannt  als  "Danischer 
Wohld"  bis  auf  diesen  Tag,  bedeckt.  Auch  der  Name  Ham- 
burgs  selber  ist  ja  von  hamma,  d.h.  Wald,  abzuleiten,  wohin- 
ein  Karl  i.  J.  811  ein  Kastell  legte,  dem  sich  eine  Kirche  an- 
schloss. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  459 

Damit  sind  wir  schon  bei  der  zweiten  von  unserm  Dichter 
seinen  Quellen  hinzugefiigten  landschaftlichen  Eigenheit  ange- 
kommen,  dem  deutschen,  aber  nicht  palastinensischen  Wold. 

2.  Wald: 

Auch  der  dem  alten  Germanen  ja  heilige  Wald  wird  durch 
unsern  Dichter  eingefiihrt,  obwohl  er  in  den  Evangelien,  ent- 
sprechend  der  damaligen  Waldarmut  Palastinas,  fehlt.  Wir 
finden  ihn  an  folgenden  Stellen: 

v.  602 :          ...  uui  gengun  after  them  bocna  herod 
uuegas  endi  uualdas  huuilon, — 

so  erzahlen  die  Weisen  aus  dem  Morgenlande  von  ihrer  Reise 
nach  Jerusalem;  "uuald"  ist  ein  freier  Zusatz  des  Dichters. 
v.  1121:        Uuas  im  an  them  sinuueldi,  d.h.  Jesus  befand  sich  in  dem  grossen 
Walde,  von  dem  die  Bibel  wiederum  nichts  weiss: 

vgl.  v.  1124:  Th6  forlet  he  uualdes  hleo, nach  der  Versuchung,  die 

gemass  der  Bibel  in  der  "Wiiste," — im  Heliand,  v.  1125, 
enodi  genannt, — stattfand. 

v.  2410-11:  habda  it  (den  Samen)  thes  uualdes  hlea  forana  obar- 

fangan Des  "Waldes  Decke"  uberhangt  den  Samen,  wahrend 

Jesus  bekanntlich  nur  von  den  "Dornen,"  die  den  Samen  ersticken, 
spricht. 

Wir  sehen,  dem  Heliand-Dichter  ist  der  Wald  ein  notwendiges 
Glied  in  der  Staffage  der  Landschaft;  doch  kann  man  nicht 
sagen,  dass  er  eine  grosse  Rolle  im  Heliand  spielt.  Wir  gehen 
hier  nicht  auf  Vilmars  Beha'uptung9*  ein,  dass  den  alten  Ger- 
manen, und  so  auch  unserem  Dichter,  ein  besonders  inniges 
Naturgefiihl  zuzuschreiben  sei,  das  sich  im  Walde  als  ein  Er- 
schauern  vor  seinen  Schrecknissen  offenbarte.  Wir  konnen  in 
keiner  der  obigen  Stellen  irgendein  tieferes  Empfinden  gegen- 
iiber  dem  Walde  entdecken,  und  nahern  uns  der  Lauffer'schen9b 
Anschauung,  indem  wir  hochstens  etwas  wie  ein  Gefiihl  der 
Einsamkeit  und  Verlassenheit  angedeutet  finden.  Im  allge- 
meinen  sind  wir,  je  langer  je  mehr,  misstrauisch  geworden  gegen 
die  Verhimmelung  unserer  germanischen  Altvordern,  ihrer 
Treue,  Religiositat,  Gefiihlstiefe,  Naturbegeisterung  u.  a., 
durch  Vilmar  und  seine  Nachfolger,  die  auch  den  Heliand 
gar  zu  iiberschwanglich  in  dieser  Beziehung  gepriesen  haben. 

Fur  unsere  Heimatfrage  finden  wir  in  diesen  Wald-Ein- 
schiebseln  nicht  viel  Material.  Hochstens,  dass  sie  jedenfalls 

»»  Deutsche  Altertumer  im  Heliand,  S.  99-105. 
9ba.  a.  O. 


460  Metzenthin 

fur  die  Bewohner  des  waldlosen  Holland  wenig  angebracht 
erscheinen  wiirden,  um  so  besser  aber  fur  die  Bewohner  Hoi- 
steins,  deren  Name  "Holtsazen,"  d.h.  "Waldsassen"  schon 
beweist,  dass  ihre  Heimat  ein  waldiges  Gebiet  war.  Auch 
passt  der  freie  und  sonst  unmotivierte  Zusatz  des  Dichters  von 
dem  Wald,  durch  welchen  die  von  Osten  kommenden  "Magier" 
(v.  603)  ziehen  mussten,  auffallend  zu  der  Tatsache,  dass  Reisen- 
de,  die,  von  Osten  kommend,  in  das  von  uns  als  Heimat  der 
Adressaten  angenommene  Westholstein  gelangen  wollten, 
ebenfalls  durch  einen  altberuhmten  Wald,  namlich  den  oben 
erwahnten  "Danischen  Wohld"  hatten  ziehen  miissen.  Diese 
Ahnlichkeit  der  geographischen  Situation  wiirde  erklaren,  wie 
gerade  westholsteinischen  Lesern  durch  den  Wald-Zusatz  des 
Dichters  die  Geschichte  der  Weisen  aus  dem  Morgenlande 
sinnlich  naher  geruckt  und  so  verstandlicher  gemacht  wurde. 

3.  Wurd: 

In  der  sehr  ausfiihrlichen  Auslegung  des  Gleichnisses  vom 
"Viererlei  Acker"  (Matth.  13,  18;  Tat.  c.  75)  finden  sich  einige 
Verse,  in  denen  das  Wachsen  des  Kornes  vom  Samen  bis  zur 
vollen  Frucht  geschildert  wird.  Wir  lesen  da: 

v.  2475:  s6  an  themu  lande  duod 

that  korn  mid  kidun,  thar  it  gikund  habad 

endi  imu  thiu  uurd  bihagod  endi  uuederes  gang 


Wir  haben  hier  zwei  eigenartige,  bisher  noch  nicht  vollig 
erklarte  Ausdriicke: 

1.  gikund    (nach   Sievers   und   Kern)    oder   gikrund    (M), 
gegrund   (C),  gikrud   (Grein),  kingrund   (Cosijn),   oder 
kruma  (Behaghel), — wahrscheinlich  mit  dem  ahd.  Krume, 
Ackerkrume  verwandt. 

2.  wurd,  von  dem  H.  Riickert10  sagt:  "ein  spezifischer,  noch 
jetzt  lebendiger   niederdeutscher  Ausdruck:  aufgeschiit- 
tetes,  angeschwemmtes  Erdreich,  also  fruchtbares  Land — 
Marschland." 

Von  Marschland  aber  hat  bekanntlich  "Ditmarschen"  seinen 
Namen,  d.h.  der  fruchtbare  Strich  entlang  der  Nordseekiiste 
Siidholsteins,  wo  wir  z.T.  die  Adressaten  des  Heliand  suchen. 
Jedenfalls  weist  auch  dieser  Ausdruck  nicht  ins  binnenlandische 
oder  gebirgige  Siidsachsen,  sondern  an  die  Meereskiiste. 

10  In  seiner  Heliand-Ausgabe,  S.  120  Anm. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  461 

4.  Berg: 

Man  hat  "unklare  Anschauungen  von  Bergen"11  im  Heliand 
finden  wollen  und  daraus  geschlossen,  dass  die  Heimat  des 
fleliand  in  einem  berglosen  Flachlande  zu  suchen  sei.  Hier 
scheint  mir  doch  "der  Wunsch  der  Vater  des  Gedankens" 
gewesen  zu  sein.  Denn  erstens  sind  die  Beweise  fur  solch' 
"unklare  Anschauungen  von  Bergen"  im  Heliand  gar  zu 
schwach.  Man  konnte  hochstens  hinweisen  auf  die  Aus- 
lassung  des  Gebetes  Jesu  auf  dem  Berg  (Lukas  6,  12  f ;  Tatian 
c.  70),  die  allerdings  etwas  auffallend  ist,  da  unser  Dichter  aus 
demselben  Kapitel  70  des  Tatian  die  Predigt  Jesu  vom  Schijfe 
aus  nicht  iibergeht.  Nun  ist  es  sicherlich  charakteristisch  fur 
den  Heliand-Dichter,  dass  dieser  "Mann  von  der  Wasserkante" 
mit  seinen  Gedanken  leichter  "iiber  den  Berg"  als  "iiber  das 
Schiff"  hinweggleiten  kann,  d.h.  dass  ihn  alles,  was  nur  irgend- 
wie  mit  "Schiffen"  zusammenhangt,  gar  zu  lebhaft  interessiert, 
um  es  iibersehen  zu  konnen,  dass  er  dagegen  fiir  "Berge" 
weniger  Vorliebe  hat.  Aber  das  ist  auch  das  Ausserste,  was 
wir  behaupten  konnen.  Von  dieser  mangelnden  Vorliebe  bis 
zu  "unklaren  Anschauungen"  ist  doch  nun  aber  ein  weiter 
Schritt.  Denn — und  das  ist  unser  zweites  Bedenken  gegen  die 
Jostes'sche  Darlegung — selbst  ein  Holsteiner  oder  Ham- 
burger hatte  geniigend  Gelegenheit,  etwaige  "unklare  An- 
schauungen von  Bergen"  ganz  in  der  Nahe  zu  "klaren,"  indem 
an  Bergen  dort  durchaus  kein  Mangel  war,  wenn  sie  auch  nicht 
gerade  Alpenhohe  erreichten.  Es  gibt  sogar  eine  "Holsteinische 
Schweiz."  Sollte  iibrigens  unser  Dichter  bei  der  Beschreibung 
der  Flucht  der  Eltern  Jesu  von  Bethlehem  nach  Egypten 

obar  bredan  berg  (v.  714) 

nicht  an  die  Alpen  gedacht  haben,  die  sich  als  breiter  Scheide- 
wall  zwischen  Deutschland  und  Italien  dem  nach  Siiden  Rei- 
senden  ahnlich  in  den  Weg  stellten,  wie  das  Gebirge  Juda  den 
nach  Siiden  pilgernden  Eltern  Jesu,  und  die  einem  so  "erfah- 
renen"  Mann,  wie  unser  Dichter  augenscheinlich  gewesen, 
vielleicht  garnicht  so  unbekannt  waren?  Jedenfalls  brauchte 
er  nicht  gar  zu  weit  im  Sachsenlande  selber  herumgekommen 
zu  sein,  um  seine  "unklaren  Begriffe  von  Bergen"  loszuwerden. 
Der  Harz,  der  Teutoburger  Wald,  die  Wesergebirge  und  andere 

11  vgl.  Jostes. 


462  Metzenthin 

Mittelgebirgsgruppen  konnten  ihm  dazu  behilflich  sein.  Nur 
wenn  wir  uns  den  Dichter  ganzlich  auf  das  hollandische  Flach- 
land  oder  die  ostfriesische  Kiiste  beschrankt  denken,  wozu  auch 
nicht  der  geringste  Anlass  vorliegt, — nur  dann  konnen  wir  an 
solchen  "unklaren  Anschauungen  von  Bergen"  bei  ihm  fest- 
halten. 

Es  wird  hier  am  Platze  sein,  die  Berechtigung  unserer 
Schlussfolgerung  aus  den  landschaftlichen  Andeutungen  im 
Heliand  und  ihrer  Benutzung  zur  Lokalisierung  der  Leser 
grundsatzlich  nachzuweisen,  d.h.  gegeniiber  dem  moglichen 
Einwand,  dass  der  Heliand-Dichter,  wenn  er  von  Sand  und 
Gries,  Wald  und  Berg,  Strom  und  Meer  redet,  einfach  seinen 
Quellen  folgend,  die  landschaftlichen  Eigenheiten  Paldstinas 
zu  schildern  sich  bestrebe,  und  dass  wir  deshalb  kein  Recht 
hatten,  aus  diesen  palastinisch-gedachten  Schilderungen  irgend- 
welche  Schliisse  auf  sein  eigenes  Heimatsbild  oder  das  seiner 
Leser  zu  ziehen.  Dem  gegeniiber  diirfen  wir  doch  darauf  be- 
stehen,  dass  der  Dichter  aus  eigener  Anschauung  natiirlich  nicht 
das  Geringste  von  Palastina  und  seiner  Topographic  wusste, 
dass  iiberhaupt  die  geographischen  Kenntnisse  betreffs  des 
Orients  im  damaligen  Frankenreiche  minimal  waren; — erst  mit 
den  Kreuzziigen  andert  sich  das.  Nun  gibt  aber  die  Bibel 
bekanntlich  gar  keine  Beschreibung  von  Ortlichkeiten  oder 
Szenerieen,  sondern  nur  Namen.  Der  Dichter  aber  brauchte 
fur  sein  Epos  solche  Beschreibungen,  um  den  Handlungen  seiner 
Personen  einen  plastischen  Hintergrund  zu  geben.  Die  Farben 
zu  diesen  Bildern,  die  Anschauungen  zu  diesen  Landschaftsge- 
malden  musste  er  aus  dem  Vorrat  der  von  ihm  selbst  geschauten 
Landschaftsbilder  entnehmen.  Wenn  er  z.B.  vom  Walde 
spricht,  in  den  Jesus  sich  zuriickzieht,  oder  von  dem  Olberg 
sagt: 

v.  4234:  Than  uuas  thar  fin  mari  berg 

bi  them  burg  uten,  the  uuas  bred  endi  h6h, 
gr6ni  endi  sc6ni. 

so  diirfen  wir  solche  Angaben  selbstverstandlich  nicht  ansehen 
wie  verlassliche  Daten  in  einem  Handbuch  der  Geographic,  ja, 
iiberhaupt  nicht  als  Beschreibungen  des  biblischen  Waldes  oder 
Berges,  sondern  als  poetische  Kunstmittel,  den  Lesern  die  toten 
Namen  lebendig,  die  abstrakten  Begriffe:  Olberg  oder  Jordan 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  463 

oder  Galilaisches  Meer,  anschaulich  zu  machen,  besonders 
soweit  es  zum  Verstandnis  und  Miterleben  der  Vorgange  niitzlich 
und  notig  war.  Ahnlich  haben  wir  es  aufzufassen,  wenn  der 
Dichter  die  Gefahren  der  Schiffahrt  auf  dem  galilaischen  Meere 
schildert.  Er  kennt  natiirlich  weder  dies  Meer,  noch  die 
Konstruktion  der  Schiffe,  noch  die  Art  ihrer  Segel,  Ruder  oder 
Steuer,  noch  die  Richtung  und  Starke  der  dort  gefurchteten 
Winde.  Wenn  er  dennoch,  wie  wir  nun  gleich  nachweisen 
werden,  mit  solcher  Vorliebe  und  iiberzeugenden  Sachkenntnis 
vom  Seeleben  spricht  und  jede  Gelegenheit,  die  ihm  seine  Quel- 
len  bieten,  eifrigst  benutzt,  aus  wenig  Worten  des  Bibeltextes 
ausfuhrliche  Beschreibungen  iiber  das  Leben  und  Treiben  von 
Fischern  und  Schiffen  zu  schaffen,  so  verrat  er,  obwohl  unfrei- 
willig,  erstens,  dass  sein  eigenes  Leben  ihm  reichlich  Gelegenheit 
gegeben  hat,  dies  Leben  und  Treiben  an  der  "Wasserkante," 
nicht  des  Sees  Genezareth,  sondern  der  Nordsee,  griindlich 
kennen  zu  lernen,  zweitens,  dass  er  auch  bei  seinen  Lesern 
ahnliches  Verstandnis,  auf  Grund  ihrer  eigenen  Lebens-Um- 
stande,  voraussetzen  darf. 

5.  Strom   und   Meer: 

Wir  betrachten  auch  hier  nur  Stellen,  wo  der  Dichter 
entweder  ganz  selbststandig  Zusatze  zur  biblischen  Quelle  macht 
oder  kurze  Andeutungen  frei  weiter  entwickelt. 

In  der  Beschreibung  des  jiingsten  Gerichtes  vergleicht  Jesus 
dessen  Schrecken  mit  denen  der  Siindflut  zur  Zeit  Noahs. 
Nun  gibt  die  Bibel  als  Grund  der  Uberflutung  den  nicht 
endenden  Regen  aus  den  offenen  Schleusen  des  Himmels  an. 
Im  Heliand  erscheinen  statt  dessen  aber  "Meeresstrb'me,"  das 
Menschenvolk  vernichtend,  uns  erinnernd  an  die  so  haufige 
Uberflutung  der  friesischen  Hallig-Inseln: 

v.  4362 :        s6  samo  s6  thiu  fl6d  deda  an  f  urndagun 

the  thar  mid  Iagustr6mun  liudi  farteride  bi  Noeas  tidiun. 

Auch  v.  4315:  grimmid  the  gr6to  sfio,  uuirkid  thie  gebenes  strdm 
egison  mid  is  udiun  erdbuandiun — 

ruft  verwandte  Vorstellungen  wach. 

Ahnlich  finden  wir  bei  dem  Wandeln  Petri  und  Jesu  auf 
dem  See  Genezareth: 

v.  2953  ff :  that  thi  uuatares  craft  an  themu  s£e  innen  thlnes  sides  ni 

mahte,  Iagustr6m  gilettien, 


464  Metzenthin 

und  v.  2929  ff :  ik  bium  that  bam  godes, 
the  iu  uuid  thesumu  s£e  seal, 


mundon  uuid  thesan  meristrdm. 

Beide  Bezeichnungen:  Iagustr6m  und  meristrdm  passen  natiir- 
lich  wenig  auf  einen  Binnensee,  wie  es  der  See  Tiberias  war. 
Wir  haben  aber  bei  alien  Beschreibungen  von  Geschehnissen  an 
diesem  See  das  deutliche  Gefiihl,  als  ob  der  Dichter  aus  dem 
Landsee  aufs  offene  Meer  hinausgetragen  werde,  wo  er  oder 
seine  Leser  sich  heimischer  fiihlten.  Man  vergleiche  die  weni- 
gen  Worte  des  biblischen  Berichtes  mit  der  so  breiten  Ausma- 
lung  der  gefahrvollen  und  miihseligen  Fahrt  der  Jiinger  auf  dem 
See  Genezareth,  um  sich  zu  iiberzeugen,  dass  hier  nicht  freie 
Phantasie,  sondern  Sachkenntnis  und  vielleicht  Erinnerung  an 
Selbsterlebtes  die  Feder  fiihrt:  Wahrend  Matth.  14,  24  kurz 
und  einfach  berichtet:  Navicula  (d.  h.  das  kleine  Schiff)  in  medio 
mari  iactabatur  fluctibus;  erat  enim  contrarius  ventus, — 
(Tat.  c.  81,  1:  Thaz  skef  in  mittemo  seuue  uuas  givvuor- 
phozit  mit  then  undon;  uuas  in  uuidaruuart  uuint) — verwendet 
der  Heliand-Dichter  auf  die  Ausmalung  dieses  einen  Satzes  15 
ganze  Verse  (v.  2906-20),  in  denen  das  "Schifflein"  zu  einem 
"hoh  hurnidskip"  sich  verwandelt,  das  die  "hluttron  udeon," 
den  "suidean  strdm"  durchschneidet,  bis  die  Nacht  mit  Nebel 
hereinbricht.  Wir  horen  den  Wind  sich  erheben,  die  Wellen 
und  den  "strom  an  stamne"  (v.  2915)  rauschen;  wir  beobachten 
den  harten  Kampf  der  Schiffer  gegen  Sturm  und  Wogen,  die 
wachsende  Besorgnis  und  Angst  der  lagulidandea  (2918)  u.s.w. 
Bemerkt  werden  mag  in  diesem  Zusammenhange  auch,  dass 
bei  der  Schilderung  der  Flucht  nach  Egypten  der  Dichter  ohne 
ersichtlichen  Grund  etwas  der  Bibel  ganz  fremdartiges,  obwohl 
geographisch  richtiges,  einfiihrt  mit  den  Worten: 

v.  756:         an  Aegypteo  land  ...  an  thana  grdneon  uuang, 
an  erdono  beztun,  thar  £n  aha  fliutid, 
Nilstrom  mikil  nord  te  s£uua 
flfido  fagorosta. 

Selbstverstandlich  ist  das  nicht  eigenes  Wissen,  sondern  Buch- 
kenntnis.  Aber  sollte  der  Dichter  wirklich  nur  die  Absicht 
gehabt  haben,  mit  dieser  seiner  Weisheit  zu  prunken?  Fur  den 
Verlauf  der  Flucht  war  es  doch  ganz  gleichgiltig,  ob  dort  der 
Nil  floss  und  in  welcher  Richtung,  ob  das  Land  fruchtbar  war 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  465 

oder  nicht.  Sollte  der  Dichter  nicht  doch  irgendeinen,  fur 
uns  vorlaufig  noch  nicht  erkennbaren  Grund  gehabt  haben  zu 
dieser  in  seiner  biblischen  QueJle  weder  angegebenen  noch 
auch  nur  angedeuteten  geographischen  Belehrung.  Ob  ihm 
dabei  der  Gedanke  an  die  in  ahnlicher  Weise  nord-warts  sich  ins 
Meer  ergiessende  Elbe  und  das  fruchtbare  Dithmarschen  in 
ihrem  Miindungsgebiet  irgendwie  vorschwebte? 

6.  West-wind: 

Wir  kommen  nun  zu  einem  fur  die  Heimatsbestimmung 
hochbedeutenden,  vielleicht  entscheidenden  Abschnitt,  dessen 
Wichtigkeit  noch  immer  nicht  geniigend  erkannt  zu  sein 
scheint,  dessen  eigentumlicher  Wert  noch  der  vollen  Aus- 
schopfung  wartet,  den  wir  deshalb  hier  eingehender  betrachten 
und  mit  der  biblischen  Grundlage  vergleichen  wollen. 

Wir  finden  ihn  am  Schluss  der  Bergpredigt,  wo  Jesus  das 
bekannte  Doppelgleichnis  von  dem  klugeri-  Manne,  der  seine 
Worte  hort  und  befolgt,  und  dem  torichten  Manne,  der  seine 
Worte  zwar  hort,  aber  nicht  befolgt,  aufstellt.  Unser  Dichter 
nun  schildert  diesen  Toren  parabolisch  als  einen  Menschen, 

v.  1818:        the  im  be  uuatares  stade 

an  sande  uuili  selihus  uuirkean, 

thar  it  uuestrani  uuind  endi  uuago  strdm, 

sees  udeon  teslaad;  ne  mag  im  sand  endi  greot 

geuuredien    uuid    themu    uuinde,    ac   uuirdit  teuuorpan    than, 

tefallen  an  themu  flode,  huand  it  an  fastoro  nis  erdu  getimbrod. 

Diese  sichtlich  aus  wirklicher  Sachkenntnis  fliessende,  an- 
schauliche  Schilderung  ist  nun  nicht  etwa  bloss  eine  Ausmalung 
der  in  der  biblischen  Quelle  enthaltenen  Andeutungen,  sondern 
zeigt  ein  so  eigenartiges  Abiveichen  von  dem  biblischen  Bilde, 
dass  es  nur  aus  wohlbedachten  Griinden  geschehen  sein  kann. 

Nach  Jesu  Worten  (Matth.  7,  27)  namlich  drohen  solchem 
auf  Sand  gezimmerten  Hause  folgende  Gefahren:  zunachst 
vom  Regen,  dann  von  den  "flumina"  (ahd:  gus(u)i;  s.  Tatian  c. 
43,  2),  dann  von  den  Winden.  Ganz  anders  im  Heliand:  Da 
baut  der  torichte  Mann  sein  Haus  nicht  bloss  auf  Sand,  sondern 
auch,  und  das  ist  ganz  freier  Zusatz  des  Dichters,  an  das  Ge- 
stade  des  Wassers,  wo  ihm  Gefahren  drohen,  nicht  vom  Regen, — 
der  wird  garnicht  erwahnt — ,  sondern  zunachst  vom  Wind,  und 
zwar  von  einer  ganz  besonderen  Windart,  dem  Westwind  (!), 
wovon  weder  in  der  Quelle  noch  in  irgend  einem  Kommentar 


466  Metzenthin 

das  Geringste  steht,  sodann  vom  Wogenstrom,  von  den  Wellen 
der  See,  die  es  zerschlagen  und  zerwerfen,  so  dass  es  zerfallt  an 
der  Flut. 

1st  es  nicht  ungemein  charakteristisch,  wie  der  nieder- 
deutsche  Dichter  das  fiir  Palastina  mit  seinen  tropischen  Regen- 
giissen  so  treffende  Bild  Jesu  verandert  in  einer  solchen  Weise, 
dass  vor  den  Augen  des  aufmerksamen  Lesers  sich  ein  dicht  am 
Meeresgestade  aufgerichtetes  Haus  erhebt,  dem  Gefahr  nicht 
von  Regengiissen  droht,  sondern  von  den  Meereswellen,  aber 
nur,  wenn  der  "Westwind,"  der  Schrecken  der  nach  Westen 
ungeschiitzten  westholsteinischen  Kiiste  und  der  davor  liegenden 
ostfriesischen  Inseln,  sich  erhebt?  Man  denkt  unwillkiirlich 
an  die  verheerenden  Springfluten,  die  entstehen,  wenn  dieser 
Westwind  oder  "Nordwester"  mit  der  Hochflut  bei  Voll-  oder 
Neumond  zusammentriflft.  Eine  solche  Springflut  mit  furcht- 
baren  Verheerungen  ist  uns  nun, — und  das  ist  wiederum  hoch- 
bedeutsam — aus  dem  Jahre  819,  also  nicht  lange  vor  der 
Entstehung  des  Heliand,  bezeugt.  Wie  zerstorend  diese 
Springfluten  wirken,  weiss  jeder  Holsteiner.  Um  nur  eine 
Statistik  zu  erwahnen:  Es  ist  festgestellt,  dass  an  dieser 
Westkiiste  allein  in  13ten  Jahrhundert  insgesamt  2750  qkm. 
Land  durch  Springfluten  verloren  gegangen  sind,  natiirlich 
mit  hunderten  von  Hausern  und  tausenden  von  Menschenleben. 

Was  aber  fiir  die  Heliand-Leser  an  der  Kiiste  der  Nordsee 
nur  zu  traurige  Wirklichkeit  war,  das  wiirden  Leser  im  sicheren 
Binnenlande,  fern  von  der  See  und  ihren  Gefahren,  garnicht 
verstehen.  Fiir  sie  passte  das  Original-Bild  der  Bergpredigt 
weit  besser.  Denn  dort,  besonders  in  den  sachsischen  Mittel- 
gebirgen,  konnte  es  wohl  vorkommen,  dass  ein  leichtsinnig  auf 
Sand  gebautes  Haus  durch  die  dort  reichlichen,  langdauernden 
Regenfalle  so  unterspiilt  wurde,  dass  es  auf  dem  aufgeweichten 
Boden  keinen  Halt  mehr  hatte.  Vollends  aber  der  Westwind, 
dessen  verderbenbringende  Gewalt  die  Bewohner  der  Wasser- 
kante  aus  eigener  Erfahrung  nur  zu  genau  kannten,  hatte  fiir  die 
Binnenlander  keine  besondere  Bedeutung,  noch  weniger  den 
Begriff  des  Gefahrbringenden  an  sich. 

So  scheint  mir  diese  markante  Abweichung  des  Dichters  von 
seinen  Quellen  hier  die  Annahme  vollig  auszuschliessen,  dass 
seine  Adressaten  fern  von  der  See  im  sicheren  Binnenlande 
wohnten.  Denn  der  Dichter  hatte  dann  ein  fiir  diese  klares 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressalen  467 

Bild  in  ganz  unmotivierter  und  unbegreiflicher,  ja  unver- 
zeihlicher  Weise  verdunkelt.  Das  einzige,  was  unsern  Dichter 
von  diesem  argen  Verstoss  gegen  die  sonst  von  ihm  meisterhaf  t 
geiibte  Kunst  der  Veranschaulichung  frei  sprechen  kann,  ist 
die  tiberzeugung,  dass  er  nicht  fiir  "Landratten,"  sondern 
fiir  Meeresanwohner  geschrieben  hat. 

C.  MENSCHLICHE  BERUFSARBEIT 

1.  Seefahrer: 

Schon  aus  dem  Vorhergehenden  ist  ersichtlich,  welche 
Bedeutung  alles,  was  mit  dem  Seeleben  zusammenhangt,  fur 
unsern  Dichter  hat.  Nun  konnte  ja  der  Einwand  erhoben 
werden,  dass  er  darin  nur  seiner  biblischen  Quelle  folge,  in 
welcher  der  See  Genezareth  (auch  See  Tiberias  oder  Galila- 
isches  Meer  genannt)  ebenfalls  eine  bedeutsame  Rolle  spiele, 
insofern  als  Jesus  am  haufigsten  an  seinen  Gestaden  weilte — , 
Capernaum  am  See  Tiberias  wird  sogar  als  "seine  Stadt" 
bezeichnet — ,  in  dessen  Uferstadten,  wie  er  selbst  sagt  (Matth. 
11,  20),  "factae  sunt  plurimae  virtutes  eius,"  (Tatian  65,  1), 
aus  dessen  Anwohnern  er  fast  alle  seine  Jiinger  erwahlte.  Aber 
dies  alles  zugestanden,  konnen  wir  uns  doch  dem  Eindruck 
nicht  verschliessen,  dass  das  Seeleben  in  unserem  Heliand  einen 
ganz  anderen  Raum  einnimmt  als  in  den  Evangelien,  und 
sodann,  dass  dies  Seeleben,  wie  wir  bereits  beobachtet  haben, 
eine  deutliche  Verschiebung  vom  Binnensee,  als  was  unser 
Dichter  selbst  den  See  Genezareth  beschreibt, — 

vgl.  v.  1151:  thar  thar  habda  Jordan  aneban  Galileo  land 
6nna  s6  geuuarhtan — 

zur  Salzsee  erfahrt.  Beide  Beobachtungen  zu  verstarken,  wer- 
den die  folgenden  Zusammenstellungen  dienen: 

Immer  wieder  finden  wir  die  Jiinger  bezeichnet  als:  "seoli- 
dandean"  (v.  2909)  oder  "lagulidandea"  (v.  2918  u.  2964), 
auch  "uuederuuisa  uueros"  (v.  2239),  und  ihre  Fahrten  werden 
geschildert  nach  dem  Typus  von  Fahrten  auf  der  Nordsee  oder 
im  Miindungsgebiet  einer  der  grossen  deutschen  Strome. 
Obgleich  der  Dichter  ganz  wohl  weiss,  dass  seine  Quelle  nur  von 
"Nachen"  redet  und  obwohl  er  es  selbst  anfangs  ebenso  bezeich- 
net (v.  2237:  an  enna  nacon  innan,  vgl.  auch  v.  2265),  wird  dies 
Schifflein  doch  in  seiner  Phantasie  stets  zu  einem  hoh  humid- 


468  Metzenthin 

skip  (v.  2266,  dicht  hinter  "naco,"  v.  2265;  u.  v.  2907)  oder 
"neglitskipu"  (v.  1186).  Die  Gefahren  warden  in  gleichem 
Masse  vergrossert  wie  die  Schiffe,  und  der  Dichter  gefallt  sich 
augenscheinlich  in  der  breitesten  Ausmalung  des  Kampfes  der 
Schiffer  mit  Wind  und  Wellen; 

vgl.  v.  2241  ff:    Thuo  bigan  thes  uuedares  craft, 
ust  up  stigan,  udiun  uuahsan; 
suang  gisuerc  an  gimang:  thie  sfiu  uuard  an  hruoru, 
uuan  uuind  endi  uuater;  uueros  sorogodun, 
thiu  meri  uuard  s6  muodag.  .  .  . 

Welch'  prachtige,  anschauliche  Schilderung  eines  Seesturmes! 
Und  zugrunde  liegen  bloss  die  schlichten  Worte  eines  Verses  des 
Evangelisten  Matthaus  (c.  8  v.  24): 

"ecce  motus  magnus  factus  est  in  mari,  ita  ut  navicula  (!)  operiretur 
fluctibus." 

Sollte  die  obige  Ausmalung  wirklich  freie  Phantasie  einer  bie- 
deren  Landratte  sein?  Und  sollte  der  Dichter  geglaubt  haben, 
dadurch  unsere  Geschichte  fiir  seine  Leser  verstandlicher  zu 
machen,  wenn  diese  als  Bewohner  des  sachsischen  Binnenlandes 
auf  ihrer  Klitsche  sassen,  ohne  Ahnung  vom  Meere,  das  sie 
niemals  selbst  gesehen,  und  von  seinen  Gefahren,  die  fiir  sie 
nicht  existierten? 

2.  Fischer: 

Von  diesen  finden  wir  zwar  nur  zwei  Schilderungen,  aber 
beide  sind  wiederum  von  einer  Anschaulichkeit,  die  nur  von 
solchen  Leuten  gewiirdigt  werden  konnte,  die  etwas  mehr 
gesehen  hatten  als  Angeln  in  den  Gebirgsbachen  Sudsachsens 
oder  Fischen  in  den  schmalen  Fliisschen  Mittelsachsens. 
Alles  deutet  auch  hier  auf  Fischerei  im  grossen  Massstabe  hin, 
mit  breiten  Schleppnetzen  in  fischreichen,  weiten  Gewassern. 

a.  Die  Berufung  der  ersten  vier  Jiinger  gibt  unserm  Dichter 
die  erste  Veranlassung,  eine  Schilderung  des  Lebens  und  Trei- 
bens  jener  Fischer  zu  entwerfen,  die  sich  wie  eine  kleine  Idylle 
liest.  Wir  konnen  es  uns  nicht  versagen,  den  uns  hier  angehen- 
den  Teil  dieser  Idylle  anzufiihren: 

v.  1150  ff:  Geng  im  th6  bi  fines  uuatares  stade, 

thar  thar  habda  lordan  aneban  Galileo  land 
£nna  s6  geuuarhtan.    Thar  he  sittean  fand 
Andreas  endi  Petrus    bi  them  ahastr6me, 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  469 

bedea  thea  gebr6dar,    thar  sie  an  bred  uuatar 
suuldo  niutlico    netti  thenidun, 
fiscodun  im  an  them  fl6de. 

v.  1175ff:    lacobus  endi  Johannes:    uuarun  im  iunga  man. 

Satun  im  tha  gesunfader    an  enumu  sande  uppen, 
brugdun  endi  b6ttun    bedium  handun 
thiu  netti  niudlico,    thea  sie  habdun  nahtes  er 
forsliten  an  them  sfeuua. 

Aufifallend  in  dieser  Wiedergabe  der  biblischen  Erzahlung 
(Matth.  4,  18-22,  Tatian  c.  19,  1-3)  ist  nicht  so  sehr,  dass  auch 
hier,  wie  so  oft  schon,  der  Dichter  aus  den  kurzen  Andeutungen 
seiner  Quelle  in  drei  bzw.  vier  Worten  (hier  nur:  mittentes  rete 
in  mare  bzw.  reficientes  retia  sua)  ein  abgerundetes,  anschau- 
liches  Bild  entwickelt,  sondern  dass  er  iiber  diesem  doch  unbe- 
deutenden  Bilde  das  viel  bedeutsamere  Ereignis,  das  zugleich 
eines  der  eindrucksvollsten  Wunder  Jesu  einschloss,  namlich 
den  wunderbaren  Fischzug  Petri  und  des  Jiingers  folgenschwere 
Berufung  als  Menschenfischer,  vollig  vergisst. — Dies  Vergessen 
und  Auslassen  zu  erklaren  ist  iibrigens  in  sich  ein  besonders 
interessantes  Problem  der  Heliand-Forschung,  mit  dessen 
kritischer  Bearbeitung  der  Verfasser  beschaf tigt  ist.  Fiir  uns  ist  es 
hier  nur  von  Wert,  herauszufinden,  was  fiir  Dinge  den  Dichter 
und  seine  Leser  vornehmlich  interessierten.  Noch  viel  deut- 
licher  tritt  uns  des  Verfassers  Interessen-Sphare  entgegen,  wenn 
wir  die  andere  Fischerei-Idylle,  die  sich  im  Heliand  findet, 
betrachten,  namlich: 

b.  Die  Parabel  vom  "Netz"  oder  "Fischfang"  (Matth.  13,  47-8; 
Tatian  c.  77,  3).  Sie  wird  folgendermassen  wiedergegeben: 

v.  2628  ff :  6k  is  imu  that  uuerk  gellch, 

that  man  an  seo  innan  segina  uuirpit, 
fisknet  an  fl6d  endi  fahit  bediu, 
ubile  endi  g6de,  tiuhid  up  te  stade, 
lidod  sie  te  lande,  lisit  aftar  thiu 

thea  g6dun  an  greote  endi  latid  thea  6dra  eft  an  grund  faran,  an 

uuidan  uuag. 

Wir  legen  hier  ebenfalls  kein  grosses  Gewicht  darauf,  dass  die 
Ziige  auch  dieses  Bildes  keineswegs  auf  die  Fischerei  in  den 
Bachen  der  gebirgigen  sachsischen  Landesteile  oder  im  Oberl&ui 
der  sachsischen  Fliisse  passen,  sondern  auf  einen  Fischerei- 
Betrieb  im  grosseren  Massstabe  mit  "Schleppnetzen"  ("segina") 


470  Metzenthin 

und  Haufen  von  gefangenen  Fischen  der  verschiedensten  Art. 
Aber  worauf  wir  hohen  Wert  legen,  ist  der  Umstand,  dass 
unser  Dichter  diese  Parabel  als  einzige  aus  drei  von  Jesu 
erzahlten  herausgegriffen  hat,  und  zwar  in  sehr  auffallender 
Weise.  Dies  Kapitel  bei  Matthaus  (c.  13)  enthalt  namlich 
unsere  Parabel  nicht  als  einzige,  auch  nicht  einmal  als  erste, 
sondern  als  letzte  von  dreien.  Ihr  geht  voran  das  Gleichnis 
vom  "Verborgenen  Schatz  im  Acker"  (v.  44);  diesem  schliesst 
sich  (v.  45  u.  46)  das  von  der  "Kostbaren  Perle"  an;  und 
diesem  erst  folgt  das  vom  "Netz."  Ebenso  bringt  das  ent- 
sprechende  Kapitel  des  Tatian  (c.  77)  unsere  Parabel  als  letzte 
von  den  dreien. 

Der  Dichter  muss  also  bei  der  poetischen  Bearbeitung 
dieses  Kapitels  mit  vollem  Bewusstsein  und  entschlossener 
Absichtlichkeit  die  beiden  ersten  Gleichnisse  als  weniger 
geeignet, — nicht  fur  sich  selbst,  wohl  aber  fur  seine  Adressaten 
— ,beiseite  gelassen  und  gerade  diese  Parabel  vom  "Fischfang" 
als  besonders  passend  fiir  das  Verstandnis  seiner  Leser  emp- 
funden  und  deshalb  ausgewahlt  haben. 

Wenn  wir  dieses  Vorgehen  des  Dichters  beobachten  und  prii- 
fen,  so  wird  uns  klar  werden,  dass  derselbe  nicht  einfach  in  die 
Fiille  der  biblischen  Geschichten,  Reden  und  Gleichnisse 
hineingegriffen  und  ohne  tJberlegung  das  Zunachstliegende 
genommen  hat,  sondern  dass  er,  nach  sorgfaltigster  Erwagung 
der  Bediirfnisse  und  unter  genauer  Beriicksichtigung  des 
Gesichtskreises  seiner  Leser,  eine  Auswahl  getroffen  hat,  fiir 
die  er  sich  guter  Griinde  bewusst  war. 

Wir  diirfen  uns  daher  den  Verfasser  des  Heliand  durchaus 
nicht,  wie  es  so  vielfach  geschieht,  als  einen  "naiven"  Kom- 
pilator  oder  Excerpter  vorstellen,  sondern  als  einen  Kenner 
seines  Publikums  mit  einer  guten  Dosis  padagogischen  Ver- 
standnisses  und  einem  fein  entwickelten  Sinn  fur  das 
erzieherisch  wertvolle.  Je  mehr  wir  uns  in  diese  seine  pada- 
gogische  Begabung  und  Absicht  vertiefen,  desto  mehr  werden 
wir  zu  der  Uberzeugung  kommen,  dass  es  durchaus  keine12 
"unnotige  Verschwendung  von  Zeit  und  Miihe"  ware,  den 
Griinden  fiir  seine  Abanderungen  und  Auslassungen  nachzu- 
forschen. 

11  vgl.  Windisch,  a.a.O.  S.  31  unten. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  471 

In  diesem  Zusammenhange  mag  auch  die  Notiz  in  Rimberts 
"Leben  des  Erzbischofs  Anskar"  (S.  75)  erwahnt  warden,  dass 
dieser  Hamburger  Kirchenfurst  selbst  Netze  verfertigte,  wahrend 
er  Psalmen  sang;  zumal  wir  in  diesem  selben  Erzbistum  Ham- 
burg die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  des  Heliand  suchen. 

3.  Pferdeknechte: 

Nur  voriibergehend  erinnern  wollen  wir  an  die  bekannte 
Tatsache,  dass  der  Heliand  die  Hirten  auf  dem  Felde  zu 
Bethlehem  als  "ehuscalcos"  (v.  388)  und  "uuiggeo  gdmean" 
(v.  389)  bezeichnet,  da  wir  darin  keinen  eigentlichen  Hinweis 
auf  die  engere  Heimat  der  Heliand-Leser  finden  konnen,  obwohl 
wir  wissen,  dass  der  Holsteiner  Pferdeschlag  von  jeher  besondere 
Beriihmtheit  besass.  Im  Zusammenhange  damit  mag  noch 
konstatiert  werden,  dass  der  Dichter  iiberhaupt  alle  Hinweise 
Jesu  auf  "Schafe"  und  "Hirten,"  so  zahlreich  und  hochbedeut- 
sam  sie  auch  sind  als  Grundlage  fur  die  schonsten  und  anschau- 
lichsten  seiner  Gleichnisse,  konsequent  mit  Stillschweigen 
iibergeht.  Den  Grund  dafiir,  wie  auch  fur  die  Ausmerzung  der 
"Eselin"  beim  Einzuge  Jesu  in  Jerusalem,  sehen  wir  nicht  nur 
in  der  Riicksicht  auf  das  Verstandnis  seiner  Leser,  sondern  in 
dem  Gefiihl  des  germanischen  Epikers,  dass  ein  Vergleich  Jesu 
mit  einem  Schafhirten,  der  sozial  tief  unter  den  kriegerischen 
Pferdehirten  stand,  eine  Herabsetzung  dieses  Himmelskonigs 
und  Helden  in  sich  schloss,  deren  sich  unser  Dichter  nicht 
schuldig  machen  wollte,  trotzdem  er  wusste,  dass  Jesus  diesen 
Vergleich  selbst  aufgestellt  hatte.  Die  "Eselin"  als  Reittier  des 
triumphierend  einziehenden  "Besten  der  Helden"  fiihlte  er  sich 
aus  demselben  Grunde  auszuschliessen  verpflichtet. 

4.  Weinbergs-Arbeiter: 

Dagegen  glauben  wir  uns  berechtigt,  aus  der  Art,  wie  im 
Heliand  die  zuletzt  in  den  Weinberg  berufenen  Arbeiter  er- 
wahnt werden,  Schliisse  auf  die  Leser  des  Gedichtes  zu  ziehen. 
Es  ist  schon  von  anderen  bemerkt  worden,12*  welche  Gemiits- 
warme  und  Weitherzigkeit  sich  in  den  Versen  offenbart,  mit 

12»  vgl.  Ruckert  S.  164  Ann.  zu  v.  3505. 


472  Metzenthin 

denen  der  Dichter  die  Erklarung  Jesu  betreffs  dieser  letzten 
Arbeiter,  die  um  die  elfte  Stunde  gedinget  waren,  ausdriickt. 
Wir  geben  von  dieser  sehr  ausfiihrlichen  Paraphrase  nur  die 
markanteste  Stelle  hier  wieder: 

v.  3501  ff.  ni  latid  imu  sidor  is  m6d  gituiflien; 

s6  egrohtful  is,  the  thar  alles  geuueldid:  he  ni  uuili  enigumu 

irminmanne 

faruuernien  uuillean  sines:  fargibid  imu  uualdand  selbo 
helag  himilriki;  than  is  imu  giholpen  sidur. 

Alle  sculun  sie  thar  era  antfahen,  thoh  sie  tharod  te  enaru  tidi 
ni  kumen,  that  kunni  manno,  thoh  uuili  imu  the  craftigo  drohtin, 
gildnon  allaro  liudio  s6  huih'cumu,  s6  her  is  gil6bon  antfahit 
en  himilriki  gibid  he  allun  theodun, 
mannun  te  m£du. 

Es  ist  unverkennbar,  dass  der  Dichter  mit  diesem  Hinweis  auf 
Gottes  allumfassende  Gnade,  welche  auch  die  Spatbekehrten 
(scil:Sachsen  u.a.)  barmherzig  aufnimmt  und  ihnen  den  gleichen 
Lohn,  die  gleiche  Seligkeit  mit  den  schon  friiher  Bekehrten 
(scil:  Franken)  verleiht,  seine  furs  Christentum  erst  kiirzlich 
gewonnenen  oder  noch  zu  gewinnenden  Leser  direkt  ermuntern 
und  trosten  will  mit  dem  Gedanken,  dass  es  noch  nicht  zu  spat 
und  dass  noch  nichts  verloren  sei. 

Dass  diese  unsere  Annahme  mehr  als  freie  Phantasie  ist, 
diirfte  die  folgende  Stelle  aus  Ermoldi  "Lobgedicht  auf  Kaiser 
Ludwig"  bestatigen,  welche  in  hochst  auffallender  Weise  zeigt, 
wie  dieses  Gleichnis  von  den  Arbeitern  im  Weinberg  damals 
im  Frankenreiche  auf  die  spate  und  deshalb  um  so  dringendere 
Bekehrung  gerade  der  Danen,  an  die  wir  unsern  Heliand  auch 
adressiert  ansehen,  gedeutet  wurde.  Wir  lesen  dort  (IV,  77  ff.) 
namlich  eine  Ermahnung  an  Ebo,  den  Pionier  der  von  Hamburg 
aus  betriebenen  holsteinischen  und  danischen  Mission,  die 
Bibel  zum  Danenkonig  Harold  (Heriold)  zu  bringen  und  ihn 
zur  Taufe  einzuladen.  Und  hochst  charakteristisch  wird  diese 
Ermahnung  zur  Mission  unter  den  Nordmannern  folgender- 
massen  begriindet: 

"Ach,  schon  sinket  der  Tag  und  die  letzte  Stunde  beruft  sie. 

Noch  ist  ein  Anteil  bewahrt  ihnen  im  Weinberg  des  Herrn. 
Ab  nun  zu  schiitteln  gebiihrt  sich  die  trage  Musse,  so  lang  noch 

Leuchtet  der  Tag.  .  .  ." 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  473 

D.  ORTSBEZEICHNUNGEN: 
1.  Stadtenamen  mil  "burg": 

Schon  friihe  war  es  Heliand-Forschern  aufgefallen,  dass  die 
Namen  der  wichtigeren  biblischen  Stadte  im  Heliand,  wenn  auch 
nicht  regelmassig,  mit  dem  Zusatze  "burg"  versehen  waren. 
Einige  Forscher  (besonders  Jostes)  hielten  sich  daraufhin  fiir 
berechtigt,  die  Heimat  des  Heliand  in  Gebieten  zu  suchen,  wo 
solche  "burg"-Namen  geschichtlich  nachweisbar  sind;  von 
der  richtigen  Ansicht  ausgehend,  dass  der  Verfasser  des  Heliand 
durch  diese  ihm  und  seinen  Lesern  bekannten  "burg"-Namen 
dazu  veranlasst  worden  sei,  den  jiidischen  fremdartigen  Namen 
dadurch  einen  heimischeren  Klang  au  verleihen,  dass  ihnen 
diese  deutsche  Bezeichnung  beigefiigt  wurde.  Andere  Forscher 
bestritten  die  Richtigkeit  dieser  Schlussfolgerung  sowie  die 
Berechtigung,  darauf  eine  Lokalisierung  der  Heliand-Heimat 
aufzubauen,  zumal  ja  der  Heliand  auch  zu  Flussnamen  die 
Silbe  "strdm,"  zu  Landernamen  die  Silbe  "land"  hinzufiige, 
ohne  uns  dadurch  das  Recht  zu  geben,  diese  Zusammenset- 
zungen  zur  Bestimmung  der  Heliand-Heimat  zu  benutzen. 
Noch  andere  bestritten  die  Resultate  derjenigen  Forscher, 
welche  auf  Grund  der  "burg"-Namen  den  Heliand  in  die  Nahe 
der  nordsachsischen  "burg"-Stadte,  Magdeburg, Hamburg,etc., 
verlegen  wollten,  und  fanden  andere  Gebiete  mit  "burg"- Namen 
als  mindestens  eben  so  bemerkenswert. 

Um  unsere  eigene  Anschauung  zu  begriinden,  geben  wir: 

a.  eine  Liste  der  wichtigsten  "burg"-Namen  im  Heliand; 

b.  einen  Uberblick  iiber  die  "burg"-Namen  des  Mittelalters 
und  zwar  bis  z.  J.  1000  bzw.  1500,  auf  dem  ganzen  fur 
den  Heliand  in  Frage  kommenden  Gebiete  Europas; 

c.  einen  Uberblick  iiber  die  "burg"-Namen  im  jetzigen 
Deutschland,  Holland  und  Danemark. 

a.  Im  Heliand  finden  sich  die  f  olgenden  wichtigsten  Stadtnamen 
mit  "burg:" 

Bethlemaburg  v.  404,  neben:  Bethlehem  v.  359; 

Hierichoburg  v.  3547  neben:  Hiericho  v.  3625  u.  3635; 

Nazarethburg  v.  257,  782,  3717,  4848  u.  5819,  ferner: 
NazarethburA  v.  5552; 

Rumuburg  v.  57,  63  neben:  "Rumu"  v.  3809; 

Sidono  burg  v.  2983; 

Sodomoburg  v.  1952. 


474  Metzenthin 

Wir  bemerken  also,  dass  von  den  Stadtnamen  nur  Nazareth- 
burg  niemals  ohne  den  Zusatz  "burg"  erscheint,  ausserdem 
"Sidono  burg"  in  zwei  Worte  zerlegt  ist  und  "Sodomoburg"  nur 
einmal  mit  "burg,"  keinmal  ohne  "burg"  erscheint.  Schon 
dies  beweist,  dass  die  Silbe  "burg"  nicht  als  ein  unzertrennlicher 
Bestandteil  des  Namens  angesehen  werden  darf.  Dies  wird 
bestatigt  durch  eine  Anzahl  von  Fallen,  wo  der  Ort  nur  pradi- 
kativ  als  eine  "Burg"  oder  wo  die  "Burg"  als  ein  Teil  des  Ortes 
bezeichnet  wird: 

v.  358  f :       (loseph)  .  .  .  s6hta  im  thiu  uuanamon  h6m, 

thea  burg  an  Bethlehem; 
v.  401:         an  thera  Davides  burg: 
v.  2089  f :     te  Capharnaum, .  .te  them  mareon  burg. 

v.  2176  f :     te  burg  them  h6hon,  . .  te  Nairn  (obgleich  Nairn  im  Tal  am  Fusse 
des  Tabor  liegt). 

Auch  war  nach  dem  Heliand  Palastina  damals  mit  "Burgen" 
iibersat,  was  folgende  Stellen  zeigen: 

v.  349  f :       Uuerod  samnoda  te  allaro  burgeo  gihuuem, — gemass  dem  Schat- 

zungsgebot  des  romischen  Kaisers. 
v.  1202  f :  Th6  uuard  it  allun  them  liudiun  cud 

fon  allaro  burgo  gihuuem. 
v.  1930  f :  al  s6  iu  uuegos  l£diad, 

bred  strata  te  burg, — namlich  die  Jiinger  auf  ihren  Missionsreisen; 
v.  3034  f :  S6hte  imu  burg  6dre, 

thiu  s6  thicco  uuas  mid  theru  thiodu  ludeono, 

mid  sudarliudiun  giseten, — Diese  Stelle  ist  ubrigens  hochst  merk- 
wiirdig  wegen   der   ratselhaften   Bezeichnung   der  Juden   als 
"Sudleute." 
v.  4367  f :  that  thea  h6hon  burgi 

umbi  Sodomo  land. 

Ausserdem  unterscheidet  der  Heliand  klar  zwischen  eigentlichen 
Burgen  im  engeren  Sinne,  hochragenden  Schlossern  gleichend, 
und,  wie  es  scheint,  nur  fiir  eine  Sippe  bestimmt,  und  Burgen  im 
weiteren  Sinne,  die  der  Dichter  als  volkreiche  Stadte  mit  Be- 
festigungen  darstellt,  wie  z.B.  Jerusalem  (vgl.  auch  v.  3034-6, 
s.  o.): 

v.  824:         Maria  klagt,  dass  sie  ihren  Sohn  suchen  sollte: 
undar  thesun  burgliudiun. 

In  der  Erzahlung  vom  Einzuge  Jesu  in  Jerusalem  (v.  3671-3733) 
finden  wir  folgende  Ausdriicke: 

v.  3672 :        te  Hierusalem, 

v.  3679:        te  theru  marean  burg, 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  475 

v.  3685 :  thene  burges  uual, 

v.  3686:  h6ha  hornseli  endi  6k  that  bus  godes, 

v.  3699:  these  uutki  (!)  auudstiad,  uuallos  h6ha, 

v.  3707:  an  thea  berhton  burg, 

v.  3712  f :  thiu  burg  uuard  an  hr6ru, 

that  folc  uuard  an  forhtun, 

v.  3727:  thesun  burgliudiun. 

Alles  in  allem  gewinnen  wir  den  Eindruck,  dass  der  Dichter  mit 
"burg"  einen  befestigten  Ort  bezeichnen  will.  Dabei  handelt 
es  sich  natiirlich,  wie  wir  schon  friiher  bei  all'  seinen  geogra- 
phischen  Angaben  gesehen  haben,  nicht  urn  irgend  welche  eigene 
Kenntniss  der  Verhaltnisse  in  Paliistina.  Er  weiss  nicht,  ob 
Nazareth,  das  er  stets  "burg"  nennt,  befestigt  war,  noch  hat  er 
in  der  Bibel  irgend  einen  Anhalt  fur  die  Annahme  vieler  "Bur- 
gen"  in  S6domoland.  Er  setzt  vielmehr,  gemass  seinen  Beo- 
bachtungen  im  eigenen  Vaterlande,  voraus,  dass  alle  wichti- 
geren  Orte  mit  Befestigungen  versehen  sind,  und  gibt  ihnen 
deshalb  den  "burg"-Titel,  naturlich,  um  bei  seinen  Lesern 
dieselbe  Vorstellung  eines  befestigten  Platzes  zu  erwecken. 

Dies  aber  hatte  er  nicht  tun  konnen,  wenn  seinen  Lesern 
diese  Bedeutung  einer  "Burg"  nicht  aus  ihrem  eigenen  Heimats-, 
oder  doch  einem  Nachbar-Bezirk  bekannt  und  vertraut  gewesen 
ware.  So  diirfen  wir  allerdings  mit  Bestimmtheit  behaupten, 
dass  seine  Leser  nicht  zu  suchen  sind  in  einer  Gegend,  wo  es 
weder  Burgen  noch  Stadte  mit  "burg"-Namen  gab.  Denn  sonst 
hatte  sein  Anfiigen  von  "burg"  zu  biblischen  Ortsnamen  den 
Zweck  der  Verdeutlichung  und  Veranschaulichung  vollig  ver- 
fehlt.  Und  wir  haben  in  der  Tat  die  Berechtigung,  Karten  des 
Mittelalters  daraufhin  zu  priifen,  wo  sich  in  der  damaligen  Zeit 
mit  "burg"  zusammengesetzte  Ortsnamen  finden,  zu  dem 
Zwecke,  herauszufinden,  welche  Gebiete  fur  die  Heimatsbe- 
stimmung  iiberhaupt  in  Frage  kommen  konnen.  Dies  fiihrt  uns 
zu  Teil  b: 

b.  Aus  den  Karten  Europas  im  Mittelalter  ergibt  sich  das  fol- 
gende: 

I.  In  den  fiir  die  Heliand-Heimat  in  betracht  kommenden 
Gebieten  des  Frankenreiches  finden  wir  auf  den  altesten 
Karten: 
1.  im  eigentlichen  Sachsen: 

in  Westfalia:  nur  2,  namlich  Sigiburg  und  Dersaburg, 
— doch  beides  nicht  Burgen  im  Sinn  von  befestigten, 


476  Metzenthin 

volkreichen  Stadten; — aber  zahlreiche  Namen  mit 
folgenden  Anfiigungen:  feld,  ford,  old,  briigge, 
husin. 

in  Engern:  nur  3,  namlich:  Eresburg,  Skidraburg  und 
Osterpurge;  sonst  Namen  mit  brun,  stelli,  berg, 
steti,  ford,  dihi,  oder  mit  a,  z.B.  Ferdia,  Brema, 
Schatzla; 

Ostfalen  hat  dagegen  6,  namlich:  Magathburg,  (oder 
Magadaburg),  Arnaburdf  (diese  Schreibung  spricht 
fiir  die  erweichte  Aussprache  des  g,  die  mit  der 
Alliteration  des  g  und  h  (ch)  im  Heliand  in  bemer- 
kenswerter  Weise  iibereinstimmt),  Unnesburg,  Qui- 
dilingiburg;  weiter  im  Siiden,  wo  namhafte  Forscher 
die  Heimat  des  Heliand  annehmen:  Merseburg  im 
Hasigawe  und  Altenburg. 

Transalbingia  aber  zeigt:  Hammaburg,  spater  Linni- 
burg  und  Rendesborg;  im  14.  Jahrhundert:  Flens- 
burg,  Schauenburg,  Lauenburg,  Ratzeburg,  und 
noch  diesseits  der  Unterelbe:  Harburg,  Liinaburg, 
Rotenburg  und  Osterburg. 

2.  in  eigentlichen  Franken: 

Rheinland  nur  1 :  Gau  Dius/mrg  bzw.  Stadt  Dius&urg. 

Ostfranken  bietet  eine  grosse  Zahl  [6]  schon  in  altester 
Zeit: 

Isenburg  (nahe  Confluentia),  Hamelenburg,  Wiirzi- 
burg,  Wizuniburg,  Strazburg,  Buriaburg  und  3 
spatere:  Amanaburg,  Rotenburg,  Lintburc  (diese 
Schreibweise  deutet  an,  dass  hier  g  nicht  erweicht 
war  wie  an  der  Elbe!!); 

3.  in  Thiiringen:  kein  einziger  Name  mit  Burg! 

4.  in  Bayern:  nordlich  der  Donau  ebenfalls  kein  einziger 

in  friihester  Zeit,  nur  einer  (Nabeburg)  spater: 
dagegen  siidlich  der  Donau  6:  Eberesburg,  Nuren- 
burg,  Weltenburg,  Salzburg.  Ameisi/>urc/?,  Re- 
ganisburc  (oder  />urg),  die  aber  fiir  uns  nicht  von 
Bedeutung  sind,  da  sie  in  einem  Gebiete  liegen,  in 
dem  jetzt  kein  Forscher  mehr  die  Heimat  des  Heli- 
and sucht. 

5.  im    nordwestlichsten    Deutschland, — jetzt    zu    Holland 
r  gehorig — findet    sich, — und    das   fallt    schwer   ins 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  477 

Gewicht  gegen  die  Annahme  dieses  Gebietes  als 
Heimat  des  Heliand — nur  ein  "burg"-Name,  der 
aber  schon  bald  nach  800  wieder  verschwunden 
scheint,  namlich  Wittaburg; 

6.  im  Gebiet  des  heutigen  Oldenburg  finden  wir  6  "burg"- 

Namen. 
II.  Von^Gebieten  ausserhalb   des   damaligen   Frankenreiches 

finden    wir     "burg"-Namen — und    das    ist    von    hoher 

Bedeutung, — fast  nur  in  Gegenden,  die 

1.  von  Nordmannern,  besonders  Danen,  bewohnt  oder 

erobert  bzw.  besiedelt  waren,  z.B.  in  Danemark 
selbst,  mit  dem  Wechsel  des  burg  zu  borg:  Aalborg; 
in  Schweden:  Helsingborg;  in  Norwegen:  Tonsburg 
(seit  1400  verschwunden);  auf  Island:  Ortschaft 
Borg  (vor  1197);  besonders  aber  auf  angelsach- 
sischem  Gebiete,  namlich  in  East  Engle:  SuthburA 
und  CantwaraburA,  (i.  J.  800  ca.),  auf  den  altesten 
Karten  (v.  J.  700  etwa)  geschrieben:  Cantwara- 
burig,  wohl  ein  Hinweis  auf  seinen  ost-  oder  nord- 
elbischen  Ursprung  (vgl.  ArnaburcA  sowie  auch 
SigebercA,  letzteres  im  "Limes  Saxonicus"  zwischen 
Ltibeck  und  Lauenburg). 

2.  Auch  auf  den  unserm  angenommenen  Heimatsgebiete 

anliegenden  slamschen  Gebieten  biirgern  sich  sehr 
bald  "burg"-Namen  ein.  So  finden  wir  unter  6 
Orten  in  der  "Bilungischen  Mark,"  dem  jetzigen 
Mecklenburg,  3  mit  "burg"  zusammengesetzte, 
namlich  Aldinburg  (jetzt  Oldenburg)  in  Wagria, 
Racesburg  und  Mikilinburg,  schon  ausserhalb  noch: 
Brendanburch  (wieder  das  erweichte  End-"g"  im 
b'stlichen  Deutschland!)  und  Smeldingconnoburg 
nahe  Ludwigslust.  Weiter  ostlich  finden  wir  dann 
keine  "burg"-Orte  mehr,  sondern  nur  die  slavischen 
Endungen:  itz,  in,  av,  oder  auch  beck, — ein  Zeichen, 
dass  die  "burg"-Namen  nicht  einheimisches  Ge- 
wachs  dort  waren,  sondern  durch  die  deutschen 
Kolonisten,  naturgemass  vor  allem  durch  die 
angrenzenden  Sachsen,  eingefiihrt  waren;  vgl. 
spater  auch  Marienburg. 


478  Metzenthin 

III.  Zusammenfassend  konnen  wir  das  folgende  feststellen: 

1.  Nur  in  Ost-  imd  Nordalbingien  sowie  in  Siidost- 
England  finden  wir  die  Neigung  zum  erweichten  g 
(ig,  ch,  h)  in  den  "burg"-Namen,  entsprechend  der 
wahrscheinlichen  Aussprache  des  g  im  Heliand, 
wahrend  die  Silbe  im  Bayrischen:  burc  oder  pure,  im 
Danischen:  borg,  Altschwedischen:  borgh — geschrie- 
ben  ist.  Dagegen  findet  sich  Altfriesisch:  burch  und 
burich,  Angelsachsisch:  burn,  burig,  bury. 
2.  Lauffer's  Behauptung,13  dass  der  Name  "Stadt" 
erst  im  Mittelhochdeutschen  auftrete,  muss  doch  auf 
Grund  dieser  altesten  Karten  zum  mindesten  einge- 
schrankt  werden,  da  wir  schon  vor  dem  Jahre  1000: 
Stade,  Bukstadin,  Saligam/a<//  und  besonders  Halber- 
stadt  in  Ostfalen  haben.  Und  wenn  Lauffer  mit  Recht 
sagt,  dass  "nicht  jede  Burg  eine  Stadt"  war,  so  fiigt 
sich  das  in  unsere  Untersuchung  bekraftigend  ein, 
insof ern  als  wir  auch  im  Heliand  die  zwei  verschiedenen 
Bedeutungen  von  "burg"  (s.  oben:  "burg-Namen  im 
Heliand")  erkannt  haben.  Wir  mogen  aber  hinzu- 
fiigen,  dass  damals  an  der  gefahrdeten  Ostgrenze  des 
deutschen  Reiches  fast  jede  Stadt  eine  "Burg,"  d.h. 
ein  befestigter,  mit  Mauern  umgebener  Platz  war. 
3.  Die  Behauptung  von  Collitz,  dass  die  "burg"- 
Namen  viel  jiinger  seien  als  der  Heliand,  ist  kaum 
haltbar  angesichts  der  historischen  Tatsache,  die 
durch  die  alten  Karten  noch  bestatigt  wird,  dass 
schon  unter  und  von  Karl  dem  Grossen  Magadaburg 
(schon  i.  J.  805,  als  Handelsstadt  nachweisbar!)  und 
Hammaburg  gegriindet  wurden,  ganz  zu  schweigen  von 
Strazburg,  Weissenburg,  Regensburg  u.  a.  alteren 
"burg"-Stadten.  So  ist  auch  dieser  Einwand  gegen 
die  Benutzung  der  "burg"-Namen  zur  Lokalisierung 
des  Heliand  oder  seiner  Leser  hinfallig. 
4.  Von  den  fur  die  Heliand-Heimat  vorgeschlagenen 
Gebieten  kommen,  auf  Grund  der  Karten,  die  folgen- 
den  Bezirke  als  "burg"-/0s  fur  uns  nicht  in  Betracht: 
die  Bistumer:  Paderborn,  Verden,  Minden,  Bremen, 
Minister  i/  W,  Osnabriick,  d.h.  also,  ausser  Bremen, 
u  a.  a.  O. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  479 

lauter  Bezirke,  die  zugleich  fern  von  der  See  liegen 

(s.o.    unter    "See"    und    "Fischerei")    und    dem 

Erzbistum  Coin  unterstanden,  wahrend  alle  Manu- 

skripte  unseres  Heliand  auf  das  Erzbistum  MAINZ 

hinweisen  (s.  naheres  im  Kapitel  III),  ein  sicherlich 

bemerkenswertes  Zusammentreffen. 

5.         Wir  leugnen  nicht,  dass  dieses  ganze  Kartenmaterial 

fur  sich  allein  keinen  zwingenden  wissenschaftlichen 

Beweis  fiir   unsere  Lokalisierung  liefern  kann,   dass 

spatere  Namen   dabei  friiher  angesetzt  sein  mogen, 

als  sie  wirklich  gebraucht  wurden,  dass  manche  wirk- 

lich  vorhandenen  Namen  auf  den  Karten  nicht  ver- 

zeichnet  sein  mogen. 

Anderseits  aber  ist  doch  ein  zweifaches  unverkenn- 
bar:  Erstens,  dass  die  Neigung,  Stadtnamen  mit  der 
Endsilbe  "burg"  zu  bilden,  entschieden  an  der  ganzen 
Ostgrenze  des  damaligen  deutschen  Reiches  iiberwog. 
Und  das  war  ja  nur  zu  natiirlich.  Bedurften  doch 
diese  Stadte,  welche  zugleich  Handelszentren  mit  den 
benachbarten  slavischen  bzw.  danischen  Gebieten  (bei 
Magdeburg  wurden  bereits  unter  Karl  dem  Grossen 
zwei  machtige,  befestigte  Briicken  iiber  die  dort  schon 
sehr  breite  und  noch  reissende  Elbe  geschlagen!)  und 
Schutzposten  gegen  etwaige  feindliche  Invasionen  wa- 
ren,  besonders  starker  Befestigungen,  weit  mehr  als  die 
gesicherten  Stadte  im  Innern  des  Reiches.  Zweitens 
lehrt  ein  Studium  der  damaligen  Karten,  dass  "burg"- 
Namen  vor  allem  in  Gebieten  der  Nordmanner, 
besonders  in  Danemark  und  Siidost-England,  schon 
in  altesten  Zeiten  sehr  haufig  waren  und  sich  dort  bis 
in  die  neueste  Zeit  erhalten  haben.  So  konnen  wir  als 
ausreichend  begrundet  die  Behauptung  aufrecht  er- 
halten, dass  die  "burg"-Namen  des  Heliand  nicht  ins 
Innere  des  Frankenreiches,  sondern  an  seine  osttiche 
Grenze,  ja  iiberwiegend  nach  dem  aussersten  Nordosten 
(Holstein)  und  sogar  nach  Danemark  hinweisen  als 
Gebieten,  fur  deren  Christianisierung  der  Heliand 
bestimmt  war. 

c.       Betreffs  der  Stadte  mit  "burg" -Namen  auf  NEUZEITLICHEN 
Karten  konnen  wir  uns  kurz  fassen.     Wir  ersehen  aus  diesen, 


480  Metzenthin 

dass  auch  heute  noch  kein  einziger  "burg"-  Name  zu  finden  ist 
in  den  Gebieten  von  Osnabriick,  Paderborn  (doch  viele  mit 
berg  und  born),  Verden  (doch  viele  mit  hagen,  hausen,  holz, 
bergen,  dorf,  bostel,  sen  und  en),  Hildesheim  (vorherrschend: 
rode),  Fulda  und  Hersfeld.  Im  Miinsterbezirk  finden  wir  nur 
das  einzige:  Tecklenburg;  entlang  der  Weser  nur  zwei,  namlich: 
Nienburg  und  Drakenburg  (dagegen  viele  auf  bergen,  berg  und 
heim);  am  Harz  schon  drei:  Harzburg,  Ilsenburg  und  Stapel- 
burg  (sonst  dort  vorherrschend  rode,  feld,  stedt,  thai,  berg,  ried 
und  stein).  Nebenbei  bemerkt,  sind  diese  Kompositionssilben 
ausserordentlich  bezeichnend  fiir  den  waldigen  und  bergigen 
Charakter  der  Landschaft;  auch  werden  wir  hierdurch  daran 
erinnert,  dass  die  landschaf tliche  Staffage  des  Heliand  durchaus 
nicht  auf  ein  bergiges  Gebiet  hinweist,  im  Gegensatz  zu  Mittel- 
deutschland,  wo  die  forg-Namen  ungewohnlich  haufig  sind. 

Vergleichen  wir  nun  mit  den  obengenannten  "burg'Mosen 
und  "burg"-armen  Landesteilen  einmal  das  untere  Elbgebiet  von 
Wittenberg  abwarts  mit  seinen  11  "burg"-Namen,  das  Ham- 
burger Gebiet  mit  13  (!)  "burg"-Namen  (dicht  gesat),  dagegen 
fast  keinem  "berg"-Namen,  das  kleine  Holstein  mit  5  "burg"- 
Namen,  wovon  drei  allein  in  Dithmarschen,  sodann  die  Gebiete 
der  Nordmanner,  bes.  Danemark,  mit  den  schier  unzahligen 
"borg"-Namen,  so  erkennen  wir,  dass  die  Neigung  zur  Bildung 
von  Stadtenamen  mit  "burg"  auf  dem  von  uns  in  Anspruch 
genommenen  Heliand-Gebiete  in  geradezu  auffallender  Weise 
iiberwiegt  und  sich  dort  durch  mehr  als  1000  Jahre  zah  erhalten 
hat.  Wir  haben  dabei  nicht  verschwiegen,  dass  ausser  in  diesem 
nordb'stlichsten  Teile  des  Frankenreiches  "burg"-Namen  sich 
auch  noch  ziemlich  zahlreich  finden  in  Oldenburg  (insgesamt  6) 
und  besonders  in  Siidostfalen  (Hessegau,  Friesenfeld),  von 
denen  das  erste  Gebiet  auch  dem  Meere  naheliegt  und  deshalb 
fiir  den  Heliand  in  Frage  kommen  konnte,  das  zweite  sehr 
warme  Befiirworter  gefunden  hat,  fiir  uns  jedoch  ausscheiden 
muss  wegen  seines  bergigen  Charakters,  seiner  unbedeutenden 
Gewasser,  besonders  aber  seiner  binnenlandischen  Lage,  fern 
von  jeder  Beziehung  zum  Meere. 

2.  Die  Bedeutung  von  "holm" 

Fast  dasselbe  Resultat  gewinnen  wir,  ganzlich  unabhangig 
von  der  bisherigen  Untersuchung, — und  das  ist  ein  hochst 
beachtenswertes  Zusammentreffen, — durch  ein  Studium  der 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  481 

Karten  inbezug  auf  einen  charakteristischen  Ausdruck  im 
Heliand,  der  ebenfalls  ein  frei  erfundener  Zusatz  des  Dichters 
ist:  namlich  "holm." 

Wir  finden  diesen  Ausdruck  an  folgenden  Stellen: 

v.  1395  ff :    than  mer  the  thiu  burg  ni  mag,  thiu  an  berge  stad, 

h6  HOLMKLibu  (oder:  hoh  an  HOLMKlibe)  biholen  uuerden  uurisllc 

giuuerc, — 

Dies  ist  eine  Wiedergabe  der  Worte  Jesu:  Non  potest  civitas 
(im  Heliand  mit:  "burg"  wiedergegeben,-s.o., — das  also  auch 
hier  eine  richtige  Stadt,  nicht  bloss  ein  einzelnes  Kastell  bezeich- 
net)  abscondi  supra  montem,  oder  ahd:  (Tatian  c.  25,  1):  "Ni 
mag  burg  uuerdan  giborgan  ubar  berg  gisezzitu." — 
v.  2682  ff:  (iiber  den  Versuch  der  Nazarener,  Jesum  von  einem  Felsen  hinab- 

zustiirzen) : 

st£g  uppen  thene  STENHOLM, 

thar  sie  ine  fan  themu  uualle  nider  uuerpen  hugdun. 
v.  4843  ff:    (die  Krieger,  die  Jesum  im  Garten  Gethsemane,  am  Fusse  (!)  des 

Olbergs  gefangen  nehmen  wollen,  antworten  auf  seine  Frage:  "Wen 

suchetlhr?"): 

quadun  that  im  heleand  thar  an  themi  holme  uppan  geuuisid  uuari. 
Die  Bibel  (Joh.  18,  5)  und  Tatian  (c.  184,  1)  haben  nur  die 
Worte: — "Ihesum  Nazarenum"  bzw.  "then  heilant  Nazarenis- 
gon." 

Wir  haben  nun  zu  untersuchen,  was  "holm"  bedeutet. 

Rilckert  und  Behaghel  geben  in  ihren  Glossaren  beide  die 
tibersetzung:  Hugel  (holmklif — ragender  Fels),  ags.  und 
eng:  holm,  altn:  holmo,  lat:  columen,  culmen,  mit  den 
zwei  Bedeutungen:  1. — Aus  dem  Wasser  ragende  Lander- 
hohung,  Insel  (vgl.  Voss),  auch  Halbinsel,  Werder;  2. — In 
den  nordischen  Seestadten:  Schiffsbauplatz,  Schiffswerft 
(nach  der  Lage).  Ebenso  Sanders  und  Heyne. 

Grimm  verzeichnet  die  Bedeutung:  "Hugel"  und  nennt 
es  ein  aus  dem  ndd.  in  die  Schriftsprache  gekommenes 
Wort. 

Kluge  dagegen  gibt  "holm"  als:  "kleine  Insel  im  Fluss  oder 
See"  wieder  und  behauptet,  es  sei  erst  neuhochdeutsch, 
fiihrt  es  zuriick  auf  ags:  Meer,  See,  altn:  holmo — "kleine 
Insel  in  einer  Bucht  oder  im  Fluss,"  vergleicht  es  mit 
englisch:  hill,  lateinisch:  collis  und  culmen,  russisch: 
cholmu  (Hugel),  gemeinslavisch:  chulmu. 

Webster  bezeichnet  "holm"  als  ags.,  low  G.,  Dan.,  Sw; 
lateinisch:  holmus  und  hulmus,  slavisch:  cholm  (Hugel) 


482  Metzenthin 

und  gibt  zwei  Bedeutungen:  1 — an  islet  or  river  isle;  2 — a 

low,  flat  tract  of  rich  land  on  the  banks  of  a  river. 
Thieme  (Englisch-Deutsches  Worterbuch)  gibt  "holm"  wieder 

durch:  Werder,  kleine  Insel,  Flussinsel,  niederer  Land- 

strich  an  der  Seekiiste,  Anhohe,  Hiigel. 
Murray  erklart  es  als:  islet  in  bay,  creek,  lake,  river,  near 

the  mainland,  meadow  on  the  shore;  corresponding  to 

0.  S.,  Dan.,  G:  holm,  hill. 
Century  Dictionary  sagt:  O.  S.:  a  hill;  O.  G;  L.  G;  island  in 

a  river;  G:  hill,  island  in  a  river,  wharf;  Icel:  islet  in  a 

bay   or   river,   meadow;    Sw:  small   island;    Dan:  islet, 

dockyard;  Lat:  columen,  culmen;  Slav:  khlum,  hum,  etc. 
H.  Gehring  (Edda  Worterbuch)  erwahnt:  holmo  (norw.  und 

altdan.);  holm  (alts,  und  ags.);  holmus  (Faror  Inseln); 

holmber    (altschw.);    und   gibt    die   zwei    Bedeutungen: 

1 — Insel;  2 — Kampfplatz,  meist  auf  Insel. — Altfriesisch 

soil  es:  "Insel"  oder  "Hugel"  bedeuten. 
Waldeck'sches  Worterbuch  (Bauer-Collitz  1902)  fiihrt  an  im: 

Teil  I:  Heutiger  ndd.  Wortschatz:  hole  1. — Federbusch  der 
Vogel;  2. — der  hochste  Gipfel  eines  Berges. 

Teil  II:  Worter  aus  Urkunden:  hovel  und  hiibel — Hiigel. 

Wenn  wir  diese  verschiedenartigen  Erklarungen14  vergleich- 

end  betrachten,  so  drangt  sich  uns  die  Wahrnehmung  auf,  dass 

14  Fur  eine  erschopfende  Beantwortung  der  holm-Frage  diirften  noch  die 
folgenden  Erklarungen  von  holm  in  zuverlassigen  Spezialworterbiichern  von 
Wert  sein: 

1.  Lexicon  Poeticum  Antiquae  Linguae  Septentriondis  von  Egilsson  (1860). 

Holmr  m:  insula;  locus  certaminis,  duelli; 
hauks  holmr:  terra  accipitris,  MONS  (!) 

2.  Angelsachsisches  Worterbuch. 

v.  j.  1898:  holm  oldsaxon:  mound,  hill,  rising  ground, 
v.  j.  1916:  holm:  wave,  sea,  ocean,  water; — 

in  place-names  and  poetry:  island  in  river  or  creek, 
holmcliff :  seacliff,  rocky  shore. 

3.  English  Dictionary: 

holm:  ags.  deposit  of  soil  at  the  confluence  of  rivers. 
Dutch :  mound,  sandbank,  river  island. 
Norse:  small  island. 

4.  Fr.  L.  K.  Weigand,  Deulsches  Worterbuch,  V.  A.  1909  I,  884: 

engl:  Insel,  Werder,  Klippe,  HUGEL  (!) 

schwed:  holme  \  , ,  . 
...      ,    i  i  kleine  Insel 

dan:  holm        J 

Gleichen  Sinnes  wie  ndl.  hille,  hil;  ags.  hyll;   engl.  hill  "Hiigel." 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  483 

in  dem  Wort  "holm"  zwei  verschiedene  Stromungen  zusammen- 
treflfen,  eine  vom  Siiden  her,  aus  dem  romanischen  (collis,  cul- 
men)  bzw.  vom  Siidosten,  aus  dem  slavischen  (chlumu,  etc.) 
mit  der  Bedeutung  "Hiigel,"  und  eine  vom  Norden  her,  be- 
sonders  Skandinavien,  mit  der  Bedeutung  "Insel,"  "Werder," 
"Seestrand." 

Obwohl  diese  beiden  Bedeutungen  sich  auf  den  ersten  Blick 
gegenseitig  auszuschliessen  scheinen,  so  ist  doch  wohl  ein 
Zusammenstimmen  denkbar.  Vom  Meere  aus  gesehen  ist  ja 
eine  Insel  oder  ein  Strand  ganz  gewiss  ebenso  eine  "Erhohung," 
wie  es  ein  "Hiigel"  im  Flachlande  ist.  Beide  sind  fur  das  Auge 
des  Herannahenden  etwas  "Aufragendes." 

Bei  fliich tiger  Betrachtung  hat  es  ferner  zwar  den  Anschein, 
als  ob  der  Heliand  den  Ausdruck  "holm"  in  den  drei  oben 
(S.  481)  zitierten  Stellen  durchaus  nicht  im  nordischen 
Sinne  von  Insel  (Werder,  Seestrand)  gebraucht,  sondern  im 
siidlichen  (romanischen)  Sinne  von  Hiigel.  Und  man  konnte 
daraus  folgern,  dass  der  Heliand  nicht  fur  nordliche,  danische 
Leser  bestimmt  gewesen  zu  sein  braucht.  Eine  genauere 
Untersuchung  lasst  jedoch  an  der  Berechtigung  dieser  Schluss- 
folgerung  zweifeln. 

Auf  alteren  Karten  (v.  J.  950-1648)  finden  wir  "holm"- 
Namen  namlich  nur  in  folgenden  Landern: 
Danemark:  nur  Bornholm  (i.  J.  1000:  Hulmus,  auch  Burgund- 
(i)aholm).(auch  in  Wheaton) 


5.  Dan.  Sanders,  Handworterbueh  der  deutschen  Sprache,  8.  A.  1912. 

holm 2)  Erderhohung,    Hiigel,    namentlich    eine    kleine,    iibers 

Wasser  ragende  Insel  oder  Halbinsel  (vgl.  Werder). 

6.  Veith,  W  orterbuch  fur  die  Deutschen  otter  Lander,  Hamburg,  1913. 

holm  (ndd)  kleiner  Hiigel,  bes.  im  Wasser,  also  auch  kleine  Tnsel. 

Postort  in  HOLSTEIN  (!),  Ortschaft  in  der  LUNEBURGER 
Heide.  (Man  beachte,  dass  beide  Orte  in  unserem  Heliand- 
gebiet  liegen!). 

Es  ist  wohl  kaum  zu  bezweifeln,  dass  holm  urspriinglich  nichts  mit  Wasser, 
Meer,  Fluss  zu  tun  hat,  sondern  irgend  eine  "Erhohung"  bezeichnet,  dass  dieser 
Grundbegriff  sich  dann  spaltet  und  naturgemass  bei  den  seefahrenden  Volkern 
an  der  Wasserkante,  bes.  den  Nordlandern  (ags,  an,  dan,  ndl.)  als  Erhohung  im 
oder  am  Wasser  (d.  h.  Insel,  Halbinsel,  Werder,  Werft,  bzw.  auch  ags.  "die  hohe 
See,"  Meereswoge),  bei  den  Landbewohnern  aber  (Russisch:  cholmu  Hiigel,  aus 
gemeinslav.  chulmu,  lat.  collis,  oilmen,  griech.  kolonos,  lit.  kalnas  auch  engl. 
hill)  als  Erhohung  im  Flachlande  erscheint. 


484  Metzenthin 

Island  hat  bald  nach  d.J.  861  schon  den  Namen  Gardar-s'holm 
nach  dem  Entdecker. 
Schweden  i.  J.  1400  ca.  hat: 

Stockholm: 

Borgholm  auf  Insel  Oland,  an 
W'Kiiste; 


Lagaholm  in  Gau  Halandia, 
Siidwest-Schweden  (Helian- 
dis  auch,  verschwindet  nach 
1650); 

Lindholm  an  Siidspitze; 


also  nur  in  Verbindung 
mit  dem  Meer  (ausser 
etwa  Lindholm)  u.  nahe 
Danemark  (ausser  Stock- 
holm). 


i.J.  1648: 

Kexholm  in  Finnland,   an 

der  Spitze  einer  Insel; 
Culm  erscheint  zuerst  i.  J.  1400  i.  Westpreussen  (auch  Culmer- 

land) 
Culmbach  erscheint  zuerst  i.  J.  1675. 

Wir  geben  nun  eine  zahlenmassige  Zusammenstellung 
samtlicher  "holm"-Namen  der  Gegenwart  an.  Wir  finden 
"holm"-Namen  in  folgenden  Landern: 

a.  englischer  Zunge  (14x)  und  zwar  stets,  ausser  Ix  in  Aus- 

tralien,  in  Verbindung  mit  Wasser;  namlich: 
3x  in  Australien,  worunter  Holmes  Cliffe  (vgl.  Heliand 

v.  1396)  im  Korallen-Meer; 
2x  in  den  Vereinigten  Staaten  von  Nordamerika. 
6x  in  England  selbst  (wozu  viele  "Holmes"); 
Ox  in  Irland; 

Ox  in  Schottland,  dagegen 
3x  auf     Schottland's    Orkney    Inseln,    worunter    das 

Inselchen  "Green  Holm." 

b.  in  Skandinamen  (5x),  und  zwar  stets,  ausser  Ix  in  Danemark, 
in  Verbindung  mit  Wasser,  namlich: 

Ix  in  Norwegen; 
Ix  in  Schweden; 

3x  in  Danemark,  wo  Holmstrup,  ganz  wie  im  Heliand, 
ohne  Wasser. 

c.  in  Holstein,  und  zwar  ganz  genau  im  Sinne  des  Heliand,  und 
ohne  jeden  Zusatz: 

"Holm,"    auffallender    Weise    nordlich    von    Hamburg, 
unfern  der  Elbe,  auf  einem  Hohenzuge. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  485 

d.  Ix  in  Bayern:  "Rauhe  Holm." 

e.  Ix  in  Niederosterreich:  "Holm-Berg,"  beide  Male  im  Sinne 

des  Heliand,  d.h.  ohne  Beziehung  zu  Wasser,  jedoch  zur 
Bezeichnung  eines  hohen  Berges,  wahrend  der  Heliand 
darunter  nur  eine  unbedeutende  Erhohung  versteht. 
Eine    genaue    Untersuchung    aller    uns    erreichbaren    geogra- 
phischen  Namen  mit  "holm"  ergibt  mithin  das  folgende  Resul- 
tat: 

1.  Namen  mit  holm  (holme  u.a.)  finden  sich,  im  Mittelalter  und 
heute,  nur  in  England,  Norwegen,  Schweden,  Danemark  und 
Schleswig-Hostein,    nirgends    aber    im    iibrigen    Deutschland 
(ausser  in  Bayern!),  weder  im  Gebiet  des  alten  Westfalens, 
Engerns,  noch  Ostfalens,  noch  auch  auf  hollandischem  oder  west- 
friesischem  Gebiete,  sicher  in  keinem  einzigen  aller  von  Heliand- 
forschern  sonst  wrgesc-hlagenen  Heimatsgebiete,  ausser  in  Nord- 
albingienl! 

Wie  sollte  aber  der  Dichter  dazu  kommen,  in  Abanderung 
seiner  Quellen  einen  Begriff  einzufiihren  bzw.  einen  geogra- 
phischen  Ausdruck  zu  gebrauchen,  welcher  seinen  Lesern  nir- 
gends sonst  in  der  Nomenklatur  ihrer  Heimat  oder  in  der  Topo- 
graphic ihres  Bezirkes  entgegentrat?  Das  hiesse,  klare  Bilder 
und  Anschauungen  absichtlich  verdunkeln  und  widersprache  der 
allgemein  anerkannten  Bemiihung  und  Fahigkeit  unsers 
Dichters,  Dunkelheiten  seiner  Quelle  fur  sein  Publikum  aufzu- 
hellen. 

2.  Wir  lassen  die  Frage  unentschieden,  ob  "holm"  als  ein 
"cognate"    von    Culm    (Kolm)    im    Bayrischen    (bzw.    West- 
preusischen)  oder  sogar  von  Chulm   (Chlum)  im  Slavischen 
anzusehen   ist,    da   sie   fiir   unsere    Untersuchung   nicht   von 
Bedeutung  ist.     Doch  ist  es  sehr  auffallend  und  wichtig  und 
eroffnet  den  Weg  su  tiefer  eindringenden  Untersuchungen,  dass 
der  Heliand-"holm"  nicht,  wie  man  erwarten  sollte,  im  Sinne 
des  nordiscken  oder  angelsachsischen  "holm," — doch  vgl.  Dane- 
mark    und   Australien    je    Ix, — d.h.    als    Bezeichnung    einer 
"Insel"  oder  auch  nur  in  irgendeiner  Beziehung  zu  "Wasser" 
(See  oder  Fluss)    gebraucht   wird,    sondern   mehr   im   Sinne 
des  suddeutschen  Kulm   (vgl.  besonders  v.   2682:  ste"g  uppen 
thene   ste'nholm),    dem   wir   besonders   zwischen   Donau   und 
dem    frankisch-bayrisch-bohmischen    Mittelgebirge    sowie    in 
Thiiringen    begegnen,    d.h.    einem    Gebiete,    das    dem    alten 


486  Metzenthin 

Hassegau  und  Friesenfeld  recht  nahe  kommt,  ohne  es  jedoch  zu 
erreichen. 

Nehmen  wir  dazu  noch,  dass  die  einzigen  mit  "holm"  zusam- 
mengesetzten  Bergnamen  sich  zur  Jetztzeit,  soweit  wir  sehen 
konnen,  nirgends  in  ganz  Europa  finden  ausser  auf  altbayri- 
schem  Gebiet — und  zwar  "Holm-Berg"  nordostlich  von  Linz  in 
Oberosterreich,  nahe  der  siidostlichen  bohmischen  Grenze  und 
"Rauhe  Holm,"  1019  m.  hoch,  im  Bayrischen  Wald,  oberhalb 
eines  Nebenflusses  des  Regen — ,  so  ist  nicht  zu  leugnen,  dass 
fur  unsere  "Heimatfrage"  das  siidlichste  Ostfalen,  wo  wir  ja 
auch  zahlreiche  Ortsnamen  mit  "burg"  fanden,  ein  starker 
Rivale  des  an  "holm,"  jedoch  in  anderm  Sinne,  so  reichen 
Holsteins  ist.  (vgl.  auch  Rlickert,  S.  72,  Anm.  zu  v.  1396). 15 
Griinde,  weshalb  wir  dennoch  Siidostfalen  als  Heimatsbezirk 
ausscheiden  miissen,  haben  wir  bereits  am  Schlusse  des  "burg"- 
Abschnittes  zusammengestellt;  andere  Griinde  gegen  Siidost- 
falen werden  sich  im  folgenden  Kapitel  bei  der  Untersuchung  der 
Handschriften  ergeben. 

Ill 

WOHIN  DEUTEN  DIE  HANDSCHRIFTEN  DES  HELIAND? 
Vorbemerkungen 

In  diesem  Kapitel  sollen  nur  die  fur  das  Heimatsproblem 
bedeutsamen  Folgerungen  aus  den  Resultaten  der  bisherigen 
Forschungen  iiber  die  Handschriften  gezogen  werden,  um  zu 
zeigen,  dass  diese  Resultate  mit  unserer  unabhangig  davon 
gewonnenen  Lokalisierung  der  Adressaten  grosstenteils  verein- 
bar  sind  und  dieselben  sogar  vielfach  bekraftigen.  Zu  einer 
vollstandigen  Losung  des  Heliandproblems  bedarf  es,  ausser 
dem  immer  tiefer  eindringenden  Studium  des  Gedichtes  selber, 
der  sorgfaltigsten  Durchforschung  aller  vier  Handschriften  und 
ihrer  Geschichte. 

Wie  weit  die  Germanistik,  trotz  der  zahlreichen  und  einge- 
henden  Untersuchungen  von  Sachkennern,  noch  immer  von 
der  Losung  auch  nur  des  Heimatsproblems  entfernt  ist,  und 
wie  unerlasslich  daher  immer  erneute  Forschungen  in  dieser 

18  Ubersehen  darf  hier  auch  nicht  werden,  dass,  wie  in  Anm.  14  gezeigt  ist, 
"holm"  im  Altsachsischen  und  Althollandischen  genau  das  bedeuten  kann,  als 
was  es  im  Heliand  erscheint,  niimlich:  mound,  hill! 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  487 

Richtung  sind,  besonders  auf  dem  literarhistorischen  Gebiete, 
zeigt  die  folgende  Ubersicht  liber  die  Resultate  der  bisherigen 
Versuche,  die  Handschrif  ten  zu  lokalisieren.  Wir  miissen  dabei 
von  England  bis  nach  Jutland  wandern.  Es  haben  sich  namlich 
gefunden  Befurworter  von  den  folgenden  Gebieten  bzw. 
Platzen: 
England: 

Ad.  Holtzmann  (Germania  I  470) ;  gegen  ihn  E.  Sievers. 
M.  Trautmann  ("Der  H'  eine  Ubersetzung  aus  dem  Alt- 
englischen,"  Bonner  Beitrage  zur  Anglistic,  1905,  XVII 
123;  "Zum  Versbau  des  H,'  1907). 
Gegen  ihn  G.  Grau  (Studien  z.  Engl.  Philol.  XXXI  200- 
219)  der  die  Heimat  ins  Niederrheinfrankische  verlegt. 
Auch  Fr.  Klaeber  (Mod.  Lang.  Notes  XXII,  250). 
Holland  (zum  Erzbistum  Coin  gehorig) : 

Jellinghaus  (Jahrb.  d.  V.  fiir  ndd.  Sprachforschung,  1889, 
XV,  61ff.).     M  und  C  hollandisch;   C  iibertragen  ins 
ndfr. — Unwestfal.    Wortschatz.      Begriff    von    "Berg" 
unklar.    Grenzdialekt.    (Utrecht.) 
Werden  a /Ruhr  (zu  Coin  gehorig) : 

A.  Conradi  ("Der  jetzige  Stand  der  H'  Forschung,"  1909; 
und  Diss.,  Miinster  1904):  doch  mit  dem  Zusatz,  dass 
die  Adressaten  in  N ' ordalbingien  zu  suchen  sind  und  nicht 
in  Westfalen;  gegen  H.  Collitz  (vgl.  Schluss  dieser  Uber- 
sicht).     Teilweise  Bestatigung  unserer  Lokalisierung. 
W.  Braune  (Btge.  z.  Gesch.  d.  d.  Spr.  u.  Lit.  I  11).. 
Paul   Herrmann    (Vorwort  zu   seiner   Ubersetzung,    S.   4; 

Leipzig,  Reclam  1895)  bt.  C. 
R.  Kogel  (Gesch.  d.  d.  Lit.  I  283  u.  Erg.  heft  S.  22,  Strass- 

burg  1895). 
Miinster  (zu  Coin  gehorig) : 

J.  H.  Kone  (Nachwort  z.  s.  H'  Ubersetzung,  S.  562,  Miin- 
ster 1855). 
C.  W.  M.  Grein  (Anhang  z.  s.  H'  Ubersetzung,  S.  171, 

Cassel,  2  A.  1869,  und  Germania  XI  209). 
V.  Mohler  (Franzosische  Ubersetzung,  Paris  1898):  "sous 

les  auspices  de  I'ev^que  de  Miinster,  en  814." 
E.  Sievers  (Einl.  z.  s.  H'  Ausgabe,  Halle  1878;  und  Z.  f.  d. 
A.  XIX  39  ff):  M  rein  niederdeutsch." 


488  Metzenthin 

M.  Heyne  (Anhang  z.  s.  H'  Ausgabe,  3.  A.,  Paderborn  1883, 

vgl.  auch  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  I  288). 

Das  Miinsterland  hat  also  besonders  zahlreiche  und  starke 
Befiirworter,  namlich  3  tJbersetzer  und  2  Herausgeber  des 
ganzen  Gedichtes. 
Auch  Karl  Goedecke  (Grundriss  z.  Gesch.  d.  d.  Dichtung, 

Dresden  1884)  sagt  (Bd.  I  21):  "Miinster  oder  sonstwo 

in  Sachsen." 

Hier  endet  das  zum  Erzbistum  Coin  gehorige  Gebiet;  die  nun 
folgenden  Platze  und  Landschaften  standen  unter  Mainz: 
Paderborn: 

H.  Middendorf  ("Uber  die  Zeit  der  Abfassung  desH/  "Zs.  f. 

Gesch.  u.  Altertumskunde  Westfalens,  Bd.  XXII).    Er 

behauptet,  dass  Ludwig  der  Fromme  "ohne  Zweifel" 

auf  dem  Reichstag  zu  Paderborn  im  J.  815  den  Auftrag 

zum  H'  gegeben  habe. 
F.  Holthausen  ("Der  Wortschatz  des  H',  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  XLI, 

303  ff):  C  entstanden  im  ostlichsten  Westfalen;  gegen 

Jostes  (s.  Nordostsachsen). 
Edwin  Schroeder  ("Zu  Gen.  u.  H'  "  Z.  f.  d.  A.  XLIV). 

vgl.  auch  F.  Wrede  unter:  Merseburg. 
Coney: 

F.  Kauffmann  (Germania  XXXVII  368;  Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  XXXII 

519):  nicht  Werden  a/Ruhr,  wegen  "mix."  friiher  fur 

Paderborn,  vgl.  Beitr.  XII  358. 

Auch  F.  Holthausen  nennt  Corvey  (Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  XXII  519). 
Mansfeld: 

H.  Grossler,  i.  J.  1900. 
Merseburg  (Hessegau  Friesenf eld) : 

F.  Wrede  ("Die  Heimat  der  as.  Bibeldichtung,"  Z.  f.  d.  A. 

1899;  "Zur  Heimat  des  Heliand,"  Z.  f.  d.  A.  1900,  Bd. 

XLIII  333   ff.   u.  XLIV  320):    wegen  der   "frisionis- 

men"  u.  der  "Pferdezucht." — Scharf  gegen  die  Annahme 

einer  Kunstsprache.    M  geschrieben  nicht  in  Hildesheim, 

vielleicht  in  Paderborn. 
Gertr.  Geffken  ("Der  Wortschatz  des  H'  u.  s.  Bedeutung  fiir 

die  Heimatsfrage,"  Diss.,  Marburg  1912):  Nord-Thiir- 

ingen.    Eher  Bremen  u.  Ostfriesland  als  Westfalen. 
Halberstadt-Magdeburg 

R.  Heinrichs  ("Der  H'  und  Haimo  von  Halberstadt,"  Cleve 

1916). 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  489 

NORDOSTSACHSEN  (wo  auch  wir  die  Adressaten  des  H'  suchen) : 
F.  Jostes  ("Die  Heimat  des  H'  "  Z.  f.  d.  A.  XL  129-32  u. 
160-84;  "Der  Dichter  des  H'  "  Z.  f.  d.  A.  XL  341)  Jostes 
bringt  eine  grosse  Zahl  schwerwiegender  Griinde  fur 
Nordalbingien  vor,  denen  auch  wir  uns  vielfach  an- 
schliessen. 

Ahnlich  auch  Th.  Siebs  (Z.  f.  d.  Ph.  XXIX  413);  gegen 
ihn  F.  Wrede.  Vgl.  ferner  Gertr.  Geffken  (s.  o.  unter 
Merseburg)  u.  A.  Conradi  (s.  unter  Werden). 
E.  Damkohler  ("Die  Proposition  'von'  in  der  Miinchener 
Heliand-Handschrift,"  1904).  Er  weist  "fon"  einem 
Abschreiber  aus  der  Gegend  von  Magdeburg  oder 
Halberstadt  zu. 

Neuerdings  verlegt  F.  Jostes  (Forschungen  u.  Funde,  Bd.  Ill 
Heft  4,  Minister  i/W)  die  Heimat  des  Dichters  nach  Frankreich 
(!),  ins  Kustengebiet  bei  Bayeux  (Havre).  Ein  gemischter 
Kunstdialekt  (friesisch-niederfrankisch-altsachsisch)  wird  als 
Losung  des  Sprachproblems  der  Handschriften  vorgeschlagen, 
auf  Grund  eingehender  philologischer  Untersuchungen,  von  H. 
Collitz  ("Publ.  of  the  Mod.  L.  Assn.  of  A."  XVI  123;  vgl.  auch 
Einleitung,  S.  68-77,  91-105,  zu:  Bauers  Waldeckisches  Worter- 
buch  nebst  Dialektproben,  Norden  u.  Leipzig  1902).  Gegen  ihn: 
J.  Franck  ("Consta  im  H',  "  Z.f.d.A.  XLVI  329)  und  F.  Wrede 
(s.  unter  Merseburg). 

PRUFUNG  DER  4  HANDSCHRIFTEN 
Vorbemerkungen 

Zunachst  ist  bemerkenswert,  dass  die  Vergleichung  der  vier 
vorhandenen  Handschriften  durch  die  Germanisten  das 
Resultat  ergeben  hat,  dass  alle  vier  nicht  Kopieen  vom  Original, 
sondern  von  Mittelgliedern  sind.  Das  Original  ist  bis  heute 
nicht  gefunden  worden.  Die  beiden  ziemlich  vollstandigen 
Handschriften:  Cottonianus  (C)  und  Monacensis  (M),  deuten 
auf  eine  gemeinsame  Quelle  hin.  Ausser  ihnen  haben  wir  die 
beiden  sehr  kurzen  Fragmente:  das  Vaticanische  (V)  und  das 
Prager  (P.)  Wir  wenden  uns  nun  zu  ihrer  Betrachtung  im 
Einzelnen,  und  zwar  entsprechend  ihrer  Vollstandigkeit,  in  der 
Reihenfolge  C,  M,  V,  P.  (H'  bedeutet  Heliand,  Hs.  Hand- 
schrift.) 


490  Metzenthin 

1.  Handschrift  C  (Cottonianus]  in  London 
Wir  beginnen  mit  dieser  Hs.  als  der  vollstandigsten  von 
alien.  Sie  enthalt  5968  Verse.  Es  fehlt  bloss  der  Schluss,  wahr- 
scheinlich  nur  wenige  Zeilen.  Nach  dem  Urteil  der  Philologen 
ist  C  jiinger  als  M,  vielleicht  erst  dem  10.  Jahrhundert  angeho- 
rend,  und  geht  auf  die  gleiche  Quelle  wie  M  zuriick,  aber  auch 
nicht  auf  das  Original.  In  London  gefunden  und  stets  in 
England  geblieben,  zeigt  sie,  was  ja  nur  natxirlich  ist,  angel- 
sachsische  Indizien.  Sie  ist  nicht  nur  die  vollstandigste,  sondern 
auch  die  am  meisten  kiinstlerische  Hs.,  wiirdig  fiir  den  Gebrauch 
eines  Konigs,  wozu  sie  ja  auch  der  Titel  durch  die  Worte 
"in  usum  Canuti  Regis"  bestimmt  sein  lasst.  Dieser  Titel 
nun,  den  man  vielfach  als  bedeutungs-und  wertlos  angesehen 
hat,  entspricht  vollig  der  Bestimmung,  die  wir  dem  H'  zuge- 
wiesen  haben,  namlich  eine  Missionsschrift  fiir  den  Nordosten, 
einschliesslich  Danemarks,  zu  sein. 

Denn  er  lautet:  "Excerpta  et  Evangelica  Historia  Dano- 
Saxonice,  scripta  in  usum  Canuti  Regis,  adhuc  imbuendi  primis 
Religionis  Christianae  elementis  stylo  Caedmoniano.  .  .  ." 
Gar  nicht  treffender  konnte  die  Bestimmung  des  H'  bezeichnet 
werden  als  mit  diesen  Worten.  Wie  viel  mehr  dem  Tatbestand 
entsprechend  ist  die  Bezeichnung  "Evangelica  Historia"  als 
die  so  unbestimmte,  dehnbare  und  missleitende  in  der  Praefatio! 
Denn  von  einem  "recitare  divinas  leges"  (vgl.  Versus  v.  25)  ist 
doch  wahrhaftig  im  H'  nicht  die  Rede  und  konnte  es  nicht  sein 
in  einem  Epos.  Wie  kiirzt  gerade  der  H'  die  Darstellung  der 
"leges,"  der  Mahn-  und  Streitreden  Jesu,  besonders  der  mysti- 
schen  Johanneischen,  vollig  im  Einklang  mit  dem  Charak- 
ter  eines  epischen  Werkes,  ganz  im  Gegensatz  zu  Otfrid,  bei 
dem  das  ewige  "moraliter"  nur  zu  oft  den  Fortschritt  der 
Handlung  auf  halt.  Nicht  "leges,"  sondern  Taten  und  Ereig- 
nisse  will  der  H'  schildern.  Auch  Teil  II  der  eigentlichen  Prae- 
fatio, wie  wir  im  cap.  I  gezeigt  haben,  redet  ganz  ahnlich 
und  ebenso  falsch  von  den  "Sacrae  legis  praecepta,"  die  der 
Dichter  bearbeiten  sollte,  wahrend  der  immerhin  glaubwiirdi- 
gere  Teil  I  den  Zweck  des  H'  mehr  im  Einklang  mit  dem  Titel 
des  C  charakterisiert. 

Wie  genau  aber  stimmt  die  Bezeichnung  des  Empfangers 
als  eines  "adhuc  imbuendi  primis  Religionis  Christianae  ele- 
mentis" zu  unserer  ganz  unabhangig  davon  gefundenen  An- 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  491 

schauung,  dass  der  H'  fiir  eine  in  den  Elementen  der  christlichen 
Religion  noch  nicht  gefestigte  Bevolkerung  bestimmt  war  und 
nicht,  wie  bisher  irrtiimlich  angenommen,  fiir  ein  schon  50-100 
Jahre  unter  wohl  organisierter,  christlich-kirchlicher  Beeinflus- 
sung  lebendes  Volk,  wie  es  die  Sachsen  in  Westfalen,  Engern 
oder  Siidostfalen  damals  bereits  waren.  Und  die  Schlussworte 
des  Titels  der  Hs.  C:  "stylo  Caedmoniaco,"  geben  wiederum 
eine  durchaus  zutreffende,  der  Wirklichkeit  entsprechende 
Charakterisierung  der  poetischen  Form  des  H'.  Haben  wir 
somit  alien  Grund,  die  bisher  betrachteten  Angaben  des 
Titels  als  durchaus  wahrheitsgemass  anzuerkennen,  so  sollte 
auch  der  Zusatz  "in  usum  Canuti  Regis"  nicht  ganz  als  unglaub- 
wiirdig  beiseite  geschoben  werden,  zumal  angesichts  der  kiinst- 
lerischen,  eines  Konigs  wiirdigen  Ausfiihrung  unserer  Hs.  C, 
die  sich  dadurch  von  alien  anderen  Hss.  unterscheidet.  Endlich 
aber  erscheint  auch  die  Bezeichnung  des  Katalogus,  in  welchem 
diese  Hs.  des  H'  zum  ersten  Male  (i.  J.  1698,  also  31  Jahre  vor 
M)  erwahnt  wird:  "Catalogus  veterum  librorum  septentrio- 
nalium"  wie  ein  beach tenswerter  Hinweis  auf  die  Heimat  der 
Adressaten  als  "in  nordlicher  Richtung,  von  London  aus, 
liegend."  Dies  trifft  wiederum  nicht  auf  Holland,  Ostfalen, 
besonders  Siidostfalen,  zu,  sondern  auf  Schleswig-Holstein 
und  Danemark. 

Und  die  vielfach  als  irrtiimlich  angesehene  Bezeichnung 
"Dano-Saxonice"  (vgl.  auch  die  Worte  "in  lingua  Danica" 
(!)  auf  S.  2  der  Hs.  C)  muss  nun  als  neuer  Beweis  fur  unsere 
Behauptung  dienen,  dass  der  urspriingliche  H'  fiir  ein  sachsisch 
— danisches  Publikum  bestimmt  gewesen  ist.  Hierin  konnen 
uns  auch  gegenteilige  Behauptungen  von  germanistischen 
Philologen  nicht  irre  machen,  solange  diese  sich  in  ihren  sprach- 
lichen  Befunden  so  vollig  selbst  widersprechen.1 

2.  Handschrift  M  (Monacensis)  in  Miinchen 
Der  Monacensis,  der  einem  um  1700  verbreiteten  Geriicht 
zufolge  in  Wiirzburg  sein  sollte,  wurde  i.  J.  1794  in  Bamberg,  das 
ebenso  wie  Wiirzburg  zum  Erzbistum  Mainz  gehorte,  gefunden 
und  i.  J.  1804  nach  Miinchen  in  die  Kgl.  Hof-  und  Staats- 
bibliothek  iiberfuhrt.  Er  stammt  aus  dem  9.  Jahrhundert,  ist 
alter  und  wohl  auch  korrekter  als  der  vollstandigere  Cottoni- 

1  s.o.  "Vorbemerkungen." 


492  Metzenthin 

anus,  obwohl  1/6  der  Blatter  (z.B.  Blatt  1,  v  1-84,  Blatt  6,  und 
hinter  Blatt  75)  ausgeschnitten  sind  und  die  Kapitelbezeich- 
nung  des  Originals,  die  sich  in  C  findet,  fehlt.  Er  stammt  aus 
derselben  Quelle  wie  C,  die  schon  eine  Reihe  von  Fehlern  auf- 
weist  und  daher  auch  nicht  das  Original  gewesen  sein  kann. 
Verschiedene  Hande  haben  an  M  gearbeitet.  Die  Punktierung 
ist  wertlos,  Versabteilung  fehlt.  Die  Schreibweise  zeigt  alt- 
frankische  Formen,  besonders  in  der  Konjugation,  sich  mehrend 
gegen  das  Ende  hin.  Auch  angelsachsische  Formen  treten  auf. 

Fur  die  Heimatfrage  bietet  die  Hs.  M  weniger  Material  als 
irgend  eine  der  anderen.  Doch  weist  sie  deutlich  auf  nicht- 
Colnisches  Gebiet  hin.  Spater  werden  wir  noch  darauf  zu 
sprechen  kommen,  dass  die  frankische  Farbung  sich  leicht 
erklart  aus  der  frankischen  Schulung  des  Abschreibers  und 
vielleicht  aus  seiner  Absicht,  die  sachsische  Schreibweise  dem 
Verstandnis  seiner  frankischen  Auftraggeber  (Bischof  oder 
Abt  oder  auch  des  frankischen  Kaiserhofes)  naher  zu  bringen. 

Wahrend  Sievers  in  seiner  Einleitung2  den  Dialekt  der  Hs.  M 
als  "rein  niederdeutsch"  bezeichnet,  erklart  z.  B.  M.  Heyne,1 
dass  er  "entschieden  nach  Miinster  weist"  und  Behaghel4 
findet  darin  "Spuren  hochdeutscher  Lautgebung;"  ein  neuer 
Beweis,  dass  die  Ansichten  der  Philologen  iiber  diese  Frage 
bisher  einander  zu  widersprechend  sind,  als  dass  sie  eine 
sichere  Grundlage  fur  die  Losung  der  Heimatfrage  geben 
konnten. 

3.  Fragment  V  (Vaticanus)  in  Rom 

Diese  Hs.  wurde  zuletzt  von  alien,  erst  i.  J.  1894,  in  der 
Bibliotheka  Palatina  von  K.  Zangemeister  gefunden  und  von 
ihm  in  dem  "Neuen  Heidelberger  Jahrbuch"  publiziert.  Sie 
enthalt  nur  80  Verse  (v.  1279  bis  1358),  den  Anfang  der  Berg- 
predigt.  Eine  zweite  Ausgabe  wurde  von  ihm  in  Gemeinschaft 
mit  W.  Braune  veranstaltet,  zusammen  mit  dem  hochbe- 
deutsamen  Fragment  der  angelsachsischen  Genesis,  auf  welches 
manche  Forscher  die  von  uns  in  cap.  I  besprochene  Praefatio 
beziehen.  Behagel5  erklart,  dass  "keine  naheren  Beziehungen 

*  S.  XII;  vgl  auch  Zfd.A,  Bd.  19,  S.  39  S. 

3  vgl.  Z.f.d.  Ph.,  Bd.    I,  S.  286  ff. 

4  Einl.  zu  seiner  H'-Ausgabe,  v.  J.  1910  S.  XVI. 

*  In  der  Einl.  z.  s.  H'-Ausgabe,  1910,  S.  XV. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  493 

von  V  zu  C,  M  oder  P"  nachzuweisen  seien,  gegen  Schliiter,  der6 
behauptet,  dass  V  und  C  auf  eine  gemeinsame  Grundlage 
zuriickgehen,  welche  Behauptung  eine  Bestatigung  unserer 
Schlussfolgerung  sein  wiirde,  dass  P  und  V  auf  einander  nahe- 
liegende  Herkunftsorte,  namlich  P  auf  Hamburg  und  V  auf 
Magdeburg,  hindeuten.  Nach  allgemeiner  Annahme  ist  V 
sicher  auf  Mainzer  Gebiet,  das  vom  Sachsenlande  Engern  und 
Ostfalen  mit  einschloss,  entstanden.  Bei  der  Eifersucht 
zwischen  Mainz  und  Coin  (naheres  siehe  spater)  ist  es  aber 
hochst  unwahrscheinlich,  dass  ein  zum  Erzbistum  Coin  geho- 
riges  Kloster  eine  so  wertvolle  Hs.  wie  es  V  in  seiner  Vollstandig- 
keit  gewesen  sein  muss,  freigegeben  hatte,  ohne  wenigstens  sich 
selber  eine  Abschrift  zu  sichern.  Nun  hat  sich  aber  keine  der 
vier  vorhandenen  Hss.  auf  dem  Gebiet  der  Erzdiocese  Coin 
gefunden,  auch  das  Original  nicht.  Der  Coiner  Sprengel  um- 
fasste  damals:  Holland,  Belgien  und  Westfalen  (Osnabriick, 
Miinster,  Minden,  Werden  a/R). 

Da  die  auf  Mainzer  Gebiet  schon  im  9.  Jahrhundert  ent- 
standene  Hs.  V  nicht  das  Original  ist,  so  muss  der  Schreiber  von 
V  das  Original  oder  genauer,  da  die  Philologen  auch  V  nicht  als 
eine  Abschrift  vom  Original  ansehen,7  eine  sehr  friihe  Abschrift 
des  Originals  gehabt  und  benutzt  haben.  Diese  primare  Ab- 
schrift muss  daher  auch  im  Besitze  eines  damals  zum  Mainzer, 
und  nicht  zum  Coiner  Bezirk  gehorigen  kirchlichen  Instituts 
gewesen  sein. 

Somit  ist  die  Annahme,  dass  der  H'  fur  den  Coiner  Sprengel 
bestimmt  gewesen  sei,  hochst  unwahrscheinlich.  Deshalb 
fallen  also  die  hollandischen  Platze:  Utrecht,  Zuetphen  und 
Deventer,  wie  auch  die  westfalischen:  Osnabriick,  Miinster, 
Minden,  Werden  a/Ruhr,  die  sammtlich  zum  Erzbistum  Coin 
gehorten,  als  Heimat  der  Adressaten,  ausser  Betracht.  Dies 
steht  im  Einklange  mit  unseren  friiheren  Ausfiihrungen,  welche 
darin  gipfelten,  dass  aus  rein  topographischen  Griinden  diese 
selben  Gegenden  nicht  in  Frage  kommen. 

Aber  auch  gegen  die  "Friesischen  Lande,"  im  jetzigen 
Nordwest-Hannover  und  Oldenburg,  obwohl  sie  eine  auf  die  See 
angewiesene  Bevb'lkerung  haben, — und  fur  eine  solche  war, 

•  Im  Jahrbuch  des  V.  f.  Niederdeutsche  Spr.  F.,  Bd.  20,  S.  117. 
7  s.  u.  a.  Behaghel,  a.a.O.  S.  XlVff. 


494  Metzenthin 

wie  wir  gesehen  haben,  der  H'  sicher  bestimmt, — spricht  die 
Tatsache,  dass  auch  sie  zum  Erzbistum  Coin  gehorten. 

Erwahnt  mag  hier  noch  warden,  dass  der  zweite  Erzbischof 
von  Hamburg  durch  Kaiser  Ludwig  zum  Erzbischof  v.  Mainz, 
Liudbert,  zwecks  Einsegnung  geschickt  wurde,8  wodurch  der 
dauernde  Anschluss  des  Hamburger  Missionsgebietes  an  Mainz 
und  damit  zugleich  die  absolute  Trennung  von  Coin  bewiesen 
ist. 

Einen  positiven  Beweis  fur  unsere  Anschauung,  dass  V 
nicht  mit  Coin,  wohl  aber  mit  Mainz  zu  tun  hatte,  diirfen  wir 
dem  mit  dem  Vatikanischen  Fragmente  verbundenen  Kalender 
(aus  dem  9.  Jahrhundert)  entnehmen,  auf  den  Jostes9  auf- 
merksam  macht.  Wir  finden  dort  namlich  die  Festtage  St. 
Albani  zu  Mainz  weitaus  am  grossten  geschrieben.  Dies  erklart 
sich  nur  durch  die  Annahme,  dass  die  Hs.  in  Mainz  entstanden 
ist,  wohin  die  fur  Nordostsachsen  bestimmten  Priester  zur 
Ausbildung  geschickt  wurden.  Ferner  aber  sind  vierzig  Feste 
in  diesem  Kalender  mit  "M"  bezeichnet,  das  an  zwei  Stellen  zu: 
"Magat"  bzw.  "Magadaburg"  erweitert  ist.  Daraus  ergibt 
sich  erstens,  dass  damals  schon  in  Magdaburg  ein  Kloster 
oder  Stift  mit  eigener  Festordnung  bestand.  Zweitens  aber 
lasst  sich  daraus  schliessen,  dass  ein  Magdeburger  Monch 
irgendwie  seine  Hand  im  Spiele  gehabt  haben  muss  bei  der 
Abfassung  dieser  Hs.,  deren  Urschrift  wir  also  im  Magdeburger 
Gebiet  suchen  diirfen. 

4.  Fragment  P  (Prag) 

Als  vierte  Hs.  haben  wir  das  kurze  Prager  Fragment,  wohl 
dem  neunten  Jahrhundert  angehorend.  Es  enthalt  nur  die 
Verse  958b  bis  1005— die  "Taufe  Christi"  und  den  Anfang 
von  "Zeugnis  des  Johannes,"  also  nicht  ein  ganz  abgeschlos- 
senes  Stuck  wie  V.  Seine  Vorlage  kann  weder  M  noch  C 
gewesen  sein,  noch  kann  es  selbst  diesen  als  Vorlage  gedient 
haben.  Wie  und  woher  ist  es  nach  Prag  gekommen,  wo  es 
erst  i.  J.  1880  von  H.  Lambel  gefunden  wurde?10  Schon  ein 
Blick  auf  die  Karte  lehrt,  dass  als  Herkunfts-Gebiete  eines  in 

8  s.  Rimberts  Leben  Anskars,  S.  108. 
•  Z.f.d.A  Bd.  40,  129-32. 

10  Publiziert  von  Lambel  in  Wiener  Sitzungsberichten,  Bd.  97,  2tes  Heft, 
S.  613-24,  und  von  Piper  in  den  Niederd.  Jahrbiichern,  Bd.  22. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  495 

Prag  ans  Tageslicht  gekommenen  Manuskriptes  Westfalen  und 
Engern,  oder  gar  Holland  und  Friesland,  wenig  wahrscheinlich 
sind,  weil  von  diesen  Landesteilen  schon  damals  der  Handels- 
verkehr  in  der  Richtung  nach  Mainz  bzw.  nach  Coin  ging 
und  nicht  nach  Prag.  Man  beachte  nur  auf  der  Karte  die 
Linie:  Utrecht-Coin;  oder  die  beiden  andern  naturgemassen 
Etappenreihen  in  der  Richtung  auf  Mainz  hin:  von  Mittel- 
sachsen:  iiber  Hildesheim,  Corvey,  Paderborn,Fritzlar,Hersfeld 
und  Fulda;  oder  von  Ostfalen:  tiber  Halberstadt  Quedlinburg 
bzw.  Merseburg,  Erfurt  und  Wiirzburg; — um  zu  erkennen,  dass 
keiner  dieser  fur  die  H'-Heimat  angesetzten  Orte  nach  Prag 
gravitierte. 

Diesem  negativen  Befunde  gegen  Holland  bzw.  Westfalen, 
stehen  aber  zwei  wichtige,  positive  Wahrscheinlichkeitsgriinde 
fur  Nordostsachsen  zur  Seite.  Wir  finden  sie  in  Verbindung  mit 
der  Lebensbeschreibung  des  ersten  Erzbischofs  von  Hamburg, 
Anskar  (geb.  801,  gest.  865),  verfasst  von  dem  zweiten  Erz- 
bischof  von  Hamburg,  Rimbert,  aus  welcher  wir  deshalb  die 
fur  unsere  Untersuchung  wichtigen  Punkte  herausheben: 

Wir  lesen  dort,  dass  Anskar,  nachdem  er  der  erste  Vorsteher 
der  Petri-Schule  zu  Neu-Corvey  a.  d.  Weser  (gegriindet  822, — - 
unter  Mithilfe  der  Kaiserin  Judith),  gewesen  war,  durch  Kaiser 
Ludwig  in  Gemeinschaft  mit  dem  Papst  fur  die  Mission  in 
N ordalbingien  und  Danemark  abgeordnet  wurde.  Und  zwar 
bezeichnet  ihn  die  Uberschrift  der  Lebensbeschreibung  als: 
"Erster  Erzbischof  von  Nordalbingien  und  Legat  des  heiligen 
apostolischen  Stuhles  im  Lande  der  Schweden  und  Danen,  wie 
auch  unter  den  Slaven  und  den  ubrigen  noch  im  Heidentum 
lebenden  Volkern  in  den  nordischen  Landen."11 

Nachdem  von  der  Aussendung  Anskars  in  Begleitung  des 
Danenherzogs  Heriold  (Harald)  nach  Danemark  i.  J.  826  und 
seiner  anderthalbjahrigen  Wirksamkeit  in  Schweden  (829-31) 
berichtet  ist,  kommt  der  Verfasser  Rimbert  auf  die  kirchliche 
Verteilung  Nordalbingiens  zwischen  den  Bistiimern  Bremen  und 
Verden  a/Aller  durch  Ludwig  zu  sprechen,  welche  Verteilung 
aber  infolge  der  Erweiterung  des  Missionszieles  auf  das  Land 
der  Danen  und  Schweden  als  unpraktisch  bald  wieder  beseitigt 
wird.  Statt  dessen  griindet  Ludwig  fur  den  entlegensten  Teil 

11  vgl.  Geschichtsschreiber  der  deutschen  Vorzeit,  Nr.  25-30,  Leben  Anskars 
S.  3. 


496  Metzenthin 

von  Sachsen  jenseits  der  Elbe  in  der  "Stadt  Hammaburg" — 
also  bestand  dort  schon  eine  "Stadt" — ein  neues  Erzbistum, 
dem  "die  ganze  Kirche  der  Nordalbingen  untertan  sein  sollte" 
(S.  26).  Die  Weihe  Anskars  zum  Erzbischof  fand  "durch  den 
Erzbischof  von  Mainz  unter  Mitwirkung  derer  von  Rheims 
(Ebo,  welchem  vom  Papst  friiher  dasselbe  Sendamt  iibertragen 
worden  war),  und  Trier  (Coin  wird  ganz  iibergangen!),  und  im 
Beisein  der  Bischofe  von  Verden  und  Bremen  statt,  Weihnach- 
ten  831.  Dies  Jahr  831  ist  hochst  bemerkenswert,  weil  sich 
ihm  die  Forscher  mehr  und  mehr  einhellig  nahern  als  der 
wahrscheinlichsten  Geburtszeit  des  H'.  Spater,  i.  J.  850 — 
und  das  ist  von  Bedeutung  fur  uns — opponiert  der  neue  Erz- 
bischof von  Coin  scharf  gegen  die  Vereinigung  von  Bremen,  das 
zu  seinem  Sprengel  gehorte,  mit  Hamburg;  sein  Einspruch 
ward  jedoch  durch  ein  Konzil  zu  Worms  i.  J.  857  und  durch 
den  Papst  i.  J.  858  endgiltig  abgelehnt.12 

Nun  finden  wir  in  dem  "Leben  Anskars"13  als  einziges 
Werk  Anskars  erwahnt  die  "Pigmenta"  (Wiirze  oder  Rauch- 
werk),  ein  Erbauungsbuch,  das  er  nach  langem  Bitten  einem 
Vertrauten  diktierte,  mit  der  Bedingung,  dass  "die  Handschrift, 
solange  er  lebte,  keinem  bekannt  werden  sollte;  nach  seinem 
Tode  aber  sollte  sie  jeder  nach  seinem  Belieben  lesen  diirfen." 
Diese  "Pigmenta"  wurden  also  in  Hamburg  verwahrt  und 
nicht  vor  seinem  Tode,  i.  J.  865,  bekannt  gegeben. 

Die  von  uns  mitgeteilten  Punkte  aus  dem  "Leben  Anskars" 
sind  von  Wichtigkeit  nicht  bloss  fur  das  Verstandnis  der  Ent- 
stehung  des  Erzbistums  Hamburg,  fur  dessen  Missionsgebiet 
wir  den  H'  verfasst  denken,  sondern  auch  fur  die  Eifersucht 
Coins  auf  die  neue  Stiftung,  welch'  letztere  der  Erzbischof  von 
Coin  als  einen  Eingriff  in  seinen  Machtbereich  betrachtete,  eine 
Eifersucht,  die  sicher  nicht  zugelassen  hatte,  dass  ein  fur  den 
Coiner  Bezirk  bestimmtes  Werk,  wie  es  der  H'  nach  der  Ansicht 
mancher  Forscher  ist,  noch  dazu  ein  Werk  von  solch  hervor- 
ragender  Bedeutung,  vollig  aus  dem  Bezirk  verschwand  und 
in  den  eines  Rivalen  iiberging. 

Ferner  ist  die  ganze  Biographic  Anskars  ein  unschatzbares 
Dokument  fur  die  Richtung,  in  welcher  sich  das  Missionsinter- 
esse  Ludwigs  des  Frommen  und  seiner  Nachfolger,  ja  der  gan- 

"  a.  a.  O.  S.  47  ff. 
18  Auf  S.  75,  c.  35. 


Die  H  elm  at  der  Adressaten  497 

zen  damaligen  deutschen  Christenheit  mit  dem  Papst  an  der 
Spitze,  vornehmlich,  oder  sogar  ausschliesslich,  bewegte,  nam- 
lich  nach  Nordosten. 

Aber  auch  auf  die  besondere  Frage  nach  dem  Woher? 
der  Prager  Hs.  wirft  die  Notiz  iiber  die  "Pigmenta"  ein  iiber- 
raschendes  Licht,  wenn  wir  bedenken,  dass  die  einzig  bekannt 
gewordene  Hs.  dieses,  wie  wir  gehort  haben,  in  Hamburg  nach 
dem  Jahre  831  und  vor  865 — d.h.  nahezu  gleichzeitig  mit  un- 
serem  Prager  Fragment  des  H' — geschriebenen  Werkes  in 
demselben  Prag  aufgefunden  worden  ist,  wo  unser  H'  Manu- 
skript  "P"  i.J.  1881  entdeckt  wurde,  und  zwar  etwa  1850.14 

Dieses  Zusammentreffen  ist  sicherlich  auffallend  und  zeigt 
jedenfalls,  dass  eine  bemerkenswerte  Verbindung  Prags  gerade 
mit  Hamburg  bestanden  haben  muss,  was  ja  auch  erklarlich 
wird  durch  einen  Blick  auf  die  Karte  und  durch  die  Erwagung, 
eine  wie  grosse  Bedeutung,  besonders  in  primitiven  Zeiten,  ein 
Flusssystem — hier  das  der  Elbe  und  Moldau — fur  den  Verkehr 
und  Handel  hat. 

Unsere  Annahme,  dass  P  nicht  nach  Nordwes/-Deutschland, 
sondern  nach  dem  aussersten  Nordosten  deutet,  wird  verstarkt 
durch  die  Tatsache,  dass,  wie  der  Einband  dieser  Handschrift 
sehr  nahelegt,  dieselbe  fruher  in  Rostock,  also  an  der  Ostsee, 
schon  auf  slavischem  Gebiete,  aber  ganz  nahe  dem  Nordal- 
binger  Gebiet,  gewesen  ist.16 

Nach  Wrede16  steht  P  aber  auch  dem  Original  am  nachsten, 
noch  naher  als  C.  Dies  wiirde  die  Bedeutung  von  P  noch 
erhohen  und  die  Wahrscheinlichkeit,  dass  das  Original  im 
aussersten  Nordosten  entstanden  oder  doch  dafiir  bestimmt 
war  und  dahin  gebracht  wurde,  noch  verstarken. 

Erinnern  mogen  wir  auch  an  die  Tatsache,  dass  Prag  durch 
den  Sachsenka.iser  Otto  II  i.J.  976  zum  Bistum  erhoben  wurde, 
dass  sein  erster  Bischof  ein  Sachse  war  und  dass  es,  was  unsere 
Annahme  wiederum  unterstiitzt,  dem  Erzbistum  Mainz,  zu 
dessen  Missionsgebiet  ja  auch  Hamburg  und  der  ganze  Nord- 
osten gehorte,  unterstellt  wurde. 

14  s.  Lappenberg,  Einl,  zum  Leben  Anskars,  S.  X. 

u  vgl.  Wrede  in  Z.f.d.A.  43,  v J.  1899,  S.  355,  der  trotzdem  den  Verfasser 
des  H'  ins  Friesenfeld  bzw.  in  den  siidlichen  Hassegau  versetzt  und  ihn  im 
Dienste  der  Hersfelder  Mission  schreiben  lasst. 

18  a.  a.  O.  S.  332  S. 


498  Metzenthin 

Denkt  man  angesichts  des  sehr  defekten  und  kurzen  Prager 
Fragments  nun  noch  an  die  f  urchtbare  Brandschatzung  Ham- 
burgs  durch  die  normannischen  Seerauber  i.  J.  840,  von  welcher 
uns  dieselbe  Lebensbeschreibung  Anskars17  berichtet,  bei  der 
auch  "eine  gar  schon  geschriebene  Bibel,  welche  der  erlauch- 
teste  Kaiser  (Ludwig  der  Fromme)  unserm  Vater  (Anskar) 
verehrt  hatte,  nebst  mehreren  anderen  Bilchern  (d.  h.  doch 
Manuskripten)  vom  Feuer  verzehrt  wurde," — so  mochte  man 
fast  versucht  sein,  unser  Prager  Fragment  als  ehrwiirdiges 
Uberbleibsel  dieser  Hamburger  Kloster-Bibliothek  v.  J.  840, 
gerettet  "wie  ein  Brand  aus  dem  Feuer,"  zu  betrachten,  um  so 
mehr,  als  P  weder  mit  M  noch  mit  C  eine  gemeinsame  Vor- 
lage  hatte,  d.h.  ohne  die  Vermittelung  von  M  oder  C  oder 
deren  gemeinsamer  Urquelle  entstanden  ist,  mithin  auf  direktem 
Wege,  wenn  auch  nicht  ohne  ein  Mittelglied,  von  dem  Original. 

Fassen  wir  nunmehr  das  Ergebnis  der  Betrachtung  der  vier 
Handschriften  des  H'.  in  Kiirze  zusammen,  so  ergibt  sich  das 
folgende  Resultat:  C  weist  unzweideutig  nach  dem  sachsisch- 
danischen  Missionsgebiet,  das  der  damaligen  deutschen  Chri- 
stenheit  vor  allem  am  Herzen  lag.  P  weist,  wenn  irgendwohin, 
nach  dem  aussersten  Nordosten,  nach  dem  Erzbistum  Hamburg 
insbesondere,  von  dem  aus  dieses  Missionsgebiet  kirchlich 
versorgt  wurde.  V  weist  nach  Mainz,  von  wo  aus  wiederum  dieses 
Erzbistum  Hamburg  gegriindet  und  unterstiitzt  ward,  und  nach 
Magdeburg,  dem  bedeutendsten  Vorort  deutscher  Kultur  in 
der  Nahe  Hamburgs  an  der  Elbe.  Endlich  M  nach  Wiirzburg 
und  Bamberg,  die  beide  wichtige  Bistiimer  unter  Mainz  waren. 
Kurz:  an  der  Hand  der  vier  Hss.  werden  wir  deutlich  auf  die 
Linie:  Mainz  -  Wurzburg  -  Bamberg  -  Magdeburg  -  Hamburg 

-  Holstein  -  Danemark  gewiesen,  aber  keineswegs  nach:  Coin 

-  Westfalen  -  Friesland  -  Holland. 

Ein  positiver,  zwingender  Beweis  kann  freilich  nicht 
gefuhrt  werden,  solange  einerseits  das  Original  des  Heliands 
und  seine  Sprachform  nicht  bekannt  ist,  und  solange  kein  gleich- 
zeitiges  Literatur-Denkmal  in  der  Holsteinischen  Mundart 
oder  in  der  danischen  Sprache  des  9ten  Jahrhunderts  zum 
Vergleiche  vorliegt. 

»  S.  30-31. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  499 

IV 

Zusammenfassung  und  Abschluss 

Entsprechend  unserer  in  der  Einleitung  begriindeten 
Absicht  haben  wir  bei  dieser  ganzen  Untersuchung  philolo- 
gische  Argumente  fur  die  Lokalisierung  des  H'  nur  aushilfsweise 
herangezogen.  Wir  sind  jetzt  dem  Ziele  unserer  Untersuchung 
nahe  genug  gekommen,  um  ihre  bisherigen  Resultate,  zuriick- 
bh'ckend,  zusammenfassen  zu  konnen: 

In  Kapitel  I  haben  wir  nachzuweisen  versucht,  dass  die 
Praefatio  fiir  die  Bestimmung  der  Heimat  des  H'  bzw. 
seiner  Adressaten  ganzlich  ausser  Betracht  fallt. 
In  Kapitel  II  haben  wir  mittels  eingehender  Priifung  des  H' 
selbst,  insbesondere:  A)  derdort  erwahnten  Naturprodukte 
B)  des  in  ihm  vorausgesetzten  landschaftlichen  Hinter- 
grundes  fiir  die  biblischen  Geschehnisse,  C)  der  von  ihm  ge- 
schilderten  Berufsarbeiten,  D)  der  darin  vorwiegenden 
Ortsbezeichnungen  sowie  anderer  einschlagiger  Eigen- 
heiten  unseres  Werkes  darzulegen  unternommen,  dass  die 
Lokalisierung  der  Adressaten  in  dem  aussersten  Nordosten 
des  damaligen  Frankenreiches,  genauer  in  Ostholstein, 
einschliesslich  sowohl  Nordalbingiens  als  auch  vielleicht 
Danemarks,  die  von  uns  gefundenen  sowie  die  von  Anderen 
bemerkten  eigenartigen  Zusatze  bzw.  Anderungen  im  H' 
am  ehesten  befriedigend  erklart. 

In  Kapitel  III  hat  die  Geschichte  der  vom  H'  vorhandenen 
Hss.  unsere  Blicke  in  dieselbe  Gegend  gelenkt,  namlich 
von  Mainz  iiber  Magdeburg  nach  Hamburg  und  auf  das 
nordische  Missionsgebiet. 

Nun  ist  aber  noch  ein  Gesichtspunkt  vorhanden,  von 
dem  aus  eine  gewichtige  Bekraftigung  fur  unsere  Lokalisierung 
der  Heimat  der  H'-Adressaten  gewonnen  werden  kann,  ein 
Gesichtspunkt,  der  bisher,  soviel  wir  sehen  konnen,  noch  von 
keinem  H'-Forscher  genugend  ins  Auge  gefasst  worden  ist. 
Wir  bringen  ihn  als  Abschluss  unserer  Untersuchung  in  der  Hoff- 
nung,  dass  seine  iiberzeugende  Kraft  der  Losung  des  verbliiffen- 
den  Heimat — Problems  zugute  kommen  wird. 

Es  handelt  sich  um  die  Frage,  ob  der  H'  als  ein  pastorales 
Werk  zur  Starkung  schon  langst  bekehrter  und  kirchlich  ver- 
sorgter  Christen  oder  aber  als  ein  missionarisches  Werk  zur 


500  Metzenthin 

Gewinnung  von  Heiden  bzw.  Festigung  noch  schwankender 
Neubekehrten  inmitten  heidnischer  Umgebung  anzusehen  1st. 
Bekanntlich  1st  diese  selbe  Frage  auch  fiir  die  Datierung  und 
Erklarung  einer  Reihe  neutestamentlicher  Episteln  von  durch- 
schlagender  Bedeutung. 

Es  ist  allgemein  anerkannt,  das  der  Dichter  des  H'  in  vielen 
Punkten  sehr  frei  mit  seinen  Quellen  umgeht.  Die  H'-Forscher, 
von  Windisch  an,  haben  viel  Zeit  und  Miihe  darauf  verwendet, 
die  grosse  Zahl  der  kiihnen  Anderungen,  der  freien  Zusatze 
sowohl  als  der  erheblichen  Auslassungen,  zusammenzustellen 
und  ihre  Griinde  aufzudecken. 

Nun  ist  es  doch  wohl  unbestreitbar,  dass  diese  Freiheit  des 
Verfassers,  besonders  angesichts  der  traditionellen  Gebunden- 
heit  der  damaligen  Zeit  an  das  inspirierte  "Wort  Gottes," 
unbegreiflich,  ja  unentschuldbar  ware  fiir  eine  Schrift  zur 
Starkung  langst  bekehrter  Christen,  die  durch  Predigt,  Liturgie 
und  Seelsorge  bereits  zu  wohl  vertraut  waren  mit  dem  Wort- 
laute  der  biblischen  Geschichten,  um  nicht  durch  solche 
Anderungen  und  Auslassungen  irre  gemacht  zu  werden.  Anders 
lage  die  Sache  bei  einer  Missionsschrift,  d.h.  einer  fur  erst 
kiirzlich  Bekehrte  oder  fiir  noch  zu  bekehrende  Heiden  bestimm- 
ten  Schrift.  Hier  durf te  sich  der  Dichter  viel  grossere  Freiheit 
erlauben  als  z.B.  Otfrid  sie  iiben  durfte.  Es  hatte  wenig  Sinn 
gehabt,  den  Sachsen  in  den  schon  seit  fiinfzig  bis  hundert 
Jahren  missionierten  Gebieten,  welche  das  Lebensbild  Christi 
in  dem  homiletischen  und  liturgischen,  d.h.  jiidisch-romischen 
Gewande  bereits  willig  und  vb'llig  angenommen  hatten,  nun 
dasselbe  Lebensbild  in  einem  ganz  andersartigen,  namlich 
germanisch-epischen  Kleide  darzubieten,  in  der  Absicht,  es 
ihnen  in  dieser  Verkleidung  sympathischer  und  annehmbarer  zu 
machen. 

Daraus  ergibt  sich,  dass  der  H'  nicht  fiir  Bezirke  mit  einer 
bereits  vollig  christianisierten  Bevb'lkerung  bestimmt  gewesen 
sein  konnte,  sondern  als  ein  Hilfsmittel  fiir  die  Missionierung 
unter  einem  noch  wenig  oder  garnicht  christianisierten  Volk 
dienen  sollte.  Dann  hat  auch  die  episch-germanische  Ein- 
kleidung,  die  sonst,  wie  uns  glaubwiirdig  bezeugt  ist,  dem 
frommen  Ludwig  durchaus  unsympathisch  war, — im  Gegensatz 
zu  seinem  Vater, — nichts  befremdendes  mehr,  ebensowenig  die 
ihm  gestattete  Freiheit  in  der  Benutzung  der  sonst  als  heilig 
und  unantastbar  angesehenen  biblischen  Quelle. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  501 

Wo  aber  konnen  wir  solch'  eine  noch  in  der  Hauptsache  heid- 
nische  Bevolkerung,  welche  die  Sprache  des  H'  verstand,  su- 
chen?  Sicher  weder  in  Westfalen,  Thiiringen  oder  Hessen,  wo 
schon  vor  mehr  als  hundert  Jahren  Bonifatius  nebst  vielen 
Nachfolgern  so  energisch  und  erfolgreich  missioniert  hatte, 
noch  auch  in  den  mit  zahllosen  Kirchen  und  Klostern  iiber- 
zogenen  Gebieten  von  Engern  oder  Siidostfalen,  noch  endlich 
in  Holland  mit  seiner  schon  seit  langem  bestehenden  Missions- 
zentrale  in  Utrecht,  oder  auch  im  eigentlichen  Friesland,  das 
eins  der  friihesten  Objekte  eifriger  Missionare  aus  England 
und  Irland  gewesen  war.  Es  bleibt  nur  der  ausserste  Nordosten 
des  Frankenreiches  iibrig,  das  Land  jenseits  der  Elbe  bis  hin- 
auf  zur  Eider  und  iiber  dieselbe  hinaus  bis  nach  Danemark  hinein, 
wohin  nicht  nur  unsere  bisherige  Untersuchung  uns  immer 
aufs  Neue  gewiesen  hat  und  wohin  die  Geschichte  sammtlicher 
Handschriften  des  H'  deutet,  sondern  wohin  auch  die  Augen 
aller  Missionsfreunde  der  damaligen  Zeit,  an  ihrer  Spitze  Kaiser 
und  Kaiserin  und  die  ihnen  ergebenen  Kirchenfiirsten,  gerichtet 
waren. 

Wann  aber  bot  sich  eine  gunstigere  Gelegenheit  fur  die  Aus- 
breitung  des  Christentums  in  Schleswig-Holstein  und  Danemark, 
als  i.J.  826,  wo  Konig  (oder  Herzog)  Heriold  (Harald)  von 
Danemark,  von  der  (heidnischen)  Gegenpartei  aus  dem  Vater- 
lande  vertrieben,  sich  mit  seiner  Gemahlin  in  den  Schutz  Lud- 
wigs  fliichtete  und  sich  bereit  finden  liess,  die  Christentaufe  in 
Ingolheim  bei  Mainz  (!!)  zu  empfangen?  Welch'  hohe  Bedeu- 
tung  diesem  Ereignis  seitens  der  f  rankischen  Kirche  und  des  Kai- 
serpaares  beigelegt  wurde,  dafiir  haben  wir  geniigend  Beweise: 
Kaiser  Ludwig  und  Kaiserin  Judith,  letztere  durch  ihreMutter 
Eigiwil  vom  sachsischen  (!)  Hochadel  abstammend,  iiber- 
nahmen  selbst  die  Patenschaft  fiir  die  hohen  Tauflinge;  Kaiser 
Ludwig  liess  eine  besondere  Denkmiinze  schlagen  als  Zeugnis 
seiner  Wertschatzung  dieses  in  seinen  und  aller  Augen  epoche- 
machenden  Missionserfolges;  der  Dichter  Ermoldus  Nigellus 
widmete  dieser  Tauffestlichkeit  mehr  als  dreihundert  lateinische 
Hexameter  in  seinem  "Lobgedicht  auf  Kaiser  Ludwig";  alle 
Biographen  des  Kaisers  berichteten  gebiihrend  von  dieser 
Feier.  Nun  schien  dem  ebenso  kirchlich-frommen  als  iiber- 
schwanglich  optimistischen  Kaiser  die  Tiir  weit  aufgetan 
fiir  die  Christianisierung  der  "Nordmanner."  Die  Zwietracht 
im  Danenreiche  selber  musrte  ihm  ja  die  Mission,  an  die  sein 


502  Metzenthin 

praktischer  und  weitblickender  Vater  trotz  seiner  Waffenerfolge 
sich  noch  nicht  gewagt,  moglich  und  leicht  erscheinen  lassen. 
Und  mit  ungewohnter  Tatkraft  machte  sich  der  Kaiser  ans 
Werk.  Freilich  nicht  in  der  Art  seines  Vaters,  an  der  Spitze 
eines  sieggewohnten  Heeres.  Er  verabscheute  mit  Recht 
gewaltsame  Mittel,  besonders  bei  der  Christianisierung  stamm- 
verwandter  Volker. 

Eine  frankische  Friedensflotte  begleitete  das  in  sein  Vater- 
land  zuriickkehrende  Herzogspaar  den  Rhein  abwarts,  iiber 
Holland  nach  Jutland.  Missionare,  Priester  und  Lehrer  zogen 
mit  ihm.  Ihre  Waffen  waren  heilige  Biicher.  (War  etwa  der 
"Heliand"  eins  derselben?) 

Der  Ausgangspunkt  dieser  schleswig-holsteinisch-danischen 
Mission  aber  konnte  nur  Hamburg  sein.  Erzbischof  Rimbert 
erzahlt  in  seinem  fruher  von  uns  herangezogenen  "Leben 
Anskars,"  des  ersten  Erzbischofs  von  Hamburg,18  dass  schon 
Karl  der  Grosse  die  Kirche  zu  Hammaburg  erbaut  und  geweiht 
hatte,  damit  von  dort  aus  "den  benachbarten  Volkern,  die 
noch  im  heidnischen  Irrglauben  befangen  sind,  namlich  den 
Schweden  und  Danen  und  Slaven,  das  Wort  Gottes  gepredigt 
werden  mb'chte";  "denn  sie  lag  an  der  Grenze  der  Danen  und 
Slaven,  im  fernsten  Teile  des  sachsischen  Gebietes,  im  Lande 
NordElbingien."  Kaiser  Karls  Absicht  wurde  erst  durch  Ludwig 
den  Frommen  ausgefuhrt:  "Er  liess  Anskar  zum  Erzbischof 
erheben  und  ihn  als  Leiter  der  neuen  Kirche  und  des  im  Christen- 
tume  noch  rohen  Volkes  (!)  sowie  als  Sender  des  gottlichen  Wortes 
an  die  noch  unglaubigen  Heiden  einsegnen."  Wir  wissen  ferner, 
dass  i.J.  840,  als  normannische  Seerauber  Hamburg  brand- 
schatzten,  dort  eine  Kirche,  "ein  wundervolles  Werk,"  ein 
Kloster  und  eine  Bibliothek  waren,  in  welcher  sich,  ausser  einer 
vom  Kaiser  selbst  gestifteten  Bibel,  noch  andere  wertvolle 
Biicher  befanden.  Im  Jahre  847  bestanden,  trotz  der  Feind- 
seligkeiten,  bereits  vier  Taufkirchen  in  Holstein,  namlich  ausser 
in  Hamburg  noch  in  Meldorp,  Heiligenstatte  und  Schonefeld, 
dazu  ein  zweites  kleines  Kloster  Wellau,  ferner  "tragbare 
Altare  und  Bethauser."  Vielsagend  und  bedeutungsvoll  muss 
uns,  die  wir  an  die  Bestimmung  des  H'  fiir  den  Missionsbezirk 
Hamburg  glauben,  in  Erinnerung  an  die  auffallende  Verehrung 

18  S.  95-6. 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  503 

der  "unbefleckten  Gottesmutter  Maria"  im  H',  die  Tatsache 
sein,  dass  gemass  der  Lebensbeschreibung  des  Hamburger  Erz- 
bischofs  Rimbert19  Hamburg  gerade  "dem  heiligen  Erloser" 
(d.h.  doch  dem  "Heliand"!)  und  "Seiner  unbefleckten  Mutter 
Maria"  geweiht  war.  Und  unsere  Behauptung,  dass  der  H' 
nicht  fur  den  Bezirk  des  Erzbistums  Coin  bestimmt  sein  konnte, 
sondern  fur  das  Mainzer  Missionsgebiet,  erhalt  eine  neue 
Bekraftigung  in  der  Notiz  auf  S.  50:  "Kein  Erzbischof  von  Coin 
soil  iiber  diese  Diocese  irgendwelche  Gewalt  in  Anspruch  neh- 
men." 

So  scheint  sich  bei  unserer  Anschauung,  dass  der  H'  fur 
den  holsteinisch-danischen  Missionsbezirk  bestimmt  gewesen 
sei,  alles  ganz  klar  und  folgerichtig  zu  gestalten.  Bemerkens- 
wert  ist  auch,  dass  sich  auf  unserem,  von  den  bisherigen  For- 
schungswegen  unabhangigen  Gange  genau  derselbe  Zeitraum  fur 
die  Abfassung  des  H'  ergibt,  der  von  der  iiberwiegenden  Mehr- 
zahl  der  Germanisten  einheitlich  angenommen  wird,  nur  noch 
etwas  genauer,  namlich  die  Zeit  zwischen  826  (Taufe  des 
Danenherzogs  und  erste  Missionsreise  nach  Danemark)  und 
Weihnachten  831  (Weihe  Anskars  zum  Erzbischof  von  Ham- 
burg). Im  Jahre  83 3  aber  begannen  die  Danen  ihre  zerstoren- 
den  Angriffe,  die  bis  837  bzw.  840  (Brandschatzung  Hamburgs) 
dauerten,  die  Jahre  klug  ausnutzend,  in  denen  die  unseligen 
Kampfe  des  Kaisers  mit  seinen  Sohnen  seine  Zeit  und  Kraft 
vollig  in  Anspruch  nahmen.  Naturgemass  erlahmte  damals 
auch  Ludwigs  Interesse  an  der  nordischen  Mission  mehr  und 
mehr,  und  fiir  eine  kaiserliche  Anregung  zum  Heliand  fehlte 
nun  jede  Veranlassung,  abgesehen  davon,  dass  sich  die  Be- 
ziehungen  der  offiziellen  Kirche  des  Frankenreiches  zum  Kaiser 
schon  seit  Anfang  der  dreissiger  Jahre  immer  feindseliger 
gestaltethatten. 

Zum  Schlusse  ist  noch  eine  Klarstellung  bzw.  eine  Ausein- 
andersetzung  mit  denjenigen  Philologen  notig,  welche  die 
Heimat  der  Hss.  neuerdings,  auf  Grund  sprachlicher  Unter- 
suchungen,  in  einen  hollandisch-friesisch-frankischen  Grenzbe- 
zirk  verlegen.  Obgleich  diese  Lokalisierung  zundchst  unserem 
Resultat  durchaus  zu  widersprechen  scheint,  so  lasst  sie  sich 
doch  sehr  gut  mit  demselben  vereinen.  Unsere  Untersuchung 

w  S.  49. 


504  Metzenthin 

gait  ja  nicht  der  Heimat  der  Handschriften,  sondern  der  Heimat 
der  Adressaten  des  Heliand.  Der  Verfasser  kann  doch  an  sich 
sein  fur  den  aussersten  Nordosten  bestimmtes  Werk  in  irgend- 
einem  Kloster  des  Frankenreiches  gedichtet  haben.  Ja,  ange- 
sichts  der  primitiven  kulturellen  und  kirchlichen  Zustande  in 
dem  Hamburger  Missionsgebiete  ist  es  nahezu  ausgeschlossen, 
dass  solch'  ein  Werk  ebendort  geschrieben  werden  konnte. 
Sind  namlich  bei  der  Abfassung  Kommentare  und  andere 
Bucher  benutzt  worden, — was  wohl  zweifellos  ist — ,  so  konnte 
dies  nur  in  einem  mit  reicher  Bibliothek  versehenen  Kloster 
geschehen.  Und  wenn,  was  gleichfalls  unleugbar  ist,  frankische 
oder  andere  Einmischungen  in  den  altsachsischen  Text  einge- 
drungen  sind; — wie  sollte  es  anders  sein,  da  geschulte  Ab- 
schreiber  sicher  nicht  unter  den  neubekehrten  Sachsen  des  Nord- 
ostens,  sondern  nur  in  den  alteren  Klostern  gefunden  werden 
konnten,  die  dann  naturgemass  die  ihnen  vertraute  Schreib- 
weise  mehr  oder  weniger  einfiihrten  in  die  von  ihnen  hergestell- 
ten  Manuskripte.  Ja,  noch  mehr:  Solche  Abschriften  wurden 
schwerlich  alle  fiir  den  Nordosten  ausschliesslich  gemacht, 
sondern  wohl  auch  mit  der  Absicht,  den  Heliand  fiir  andere 
Teile  der  germanischen  Christenheit,  eventuell  bis  hiniiber  nach 
England,  verstandlich  zu  machen.  Vor  allem  aber  war  es  doch 
einfache  Pflicht,  dem  Kaiserpaar,  falls  seiner  Anregung  das 
ganze  Werk  zu  danken  war,  ein  Exemplar  zu  dedicieren. 
Man  denke  nur  an  Otfrids  Widmungsverse  "Ludovico  Orien- 
talium  Regnorum  Regi."  Es  ware  doch  hochst  befremdlich 
gewesen,  wenn  das  Kaiserpaar  nicht  so  viel  Interesse  an  diesem 
seiner  Initiative  entsprungenen  bedeutenden  literarischen  Werk 
bezeigt  hatte,  um  den  Wunsch  auszudrlicken,  es  zu  sehen 
und  zu  lesen.  Und  ebenso  befremdlich  ware  es  gewesen,  wenn 
keine  der  doch  schon  bald  verfertigten  Abschriften  in  einer 
fiir  das  Kaiserpaar  verstandlichen  Mund-  oder  Schreibart 
abgefasst  worden  ware.  Eine  vollstandige  Ubersetzung  in  den  am 
Kaiserhofe  gebrauchten  frankischen  Dialekt  war  natiirlich  kaum 
mb'glich  und  auch  fiir  diesen  Zweck  gar  nicht  notig,  sondern 
nur  eine  tJberarbeitung  zwecks  Annaherung,  zumal  die  Kaiserin 
Judith  sicher  von  ihrer  Mutter  her  sachsisch  wenigstens  verstand. 
— Aber  unsere  Beweisfiihrung  deutet  sogar  ganz  direkt  und  ge- 
nau  auf  denselben  Bezirk  als  Heimat  des  Gedichtes,  der  im  Laufe 
der  letzten  Zeit  immer  mehr  und  starkere  Befiirworter  gefunden 


Die  Heimat  der  Adressaten  505 

hat,  namlich  den  obengenannten  niederlandisch-friesisch- 
frankischen  Grenzbezirk,  oder  genauer:  "dicht  an  oder  wenig 
siidlich  einer  Linie,  welche  Leyden  mit  Uden  und  Miihlheirn 
a/Ruhr  verbindet."20 

Wir  finden  namlich  in  Rimberts  Leben  Anskars,  das  uns 
schon  vorher  wertvolles  Material  gegeben  hat,  auf  S.  52,  3  den 
Bericht  iiber  die  Weihe  einer  Kirche,  der  "heiligen  Mutter 
Gottes:  Maria"  zu  Ehren,  in  der  Stadt  Sliaswig  (Schleswig)  im 
damaligen  Danemark,  durch  Anskar,  unter  Zustimmung  des 
Danenkonigs  Horich,  und  sodann  die  folgende  fur  uns  hoch- 
bedeutsame  Bemerkung: 

"Denn  vorher  schon  gab  es  dort — namlich  in  Sliaswig — viele 
Christen,  die  in  Dorstadt  (!)  (jetzt  Dordrecht  in  Holland)  oder 
Hammaburg  (!)  waren  und  unter  denen  man  die  angesehensten 
Manner  der  Stadt  zahlte." 

Nun  wissen  wir  ferner,  dass  Dorstadt  damals  einer  der 
Haupthafen  Hollands  am  Rhein  war,  der  gern  von  den  Nor- 
mannen  zum  Ziel  ihrer  Raubfahrten  gemacht  wurde,  unter 
anderen  Griinden  vielleicht  deshalb,  weil  dort  eine  der  bedeu- 
tendsten  Missionsschulen  fiir  danische  Konvertiten,  die  ihren 
heidnischen  Landsleuten  besonders  verhasst  waren,  sich 
befand.  Wir  finden  dasselbe  Dorstadt  endlich  erwahnt  in  Joh. 
Hoops  "Real-Lexikon  der  Germanischen  Altertumskunde"21 
als  Missions-Mittelpunkt  und  Pflanzschule  fiir  Friesen  und 
Danen.  Sollte  nicht  da  der  Schliissel  liegen  fiir  die  Losung 
unsers  schwierigen  Problems?  Wenn  wir  aus  philologischen 
Griinden  mit  H.  Collitz,  der  iibrigens  Dorstadt  nicht  erwahnt, 
anerkennen,  dass  der  Dialekt  des  Original-Heliand  starke 
friesische  oder  ingwaonische  Einschlage  neben  den  frankischen 
zeigt,22  so  wiirde  sich  dies  ganz  natiirlich  erklaren,  wenn  wir  den 
Original-Heliand  in  Dorstadt  oder  dem  nahen  Utrecht  entstan- 
den  denken,  d.h.  an  der  von  Bauer  und  Collitz  als  Hei- 
matsstrich  festgestellten  Linie  Leyden-Miihlheim. 

Um  aber  den  vollsten  Einklang  herzustellen,  so  treffen  all 
die  Merkmale,  die  wir  als  charakteristisch  fiir  die  Heimat  der 

20  vgl.  H.  Collitz  betreffs  des  von  ihm  vorgeschlagenen  gemischten  Kunst- 

dialektes  (s.  am  Schlusse  unserer  "Vorbemerkungen"). 

»  Strassburg  1911-13,  Bd.  I,  (A-E  -)  S.  642  unter  "Bekehrungsgeschichte." 
"  Auf  die  Griinde  fur  oder  gegen  die  Annahme  einer  "gemischten  Dichter- 

sprache"  kann  hier  nicht  eingegangen  werden. 


506  Metzenthin 

Adressaten  des  Heliand  aus  dem  Epos  selber  entnommen  batten: 
Seeleben,  breiter  Fluss,  grosse  Schiffe,  Gefahr  durch  Westwinde, 
Seesalz  u.  a.,  auf  diesen  nach  West-Nordwest  offenen  Kiisten- 
bezirk  Hollands  (mit  dem  Rheindelta!)  ebenso  zu  wie  auf  den 
westlichen  Teil  Jiitlands,  jedoch  mit  der  bemerkenswerten 
Ausnahme  der  "burg"-Namen,  der  "Holme"  und  des  Waldes, 
die  wir  garnicht  in  Holland,  aber  wohl  in  Jutland  finden. 

RESULTAT 

So  scheinen  denn  die  folgenden  Satze  als  Zusammenfassung 
und  Abschluss  der  ganzen  vorhergehenden  Beweisfiihrung 
geniigend  begriindet  zu  sein: 

1.  Der  Heliand  ist  das  Werk  eines  sachsischen  Dichters  und 
Kirchenmannes,  geschrieben  zur  Forderung  der  dem  Kaiser 
Ludwig  dem  Frommen  am  Herzen  liegenden  Missionstatigkeit 
der  frankischen  Reichskirche. 

2.  Seinen  Adressaten  war,  wie  dem  Dichter  selbst,  das  Meer, 
insbesondere  die  Nordsee,  und  das  Seeleben  wohl  vertraut. 

3.  DIE  HEIMAT  DER  ADRESSATEN  ist  zu  suchen  langs  des 
Nordseegestades,   vornehmlich  in  dem  SACHSISCH-DANISCHEN 
MISSIONSGEBIETE  DER  MAiNZER  ERZDiocESE;  nicht  aber,  wie 
bisher  vielfach  angenommen  wird,  im  schon  christianisierten 
Binnenlande.23 

4.  Als  Heimat  der  Manuskripte,  und  wohl  auch  des  Dichters 
selbst,  kommt  in  Betracht  das  niederdeutsche  Flachland  von 
Holland  bis  Nordalbingien,24  besonders  sofern  es  in  das  Mis- 
sionsgebiet  des  Erzbistums  Mainz  eingeschlossen  war,  vorziig- 
lich  die  mit  Mainz  verbundenen  Kloster. 

E.  C.  METZENTHIN 
Brown  University 

"Letztere  von  uns  bekampfte  Lokalisierung  ist  besonders  scharf  ausge- 
sprochen  von  Jellinghaus  (Jahresbericht  f .  germ.  Phil.  1890) :  "Der  Heliand  kann 
nur  unter  einem  und  fxir  einen  deutschen  Stamm  gedichtet  sein,  der  lange  mit 
dem  Christentum  und  der  romanischen  Kultur  vertraut  war." 

14  "von  Utrecht  bis  Hamburg,"  sagt  Golther  (i.J.  1912),  hinzufiigend: 
"ohne  dass  irgend  eine  Ansicht  zur  Gewissheit  erhoben  ware." 


THE  OLD  ENGLISH  RHYMED  POEM 

The  following  edition  and  translation  of  the  Old  English 
Rhymed  Poem,  the  first  resolute  metrical  experiment  in  English 
literature,  is  prompted  by  the  belief  that  a  sufficiently  conserva- 
tive text  has  not  yet  been  established,  and  by  the  fact  that  no 
English  translation  has  appeared  since  Guest's  unsatisfactory 
rendering  in  his  History  of  English  Rhythm  in  1838. 

The  poem  is  contained  in  the  Exeter  Book,  pp.  94a  to  95b. 
Except  for  three  brief  lacunae  (lines  55,  66,  77)  it  seems  to  be 
preserved  complete.  It  is  an  elegy  placed  in  the  mouth  of  a 
man  who  from  former  happy  prosperity  has  fallen  into  helpless 
misery.  The  change  is  due  to  old  age,  disease,  and  the  fear 
of  death.  In  lines  1  to  42  he  describes  the  pride  of  his  youth, 
in  lines  43  to  54  the  sorrows  of  his  age.  In  lines  55  to  69  the 
thought  is  generalised.  As  with  the  speaker,  so  with  the  world; 
joys  pass  away,  sin  and  grief  abound.  In  lines  70  to  79  he 
returns  to  his  own  personal  fate,  and  dolefully  meditates  upon 
inevitable  death  and  the  horrors  of  the  grave.  Lines  80  to  87 
are  a  homiletic  conclusion  and  point  the  moral  to  the  tale. 

The  sequence  of  ideas  in  the  poem  is  not  unlike  that  in  The 
Wanderer,  and  its  general  purport  is  clear  enough.  But  for 
all  that  the  student  will  find  it  a  most  refractory  problem.  It  is 
exceedingly  difficult,  but  its  difficulty  lies  not  in  its  interpreta- 
tion as  a  whole  but  in  the  meaning  of  particular  words  and 
phrases.  Its  obscurities  of  phraseology  have  been  aggravated 
by  frequent  corruption  of  the  text — an  indication  that  even  the 
Old  Eaglish  scribes  were  often  at  a  loss  to  understand  it. 

The  reason  for  this  obscurity  of  style  lies  in  the  very  artificial 
metrical  technique.  The  author  obviously  planned  a  metrical 
tour  de  force.  To  begin  with,  every  line  was  to  have  its  full 
complement  of  three  alliterating  words.  Moreover,  when  the 
first  alliterating  word  began  with  a  double  consonant,  this 
double  consonant  was  to  alliterate  only  with  itself,  e.  g.  fl  only 
with  fl  (lines  47,  62,  72).  In  the  whole  poem  there  are  only 
six  exceptions  (lines  6,  34,  40,  43,  46,  79).  Secondly,  the  two 
halves  of  each  line  were  to  have  an  additional  metrical  binding 
by  means  of  full  rhyme,  i.e.,  rhyme  of  the  accented  root  syllables 

507 


508  Mackie 

as  well  as  of  the  unaccented  endings.  The  poem  has  come 
down  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  late  West  Saxon  translation  of  an 
Anglian  original,  and  in  the  process  of  translation  some  of  the 
rhymes  have  become  imperfect.  For  example,  fratwum,  geat- 
wum,  line  28,  Anglian  JrcEtivum,  gcetivum.  But  originally 
the  author  seems  to  have  very  rarely  failed  to  obtain  full 
rhyme.  In  three  or  at  most  four  places  (lines  26,  30,  45,  67) 
he  has  rhymed  a  short  vowel  with  its  corresponding  long  vowel, 
and  in  lines  2,  36,  60,  64,  and  73  he  has  relaxed  his  strictness 
still  further.  But  these  exceptions  are  not  only  few  but,  except 
in  line  2,  insignificant;  so  he  has  very  nearly  succeeded  in  carry- 
ing out  his  original  purpose.  Thirdly,  he  seems  to  have  begun 
with  the  intention  of  composing  his  poem  in  either  two-line 
or  four-line  stanzas,  each  with  the  same  rhyme  continued 
through  it.  This  stanza  scheme,  however,  soon  breaks  down, 
and  rhymes  extending  over  no  more  than  one  line  (e.  g.,  line  27) 
become  more  and  more  frequent.  But  there  are  two  paragraphs 
of  some  length  (lines  28  to  37  and  59  to  69)  in  which  the  single 
lines  are  bound  together  by  unchanged  rhyme  of  the  unaccented 
endings.  Fourthly,  he  is  so  enamoured  of  rhyme  that  sometimes 
he  is  not  content  with  the  final  rhymes  but  introduces  internal 
rhymes  as  well.  In  lines  13  and  57  these  are  the  same  as  the 
final  rhymes,  in  lines  62  to  65  they  are  different. 

It  is  clear  that  The  Rhymed  Poem  is  quite  an  appropriate 
title  for  the  elegy.  The  rhymes  are  the  author's  chief  interest, 
and  he  riots  in  them  in  a  super-Swinburnian  manner.  The 
obscurity  of  the  style  is  a  direct  consequence  of  this.  He  chooses 
a  complex  metrical  scheme,  and  then  fails  to  fit  the  expression 
of  his  ideas  easily  and  naturally  into  it.  He  is  intent  upon  a 
jingle,  and  is  careless  of  sense.  Almost  anything  will  do  into 
which  an  approximately  suitable  meaning  may  be  read  or  forced. 
He  has  recourse  to  unusual  and  obscure  words,  such  as  wilbec 
(line  26)  or  tinne'3  (line  54).  Some  of  these  he  may  himself 
have  coined.  He  uses  words  in  abnormal  meanings,  e.  g., 
beacnade  (line  31),  hwearfade  (line  36),  onconn  (line  74).  He 
runs  after  remote  allusions  and  obscure  opinions.  In  lines  45b 
to  47a  he  seems  to  be  referring  to  a  disease  which  is  bringing 
the  speaker  to  the  grave.  The  following  is  a  close  translation: 
"There  wanders  now  deep  and  far  a  burning  hoard  in  full 
bloom,  grown  up  within  the  breasts,  (which  has)  flowed  in 


The  Old  English  "Rhymed  Poem"  509 

different  directions  in  flights."  Presumably  a  cancer  is  what  is 
meant  by  these  far-fetched  and  mixed  metaphors. 

We  are  dealing,  in  short,  with  a  metrical  exercise,  in  which 
meaning  is  subordinated  to  rhyme.  Bearing  this  in  mind,  we 
should  resist  the  temptation  to  try  to  improve  the  meaning  by 
frequent  alterations  of  the  original  text.  When  the  MS. 
reading  gives  some  semblance  of  an  idea,  however  awkward,  or 
forced,  or  even  inappropriate,  we  should  rest  content  with  it. 
We  should  even  tolerate  nonce-words  that  outrage  our  sense  of 
linguistic  propriety.  The  surest  sign  of  corruption  of  the  text 
is  not  lack  of  meaning  but  lack  of  rhyme. 

The  following  text  is  based  upon  an  examination  and  tran- 
scription of  the  original  in  the  Exeter  Book.  I  have  tried  to 
make  it  as  conservative  as  possible.  Contractions  are  filled  out 
by  means  of  letters  in  italics,  and  emendations  which  seem  to  me 
unavoidable  are  indicated  by  square  brackets,  or  italics,  or 
points  below  letters  to  be  omitted,  in  the  usual  way.  A  circum- 
flex indicates  a  quantity  that  is  marked  in  the  manuscript.  I 
give  references  in  the  notes  to  Sievers-Cook,  Grammar  of  Old 
English  (S.  C.),  and  to  the  following  earlier  editions  of  or  articles 
upon  the  poem: 

Thorpe.     Codex  Exoniensis  (1842),  352  ff. 

Ettmiiller.     Scopas  and  Boceras  (1850),  220  ff. 

Grein.1     Bibliothek  der  a.s.  Poesie,  II  (1858),  137  ff. 

Grein.2  Das  Reimlied  des  Exeterbuches,  in  Pfeiffer's  Ger- 
maniaX  (1865),  306 f. 

Sievers.  Zum  a.s.  Reimlied,  in  Paul  und  Braune's  Beitrdge 
XI  (1886),  345  ff. 

Wiilker.     Bibliothek  der  a.s.  Poesie  III  (1897),  156  ff. 

Holthausen.1  Zur  a.e.  Liter atur,  in  Beiblatt  zur  Anglia  XX 
(1909),  313  f,  and  XXI  (1910),  12  f  and  155. 

Holthausen.2  Das  a.e.  Reimlied,  in  Festschrift  fur  Lorenz 
Morsbach  (1913),  191  ff. 

Sieper.     Die  a.e.  Elegie  (1915),  138  ff,  234  ff. 

Sedgefield.  Suggested  Emendations  in  O.E.  Poetical  Texts, 
in  Modern  Language  Review,  XVI  (1921),  59  ff. 


510  Mackie 

Me  lifes  onlah       se  Jns  leoht  onwrah 
and  })(Et  torhte  geteoh        tillice  onwrah. 
Glaed  waes  ic  gllwum,       glenged  hiwum, 
blissa  bleoum,        blostma  hiwum. 
5         Secgas  mec  segon       — symbel  ne  alegon — 
feorhgiefe  gefegon.        Fraetwed  waeguw 
wic[g]  ofer  wongum       wennan  gongum 
lisse  mid  longum       leoma  getongum. 
J)a  waes  waestmum  aweaht       world  onspreht, 

10         under  roderuw  areaht,       raedmaegne  oferj?eaht. 
Giestas  gengdon,       gerscype  mengdon, 
lisse  lengdon,       lustum  glengdon. 
Scrifen  scrad  glad       Jmrh  gescad  in  brad, 
waes  on  lagustreame  lad,       bser  me  leobu  ne  biglad. 


15        Haefde  ic  heanne  had;       ne  waes  me  in  healle  gad, 
bast  J?ser  rof  weord  rad.       Oft  ]?aer  rinc  gebad 
]>(Et  he  in  sele  ssege       sincgewaege 
Jjegnuw  gebyhte.        pwnden  waes  ic  myhte; 

2.  geteoh.  Anglian  *geteh  (S.C.  164,  1).  A  compound  sulhgeteogo,  "plough- 
implements,"  is  found  in  a  Leechdom,  so  the  simple  word  may  mean  "imple- 
ment," "engine,"  and  refer  to  the  sun.  But  the  failure  of  good  rhyme  is  very 
suspicious.  Probably  *geldh  should  be  read  (Grein1),  though  it  is  a  noun 
unknown  elsewhere.  It  might,  however,  be  the  past  tense  of  geteon,  "to  grant," 
used  as  a  noun  (cf.  fieah,  line  44),  in  the  sense  of  "gift,"  "reward."  But  Grein2 
translates  "disciplinam." 

4.  bleoum.  Bleo  is  from  original  *blija-  (S.C.  247  n.  3),  and  a  form  *bliwum 
would  be  impossible  except  from  analogy.  So  gliwum  and  hiwum  must  represent 
original  Anglian  gleowum  and  heowum  (S.C.  159,  5). 

6.  wcegun.    MS.  ivagum;  wagon,  Grein.1    Anglian  wegun,  so  originally  in 
full  rhyme  with  segon,  etc.    The  object  "me"  must  be  supplied  from  the  preced- 
ing sentence. 

7.  MS.  wic;  wicg,  Grein.1 

wennan.    Dative  Plural  of  wenn,  the  Kentish  form  of  wynn,  joy.    Cf. 
wenne,  76. 

8.  getongum.    Elsewhere  unknown.     Grein2  connects  with  tengan,  to  ap- 
proach, and  translates  "festinationibus." 

9.  aweaht.     The  original  rhymes  were  probably  Anglian  awaht,  onsprceht, 
aresht,  oferbaht  (S.C.  162,  1). 

world  onspreht.  World  is  a  late  spelling;  cf.  line  59,  and  Beowulf  2711. 
Onspreht  is  a  nonce-word;  it  is  probably  connected  with  sprcec,  which  glosses 


The  Old  English  "Rhymed  Poem"  511 

He  granted  me  life,  who  revealed  this  sun 
and  graciously  revealed  that  radiant  engine. 
I  was  glad  with  glee,  adorned  with  hues, 
with  the  colours  of  joy,  with  the  hues  of  blossoms. 
5  Men  gazed  upon  me — banquets  were  not  lacking — , 

rejoiced  in  the  gift  of  life.     Caparisoned  horses 
carried  me  joyfully  in  journeys  over  the  plains, 
delightfully  with  long  strides  of  the  limbs. 
Then  was  the  world  quickened  and  kindled  with  growth, 
10        expanded  under  the  skies,  covered  with  a  troop  of  advis- 
ers. 

Guests  came  and  went,  mingled  chatter, 
lingered  over  delight,  joyfully  embellished  it. 
The  appointed  ship  glided  through  the  distance  into  the 

broad  sea; 
there  was  a  path  upon  the  ocean  stream,  where  I  was  not 

without  guidance. 
15         I  had  high  rank;  I  lacked  nothing  in  the  hall, 

so  a  brave  company  rode  there.    There  it  often  befel  the 

warrior 
that  he  saw  in  the  hall  weighty  treasure, 

"sarmentum."     The  half-line  is  metrically  faulty,  but  this  is  no  sufficient 
reason  for  emendation. 

10.  r<zdm(zgne  oferbeath.  Perhaps  "covered  over  (with  growth)  by  the 
mighty  plan  (of  God)." 

13.  Serif  en  scrad  glad.    Metrically  faulty,  but  since  the  poet  has  attained 
an  additional  internal  rhyme  it  would  be  ungracious  not  to  be  satisfied.    Scrad 
is  another  nonce-word;  it  may  be  connected  with  scridan,  to  wander.    Serif  en 
would  seem  to  be  the  past  participle  oi  serif  an.    Holthausen1  proposes  ScrlSend- 
scrdd  glad,  "the  wandering  ship  glided." 

gescad.  Elsewhere  gescdd  means  "difference,"  or  "reason,"  "judgment." 
It  is  connected  with  scadan,  to  separate.  But  the  corresponding  OHG  gaskeit 
is  also  found  with  the  meaning  "distance." 

brad.  Neuter  of  the  adjective  used  with  the  force  of  an  abstract  noun. 
Cf.  fldh,  line  47,  bald,  aid,  line  63. 

14.  leobu.    Nonce-word.    Probably  connected  with  leopian  (line  40)  and 
O.S.  lidon,  "to  lead." 

16.  weord.    Probably  a  late  spelling  of  weorud.    Cf.  world. 

18.  MS.  penden  was  ic  mcegen;  punden  woes  ic  myhte,  Grein.1  Gepyhte, 
myhte  is  a  rhyme  possible  only  in  late  West  Saxon  (Anglian,  gebyhte,  mcehte) 
but  as  the  poem  is  probably  comparatively  late  its  Anglian  author  may  not  have 
restricted  himself  to  one  dialect  in  his  search  after  rhyme.  Sedgefield  proposes 
penden  wees  ic  on  hyhte. 


512  Mackie 

horsce  mec  heredon,       hilde  generedon, 

20        faegre  feredon,       feondon  biweredon. 

Swa  mec  hyhtgiefu  heold,       hygedriht  befeold, 
stabolaehtum  steald,       stepegongum  weold 
swylce  eorbe  ol,      ahte  ic  ealdorstol, 
galdorwordum  gol,      gomel  sibbe  ne  of61J; 


25        ac  waes  gef[f]est  gear,       gellende  sner, 

wuniendo  w&r       wilbec  bescaer. 

Scealcas  wseron  scearpe,       scyl  waes  hearpe, 

hltide  hlynede,       hleobor  dynede, 

sweglrad  swinsade,       swlbe  ne  minsade. 
30        burgsele  beofode,       beorht  hlifade. 

Ellen  eacnade,       ead  beacnade; 

freaum  frodade,       fromum  godade; 

m6d  maegnade,       mine  faegnade, 

treow  telgade,       tir  welgade, 
35        blaed  blissade; 

gold  geaiwade,       gim  hwearfade, 

sine  searwade,       sib  nearwade. 

From  ic  waes  in  fraetwuw,       freolic  in  geatwum, 

waes  mm  dreaw  dryhtlic,      drohtaS  hyhtlic. 
40        Foldan  ic  freoj?ode,       folcuw  ic  leoj?ode; 

lif  waes  mm  longe       leodum  in  gemonge 

21.  hygedriht.    MS.  hyge  driht.    I  take  the  word  to  be  a  compound  of  hiw 
and  gedriht,  "family  troop."     Sievers  reads  hyge-driht,  but  his  translation, 
"dear  troop,"  is  forced. 

22.  steald.    Anglian  confusion  of  ea  andeo  (S.C.  150  n  1  and 394  n  3).  Cf. 
ftean,  72,  and  gefean,  87. 

24.  MS.  n£  of  611;  ne  of6l,  Grein.1    We  should  expect  of 61  to  be  transitive, 
like  61  in  the  preceding  line.    Holthausen1  proposes  ne  of  col,  "did  not  cool." 

25.  MS.  gefest;  gef-fest,  Sievers.    An  Anglian  form  (S.C.  157,  2  and  151,  1) 
of  gif-fast,  which  occurs  in  The  Endowments  of  Men,  36. 

gear,  sner.    The  original  Anglian  rhymes  must  have  been  ger,  sner,  wer 
(S.C.  150,  1)  and  bcscar  or  bescer  (S.C.  151, 1). 

26.  wilbec.    A  very  doubtful  word.     Grein*  translates  "rivum  lamenta, 
tionis";  he  connects  wil  with  O.  N.  vil,  "misery,"  and  takes  bcc  to  be  bee,  bcec, 
"a  brook."    Holthausen2  emends  to  wtgbled,  "military  glory." 


The  Old  English  "Rhymed  Poem"  .513 

serviceable  to  thanes.    I  was  puffed  up  with  power; 

wise  men  praised  me,  saved  me  in  battle, 
20        conducted  me  well,  protected  me  from  foes. 

So  joy  dwelt  within  me,  a  family  troop  encompassed  me, 

I  possessed  estates,  where  I  stepped  I  had  command  over 

whatever  the  earth  brought  forth,  I  had  a  princely  throne, 

I  sang  with  charmed  words,  old  friendship  did  not  grow 

less. 

25        Moreover,  there  was  a  year  rich  in  gifts,  a  resounding 
harp-string, 

lasting  peace  cut  short  the  river  of  sorrow. 

The  servants  were  active,  the  harp  was  resonant, 

loudly  rang;  sound  pealed, 

music  made  melody,  did  not  greatly  abate; 
30        the  castle  hall  trembled,  it  towered  bright. 

Courage  increased,   wealth  attracted; 

I  gave  wise  counsel  to  the  lords,  enriched  the  valiant. 

Mind  became  mighty,  heart  rejoiced, 

good  faith  flourished,   glory  abounded, 
35        abundance  smiled. 

I  furnished  gold,   the  gem  passed  round, 

treasure  did  treachery,  the  bond  of  friendship  narrowed. 

Bold  I  was  in  my  array,  noble  in  my  equipment, 

my  joy  was  lordly,   my  way  of  life  happy. 
40        I  protected  the  land,   I  was  leader  to  the  folk; 

for  a  long  time  my  life  among  the  people  was 

30.  beofode.    The  rhyme  indicates  that  *bifode,  without  0-umlaut,  was  the 
original  form. 

31.  beacnade.    Beacnian,  "to  beckon,"  is  here  given  an  intransitive  mean- 
ing; cf.  of 61,  line  24. 

32.  frodade.     Probably  a  verb  coined  by  the  poet  from  frod,  "wise." 
Grein1  alters  to  flodade,  and  translates,  with  ead  as  subject,  "wealth  flowed 
plentifully  to  the  lords."    The  change  improves  the  sense  but  weakens  the 
alliteration. 

fromum  godade.  Godian,  "to  endow,"  regularly  governs  the  accusative  of 
the  person,  so  Grein's  emendation  tofremum  godade,  "endowed  with  benefits," 
is  very  plausible. 

35.  Ettmiiller  filled  up  the  missing  half-line  by  bleo  glissade,  "venustas 
splenduit"  (Grein1). 

38.  geatwum.    Anglian  gcetwum  (S.C.  157,  3). 

40.  leobode.  See  note  on  leobu,  line  14.  A  compound  aleobian,  "to  take 
away,"  occurs  in  Genesis,  177. 


514  Mackie 

tirum  getonge,       teala  gehonge. 

Nu  mm  hrej?er  is  hreoh,        heowsijmm  sceoh, 
nydbysgum  neah.        Gewlteb"  nihtes  in  fleah 


45         se  sbr  in  daege  waes  deor.        Scribe'S  nu  deop  [ond]  feor 
brondhord  geblowen,        breostum  in  forgrowen, 
flyhtum  toflowen.        Flah  is  geblowen 
miclum  in  gemynde.        Modes  gecynde 
grete<5  ungrynde       grorn  0ferpynde, 


50         bealofus  byrneb",        bittre  toyrneo". 

Werig  whineo",       widsiS  onginne<5, 

sar  ne  sinni}>,       sorgum  cinniS, 

blsed  his  blinni'5,       blisse  linniS, 

listuw  linne<5,       lustum  ne  tinned. 
55  Dreamas  swa  her  gedreosatS,     dryhtscype  gehreosao", 

llf  her  men  forleosaS,       leahtras  oft  geceosaS; 

treow)?rag  is  to  trag,       seo  untrume  ge[h]nag; 

steapum  [st]ea3ole  misj^ah       ond  eal  stund  ge[h]nag. 

Swa  nu  world  wendej?,       wyrde  sende)?. 


42.  getonge,  gehonge.    Probably  adjectives  coined  by  the  poet  in  order  to 
continue  the  rhyme.    Cf .  gadertang,  "associate  with"  (Metra  XXII,  39)  and  hon, 
hongian. 

43.  hreoh,  sceoh  and  44,  neah,  fleah.    Anglian  hreh,  seek,  (S.C.  165,  1), 
neh,  fleh  (S.C.  163). 

heowsij>um.  The  first  part  must  be  heow,  hiw,  "hue";  "disasters  of  various 
hues."  But  Ettmuller's  emendation  to  heofsipum  (heof,  "lamentation")  is  very 
probable. 

44.  gewite'd.    Probably  future  in  meaning,  if  this  obscure  sentence  is  a 
reference  to  death. 

fleah.  Apparently  the  past  tense  of  fleon  pressed  into  service  as  a  noun. 
See  note  on  geleoh,  line  2. 

45.  MS.  dyre;  deor,  Sievers. 

MS.  scriped  nu  deop  feor,  unmetrical  and  unidromatic.  The  sign  for 
ond  has  probably  fallen  out  between  the  two  adjectives.  Holthausen2  proposes 
scrlpefi  nu  deope  peor.  peor  means  "inflammation,"  "ulcer,"  and  suits  the 
context  well. 

47.  fish.    See  note  on  brad,  line  13. 

48.  modes  gecynde.    A  periphrasis  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme. 


The  Old  English  "Rhymed  Poem"  515 

familiar  with  glory,   well  devoted  to  it. 

Now  my  heart  is  troubled,  fearful  owing  to  various 

disasters, 
nigh  to  unavoidable  distresses.    There  departs  into  flight 

by  night 
45        he  who  in  the  day  had  been  bold.    There  wanders  now 

deep  and  far 
a  burning  secret  disease  in  full  growth,  developed  within 

the  breast, 

spread  in  different  directions.   Evil  has  blossomed 
greatly  in  the  mind.    The  mind's  nature 
bottomless  grief,  too  much  penned  in,  attacks, 
50         burns  eager  for  calamity,  runs  fiercely  to  and  fro. 
The  weary  man  suffers,  begins  a  far  journey, 
his  pain  is  pitiless,  he  adds  to  his  sorrows, 
his  glory  ceases,  he  loses  his  happiness, 
he  loses  his  skill,  he  does  not  burn  with  desires. 

In  the  same  way  here  joys  perish,  lordships  fall; 
here  men  lose  life,  often  choose  sins; 
too  evil  is  the  time  of  good  faith  that  feebly  declined; 
it  went  badly  with  the  high  seat  and  every  hour  went  to 

the  worse. 
So  now  the  world  changes,  brings  death, 

49.  MS.  efen  pynde;  ofer  pynde,  Sievers.    There  is  a  verb  pyndan  "to 
dam  in,"  "to  force  back."    The  idea  seems  to  be  that  the  mind  is  oppressed  with 
pent  in  sorrow,  which  breaks  forth  and  "runs  in  all  directions"  (line  50b). 

50.  byrnefi,  tdyrnefi.     Originally  probably  brinneV,  twinned,  rhyming  with 
the  following  lines.    S.C.  286  note  2. 

51.  widsid,  "the  far  journey"  of  death. 

52.  sinnij).    O.E.  sinnan  can  mean  either  "to  heed"  (Guthlac  290}  or  "to 
have  respite  from"  (Andreas  1279).     So  the  half-line  may  mean  either  "his 
pain  does  not  heed"  or  "his  pain  never  ceases." 

cinniff.    An  obscure  nonce-word.    Sievers  suggests  a  connection  with 
cennan,  "to  bring  forth." 

53.  MS.  linna<5;  linnid,  Ettmuller. 

54.  tinnefi.     Also  obscure.     Holthausen1  cites  MHG  Ginnen,  "to  burn," 
connected  with  Gothic  tandjan,  O.E.  ontendan,  "to  kindle." 

57.  A  very  obscure  line.    Probably  "the  time  of  good  faith"  merely  means 
"life."    MS.  genag  is  probably,  as  in  the  next  line,  a  miswriting  (or  phonetic 
writing)  of  gehnag,  from  gehnlgan,  "to  sink."    But  perhaps  seo  untrume  gewdg, 
"which  feebly  gave  battle,"  should  be  read. 

58.  MS.  eatole;  steabole,  Ettmuller. 

MS.  genag;  gehndh,  Ettmuller.     Final  g  after  a  long  back  vowel  be- 
came voiceless  in  later  Old  English  (S.C.  214,  2). 


516  Mackie 

60        ond  hetes  henteS,       haelej?e  scendet5. 
Wercyn  gewite'5,       waelgar  sliteo", 
flah  man  fllte<5,       flan  man  hwiteS, 
b0rgsorg  bite?5,       bald  aid  Jjwite)?, 
wraecfaec  wriJjetS,        wrab  atS  smitej), 

65        singrynd  sidat5,      searafearo  glided; 

grom  torn  graefej),       graeft  .  .  .  hafa<5, 
searohwit  sola)?,       sumurhat  colaS, 
foldmela  fealleS,       feondscipe  wealleo", 
eortSmaegen  ealda}?,       ellen  ceal  [d]at5. 


70  Me  Jjaet  wyrd  gewaef       ond  gefrwyr[h]t  forgeaf 

tyat  ic  grofe  graef       ond  Jjaet  grimme  scrxi 
flean  flaesce  ne  maeg       \>onne  flanhred  deeg 
nydgrapum  nimej?,       ])onne  seo  neah[t]  becymetJ, 
seo  me  eftles  onfonn       ond  mec  her  Ijeardes  onconn. 


75        ponne  lichoma  Iiget5,       lima  wyrm 

ac  him  wenne  gewige<5       ond  J?a  wist  gej?yge(5, 

60.  MS.  halepe  scynde'3;  scended,  Ettmiiller.   Halepe  may  be  an  I-declension 
accusative  plural  (S.C.  281  note  4).    Grein1  reads  h&lep  gescendeft. 

61.  MS.  wencynge  wile's;  wercyn  gewiteV,  Ettmiiller. 

62.  MS.  man;  man,  Ettmiiller. 

hunted,  "whitens,"  i.e.  "polishes,"  "sharpens." 

63.  MS.  burg  sovg;  bovgsorg,  Grein.1 
bald  old.    See  note  on  brad,  line  13. 

64.  MS.  wrcec  jac  wribaff.    The  only  alteration  necessary  is  wribef}  for 
wrlbad,  but  all  previous  editors  have  made  further  changes.     E.g.   Grein.1 
WTCEC  sac  write<S,  Sieper,  wv&c  sac  wribefi. 

65.  MS.  singrynd;  syngryn,  Ettmiiller. 

MS.  sacra  fearo;  searofearo,  Grein.1  Far u,  fearu  is  probably  an  A-deden- 
sion  noun  meaning  "going,"  "journey"  (ci.farari).  "The  indirect  path  glides," 
however,  is  a  decidedly  obscure  metaphor. 

66.  grom  torn.    Ettmiiller  and  later  editors  alter  to  grorn  torn  or  grorntorn. 
But  the  internal  rhymes  may  have  ended  with  line  65. 

grafeb,  "digs,"  or  "engraves."  Sieper  suggests  by  his  translation  that 
"digs  wrinkles,"  "brings  care,"  is  meant. 

MS.  graft  hafa<i.  A  word  has  clearly  dropped  out.  Perhaps  graft 
hleor  hafa~S,  "the  face  is  engraved  with  lines." 


The  Old  English  "Rhymed  Poem"  517 

60        and  pursues  hate,  brings  men  to  shame. 

The  race  of  men  perishes,  the  slaughtering  spear  rends, 
the  deceitful  evildoer  brawls,  wickedness  polishes  the 

arrow, 

debt-anxiety  bites,  old  age  cuts  short  courage, 
the  time  of  misery  binds,  anger  desecrates  the  oath, 

65         constant    grief    spreads    widely,    the   indirect   path    is 
treacherous. 

Fierce  anger  digs  wrinkles, engraves, 

artificial  beauty  grows  foul,  summer  heat  becomes  cool, 
the  wealth  of  the  earth  perishes,  enmity  rages, 
the  might  of  the  world  ages,  courage  grows  cold. 

70  Fate  wove  it  me  and  my  deserts  brought  it  upon  me 

that  I  should  dig  a  grave,  and  that  grim  cavern 
I  cannot  avoid  with  my  flesh,  when  death,  arrow-swift, 
seizes  my  life  in  his  inevitable  grasp,  when  the  night 

comes, 

that  dispossesses  me  of  my  home  and  deprives  me  of  my 
abode  here. 

75         Then  the  body  lies  low,  the  worm  devours  the  limbs, 
nay,  has  delight  and  takes  sustenance, 

hafad.    Originally  probably  hcefed  (S.C.  416  n  1  e).    But  cf.  the  rhyme 
sidaft,  glldeS  in  the  preceding  line. 

67.  search-wit  solap.    In  a  British  Museum  MS.    hwit  dsolafi  translates 
"nitor  squalescit."    See  Zupitza,  Anglia  I,  287. 

solap.    From  a  verb  solian,  formed  from  sol,  "mire."  Cf.  The  Owl  and  the 
Nightingale,  1276. 

69.  MS.  cola's ;  cealda~S,  Ettmiiller. 

70.  MS.  gekwyrt;  gewyrht,  Grein.1    Perhaps  accusative;  "and  gave  it  me 
as  my  deserts." 

forgeaf.    Anglian,  forgcef  (S.C.  157,  3). 

71.  MS.  grimme  graf;  scraef,  Sievers.    There  is  no  other  example  in  the 
poem  of  a  word  rhyming  with  itself  in  the  same  line. 

72.  flean.    See  note  on  steald,  line  22. 
flanhred,  "the  arrow-swift,"  i.e.  "death." 

73.  MS.  neah;  neaht,  Ettmiiller. 

74.  MS.  fmfdnn;  ofonn,  Ettmiiller. 
MS.  heardes;  eardes,  Ettmiiller. 

MS.  6nc6nn.    Apparently  here  with  the  meaning  "deprives";  its  regular 
meaning  is  "accuses." 

75.  MS.  JriteVipigeV,  Grein.1 

76.  wenne.    See  note  on  wennan,  line  7. 


518  Mackie 

o]?)?aet  beoj?  J?a  ban       an, 

ond  aet  nyhstan  nan,       nefne  se  neda  tan 
balawun  her  gehlotene.       Ne  bib  se  hlisa  a&ro/en; 

80        Jer  baet  eadig  gebenceb",       he  nine  be  oftor  swence<5, 

byrgeS  him  ba  bitran  synne,  hogab  to  baere  betran  wynne, 
gemon  m[e]orba  lisse.         Her  sindon  miltsa  blisse 
hyhtlice  in  heofona  rice.        Uton  nu  halgum  gellce, 
scyldum  biscyrede,        scyndan  generede, 

85         wommum  biwerede,       wuldre  generede, 
baer  moncyn  mot,       for  Meotude  rot, 
sotSne  God  geseon       ond  aa  in  sibbe  gefean. 

77.  MS.  bdn  dn;  the  scribe  has  omitted  most  of  the  second  line.  Grein1 
proposes  oppcet  beop  pa  bdn  begrosnad  on  dn,  "until  the  bones  are  mouldered  into 
a  single  heap  of  dust."  Ban  gebrosnad  occurs  in  Phoenix  270. 

79.  MS.  herge  hlotene;  her  gehloten,  Ettmuller. 

se  hlisa,  i.e.,  the  fame  and  praise  gained,  in  this  world  and  the  next,  by 
good  deeds  and  the  avoiding  of  "bitter  sins." 

MS.  adroren.  This  can  hardly  have  been  the  original  rhyme  with  gehlo- 
ten. Ettmuller  emended  to  dproten,  from  dpreotan,  "to  weary,"  and  Grein* 
translated  "Fama  non  est  segnis."  It  appears  to  me  that  dbroten,  from  dbreotan, 
"to  destroy,"  gives  much  better  sense. 

82.  MS.  morpa;  meorpa,  Grein.1 

84.  biscyrede.    Anglian,  biscerede  (S.C.  157,  2). 

85.  generede.    Grein1  emended  to  geherede,  "honoured."    But  the  repetition 
of  a  rhyming  word  used  in  the  preceding  line  finds  parallels  in  lines  2,  4,  54,  58. 

87.  gefean.    See  note  on  steald,  line  22. 


The  Old  English  "Rhymed  Poem"  519 

until  the  bones  are one, 

and  finally  there  is  nothing,  except  that  the  lot  of  neces- 
sity 
is  here  appointed  for  evil  deeds.    Good  fame  will  not  be 

destroyed; 
80        all  the  sooner  the  good  man  thinks  of  that,  he  chastens 

himself  the  more  often, 

avoids  the  bitter  sins,  has  hope  of  the  better  joy, 
remembers  the  delight  of  the  heavenly  rewards.    Here 

are  the  blisses  of  the  mercies  of  God 
joyous  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven.    Let  us  now,  like  the 

saints, 

freed  from  sins,   hasten  saved, 
85        defended  from  vices,  gloriously  saved, 

where  mankind,  happy  before  the  Judge,  may 
see  the  true  God  and  for  ever  rejoice  in  peace. 

W.  S.  MACKIE 
University  of  Cape  Town 


JUDAS'S   RED   HAIR 

Though  it  is  an  old  and  familiar  tradition  that  Judas 
Iscariot  had  red  hair,  the  actual  evidence  is  rather  scattered  and 
not  very  abundant.  In  the  colored  glass  of  the  Middle  Ages 
Judas  is  frequently  to  be  recognized  by  his  yellow  robe  or  red 
hair  or  beard.  There  are,  for  example,  wall  paintings  at  Ramers- 
dorf,  on  the  lower  Rhine,  portraying  him  with  red  hair,1  a 
window  in  the  cathedral  of  Chartres,  and  a  miniature  in  an 
Emblemata  Biblica,2  all  of  the  thirteenth  century.  In  Leo- 
nardo's Last  Supper  his  hair  and  beard  are  a  dull  red.  The 
sixteenth-century  Flemish  painter  Jean  Stradan  pictured  him 
with  red  hair  and  beard,  a  green  girdle,  and  a  red  purse.3  But 
there  is  no  indication  that  the  Renaissance  painters  created  any- 
thing like  a  type  face  or  figure  for  Judas,  though  he  usually  has  a 
beard  and  his  hair  is  usually  red  or  yellowish-red.  In  Giotto's 
three  pictures  of  Judas  there  is  no  marked  similarity;  and 
Holbein's  Judas  at  Basel  has  gray-blond  hair  and  beard. 

In  popular  belief  the  tradition  appears,  for  example,  in  the 
German  poem — 

Woriim  hadd  Judas  en  roden  Bard 
t)m't  Gesicht  rum.4 

In  France  it  is  sometimes  said  that  red  hair  debars  a  man  from 
the  priesthood,  because  Judas  had  red  hair.5  Wright's  English 
Dialect  Dictionary  gives  "Judas-born"  as  meaning  born  with 
red  hair.  Moscherosch's  Philander  von  Sittewald,  meeting  in 
hell  one  who  spoke  of  having  sold  Our  Lord,  came  closer  "umb 
zu  sehen,  ob  er,  wie  man  sagt,  einen  rothen  Bart  hatte."6 

Abraham  a  Sancta  Clara,  who  knew  and  made  such  lively 
use  of  all  the  canonical  and  traditional  information  about 

1  Kinkel,  Jahrb.  des  Vereins  von  Altherthumsfreunden  im  Rheinlande,  XII, 
109  f.  (Wackernagel.) 

2  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  ms.  37:  Auber,  I,  307. 

3  W.  Porte,  Judas  Ischariot  in  der  bildenden  Kunst,  Jena  diss.,  Berlin,  1883, 
pp.  15,  67;  Solovev,  K  Legendam  ob  ludie  Predaltelie,  Kharkov,  1895,  p.  53; 
for  a  few  other  examples  see  Solovev,  pp.  30-31. 

4  Gilhoff,  Zeiisch.fiir  den  deutschen  Unterricht  XXII  (1908),  116. 
6  Revue  des  Traditions  Populaires  XXV  (1910),  288. 

•  Wunderliche  und  Wahrhafte  Gesichte,  Strassburg,  1650, 1,  390 

520 


Judas's  Red  Hair  521 

Judas  which  had  accumulated  by  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  duly  records  the  'fact'  but  vigorously  repudiates  the 
implication. 

"Gesetzt  aber,  es  hatte  Judas  eine  solche  erwahnte  Rubrikam 
um  das  Maul  gehabt,  was  folgt  dann  daraus?  Vielleicht  beliebt 
dir  zu  reden:  Judas  habe  einen  rothen  Bart  gehabt;  ergo,  alle  die 
rothe  Barte  haben,  seynd  Erz-Schelmen.  Wann  dem  also,  so 
ware  kein  einiger  Bart  von  grossem  Schimpf  befreit.  Der  Teufel 
ist  in  Gestalt  eines  Manns  mit  einem  braunen  Bart  in  die 
Wiisten  gangen  und  Jesum  versucht;  ergo,  so  seynd  alle  Manner 
mit  braunem  Bart  Teufel.  .  .  .  Die  zwei  alten,  mehr  beber- 
lonischen  als  babylonischen  Richter  bei  Susannam  haben 
weisse  Bart'  gehabt;  ergo,  alle  die  weisse  Bart'  haben,  seynd 
solche  bockbergerische  Ehebrecher  .  .  .  O  wie  ungereimt 
lauft  dein  Argument!  Des  Balaams  Eselinn  hat  gered't; 
ergo,  wird  dein  Esel  zu  Haus  auch  mit  Sprach'  heraus  und  dich 
salve  Prater:  willkomm'  Bruder!  anreden."7 

The  phrase  Judas  color  and  the  adjective  Judas-colored  seem 
to  have  been  current  chiefly  among  the  Elizabethan  dramatists 
and  their  imitators.  The  earliest  example  I  have  met  is  in 
Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy:  "And  let  their  beardes  be  of  ludas 
his  owne  collour."8  In  As  You  Like  It,  Act  III,  sc.  iv,  Rosalind 
says:  "His  hair  is  of  the  very  dissembling  colour."  And 
Celia  replies:  "Something  browner  than  Judas's."9  Other 
instances  are:  "Sure  that  was  Judas  with  the  red  beard," 
in  Middleton's  Chaste  Maid  in  Cheapside,III,  ii;  "That's  he  in 
the  ludas  beard,"  in  Robert  Daborne's  A  Christian  Turn'd 
Turke,  I,  iv;10  "I  ever  thought  by  his  beard  he  would  prove  a 
Judas,"  in  Marston's  The  Insatiate  Countess,  II,  ii.  Dryden 
writes  in  Amboyna:  "There's  treason  in  that  Judas-colour'd 
beard";  and  his  lines  on  Tonson  are  well  known: 

7  SUmmttiche  Werke,  Passau,  1835, 1,  162  f. 

8  Act  III,  sc.  xii  (ed.  Boas,  Oxford,  1901,  p.  68).    The  passage  in  which  this 
line  occurs  was  not  in  the  first  version  of  the  play,  but  appears  first  in  the  edition 
of  1618.     Cf .  Manly,  Specimens  of  Pre-Shaksperean  Drama,  II,  557.     The  date 
assigned  for  the  phrase  in  N.E.D.  ("c.  1594")  is  therefore  probably  wrong.    An 
entry  in  Henslow's  Diary  makes  it  likely  that  the  addition  was  made  by  Ben 
Jonson;  the  point,  however,  is  not  certain;  cf.  Boas,  p.  Ixxxvii. 

*  Shakspere  has  also  "Cain-colour'd,"  Merry  Wives  I,  iv. 
»°  Ed.  Swaen,  Anglia  XX  (1898),  215. 


522  Baum 

With  leering  looks,  bull-fac'd  and  freckled  fair, 
With  frowsy  pores  poisoning  the  ambient  air, 
With  two  left  legs,  and  Judas-colour'd  hair. 

Sir  Roger  L'Estrange  inserted  an  allusion  to  Judas's  hair  in  his 
translation  of  Quevedo's  Suenos: 

I  next  went  down  a  pair  of  Stairs  into  a  huge  Cellar,  where  I  saw  Men  burn- 
ing in  unquenchable  Fire,  and  one  of  them  Roaring,  Cry'd  out,  I  never  over 
sold;  I  never  sold,  but  at  Conscionable  Rates;  Why  am  I  punished  thus?  I 
durst  have  sworn  it  had  been  Judas;  but  going  nearer  to  him,  to  see  if  he  had  a 
Red  Head,  I  found  him  to  be  a  Merchant  of  my  Acquaintance.11 

In  the  poets  of  the  last  century  there  are  occasional  examples 
of  this  notion;  as  in  Tennyson's  Queen  Mary,  written  in  the 
Elizabethan  manner: 

First  Citizen.  I  thought  this  Philip  had  been  one  of  those  black  devils  of 
Spain,  but  he  hath  a  yellow  beard. 

Second  Citizen.    Not  red  like  Iscariot's. 

First  Citizen.    Like  a  carrot's,  as  thou  say'st.    (in,  i). 

And  R.  S.  Hawker,  the  Cornish  poet,  has:  "The  sickly  hue  of 
vile  Iscariot's  hair."12 

A  variation  of  the  usual  tradition  appears  in  the  North 
of  England,  that  Judas  had  black  hair  and  a  red  beard.13  This 
matches  the  German  proverb:  "Schwarzer  Kopf,  rother  Bart, 
bose  Art,"  and  the  French 

Barbe  rouge  et  noirs  cheveux 
Guettes  t'en,  si  tu  peux.14 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  tradition  is  simply  the 
application  of  the  old  belief — much  older  than  Judas  Iscariot — 
that  red-haired  men  are  treacherous  and  dangerous,  to  the 
Arch-traitor,  sometime  during  the  early  Middle  Ages,  when 
the  popular  imagination  was  busy  making  up  biographies  and 
biographical  details  for  the  saints  and  martyrs  of  the  Church. 
The  combination  is  natural  and  appropriate  enough,  and 
would  be  supported  or  reinforced  by  the  general  belief  in  red  as  a 

11  Visions,  London,  1702,  p.  159.  There  is  no  allusion  to  Judas  in  the 
Spanish  original. 

"Poetical  Works,  London,  1897,  p.  189  ('The  Quest  of  the  Sangraal'). 
18  Denham  Tracts  (Publ.  of  the  Folklore  Soc.  XXXV,  1895),  II,  24. 
14  F.  Pluquet,  C 'antes  Populaires,  Rouen,  1834,  p.  112. 


Judas's  Red  Hair  523 

color  of  evil  significance,  and  perhaps  also  by  the  conventional 
color  symbolism  of  the  Church. 

Red  has  not  always  an  unfavorable  connotation,  however. 

Rothi  Farb,  schoni  Farb; 
Schwarzi  Farb,  Tiifelsfarb, 

runs  a  German  song.  "Gegen  die  rote  Farbe  kampfe  der  bose 
Zauber  vergebens  an,"  say  the  East  Prussians.  Red  appears 
as  the  color  of  sacrificial  blood  in  various  Hebrew  and  Egyptian 
traditions.  Tombs  have  been  frequently  painted  red,  both 
within  and  without,  not  only  by  early  European  peoples,  but  to- 
day also  among  primitive  tribes  elsewhere.  Red  is  the  color  of 
dawn,  of  the  sun,  of  wedding  garments  and  of  Thor,  the  God  of 
marriage,  and  of  love,  especially  passionate  love,  of  burning 
zeal,  energy,  courage.  On  holidays  the  Romans  often  decked 
the  statues  of  the  gods  with  red.  The  daughters  of  Israel  were 
clothed  in  scarlet  by  Saul,  "with  other  delights"  (2  Sam.  1,  24). 
Roman  senators  wore  togas  of  reddish  purple;  whence  prob- 
ably the  scarlet  robes  of  the  cardinals.  Indian  priests  often 
wore  red.  The  Pope  wears  red  when  he  hears  mass,  and  is 
buried  in  red.  Red  is  used  on  the  feast-days  of  the  martyrs,  as 
the  color  of  blood  that  was  shed  for  Christ;  and  at  Whitsuntide 
as  the  color  of  the  tongues  of  fire  which  descended  upon  the 
apostles.  "Rubeus  color  igneus  est  et  sanguineus:  caritati 
Spiritus  et  effusioni  sanguinis  consimilis,"  says  the  pontifical 
of  Bishop  Clifford.  Red  was  worn  on  Good  Friday  and  during 
the  Passion  week  generally.  Indeed,  on  all  occasions  of  show 
and  pomp  it  is  a  favorite  color. 

But  on  the  other  hand  red  is  the  color  of  adultery  (and 
compare  Rahab  and  her  "scarlet  line"),  of  murder  and  hangmen, 
of  anarchy  and  violence,  of  anger,  of  shame,  of  destructive  fire, 
of  Thor-Donar  (the  lightning  is  his  red  beard),  of  gnomes  and 
dwarfs,  both  kindly  and  malignant;  and  so  on.  It  affords  a 
pointed  contrast  to  black  death,  as  in  "aussen  rot,  innen  tot," 
"heute  rot,  morgen  tot";  and  poetically  put,  in  Walther  von 
der  Vogelweide — 

diu  werlt  1st  vlzen  schoene 

wtz  griien  unde  r6t, 
und  innan  swarzer  varwe, 

vinster  sam  der  t6t.15 

»  Ed.  WUmanns,  Halle,  1883,  p.  412  (124,  37  f.). 


524  Baum 

The  angry  Lord  in  Isaiah  63,  2  is  apparelled  in  red.  The  armies 
of  God  coming  against  Nineveh  are  clad  in  scarlet,  their 
shields  and  chariots  colored  red  (Nah.  2,  3).  The  soldiers  at  the 
crucifixion  put  upon  Jesus  a  scarlet  robe  (Mat.  27,  28;  but  Luke 
23,  11  has  XajuTrpos).  According  to  Olaus  Magnus  a  northern 
tribe  worshipped  a  red  cloth  fastened  to  a  lance — like  (in  the 
opinion  of  some)  our  own  Bolsheviks.  "Red-coat,"  partly 
descriptive,  of  course,  was  an  opprobrious  term  in  America 
during  the  Revolution;  and  in  Ireland  (Dearganach)  as  well; 
and  similarly  in  Germany  it  stands  for  traitor.  In  Canton  the 
Chinese  call  a  European  "fanquai"  (red  devil). 

This  very  'law  of  opposites,'  by  which  a  color  has  contrary 
significations,  is  a  regular  feature  of  the  color  symbolism  of  the 
Church.  Yellow  is  the  color  of  gold  and  therefore  of  splendor, 
nobility,  wisdom;  but  also  of  jealousy,  treachery,  felony. 
Judas  is  often  distinguishable  in  mediaeval  stained  glass  by  his 
yellow  robe.  Green  is  the  color  of  spring,  youth,  vigor,  and  of 
the  Trinity;  but  also  of  envy  and  jealousy.  Blue  is  the  color  of 
truth  and  faith;  but  sometimes  the  Devil  in  the  mediaeval 
pictures  has  a  blue  body  or  Judas  a  blue  robe. — To  some  these 
convenient  antitheses  may  appear  to  be  a  begging  the  question; 
a  symbolism  which  is  constantly  going  in  two  directions  will 
arrive  nowhere.  But  this  would  be  simply  to  ignore  the  ways 
of  mediaeval  thinking.  Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  in  his  Bestiary, 
anticipated  this  cavil:  "If  any  one  asks  why  Christ  is  some- 
times symbolized  by  unclean  animals,  such  as  the  serpent,  the 
lion,  the  dragon,  the  eagle,  and  others,  let  him  know  that  the 
lion  when  it  stands  for  fortitude  represents  Christ,  and  when 
it  stands  for  rapacity  represents  the  Devil."  And  thus  the 
colors. 

Obviously  then  the  evil  associations  of  the  color  red  do 
not  give  us  the  whole  story.  We  must  look  further  for  an 
explanation  of  Judas  color,  and  specially  in  the  ill-omen  of  red 
hair.  This  itself  took  its  beginning  no  doubt,  like  so  much 
else  of  popular  tradition,  in  the  shrewd  observation  of  natural 
phenomena.  The  common  German  proverb,  "Roter  Bart, 
untreue  Art,"  represents  a  condensed  popular  judgment. 
Even  to-day  a  red-haired  man  is  assumed  to  be  hot-headed  and 
quick-tempered,  and  so  not  quite  to  be  counted  on.  After  the 
connection  had  been  perceived  a  few  times,  it  would  naturally 


Judas's  Red  Hair  525 

crystallize  into  a  proverb.16  It  is  probable,  moreover,  that 
such  a  proverb  originated  among  a  southern  people,  where  red 
hair  is  most  striking.  The  Egyptians,  we  know,  looked  with  dis- 
favor on  red-haired  persons,  for  they  were  supposed  to  be  fol- 
lowers of  Seth-Typhon,  whose  color  was  red;  and  they  may  have 
been  regarded  as  of  impure,  that  is,  partly  foreign,  blood.  The 
Hebrews  had  a  similar  belief,  derived  perhaps  from  Egypt;17 
and  the  Greeks  and  Arabs  also.  Both  the  Hebrews  and  the 
Egyptians  sacrificed  red  animals  to  their  gods  (e.g.  the  red 
heifer  of  Num.  19),  and  the  Greeks  to  the  chthonic  deities. 
Red  haired  children  were  sometimes  put  to  death  among  the 
Egyptians  and  Hebrews.18  From  Latin  two  literary  instances 
have  been  cited  in  this  connection,  the  "Rufus  quidam  ven- 
triosus,  crassis  suris"  etc.  of  Plautus  (Pseud.  IV,  7,  110)  and 
Martial's 

Crine  ruber,  niger  ore,  brevis  pede,  lumine  laesus, 
Rem  magnam  praestas,  Zoile,  si  bonus  es.  (XII,  54) 

— of  which  Dryden's  epigram  on  Tonson  is  slightly  reminiscent. 
Both  of  these,  to  be  sure,  have  an  air  rather  of  individual 
cases  than  of  a  proverbial  generalization;  but  testimony 
even  of  this  sort  is  valuable.  And  it  is  significant  that  the 
earliest  documentary  evidence  of  the  proverb  as  proverb 
appears  in  a  fragment  of  the  Ruotlieb,  a  Latin  poem  of  the  early 
eleventh  century  by  an  anonymous  Tegernsee  monk,  who  may 
well — there  is  evidence  of  other  kinds  pointing  to  southern 
influence  there — have  had  this  notion  from  Italy:  "Non  tibi 
sit  rufus  unquam  specialis  amicus"  is  one  of  the  twelve  saws 
with  which  the  young  man  is  rewarded. 

w  It  has  been  considered  somewhat  odd  that  this  proverb  should  flourish 
especially  in  Germany  where  so  many  persons  have  reddish  blond  hair.  One 
should  note  the  compromise- version :  "rot  haer  ist  entweder  gar  fromm  oder 
gar  boess";  and  the  more  precise  "Hiiet  dich  vor  aim  roten  Walhen,  weissen 
Franzosen,  schwarzen  Teutschen."  But  without  doubt  the  red  hair  of  these 
proverbs  is  distinct  red,  not  blond  with  a  reddish  tint. 

17  Compare  the  story  of  the  Egyptian  enchanters  turning  the  water  in 
Goshen  into  blood,  so  that  when  the  unfaithful  Israelites  drank,  their  beards 
became  red  (Baring-Gould,  Legends  of  Old  Testament  Characters,  II,  106)  and 
that  of  the  idolatrous  Israelites  who  drank  water  mixed  with  the  gold  of  the 
Golden  Calf  which  Moses  had  ground  to  powder  (Revue  des  Traditions  Populaires 
VII  (1892),  432. 

18  But  David  probably  had  red  hair;  cf.  1  Sam.  16,  12;  17,  42. 


526  Baum 

From  the  eleventh  century  onwards  examples  of  the  proverb 
are  numerous,  and  of  the  belief  in  other  forms  as  well.  Since 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  reprint  them  here  I  have  included 
in  the  bibliographical  note  below  (p.  527  ff.)  references  to  various 
collections  and  illustrations.  It  will  be  pertinent  here  only  to 
give  some  of  the  theories  of  the  origin  of  the  tradition.  Jacob 
Grimm19  and  Wackernagel  derived  it  wholly  from  the  mediaeval 
animal  tale,  particularly  the  Reynard  the  Fox  group,  in  which 
the  fox  is  often  called  "red"  with  reference  as  much  to  his 
trickiness  as  to  his  color.  J.  W.  Wolff  connected  it  with  Donar.20 
DuMeril  attributed  it  mainly  to  the  association  with  Judas.21 
Koegel,  reasoning  that  the  idea  was  non-germanic  because  of  the 
frequency  of  red  (reddish  blond)  hair  among  the  Germans, 
supposed  it  to  have  come  from  Italy;  without  the  Reynard 
animal  tales  it  would  have  gained  no  acceptance  in  Germany.22 
Frl.  Lemke  offers  this  suggestion:  man  creates  his  gods  in  his 
own  image;  therefore  the  blond,  reddish  haired  Germanic 
tribes  gave  Thor  red  hair  and  a  red  beard,  and  when  Thor-Donar 
was  metamorphosed  into  the  devil  of  hell-fire,  red  hair  became 
a  token  of  treachery.  Finally  (to  include  opinions  of  another 
sort)  Nares,  in  his  Glossary,  says  that  Judas's  hair  was  supposed 
to  be  red  "probably  for  no  better  reason  than  that  the  color 
was  thought  ugly,  and  the  dislike  of  it  was  of  course  much 
increased  by  this  opinion.  ...  It  has  been  conjectured,  that 
the  odium  attached  to  red  hair  originated  in  England,  from 
the  aversion  there  felt  to  the  red-haired  Danes;  which  may  or 
may  not  be  true.  Crine  ruber  was  always  a  reproach  to  a  man, 
though  the  golden  locks  of  ladies  have  been  much  admired." 
And  he  quotes  from  Thiers,  Histoire  des  Perruques,  p.  22:  "Les 
rousseaux  portSrent  des  perruques,  pour  cacher  le  couleur  de 
leurs  cheveux,  qui  sont  en  horreur  a  tout  le  monde,  parce 
que  Judas,  a  ce  qu'on  pretend,  etoit  rousseau."  Abraham  a 

19  Reinhart  Fuchs,  p.  xxx. 

20  Beitrdge  zur  deut.  Mythologie,  I,  64. 

21  Poesies  Populaires  Latines  du  Moyen-dge,  Paris,  1847,  p.  324,  n.  1;  and 
La  Leginde   de  Robert-le-Diable,   in  Revue  Contemporaine,  1854,  reprinted  in 
Etudes  sur  quelques  Points  d' Archeologie,  Paris,  1862,  p.  304,  and  n.  5   (with 
numerous  references). 

nGeschichte  der  deutschen  Litteratur,  Strassburg  1897,  I,  ii,  pp.  366. 


Judas'' 's  Red  Hair  527 

Sancta  Clara  submits  that  the  general  tradition  sprang  from  a 
popular  etymology  of  the  name  Iscariot — "1st  gar  roth."23 

One  can  only  add — one  theory  being  little  better  than 
another — that  the  belief  is  very  widespread  and  very  ancient 
and  that  its  currency  would  be  continually  strengthened  by 
daily  observation.  Those  who  derived  it  from  German  sources 
are  pretty  certainly  wrong;  while  on  the  other  hand  not  much 
can  be  said  for  the  contention  that  it  is  ungermanic,  since, 
even  granting  the  uncertainty  of  color  terms,  distinctly  red 
hair  is  but  slightly  more  common  in  Germany  than  elsewhere. 
Red  is  not  a  "natural"  hair  color,  though  it  is  found  sporadically 
among  all  races;  erythrism  is  a  sport,  an  arrested  development, 
and  perhaps  a  sign,  in  some  sort,  of  degeneration.  It  is 
entirely  in  the  nature  of  things  that  popular  tradition  should 
fasten  on  it  a  special  significance  and  one  not  generally  compli- 
mentary. And  obviously  red  is  the  only  fitting  color  for  Judas 
Iscariot's  hair. 

PAULL  FRANKLIN  BAUM 

Harvard  University 

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

To  the  books  and  articles  already  mentioned  (Grimm,  Wolff,  *DuM6ril, 
*Koegel,  Porte)  the  following  discussions  may  be  added.  Those  marked  with 
an  asterisk  contain  further  references  of  importance. 

Besides  the  books  and  articles  already  referred  to  (Grimm,  Wolff,  *DuM6ril, 
*Koegel,  Porte)  I  have  made  use  also  of  the  following  discussions.  Those 
marked  with  an  asterisk  contain  additional  references  of  importance. 

For  the  color  red. — 

*E.  Lemke,  Die  rote  Farbe,  in  Brandenburgia  17  (1909),  193  ff.  (repr.  in 
Asphodelos  und  anderes  etc.,  Allenstein,  1914). 

*Zeitschrift  des  Vereins  fur  Volkskunde  10  (1900),  223  n. 

*Aug.  Stober,  Neue  Alsalia,  Mxihlhausen,  1885,  p.  147  ff. 
A.  Wuttke,  Volksaberglaube,  Berlin,  1869,  sec.  21. 
Goethe,  Zur  Farbenlekre  (Jubliaums  Ausgabe  40,  60  ff.). 

*Fr.  von  Duhn,  Rot  und  Tot,  in  Archiv  fur  Religionswissenschaft  9  (1906),  1  ff . 

11  "Man  muss  dahero  der  Mahler  Freiheit  oder  Frechheit  nit  fur  ein  un- 
laugbares  Beweisthum  anzeihen,  dass  Judas  ein/eyertaglichen  Bart  habe  gehabt; 
sondern  es  ist  gar  wohl  zu  vermuthen,  es  seye  der  einige  Nam'  Iscarioth  die 
Haupt-Ursach  solches  gemeinen  Wahns  und  Aussag':  Dann  die  plumpen  Leut' 
Anfangs  das  Wort  Iscarioth  fur  Ist  gar  roth  verstanden;  ist  also  solchergestalten 
dem  Juda  solche  Farb'  in  Bart  gerieben  worden." — JFerke,  p.  161  f. 


528  Baum 

F.  Portal,  Des  Couleurs  symboliques  dans  VAntiquite,  le  Moy  en-age  et  les 
Temps  Modrenes,  Paris.  1857. 

For  ecclesiastical  symbolism. — 
Wickham  Legg,  History  of  Liturgical  Colours  [n.v.J. 
Kranzen,  Dissertatio  de  colore  sacro,  Wittemberg,  1707  [n.v.]. 
Auber,  Historic  et  Theorie  du  Symbolisme  Religieux,  Paris,  1870,  4  vols.; 
I,  ch.  xii,  xiii. 

For  red  hair  specially. — 

G.  F.  Abbott,  Macedonian  Folklore,  Cambridge,  1903,  p.  105. 
*Brugsch,  Hieroglyphisches  Demotisches  Worterbuch,  Leipzig,  1882,  VII, 

1375  f. 

*H.  Fischer,  in  Zeitschr iftfiir  deutsches  Altertum  48  (1907),  400  ff. 
*H.  R.  Furness,  Variorum  ed.  of  As  You  Like  It,  p.  192. 
R.  Hunt,  Popular  Romances,  London,  1916,  p.  307  (Cornish). 
*J.  Kemble,  Salomon  and  Saturnus,  London,  1848,  247,  254  ff. 
H.  Lambel,  Erziiglungen  und  Schwanke,  Leipzig,  1872,  p.  251  (Otte  mil  dem 
Barte,  I.  229). 

*A.  Nutt,  notes  in  Maclnness,  Folk  and  Hero  Tales,  London,  1890,  p.  475  f. 
(Celtic  and  Hungarian). 

*Rademacher,  in  Philologus  57  (1898),  224 f.;  and  Das  Jenseits  in  der 
Mythologie  der  Hellenen,  Bonn,  1903,  51  f. 

*Rochholz,  Deutscher  Glaube  und  Brauch,  Berlin,  1867,  II,  218  ff. 
*Saintyves,  in  Revue  de  I'Histoire  des  Religions  83  (1921),  15,  n.  7. 
Michael  Scot,  Phisionomie  libri,  ch.  lix  (and  quoted  in  A.  Schultz,  Hofisches 
Leben,  Leipzig,  1889, 1,  220,  n.  4). 

*W.  H.  D.  Suringar,  BebeVs  Proverbia  Germanica,  Leiden,  1879,  p.  199  ff., 
no  36. 

Marie  Trevelyan,  Glimpses  of  Welsh  Life  and  Character,  London,  [1893], 
p.  356. 

*W.  Wackernagel,  Kleinere  Schriften,  I  (Leipzig,  1872),  p.  172  ff. 
*A.  Wesselski,  BebeVs  Schwanke,  Miinchen,  1907,  II,  148. 
R.  Wilhelm,  Chinesische  Volksmarchen,  Jena,  1919,  pp.  51,  70,  113,  117, 
197,  261  (devils  or  dragons). 

Archivfiir  slavische  Philologie  19  (1897),  257. 

Arkiv  for  nordisk  Filologi  32  (1916),  26. 

Folk-Lore  3  (1892),  79,  88  (Manx);  259;  558  ff.  (Hebrew). 

4  (1893),  249 f.  (Egyptian);  363  (Irish). 

5  (1894),  341  (Yorkshire;  favorable  sign). 
8  (1897),  14,  16  (Irish). 

*Germania  29  (1884),  107,  n.  6. 

Journal  of  American  Folklore  6  (1893),  23  f.  (German,  Italian,  Arabic). 
14  (1901),  302  (American  Indian). 
21  (1908),  50. 

Journal  of  Biblical  Literature  24  (1905)  41  ff.;  27  (1908),  153  ff. 
Modern  Language  Notes  34  (1919),  484  (Spanish  'rufo'). 


Judas1  s  Red  Hair  529 

Remsta  Lusitana  19  (1916),  40  ff.  (Portuguese,  Italian,  Sicilian;  and  this 
in  Latin  which  I  have  seen  only  here:  "Si  ruber  est  fidelis,  diabolus  est  in 
ccelis."). 

Zeitsckrift  des  Ver tins  fur  Volkskunde  3  (1893),  26,  134. 

7  (1897),  453. 

8  (1898),  3. 
A  nthropological. — 

R.  Andree,  Ethnographische  Paratten  und  Vergleiche,  N.  F.,  Leipzig,  1889, 
261  ff. 

J.  H.  F.  Kohlbrugge,  in  Globus  93  (1908),  309  ff.,  333  ff.  (and  summarized 
in  Journal  of  American  Folklore  23  (1910),  50). 


AN  IMPORTANT  COLERIDGE  LETTER 

To  students  of  Coleridge's  politics,  a  letter  addressed  to 
Benjamin  Flower,  editor  of  the  Cambridge  Intelligencer,  and 
bearing  the  date  1 796,  cannot  but  be  of  deep  interest.  The  letter 
has  been  printed  only  once — in  the  Monthly  Repository  of 
1834 — although  it  is  noted  by  Haney  in  his  Bibliography  of 
Coleridge.1  For  some  inexplicable  reason  it  has  never  been 
included  in  editions  of  Coleridge  correspondence.  The  reprint- 
ing of  the  letter  now  seems  justified  by  the  relative  inaccessi- 
bility of  the  Monthly  Repository,  and  opportunity  may  be 
taken  to  point  out  reasons  why  it  may  be  considered  of  more 
than  ordinary  importance. 

My  Much-Esteemed  Friend, 

I  truly  sympathize  with  you  in  your  severe  loss,  and  pray  to  God  that  He 
may  give  you  a  sanctified  use  of  your  affliction.  The  death  of  a  young  person 
of  high  hopes  and  opening  faculties,  impresses  me  less  gloomily  than  the  de- 
parture of  the  old.  To  my  mere  natural  reason,  the  former  appears  like  a  transi- 
tion ;  there  seems  an  incompleteness  in  the  life  of  such  a  person,  contrary  to  the 
general  order  of  nature;  and  it  makes  the  heart  say,  'this  is  not  all.'  But  when 
an  old  man  sinks  into  the  grave,  we  have  seen  the  bud,  blossom,  and  the  fruit, 
and  the  unassisted  mind  droops  in  melancholy,  as  if  the  whole  had  come  and  gone. 
But  God  hath  been  merciful  to  us,  and  strengthened  our  eyes  through  faith,  and 
Hope  may  cast  her  anchor  in  a  certain  bottom,  and  the  young  and  old  may 
rejoice  before  God  and  the  Lamb,  weeping  as  though  they  wept  not,  and  crying 
in  the  spirit  of  faith,  'Art  thou  not  from  everlasting,  O  Lord  God,  my  Holy 
One?  We  shall  not  die!'  I  have  known  affliction.  Yea,  my  friend,  I  have  been 
sorely  afflicted;  I  have  rolled  my  dreary  eye  from  earth  to  heaven;  I  found  no 
comfort,  till  it  pleased  the  unimaginable  high  and  lofty  One,  to  make  my  heart 
more  tender  in  regard  of  religious  feelings.  My  philosophical  refinements,  and 
metaphysical  theories,  lay  by  me  in  the  hour  of  anguish  as  toys  by  the  bedside 
of  a  child  deadly  sick.  May  God  continue  his  visitations  to  my  soul,  bowing  it 
down,  till  the  pride  and  Laodicean  self-confidence  of  human  reason  be  utterly 
done  away,  and  I  cry  with  deeper  and  yet  deeper  feelings,  O  my  soul  thou  art 
wretched,  and  miserable,  and  poor  and  blind  and  naked! 

whose  soul  is  almost  wrapped  up  in — hath  his  heart  purified  by  the 

horrors  of  desolation,  and  prostrates  his  spirit  at  the  throne  of  God  in  believing 
silence.  The  terrors  of  the  Almighty  are  the  whirlwind,  the  earthquake,  and  the 
fire  that  precede  the  still,  small  voice  of  his  love.  The  pestilence  of  our  lusts 
must  be  scattered;  the  strong-laid  foundations  of  our  pride  blown  up,  and  the 

1  Bibliography  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  Phil.  1903,  p.  51.  Monthly 
Repository,  1834,  p.  653. 

530 


An  Important  Coleridge  Letter  531 

stubble  and  chaff  of  our  little  vanities  burnt,  ere  we  can  give  ear  to  the  in-speaking 
voice  of  mercy.    'Why  will  ye  die?' 

My  answer  to  Godwin  will  be  a  six-shilling  octavo;  and  is  designed  to  show, 
not  only  the  absurdities  and  wickedness  of  his  system,  but  to  depict  what  appear 
to  me  the  defects  of  all  the  systems  of  morality  before  and  since  Christ;  and  to 
show,  that  wherein  they  have  been  right,  they  have  exactly  coincided  with  the 
gospel,  and  that  each  has  erred  exactly  in  proportion  as  he  has  deviated  from 
that  perfect  canon.  My  last  chapter  will  attack  the  creduilty,  superstition, 
calumnies,  and  hypocrisy  of  the  present  race  of  infidels.  Many  things  have 
fallen  out  to  retard  the  work;  but  I  hope  that  it  will  appear  shortly  after  Christ- 
mas, at  the  farthest.  I  have  endeavored  to  make  it  a  cheap  book;  and  it  will 
contain  such  matter  as  is  usually  sold  for  eight  shillings.  I  perceive  that  in  the 
New  Monthly  Magazine  the  infidels  have  it  all  hollow.  How  our  ancestors  would 
have  lifted  up  their  hands  at  that  modest  proposal  for  making  experiments  in 
favour  of  idolatry! 

Before  the  24th  of  this  month  I  will  send  you  my  poetic  endeavors.  It  shall 
be  as  good  as  I  can  make  it.  The  following  lines  are  at  your  service,  if  you 
approve  of  them — (The  lines  are  those  addressed  "To  a  Young  Man  of  Fortune," 
Works,  Globe  Edition,  London,  1909,  p.  68.)  ... 

I  seldom  see  any  paper.  Indeed  I  am  out  of  heart  with  the  French.  In  one 
of  the  numbers  of  my  'Watchman,'  I  wrote  a  remonstrance  to  the  French 
legislators;  it  contained  my  politics;  and  the  splendid  victories  of  the  French 
since  that  time  have  produced  no  alteration  in  them.  I  am  tired  of  reading 
butcheries;  and,  although  I  should  be  unworthy  of  the  name  of  man,  if  I  did 
not  feel  my  head  and  heart  awfully  interested  in  the  final  event,  yet,  I  confess, 
my  curiosity  is  worn  out  with  regard  to  the  particulars  of  the  process.  The 
paper  which  contained  an  account  of  the  departure  of  your  friend,  had  in 
it  a  sonnet,  written  during  a  thunderstorm.  In  thought  and  diction  it  was  sub- 
lime and  fearfully  impressive.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  ever  read  so  fine  a 
sonnet.  Surely,  I  thought,  this  burst  from  no  common  feelings,  agitated  by  no 
common  sorrow!  Was  it  yours? 

A  young  man  of  fortune  (his  name )  wrote  and  published  a  book  of 

horrible  blasphemies,  asserting  that  our  blessed  Lord  deserved  his  fate  more 
than  any  malefactor  ever  did  Tyburn  (I  pray  heaven  I  may  not  incur  guilt 

by  transcribing  it.)    And  after  a  fulsome  panegyric,  adds,  that  the  name  of 

will  soon  supersede  that  of  Christ.    wrote  a  letter  to  this  man,  thanking 

him  for  his  admirable  work,  and  soliciting  the  honour  of  his  personal  friendship! ! ! 
With  affectionate  esteem,  yours  sincerely, 

S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

It  is  clearly  seen  that  the  letter  falls  naturally  into  two 
parts,  one  of  a  very  personal  nature  which  demonstrates 
Coleridge's  intimacy  with  Benjamin  Flower,  the  other  showing 
us  new  and  valuable  side  lights  on  the  writer's  politics  at  this 
time. 


532  Graham 

Benjamin  Flower  (1755-1829)  came  into  some  prominence 
in  1792  by  the  publication  of  a  work  on  the  French  Constitution.2 
This  probably  attracted  Coleridge  to  him.  At  any  rate,  it  had 
something  to  do  with  Flower's  being  selected  about  this  time 
to  edit  the  Cambridge  Intelligencer,  a  liberal  newspaper  which 
his  brother  Richard  helped  to  establish.  The  Intelligencer  was 
the  only  "provincial"  newspaper  in  the  kingdom  that  denounced 
the  war  with  France  as  "absurd  and  wicked."  Coleridge,  who 
expressed  much  the  same  opinion  of  the  War,  in  the  Watchman 
(see  especially  No.  1),  when  that  unique  periodical  became 
defunct  with  the  issue  of  May  13,  1796,  urged  his  readers  to 
peruse  the  Intelligencer.  It  stood  for  the  "rational  liberty" 
Coleridge  had  advocated.  Later  in  1797,  Flower  was  imprisoned 
by  order  of  the  House  of  Lords  for  an  attack  on  the  Bishop  of 
Llandaff,  but  was  liberated  at  the  end  of  the  session.3  And  he 
has  always  been  regarded  as  one  of  the  authors  who  wrote 
weekly  articles  for  the  Dispatch  over  the  pseudonym  "Publi- 
cola."  The  intimacy  of  Coleridge  with  such  a  man,  at  this 
stage  of  his  career,  is  revealing.  It  is  well  known  that  the  "Ode 
on  the  Departing  Year"  was  first  printed  in  The  Intelligencer 
(December  31,  1796)  in  an  abbreviated  form,  and  that  the  poem 
was  written  to  Flower's  order.4 

The  second  part  of  Coleridge's  letter  is  the  more  important, 
however.  His  references  to  the  never-published  answer  to 
Godwin;5  his  characterization  of  the  New  Monthly  Magazine  as  a 
stronghold  of  infidelity;  his  unqualifiedly  orthodox  religious 
attitude;  his  superlative  praise  of  his  friend's  third-rate  sonnet8 — 

1  The  French  Constitution,  with  remarks  on  some  of  its  principal  articles,  etc., 
London,  1792. 

8  See  Andrews,  British  Journalism,  London,  1859,  II,  286. 

4  Works,  Globe  Edition,  p.  586,  note  103.  Also  Intro,  xxxii.  Haney  lists 
six  other  pieces  published  in  the  Intelligencer  (Bibliography  of  S.  T,  C.,  p.  44). 
Authority  for  the  last  statement  is  found  in  the  Estlin  Letters  (Philobiblon 
Society  Pub.)  Lon.  1884,  p.  26. 

*  Compare  letter  to  Thelwall,  Dec.  32  (Letters,  ed.  of  E.  H.  Coleridge 
London,  1895, 1,  210).  See  also  Cottle's  Reminiscences,  347,  note. 

*  To  the  Wind:  Written  in  a  Stormy  Night. 

Roar,  boistrous  element!  and  howling  send 
Thy  imps  of  havoc  through  the  low'ring  skies, 
Upon  thy  breath  as  desolation  flies, 
Led  to  her  mischief  by  the  lightning's  glare; 
The  general  wreck  accords  with  my  dispair: 


An  Important  Coleridge  Letter  533 

these  are  valuable  side  lights  on  the  writer's  life  and  feelings 
at  this  time.  But  most  interesting  of  all  is  his  reference  to  his 
"Remonstrance  to  the  French  Legislators"  in  the  Watchman, 
as  a  statement  of  his  politics.  Since  the  address  has  never  been 
reprinted,  and  since  the  Watchman  itself  is  practically  inacces- 
sible to  the  average  student  of  Coleridge,  the  "Remonstrance" 
is  here  quoted  in  full. 

Guardians  of  the  LIBERTY  of  EUROPE!  the  Individual,  who  has  devoted 
his  Joys  and  Sorrows  to  the  Interests  of  the  whole,  partakes  of  the  importance 
of  the  object  which  he  has  accustomed  himself  to  contemplate.  He  addresses 
you  therefore  with  that  dignity  with  which  his  subject  invests  him:  for  he  speaks 
in  the  name  of  HUMAN  KIND.  When  America  emancipated  herself  from  the 
oppressive  capriciousness  of  her  old  and  doting  Foster-Mother,  we  beheld  an 
instructive  speculation  on  the  probable  Loss  and  Gain  of  unprotected  and  untri- 
butary  Independence;  and  considered  the  Congress  as  a  respectable  body  of 
Tradesmen  deeply  versed  in  the  ledgers  of  Commerce,  who  well  understood  their 
own  worldly  concerns,  and  adventurously  improved  them.  France  presented  a 
more  interesting  spectacle.  Her  great  men  with  a  profound  philosophy  investi- 
gated the  interests  common  to  all  intellectual  beings,  and  legislated  for  the 
WORLD.  The  lovers  of  Mankind  were  every  where  fired  and  exalted  by  their 
example:  each  heart  proudly  expatriated  itself,  and  we  heard  with  transport  of 
the  victories  of  Frenchmen,  as  the  victories  of  Human  Nature.  But  the  effects 
of  despotism  could  not  be  instantly  removed  with  the  cause:  and  the  Vices  and 
Ignorance,  and  the  Terrors  of  the  multitude  conspired  to  subject  them  to  the 
tyranny  of  a  bloody  and  fanatic  faction.  The  fortune  of  France  prevailed ;  and  a 
Government  has  been  established,  which  without  counteracting  the  progressive- 
ness,  gratifies  the  more  importunate  frailties  of  our  present  nature.  To  give 
stability  to  such  a  Constitution,  it  is  needful  only  that  its  effects  should  be  ex- 
perienced. Peace  therefore  is  necessary. 

At  this  season,  when  all  the  creative  powers  of  nature  are  in  action,  and  all 
things  animated  and  inanimate  inspire  the  human  heart  with  joy  and  kindliness, 
at  this  season,  your  executive  Department  have  transmitted  a  paper,  which, 
they  knew  would  be  the  signal  for  recommencing  the  horrors  of  War.  Legis- 
lators of  France!  if  you  had  been  nursed  amid  the  insolent  splendour  of  heredi- 


In  whirling  eddy,  as  the  leaves  descend, 
And  from  its  twig  the  ring-dove's  nest  is  torn; 
The  bending  oak,  of  all  its  foliage  shorn, 
Resembles  me — 'tis  thus  th'  Almight's  blast 
Strips  me  of  every  comfort,  and  my  soul, 

By  cloud  of  meancholy  overcast, 
Loves  the  dark  pauses  when  the  thunders  roll; 
For  then,  each  peal  seems  awfully  to  toll 

The  knell  of  all  my  happy  moments  past! 
This  sonnet  is  reprinted  with  the  letter  in  the  Monthly  Respository,  1834. 


534  Graham 

tary  prosperity,  ignorant  of  the  misery  and  unsympathizing  with  the  miserable, 
I  should  not  dare  repeat  to  you  the  common-place  pleadings  of  humanity. — But 
you  are  from  among  your  countrymen. 

But  you  were  nursed  upon  the  self-same  hills, 
Fed  the  same  flocks  by  fountains,  shades,  or  rills: 

You  ought  to  tremble  and  weep  beneath  the  stern  necessity,  that  should 
command  you  to  issue  the  mandate  for  the  death  of  even  one  man — alas!  what 
if  for  the  death  of  perhaps  half-a-MILLION?  Permit  me  then  to  examine 
whether  or  no  this  necessity  existed. — The  Directory  assign  as  their  motives  for 
rejecting  his  Britannic  Majesty's  overtures,  first,  their  doubts  respecting  the 
sincerity  of  the  English  Court,  and  secondly,  "the  constitutional  act,  which  does 
not  permit  it  to  consent  to  any  alienation  of  that  which  according  to  the  existing 
laws,  constitutes  the  Territory  of  the  Republic." — The  Directory  doubt  the 
sincerity  of  the  English  Court  because  Mr.  Wickham  who  transmitted  the  over- 
ture, was  not  himself  authorized  to  negotiate. — If  a  disposition  favorable  to 
Peace  had  been  discovered  in  the  French  Government  a  man  of  greater  name  and 
dignity  than  the  Minister  to  the  Swiss  Cantons,  would  have  been  appointed  to 
treat  with  the  August  Legislature  of  France;  but  it  ought  not  to  have  been 
expected  that  the  English  Court  would  send  a  special  messenger  of  high  rank 
on  an  uncertain  errand.  To  enquire  concerning  the  intentions  of  the  French 
Government,  Mr.  Wickham  was  well  qualified  by  his  being  on  the  spot  with  the 
French  Ambassador. 

They  doubt  it  likewise  because  a  congress  was  proposed,  "of  which  the 
necessary  result  would  be  to  render  all  negotiations  endless."  The  English  Court 
on  the  other  hand  wished  "for  the  establishment  of  a  congress,  which  has  been  so 
often  and  so  happily  the  means  of  restoring  Peace  to  Europe."  A  mere  assertion 
opposed  to  a  mere  assertion,  and  therefore  both  without  force.  But  the  Direc- 
tory did  communicate  the  general  grounds  of  a  pacification:  they  inform  the 
contending  Powers,  that  France  is  determined  to  retain  her  most  important  con- 
quests: That  an  act  of  the  Constitution  forbids  their  restoration. — How  are 
other  Nations  dependent  on  your  internal  regulations?  What  if  in  a  paroxysm 
of  victory  ye  had  passed  an  act  for  the  junction  of  England  to  France?  But  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Netherlands  themselves  wish  this  tmion:  and  it  would  be 
unworthy  a  generous  Republic  to  yield  them  up  to  their  former  Despotism.  We 
should  not  use  these  arguments,  of  which  our  adversaries  may  equally  avail 
themselves.  To  the  same  motives  expressed  in  the  same  words  the  horrors  of 
La  Vendee  are  to  be  attributed.  No  nation  has  the  right  of  interfering  with  the 
affairs  of  another  Country,  is  a  general  law:  and  general  laws  must  not  be  dis- 
pensed with  in  compliment  to  the  supposed  justice  of  a  particular  case. 

The  detention  of  the  Netherlands  cannot  therefore  be  defended  on  the 
ground  of  Justice:  its  Policy  alone  remains  to  be  considered!  O  France!  have 
thy  Legislators  already  degenerated  into  such  abject  court-craft,  as  to  know  any 
distinction  between  Justice  and  Policy? — But  wherein  does  this  Policy  consist? 
Your  Commissioners  have  informed  you  that  these  Provinces,  reserving  an 
ample  supply  for  themselves,  produce  Corn  enough  to  supply  a  third  France. 
Surely  the  toil  and  treasures,  which  must  be  wasted  in  another  campaign  might 
enable  France  not  to  need  this  supply.  Or  even  if  this  were  impracticable 


An  Important  Coleridge  Letter  535 

(which  it  would  be  insolent  unthankfulness  to  nature  to  affirm),  yet  how  easily 
might  the  free  Commerce  between  France  and  the  Netherlands  be  made  one 
the  articles  of  Peace!  And  is  there  such  a  magic  in  the  name  of  internal  com- 
merce, as  to  make  it  the  fit  object  of  another  series  of  crimes  and  miseries? 
Again,  some  among  you  have  asserted,  that  in  order  to  your  security  against 
the  future  ambitious  attempts  of  your  enemies,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should 
retain  the  Netherlands.  Your  enemies  assert  with  at  least  equal  plausibility, 
that  in  order  to  their  security  against  your  ambition,  it  is  necessary  that  you 
should  not  enlarge  your  territories.  But,  Legislators  of  France!  if  your  system 
be  true,  a  few  years  only  of  Peace  would  so  increase  your  population  and 
multiply  your  resources,  as  to  place  you  beyond  all  danger  of  attack.  The 
Tyrants  of  Europe  will  be  ineffectually  employed  in  preventing  the  irresistible 
influence  of  your  example  on  their  own  subjects. — Let  only  your  magnificient 
promises  be  performed,  and  we  shall  have  no  reason  to  doubt  the  Almightiness 
of  Truth.  That  which  in  Theory  has  been  ridiculed,  must  necessarily  excite 
imitation,  if  realized:  for  why  has  it  been  ridiculed  except  that  the  despairing 
children  of  this  world  think  it  too  excellent  to  be  practicable?  "Let  us  (says 
Condorcet)  be  cautious  not  to  despair  of  the  human  race.  Let  us  dare  to  foresee 
in  the  ages  that  will  succeed  us,  a  knowledge  and  a  happiness  of  which  we  can  only 
form  a  vague  and  undetermined  idea.  Let  us  count  on  the  perfectibility  with 
which  nature  has  endowed  us;  and  on  the  strength  of  the  human  genius,  from 
which  long  experiences  gives  us  a  right  to  expect  prodigies.  "These  are  the  re- 
volutionary measures  which  Wildem  prescribes — not  the  intrigues  of  your 
Emissaries,  not  the  terror  of  your  arms." 

If  however  you  persevere  in  your  intentions,  will  your  soldiers  fight  with  the 
same  enthusiasm  for  the  Ambition  as  they  have  done  for  the  Liberty  of  their 
Country?  Will  they  not  by  degrees  amid  the  stern  discipline  of  arms  and  hor- 
orors  of  War,  forget  the  proud  duties  of  Citizens,  and  become  callous  to  the  softer 
claims  of  domestic  life?  May  not  some  future  Dumorier  find  a  more  pliant 
Army?  May  not  the  distress  of  the  poor  drive  them  to  Anarchy?  May  not  the 
rising  generation,  who  have  not  only  heard  of  the  evils  of  Despotism  but  felt 
the  horrors  of  a  revolutionary  Republic,  imbibe  sentiments  favorable  to  Royal- 
ty? Will  not  the  multitude  of  discontented  men  make  such  regulations  neces- 
sary for  the  preservation  of  your  Freedom,  as  in  themselves  destroy  Freedom? 
Have  not  some  of  your  supposed  Patriots  already  deemed  it  expedient  to  limit 
the  liberty  of  the  Press?  Legislators  of  France!  in  the  name  of  Prosperity  we 
adjure  you  to  consider,  that  misused  success  is  soon  followed  by  adversity,  and 
that  the  adversity  of  France  may  lead,  in  its  tram  of  consequences,  the  slavery  of 
all  Europe!7 

WALTER  GRAHAM 
Western  Reserve  University 

1  The  Watchman,  April  27,  1796. 


REVIEWS  AND  NOTES 

ELST,J.VAN  DER,"L'ALTERNANCE  BINAIRE  DANS 
LE  VERS  NEERLANDAIS  DU  SEIZIEME  SIECLE." 
Groningue,  1920.  Pp.  128. 

Van  der  Elst  finds  that  at  an  early  date  under  the  influence 
of  the  French  renaissance  a  new  form  of  verse  came  into  vogue 
in  Flanders  and  in  Holland,  cultivated,  above  all  others,  by  Jan 
van  der  Noot,  Lucas  de  Heere,  Jan  van  Hout,  and  Carel 
van  Mander,  four  poets  who  wrote  during  the  second  half 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  structure  of  the  Dutch  and 
Flemish  verse  had  been  dependent  up  to  that  time  on  the 
number  of  stressed  syllables,  a  form  which  developed  out  of  the 
old  alliterative  verse;  but  by  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  it  had  already  become  very  defective,  and  so  these 
poets,  being  young  and  full  of  enthusiasm,  endeavored  to 
introduce  a  new  principle  of  versification,  which  they  borrowed 
from  the  French.  Henceforth,  the  total  number  of  syllables  in  a 
given  verse  was  to  be  considered  the  essential  criterion  of 
metrical  perfection;  simultaneously,  the  iambic  became  estab- 
lished, which  was  erroneously  regarded  by  the  adherents  of  the 
new  movement  as  the  basis  of  French  versification. 

The  author  maintains  that  the  Middle-Netherlandish  verse, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  already  possessed  a  pronounced  binary 
rhythm,  though  the  theorists  had  up  to  that  time  not  taken 
account  of  it,  which  under  certain  influences  now  became  so 
manifest  that  it  was  regarded  as  an  innovation.  To  prove  his 
contention,  van  Elst  presents  a  large  amount  of  material,  in  all 
some  forty  pages,  seeking  to  establish  the  natural  rhythm  of 
every  single  line.  He  admits  that  his  interpretation  is  sub- 
jective, and  that  competent  and  unprejudiced  scholars  may 
reject  his  findings  in  individual  instances,  but  in  their  totality, 
he  considers  them  correct. 

In  his  analysis  of  the  different  verse  forms,  van  Elst  relies 
wholly  on  the  ear,  which  organ  is  the  most  delicate  and,  barring 
the  danger  of  too  subjective  an  interpretation,  the  most  trust- 
worthy instrument  for  the  purpose.  Graphic  presentations 
furnish,  in  his  opinion,  only  a  means  of  control,  a  check  on  the 
results  obtained  by  the  auditory  method.  He  has  adapted  to 
his  investigation  the  principles  advocated  by  Paul  Verrier  in  his 
exhaustive  Essai  sur  Us  principes  de  la  metrique  anglaise,  and  in 
a  number  of  articles  published  subsequently  to  the  appearance 
of  his  larger  work.  Scansion,  van  Elst  rejects  as  the  most  cruel 
torture  to  which  any  form  of  verse  can  be  possibly  subjected; 
by  it,  the  harmony  and  the  esthetic  value  of  the  verse  is  com- 

536 


Reviews  and  Notes  537 

pletely  destroyed,  a  claim  which  is  only  too  true.  His  vehement 
protest  finds,  moreover,  a  natural  explanation  in  the  rigidity  of 
the  system  in  vogue  in  his  special  field.  The  scholars  and 
theorists  who  have  dealt  with  Dutch  versification  seem  to 
have  gone  to  very  great  lengths  in  this  respect,  and,  in  their 
endeavors  to  classify  all  possible  combinations,  they  have  devised 
strange  feet,  to  judge  by  the  illustrations,  as,  for  instance  the 
following:  ttvtie*dittjktrt"  and  "d&  g&9*itfjyd&."  If  a  verse  is 
read  naturally,  with  due  regard  for  its  esthetic  character,  van 
Elst  holds,  we  can  detect  a  rhythmic  accent,  produced  by 
regular  segments  of  time.  "Just  as  music,  the  verse  is  based  on 
isochronism  of  rhythmic  intervals."  But  this  regularity  is  not 
one  of  mathematical  precision;  it  exists  only  for  the  ear.  Even 
if  the  disparity  of  several  such  rhythmic  groups  is  considerable, 
our  innate  tendency  towards  rhythm  fosters  the  illusion  that 
the  intervals  are  of  equal  length  ;  and  we  unconsciously  pronounce 
the  longer  units  more  rapidly  than  the  rest  to  approximate 
actual  equality,  be  it  ever  so  impossible  to  really  attain  it. 

Van  Elst  cites  as  an  illustration  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and  one 
must  admit  that  in  English,  too,  one  can  easily  detect  a  pro- 
nounced rhythm,  when  the  Lord's  Prayer  is  solemnly  recited. 
But  in  music,  the  intervals  are  very  regular,  while  in  the 
various  verse  forms,  they  are  treated  with  a  great  deal  of 
freedom.  In  support  of  his  argument,  the  author  cites  some 
nursery  rimes,  which,  indeed,  well  illustrate  the  tendency 
towards  isochronism.  Similar  instances  could  probably  be 
adduced  in  large  number  from  the  various  Germanic  languages. 
In  the  region  of  the  Giant  Mountains,  one  surely  can  find  this 
very  day  the  following  lines  in  use: 


Strii 

FInstgr  san 

Un  kgm  MSnscha,  'n  Bissi  gSn." 

Here,  the  fourth  verse  has  nearly  three  times  as  many 
syllables  as  the  third,  but  as  commonly  recited  —  the  third 
slowly,  the  fourth  as  rapidly  as  possible  —  the  actual  difference 
in  time  of  utterance  is  greatly  reduced,  and  the  illusion  of  the 
equality  of  the  intervals  is  more  or  less  successfully  produced. 
The  fact  that  one  never  hears  these  lines  pronounced  in  a 
different  manner  results,  undoubtedly,  from  the  desire  of  the 
children,  and  the  grown-ups  as  well,  for  rhythmic  movement. 

Having  defined  the  principles  on  which  he  bases  his  analytic 
examination,  van  Elst  proceeds  then  to  formulate  his  definition 
of  verse  foot.  "The  time  interval  comprised  between  two 
successive  rhythmic  stresses  is  called  foot.  The  foot  is  then  not  a 
subdivision  of  the  linguistic  material,  but  a  duration  of  time, 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  which  are  characterized  by  an 
increase  of  intensity.  This  falls  generally  upon  the  most 


538  Wiehr 

sonorous  part  of  the  syllable,  that  is,  the  vowel."  Following  the 
example  of  Verrier,  van  Elst  advocates  that  the  vowels  bearing 
the  rhythmic  stress  should  be  set  in  heavy  type  when  it  is  desired 
to  indicate  rhythmic  accent  in  print. 

It  is  then  the  vowels  which  are  the  bearers  of  rhythmic 
stress.  What  we  commonly  designate  as  sentence  stress  does 
not  necessarily  coincide  with  the  rhythmic  accent.  The 
illustrations  given  by  van  Elst  can,  of  course,  only  be  checked 
up  by  a  competent  scholar  thoroughly  familiar  with  spoken 
Dutch  and  Flemish,  and  even  then  the  subjective  element 
would  enter  into  the  appraisal  as  a  weighty  factor. 

Van  Elst  distinguishes  four  principal  types  of  rhythmic  feet, 
according  to  the  relative  positions  of  the  stressed  and  un- 
stressed vowels;  the  number  of  the  latter  may  vary  widely 
without  altering  the  rhythmic  structure  of  a  given  verse.  The 
simpler  illustrations  given  are  convincing  enough  to  one  fairly 
familiar  with  the  language;  that  applies  especially  to  the  large 
number  of  lyrics  analyzed  by  the  author. 

In  carrying  out  his  investigation,  he  has  read  the  verses  in 
question  aloud,  with  due  regard  for  their  esthetic  character,  and 
at  the  same  time,  mentally  recorded  the  locations  of  the  rhyth- 
mic stress.  His  method  seems  open  to  objection  for  several 
reasons.  To  assure  natural  delivery,  larger  sections  of  a  given 
poem  must  be  read  without  interruption,  it  would  seem.  In 
strophic  poems,  the  stanza  is  the  logical  unit.  That  means 
that  the  reader,  who  is  also  the  observer,  must  remember  the 
stressed  vowels  in  the  several  verses,  or  else  must  indicate  them 
immediately  on  the  printed  page.  Accordingly,  one  single 
individual  must  concentrate  simultaneously  on  the  following 
points:  first,  upon  the  natural  rendition  of  the  verses;  secondly, 
upon  the  observation  of  the  accoustic  effect  produced;  and  in 
the  third  place,  upon  the  retention  or  the  recording  of  the 
results  obtained.  One  should  think  that  more  reliable  results 
could  be  obtained  by  a  division  of  labor,  that  is  to  say,  if  the 
reading,  and  the  observing  and  recording,  mentally  or  other- 
wise, were  not  carried  out  by  one  and  the  same  person.  Thereby 
the  danger  would  also  be  avoided  that  the  subjective  factors  in 
the  two  processes  may  produce  a  cumulative  effect.  Van  Elst 
admits  the  difficulty  of  the  task,  and  it  may  well  be  that  the 
several  functions  can  be  performed  by  one  and  the  same 
individual  simultaneously  and  with  reasonable  objectiveness 
and  accuracy  after  considerable  practice. 

Having  defined  his  aims,  terms,  and  the  method  employed 
in  his  investigation  in  an  introduction  covering  twenty-six 
pages,  van  Elst  then  devotes  fifteen  pages,  i.  e.,  chapter"  I,  to 
the  presentation  of  theoretical  discussions  of  metrical  questions 
by  the  poets  and  rhetoricians  of  the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth 
and  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  centuries.  Chapter  II 
contains  48  pages,  of  which  more  than  80%  are  devoted  to  the 


* 

Reviews  and  Notes  539 

presentation  of  illustrative  material.    One  readily  agrees  with 
the  results  which  are  summed  up  in  but  three  lines. 

"One  is  forced  to  arrive  at  the  conclusion:  the  dissyllabic 
foot  is  virtually  the  rule  in  the  lyric  poetry  of  the  Middle- 
Netherlandish  period;  it  is  less  common  in  epic  and  didactic 
poetry." 

The  third  chapter  is  entirely  devoted  to  the  refutation  of  the 
claim  that  in  French  verse  there  exists,  or  has  existed  during 
the  sixteenth  century,  a  regular  alternation  of  accented  and 
unaccented  syllables,  in  other  words:  a  dissyllabic  foot. 
Having  disposed  of  this  mistaken  view,  van  Elst  seeks  to 
explain  in  the  final  chapter  how  the  erroneous  belief  arose  that 
the  iambic  measure  was  borrowed  from  the  French,  together 
with  a  form  of  verse  in  which  the  total  number  of  syllables  was 
fixed.  The  most  important  feature  which  led  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  the  iambic  foot  in  the  poetry  of  the  Netherlands 
was,  no  doubt,  the  necessity  for  agreement  between  verse 
stress  and  musical  stress  in  all  poetry  intended  to  be  sung  to  a 
uniform  melody.  Formerly,  it  had  been  possible  in  the  case  of  a 
verse  with  an  irregular  number  of  unstressed  syllables  to  dis- 
tribute them  between  the  rhythmic,  as  well  as  between  the 
musical  stresses,  the  former  being  sufficiently  regular  to  con- 
form to  the  tune.  The  length  of  the  verse  now  being  fixed,  it 
was  essential  that  the  natural  melody  of  the  spoken  verse,  i.  e., 
rhythmic  accent,  should  harmonize  with  the  musical  measure, 
a  fact  which  strongly  tended  towards  the  establishment  of  a  dis- 
syllabic meter.  It  was  but  natural  that  the  phenomenon  was 
more  manifest  in  lyric  than  in  epic  and  didactic  poetry.  The 
conclusions  at  which  van  Elst  has  arrived  are,  on  the  whole, 
convincing;  of  chief  interest  to  philologists  in  general  is,  how- 
ever, the  method  of  analysis  employed  by  him  in  his  investiga- 
tion. 

In  the  preface,  he  expresses  his  gratitude  towards  the 
University  of  Paris,  which  graciously  accords  to  the  graduates 
of  the  several  Dutch  universities  the  privilege:  "de  couronner 
leurs  etudes  fran$aises  par  une  these,  droit  que  le  gouvernement 
neerlandais  ne  leur  a  pas  accorde  jusqu'a  ce  jour." 

We  have  here  a  splendid  example  of  a  very  ingenious 
diplomatic  statement.  The  facts  are,  of  course,  that  any  Dutch 
scholar  may  crown  his  studies  in  French  with  as  elaborate  a 
thesis  as  he  can  produce;  the  Dutch  government,  surely,  will 
not  put  any  obstacles  in  his  way.  But,  alas,  it  does  not  crown 
the  diligent  author  of  such  a  thesis  with  the  doctoral  cap.  There 
lies  the  rub.  Den  Sack  schlagt  man  und  den  Esel  meint  man. 
Thanks  to  the  liberality  of  the  University  of  Paris-  and  other 
French  universities,  the  unreasonable  and  backward  attitude 
of  the  Dutch  government  is  not  wholly  unbearable. 

JOSEF  WIEHK 
Smith  College 


540  Northup 

THE  SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  OF  CARLYLE  AND  RUS- 
KIN.  By  Frederick  William  Roe.  New  York.  Harcourt, 
Brace  and  Company.  1921.  8vo,  pp.  viii,  335.  Price,  $3. 

Professor  Roe  has  produced  a  good  book,  on  an  interesting 
and  vitally  important  subject.  For  the  nineteenth  century, 
far  from  settling  the  question  of  what  ailed  society,  passed  it  on 
to  us;  and  it  cannot  be  said  that  we  have  made  much  progress. 
Still,  here  and  there  a  writer  of  the  present  day  throws  light 
on  some  particular  phase  of  the  problem.  For  example,  the 
late  Andrew  D.  White  in  his  later  years  impressed  on  a  good 
many  audiences  the  immense  superiority  of  evolution  over 
revolution,  in  the  regulation  of  human  affairs.  Moreover,  it  is 
coming  to  be  recognized  that  in  the  sphere  of  government  as 
well  as  in  the  natural  world  changes  generally  do  come  about 
not  so  much  by  cataclysmic  movements  as  by  the  slow  and 
gradual  growth  of  public  opinion;  and  that  the  outbursts  of 
human  fury  which  we  know  as  wars  and  revolutions  (like  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  World  War)  do  not  always  bring 
about  the  changes  that  are  most  to  be  desired,  since  action  is 
sure  to  be  followed  by  reaction. 

Both  Carlyle  and  Ruskin  virtually  antedate  the  period 
when  acceptance  of  the  Darwinian  theories  made  evolution 
the  guiding  principle  of  thinking  about  the  cosmos.  In  1859 
Carlyle  was  sixty-four  years  old  and  for  thirty  years  had  held 
unchanged  views  of  the  insignificance,  the  incompetence,  and 
the  general  depravity  of  common  men.  His  fellow-countrymen 
numbered  twenty-seven  millions,  "mostly  fools."  History 
was  for  him  the  essence  of  innumerable  biographies — of  leaders, 
kings,  men  of  vision,  scarcely  of  the  common  folk,  ignorant  and 
depraved  as  they  were.  Ruskin,  too,  was  forty  at  that  time 
and  probably  knew  and  cared  as  little  about  biological  science 
as  did  Carlyle.  The  adaptation  of  evolutionary  ideas  to  the 
solution  of  social  problems  is  a  thing  which  neither  Carlyle 
nor  Ruskin  dreamed  of.  To  some  considerable  extent,  then, 
has  our  world  moved  on  from  them. 

Still,  we  have  much  to  learn  from  these  apostles  of  divine 
discontent.  Carlyle's  formula  for  the  regeneration  of  society 
was  "Work";  Ruskin's  was  "Joy  in  work."  Both  were  funda- 
mentally right.  Properly  interpreted,  both  formulae  are  as 
effective  curatives  to-day  as  ever.  The  trouble  with  these 
formulae,  like  the  trouble  with  Christianity,  is  to  get  them 
tried.  They  will  surely  work  with  nations  as  they  have  worked 
with  individuals. 

A  good  feature  of  Dr.  Roe's  book  is  his  introductory  survey 
of  industrial  and  social  conditions  in  the  early  nineteenth 
century.  The  industrialization  of  northern  England  permitted 
and  invited  a  vast  increase  in  population.  The  population  of 
Lancashire  between  1700  and  1831  increased  eight  hundred  per 


Reviews  and  Notes  541 

cent.  The  application  of  steam  to  the  power  loom  brought 
in  the  factory  system,  the  source  of  England's  "most  trouble- 
some problems  and  her  darkest  conditions."  It  brought  in  the 
wage-earner  and  the  exploiter  of  labor.  It  was  not  long  before 
twenty  thousand  persons  in  Manchester  alone  and  forty-five 
thousand  in  Liverpool  were  living  in  damp  and  filthy  cellars. 
For  a  long  time  the  odds  against  the  wage-earners  were  immense. 
These  odds  were  increased  by  the  prevailing  doctrine  of  laissez 
faire  which  came  in  with  Adam  Smith  and  James  Bentham, 
as  a  reaction  again  the  rigid  economic  control  by  government 
which  had  prevailed  in  the  previous  century;  perhaps  they 
were  increased  also  by  the  comfortable  middle  class  or  bourgeois 
doctrine  expressed  by  Pope  in  the  words,  "Whatever  is,  is 
right."  In  a  large  sense,  this  dogma  is  probably  true;  but 
when  babies  are  starving,  it  is  hard  to  find  comfort  in  this 
armchair  doctrine. 

Professor  Roe  dwells  to  good  purpose  on  Carlyle's  deep  and 
constant  interest  in  social  conditions  and  his  numerous  visits 
to  factories  and  mines  and  homes  of  toilers.  Carlyle  wrote  on 
the  basis  of  an  intimate,  first-hand  knowledge  of  how  the 
workers  lived.  This  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  masses  was 
the  direct  outcome  of  his  emergence  from  the  dark  region  of 
doubt  (the  Everlasting  Nay)  and  indifference  into  that  luminous 
realm  of  the  Everlasting  Yea,  of  belief  in  God's  presence  in  the 
world  and  of  man's  kinship  with  the  divine.  It  was  his  belief 
that  this  sense  of  the  spiritual  was  the  chief  need  of  men  in  the 
solution  of  pressing  social  problems.  And  this  belief  has  never 
been  discredited. 

With  this  sense  of  the  spiritual  in  human  life,  why  was 
Carlyle  nevertheless  the  most  miserable  of  men,  as  Dr.  Barry 
speaks  of  him?  Why,  with  God  at  the  very  heart  of  the  uni- 
verse, was  it  in  effect  the  worst  of  all  possible  worlds?  The 
answer  seems  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  Carlyle,  like  his  disciple 
twenty-five  years  later,  was 

Wandering  between  two  worlds,  one  dead, 
The  other  powerless  to  be  born. 

He  had  intellectually  thrown  off  Calvinism,  but  he  still  lived  as 
if  this  were  a  lost  world.  God  was  to  him  theoretically  Divine 
Love,  but  practically  the  stern  Ruler  of  a  universe  where  no 
one  had  any  vested  right  to  happiness.  Thus,  like  Browning's 
Paracelsus,  Carlyle,  with  his  stern  gospel  of  work  as  the  univer- 
sal panacea,  loving  Man  but  despising  foolish  men,  aspired  and 
failed.  To  him  was  never  granted  the  beatific  vision  which  the 
Swiss  physician  so  magnificently  described  in  his  swan-song: 

In  my  own  heart  love  had  not  been  made  wise 
To  trace  love's  faint  beginnings  in  mankind, 
To  know  even  hate  is  but  a  mask  of  love's, 
To  see  a  good  in  evil,  and  a  hope 


542  Northup 

In  ill-success;  to  sympathize,  be  proud 
Of  their  half -reasons,  faint  aspirings,  dim 
Struggles  for  truth,  their  poorest  fallacies, 
Their  prejudice  and  fears  and  cares  and  doubts; 
All  with  a  touch  of  nobleness,  despite 
Their  error,  upward  tending  all  though  weak. 

Dr.  Roe  thinks  Ruskin  must  have  first  become  acquainted 
with  Carlyle  as  early  as  1850.  A  quarter  of  a  century  separated 
their  births;  yet  they  found  themselves  kindred  spirits.  Of 
Carlyle's  books  Ruskin  most  admired  Past  and  Present,  Latter 
Day  Pamphlets,  and  Sartor  Resartus.  In  these  he  thought  that 
Carlyle  had  said  "all  that  needs  to  be  said,  and  far  better  than  I 
shall  ever  say  it  again." 

Carlyle,  as  we  have  seen,  never  got  beyond  the  rather  vague 
admonition  to  work,  under  leaders  who  shoulcl  rise  above  the 
level  of  the  mass  and  somehow  get  themselves  accepted  as 
masters  or  rulers.  For  him,  economics  was  only  the  dismal 
science,  which  he  apparently  took  no  pains  to  master,  but 
treated  with  contempt.  The  impersonal,  scientific  attitude  of 
its  writers  repelled  him.  The  world  was  not  to  be  saved  by  the 
prescriptions  of  Malthus  or  Mill;  rather,  he  thought,  by  re- 
pudiating these  false  teachers  and  all  their  doctrines.  If  the 
rich  would  work  less  at  game-preserving  and  more  at  leader- 
ship, all  would  be  well.  This  was  doubtless  true,  but  it  did  not 
get  the  world  very  far,  after  all. 

When  Ruskin,  a  quarter  of  a  century  later,  opened  his  eyes 
to  social  conditions,  he  found  no  great  change  since  1832,  except 
that  continued  division  of  labor  had  robbed  it  more  com- 
pletely than  ever  of  its  meaning  and  reduced  the  laborer  to  a 
galley  slave,  blindly  repeating  the  same  motions  over  and 
over.  It  became  Ruskin's  dream,  then,  to  restore  to  labor  the 
creative  impulse,  to  give  it  a  raison  d'etre  beyond  the  mere 
necessity  of  keeping  up  life,  to  induce  the  laborer  to  work 
honestly,  intelligently,  joyously.  To  this  end  he  would  do 
away  with  cutthroat  competition,  with  its  tendency  toward  the 
sweatshop ;  he  would  reduce  the  use  of  machinery  to  a  minimum, 
and  would  have  everybody  do  some  work  with  his  hands;  he 
would  restore  the  individuality  of  the  worker. 

Neither  Carlyle  nor  Ruskin  had  confidence  in  the  people's 
government  of  themslves.  Democracy  was  a  failure;  only  an 
aristocracy  or  constitutional  monarchy  could  succeed  and 
endure.  There  would  always  be  a  class  of  mean,  servile  folk 
who  had  no  business  to  govern  themselves.  Neither  Carlyle 
nor  Ruskin  could  see  that  the  nature  of  the  proletariat  was 
constantly  changing;  that  our  modern  American  formula  of 
"three  generations  from  shirt-sleeves  to  shirt-sleeves"  was 
applicable  in  a  measure  to  people  everywhere.  The  backward 
eddies  are  more  apparent  than  real.  Each  generation  is  a  little 
better  able  to  govern  itself  than  was  its  predecessor. 


Reviews  and  Notes  543 

Yet  in  spite  of  their  limitations,  the  influence  of  these  two 
men  has  been  great,  Ruskin's  probably  greater  than  Carlyle's. 
St.  George's  Guild  was  a  failure;  Ruskin's  fortune  was  wasted 
in  a  futile  attempt  to  solve  practically  the  problem  of  better 
living;  yet  steadily  Ruskin's  insistence  that  the  life  was  more 
than  meat  and  the  body  more  than  raiment  has  told.  Mr. 
McKail  thinks  that  "his  influence  has  been,  and  continues  to 
be,  immense.  It  is  perhaps  greater,  so  far  at  least  as  England 
is  concerned,  than  that  of  any  other  single  thinker  or  teacher. 
His  social  doctrine  was  germinal;  it  colors  the  whole  fabric 
of  modern  thought,  and  shapes  the  whole  fabric  of  modern 
practice." 

Professor  Roe's  book  is  a  welcome  addition  to  the  growing 
mass  of  literature  on  these  two  great  writers.  He  has  arranged 
his  material  well,  and  has  exhibited  a  proper  sense  of  proportion 
and  restraint.  We  know  of  no  more  illuminating  study  of  these 
two  Heralds  of  the  New  Day. 

CLARK  S.  NORTHUP 

Cornell  University 


SVERRIS  SAGA  ETTER  CODEX  AM  327,  4°.  Utgjevi 
av  Den  Norske  Historiske  Kildeskriftkommission  ved 
Gustav  Indrety*.  Christiania,  1920,  Pp.  LXXVIII+214. 

The  Arnamagnaean  codex  327  of  the  Saga  of  King  Sverre  is 
a  parchment  Ms.  of  92  leaves  written  about  the  year  1300. 
It  is  preserved  almost  complete,  only  a  few  pages  being  lacking, 
and  is  in  excellent  condition.  A  facsimile  page  of  it  was  pub- 
lished in  Kalund's  Palceografisk  Atlas,  Norsk-Islandske  Afdeling, 
1905,  as  nr.  42,  showing  it  to  be  a  beautifully  written  manuscript 
with  not  a  few  interesting  palaeographic  features.  The  original 
must  have  been  composed  ca.  1185,  but  that  is  not  in  existence; 
there  are  four  copies,  however,  of  which  the  present  is  the  oldest. 
The  saga  is  also  contained  in  the  Eirspennil  (AM  47),  which 
was  edited  for  the  Kildeskriftkommission  in  1916  by  Professor 
Finnur  Jonsson,  and  where  the  Sverris  Saga  is  found  pp. 
255-438.  The  editor  of  the  Eirspennil  dates  it  the  first  quar- 
ter of  the  XlVth  century  (p.  VII).  The  Sverris  Saga  is 
further  found  in  the  Flat  Island  Book,  date  ca.  1380,  and 
finally  in  the  Skalholt  Book  (AM  81  a,fol),  as  its  first  64  leaves; 
the  date  of  the  latter  is  given  by  Kalund  as  the  XVth  century. 
Both  of  these  have  also  been  published,  the  last  in  a  critical 
edition  for  the  Kildeskriftkommission  in  1910. l  In  connection 
with  the  present  edition  I  take  occasion  to  note  the  fact  that  this 
Commission  for  the  publication  of  documents  that  are  in  the 

1  The  Flat  Island  Book  was  edited  by  G.  Vigfusson  and  C.  R.  Unger  in 
1858-1868. 


544  Flom 

nature  of  original  sources  for  Norwegian  history  now  has  to 
its  credit  a  stately  series  of  forty-six  volumes.  It  is  a  series 
that  no  Scandinavian  or  historical  collection  can  afford  to  be 
without. 

The  present  edition  is  a  careful  and  scholarly  piece  of  editing, 
and  a  very  important  and  welcome  contribution,  both  as  to 
the  manner  of  editing  and  as  to  the  critical  Introduction  with 
which  it  is  supplied.  In  the  matter  of  the  printing  the  text 
there  is  only  one  point  that  I  could  have  wished  otherwise, 
namely  in  the  printing  of  proper  names.  In  the  codex  these 
are  written  variously  with  a  minuscule,  a  small  capital,  or  a 
large  capital.  The  editor  has  used  the  large  capital  everywhere 
for  the  initial  of  names  of  persons,  dialect  regions,  cities,  and 
countries.  This  makes  a  more  attractive  and  more  readable 
page,  and  for  most  purposes  fills  every  requirement;  but  for 
certain  kinds  of  palaeographic  studies  it  is  not  as  serviceable, 
as  if  it  had  showed  also  in  this  respect  the  exact  condition  of 
the  Ms.  However,  I  do  not  wish  to  cavil  about  this.  The 
simplifications  in  type  adopted  seem  justifiable;  they  are  the 
two  types  of  r\i  and  r.  The  latter  is  used  everywhere  in  the 
edition;  there  seems  no  objection  to  this  since  we  are  informed 
that  the  type  i  is  used  after  o,  b,  d  and  3,  otherwise  r  is  used  (we 
infer  "everywhere  otherwise")-  Anglo-Saxon  \)  and  Latin  v 
are  both  written  v  in  the  edition;  the  editor  notes  that  they 
are  employed  without  any  rule  in  the  Ms.,  but  v  most  in  the 
beginning;  toward  the  end  of  the  Ms.  v  disappears  and  \>  is 
used  almost  exclusively.  Apparently,  therefore,  there  is  no 
system,  or  survival  of  a  system,  about  the  use  of  the  v  in  the 
beginning  of  the  Ms.  The  universal  Anglo-Saxon  p  and  the 
round  <5  of  the  Ms.  are  printed  /  and  d  in  the  edition.  The 
scope  of  abbreviations  is  seen  by  the  use  of  italics  for  abbre- 
viated parts  of  words.  The  editor  has  thought  best  to  set 
the  prepositions  i  and  a  apart  from  the  following  word,  though 
they  are  in  the  Ms.  very  often  written  combined  with  them. 
In  the  Ms.  also  the  parts  of  compounds  are  commonly  written 
apart,  with  full  or  half  intervening  space.  In  such  cases  the 
edition  prints  with  a  hyphen,  I  am  glad  to  see.  There  are 
naturally  many  cases  where  it  is  difficult  to  decide  whether 
the  writer  has  intended  separation  of  the  elements  of  a  com- 
pound or  not;  it  is  in  fact  sometimes  impossible  to  say.  The 
editor's  method  here  has  been  one  that  seems  the  safest  to 
follow  (set  out  fully  on  pages  XII-XIII).  In  passing  I  will 
here  mention  the  fact  that  the  tall  f  is  also  sometimes  used 
for  double  5  in  the  Ms;  ligatures  are  very  rare  \a-\-n  a  couple 
times,  l-\-l,  twice,  and  a-\-r  apparently  only  once. 

In  the  Introduction  the  editor  discusses  the  early  history 
of  the  Ms.,  its  orthography  (pp.  XV-XXXI),  and  with  some 
detail  the  results  of  much  investigation  on  the  relation  between 


Reviews  and  Notes  545 

AM  327,  4°  and  the  other  Mss.  of  the  Sverre  Saga  (pp.  XXXI- 
LXXVIII).  Very  little  is  known  of  the  history  of  the  Ms., 
but  it  seems  likely  that  it  has  never  been  in  Iceland.  There  is 
some  evidence  that  it  was  in  Norway  in  the  XlVth  century, 
and  it  is  known  that  it  was  in  Bergen  in  the  end  of  the  XVIIth 
century.  The  excellent  state  of  preservation  of  the  codex 
seems  to  show  that  it  had  always  been  in  Norway,  until  in  1708 
Arne  Magnussen  brought  it  with  him  to  Copenhagen.  The 
language  of  327,  4°  is  Icelandic  throughout,  but  with  a  consider- 
able admixture  of  Norwegian  elements;  in  general  these  are 
most  in  evidence  in  the  early  part  of  the  Ms.,  but  in  the  matter 
of  distinction  between  &  and  ce  there  are  about  as  many  toward 
the  end  as  in  the  beginning.  The  question  of  the  nationality  of 
the  writer  therefore  presents  itself.  Both  Kalund  and  F.  Jons- 
son  hold  that  it  was  written  in  Norway  by  an  Icelander.  In- 
dreb0  leaves  the  question  in  abeyance,  suggesting  that  it  may 
either  be  the  work  of  a  Norwegian  who  wrote  from  an  Icelandic 
original,  and  who  especially  in  the  early  part  of  the  work  uses 
native  forms  sometimes,  or  that  it  is  the  work  of  an  Icelander 
writing  in  Norway,  or  writing  from  a  Norwegian  original 
(XXIX),  noting,  also  that  Trondhjem  features  are  especially 
frequent  in  the  early  part  of  the  Ms.  (XVII).  It  does  not  seem 
to  me  that  the  distribution  of  the  Norwegian  elements  (as 
most  numerous  in  the  beginning)  argues  especially  for  a  theory 
of  a  Norwegian  scribe  copying  from  an  Icelandic  original,  as 
against  a  theory  of  an  Icelandic  scribe  copying  a  Norwegian 
original.  In  the  latter  case,  too,  the  Norwegian  forms  would  be 
most  likely  to  creep  in  in  the  early  part  of  the  Ms.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  if  the  original  had  been  Norwegian  the  Nor- 
wegian elements  would  have  been  more  numerous  than  they 
are.  And  specifically  if  the  original  had  been  in  the  Trondhjem 
dialect  of  Norwegian  the  cases  of  absence  of  w-umlaut  with 
retained  0,  would  have  asserted  themselves  more  than  they 
have  (the  editor  lists  only  seven  instances,  of  which  six  are 
pret.  plurals  of  the  type  leitadu}.  It  would  seem  that  or- 
thography and  phonology  do  not  offer  anything  conclusive 
in  this  case.  It  is  possible  that  a  study  of  the  palaeography 
might. 

The  editor  considers  the  question  of  the  similarity  of 
script  as  between  AM  327  and  AM  75  e,  noted  by  Kalund.2 
But  Indreb0  shows  that  there  are  considerable  orthographic 
differences,  as  well  as  some  differences  in  scribal  practice. 

The  question  of  the  relations  of  the  different  Mss.  practically 
becomes  the  question  of  whether  the  Eirspennil  redaction  is  a 
later  abbreviated  version.  This  is  the  view  of  most  who  have  ex- 
pressed themselves  on  the  subject.  However,  the  two  Norwe- 
gian scholars  Yngvar  Nielsen  and  Halvdan  Koht  hold  the 

1  Katalog  over  den  arnamagndanske  Haandskriftsamling,  I,  p.  55. 


546  Flom 

opinion  that  AM  327  is  an  expanded  version  and  that  Eirspen- 
nil  stands  nearer  to  the  original.  The  evidence  for  the  latter 
view  of  the  Mss.  is  interestingly  and  very  clearly  set  forth  in 
an  article  entitled  "Norsk  Historieskrivning  under  Koht 
Sverre,  Serskilt  Sverresoga"  in  Edda,  II,  pp.  67-102.  The 
problem  is  an  exceedingly  complicated  one.  The  Eirspennil  is 
characterized  by  that  concise  prose  style  that  belongs  to  the 
classical  age  of  saga  writing;  but  in  spite  of  that  it  may  be  one 
or  several  steps  removed  from  the  original;  and  somewhere  in 
the  process  of  copying  a  redactor  has  in  this  case  decided  to 
eliminate  and  abbreviate  with  a  view  to  confining  himself  to 
the  bare  facts  of  a  well  rounded  out  story.  But  also  AM  327 
is  in  good  classical  style,  in  the  main;  the  departures  from  that 
style  are  not  sufficiently  numerous  to  strike  the  reader.  Never- 
theless the  latter  does  exhibit  a  not  inconsiderable  number, 
when  actually  counted,  of  those  stylistic  devices  which  are  so 
characteristic  of  the  post-classical  period.  But  these  may  be 
the  additions  of  the  copyist  of  AM  327;  so  that  this  more 
complete  Ms.  form  may  stand  close  to  the  original,  in  spite  of 
devices  mentioned  (such  is  e.  g.,  rekinn  of  pinu  riki  efia  aflandi). 
The  editor  illustrates  these  features  with  some  detail;  and 
while  granting  a  closer  relationship  between  Mss.  327,  AM  81, 
and  that  of  the  Flat  Island  Book,  as  opposed  to  that  of  Eir- 
spennil he  shows  also  that  in  this  very  matter  of  stylistic  parallels 
and  other  ornate  elements  AM  327  stands  apart  from  the 
other  three.  Hence  the  evidence  of  the  form  of  personal 
names  or  place-names,  the  geographical  information  sometimes 
given,  the  omission  of  facts  in  one  or  the  other  Ms.,  or  errors 
of  facts,  lead  the  editor  to  a  grouping  of  the  Mss.  according  to 
which  the  three  above  Mss.  belong  together  in  one  group  as 
far  as  contents  is  concerned  and  that  the  purified  text  that 
can  be  derived  from  these  shows  a  form  of  the  saga  that  is 
more  original  than  the  Eirspennil  text;  the  latter  exhibits 
abbreviation  of  the  original  at  the  expense  of  style,  but  also 
often  at  the  expense  of  contents.  Ms.  AM  327  is  a  copy  of  a 
copy  (A1)  of  the  original,  and  that  of  the  Flat  Island  Book 
is  a  copy  of  another  copy  (J3)  of  the  original,  but  embodies  also 
elements  from  A1.  Mss.  AM  81  and  of  Eirspennil  belong  to- 
gether as  copies  two  steps  removed  from  B. 

As  to  the  scope  of  Karl  Jonsson's  authorship  in  the  saga, 
whether  he  wrote  all  or  only  the  first  part,  and  if  the  latter,  then 
just  where  his  work  stops,  I  suppose  only  a  linguistic  investiga- 
tion of  the  whole  saga  is  likely  to  give  tangible  results.  The 
editor  considers  the  problem,  partly  from  the  standpoint  of 
alliterations,  rimes,  etc.,  but  more  fully  with  reference  to 
contents,  such  as  the  tendency  or  party  interest  shown  in  the 
different  portions  of  the  saga.  Viewing  all  the  evidence  con- 
sidered the  editor  seems  inclined  to  hold  to  duality  of  author- 


Reviews  and  Notes  547 

ship,  and  chapter  43  as  the  closing  chapter  of  the  work  of  the 
first  writer. 

GEORGE  T.  FLOM 


PTOLEMY'S  MAPS  OF  NORTHERN  EUROPE.  A  Recon- 
struction of  the  Prototypes.  By  Gudmund  Schiitte. 
Published  by  the  Royal  Danish  Geographical  Society. 
Copenhagen.  H.  Hagerup.  (1917). 

Recognizing  how  far  the  study  of  Ptolemy's  Geography  has 
lagged  behind  that  of  the  other  great  early  source  of  our  knowl- 
edge of  Northern  Europe,  Tacitus'  Germania,  the  author  makes 
some  of  his  researches  accessible  to  scholars  in  the  form  of  this 
provisional  study.  It  was  finished  just  after  the  outbreak  of 
the  war,  when  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  visit  important 
libraries  outside  of  Denmark. 

Disregarding  for  the  present  the  very  difficult  textual 
matters,  the  author  limits  this  study  to  the  cartographic  problem 
of  Ptolemy's  lost  prototypes,  and  simplifies  his  work  still  fur- 
ther by  basing  it  on  the  recently  discovered  Vatican  MS. 
(Urbinus  82)  of  the  Ptolemaic  atlas.  This  MS.  dates  from 
about  1200  A.D.  and  belongs  to  the  group  which  have  an 
atlas  of  twenty-seven  maps.  An  edition  of  this  codex  has  been 
promised  by  Prof.  Jos.  Fischer  S.  J.,  who  placed  much  of  his 
material  at  the  disposal  of  Dr.  Schiitte.  The  author  follows 
Fischer  in  supporting  the  theory  that  the  better  MS.  atlases 
are  true  continuations  of  Ptolemy's  work  and  represent  the 
maps  as  they  were  designed  by  Marines  of  Tyre,  the  second 
century  geographer  to  whom  Ptolemy  owed  much.  The  atlases 
may  contain  the  more  correct  spelling  or  give  entire  names 
which  are  left  out  in  the  text.  It  is  a  serious  fault  in  method  to 
ignore  the  atlases,  as  the  scholars  who  worked  on  the  MSS. 
had  done.  The  atlases  are  fully  as  old  as  the  manuscript  texts 
they  accompany  and  certainly  afford  better  evidence  than 
fifteenth  or  sixteenth  century  printed  editions  of  the  latter 
which  editors  had  sometimes  preferred.  Corruptions  which 
could  have  been  amended  by  consideration  of  the  atlas  readings 
had  often  been  ascribed  to  Ptolemy  (p.  8). 

In  introductory  sections  Dr.  Schiitte  gives  a  brief  survey  of 
the  manuscript  problem;  discussions  of  Ptolemy's  predecessors, 
especially  Marinos;  of  Ptolemy  himself  and  his  critical  princi- 
ples, and  of  Ptolemy's  successors,  continuing  with  such  topics 
as  misreadings  of  Latin  forms,  barbarian  names,  fictitious 
repetitions  (partly  due  to  the  inability  of  Marinos  to  recognize 
the  identity  of  barbarian  names  when  he  found  them  in  some- 
what varying  orthography),  etc.  Then  the  author  takes  up  the 
study  of  fourteen  Ptolemaic  prototypes  assumed  by  him, 


548  Williams 

discussing  them  uniformly  under  the  heads  of  contents,  Ptole- 
maic localization,  definition  of  limits,  general  topographic 
scheme,  statistical  features,  duplicates,  linguistic  marks,  liter- 
ary millieu,  examination  of  details,  with  concluding  remarks. 
To  illustrate  this  part  of  his  work  Dr.  Schiitte  has  supplied  in 
an  appendix  numerous  maps  and  illustrations.  Five  of  the 
figures  are  half-tone  reproductions  of  maps  from  the  ancient 
manuscript  atlases,  but  so  much  reduced  that  it  is  usually 
impossible  to  decipher  the  names.  A  good  bibliography  is 
appended  to  the  work. 

Many  interesting  details  are  brought  out  in  the  study  of  the 
prototypes,  as  on  p.  127  where  the  evidence  of  an  old  map 
seems  to  confirm  the  district  of  Angel  in  Slesvig  as  the  home 
of  the  Angles.  In  this  connection  Dr.  Schiitte  quotes  in  a  note 
"one  hitherto  ignored  piece  of  traditional  evidence  concerning 
the  Angles.  The  Quedlinburg  Annals,  written  in  the  eleventh 
century,  say  ad  annum  445:  'The  Angles,  conducted  by  their 
king  Angling,  leave  the  country  of  the  Danes.'  '  On  the  whole 
the  discussion  of  Ptolemy's  prototypes  does  not  add  very 
much  to  what  was  known  about  Germanic  tribe  and  place 
names,  but  what  is  offered  comes  from  a  different  angle,  and 
for  this  reason  the  Germanist  will  like  to  supplement  con- 
veniently accessible  material,  such  as  R.  Much's  articles  in 
Hoops'  Reallexikon,  with  a  consideration  of  Dr.  Schiitte's  study. 
One  map  (p.  133  and  Fig.  25)  localizes  the  Ombrones,  identical 
with  the  historical  Ambrones,  the  companions  of  the  Cimbri 
and  Teutones,  in  Mecklenburg  (cf.  also  the  island  of  Amrum 
west  of  Slesvig).  Much,  in  the  Reallexikon,  1,  76,  follows  the 
usual  interpretation  of  Ptolemy  in  placing  the  Ombrones  near 
the  source  of  the  Vistula.  But  Dr.  Schtitte  (p.  128)  points 
out  that  what  was  taken  for  the  Vistula  was  in  fact  the  Baltic 
coast,  the  error  in  Ptolemy  being  due  to  a  misinterpretation  of 
a  map,  involving  a  displacement  of  90°. 

This  study  will,  as  the  author  intended,  undoubtedly 
stimulate  research  in  Ptolemy's  geography  along  more  rational 
lines.  He  has  succeeded  in  showing  that  the  manuscript 
atlases  must  hereafter  be  carefully  considered  along  with 
Ptolemy's  text.  The  possibility  that  Dr.  Schiitte's  work  will 
prove  to  be  wrong  in  some  or  even  many  details  does  not 
impair  the  credit  due  him  for  publishing  part  of  his  material  in 
the  present  form. 

CHAS.  A.  WILLIAMS 

University  of  Illinois 

3  The  diagram  on  p.  LI  does  not  seem  to  me  to  quite  correspond  to  the  edi- 
tor's view  as  expressed  on  p.  L,  as  regards  the  relation  of  AM  81  to  AM  327  and 
that  of  the  Flat  Island  Book. 


Reviews  and  Notes  549 

A   STUDY  OF  WILLIAM  SEEN  STONE  AND  OF  HIS 
CRITICS.    A  Thesis  presented  to  the  Faculty  of  Wellesley 
College  by  Alice  I.  Hazeltine  in. partial  fulfilment  of  the 
requirements  for  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts.     George 
Banta  Publishing  Company,  Menasha,  Wisconsin.  191.8. 
Something   may   be   done  for   William   Shenstone.      Miss 
Hazeltine's  special  study  is  timely,  though  the  hitherto  unpub- 
lished poems  printed  in  her  appendix  are  not  likely  to  cause  a 
literary  flutter  like  the  newly  discovered  manuscripts  of  John 
Clare.     But  the  little  best  of  Shenstone's  poetry  is  too  firmly 
grounded   in   popular   memory    to    be   neglected;   his   essays 
indubitably  belong  in  the  canon  of  the  great  series  of  "lucu- 
brations"  begun  by  Addison;   and  his  correspondence   with 
Bolingbroke's  sister  and  others  of  the  Warwickshire  coterie, 
though  less  interesting  than  Gray's  or  Walpole's  letters,  still 
preserves  the  charm  of  that  age  of  men  and  manners.     He 
should  not  continue  to  be,  as  Miss  Hazeltine's  bibliography 
too  clearly  shows  that  he  has  been,  the  exclusive  property  of 
anthologists,    antiquarians,    and    dissertation-seekers.      Like 
Boswell's  "illustrious  friend"  we  do  not  sufficiently  appreciate 
Shenstone. 

A  large  part  of  Miss  Hazeltine's  monograph  is  devoted  to 
showing  how  unfairly  Dr.  Johnson  manhandled  the  innocuous 
poet  in  writing  the  biographical  sketch  of  him  for  the  Lives  of 
the  Poets.  Gray  and  Walpole  also  condescended  to  sneer  at 
Shenstone  without  much  troubling  themselves  to  learn  the 
facts  about  him.  But  when  the  facts  are  elaborately  displayed, 
one  cannot  readily  accept  Miss  Hazeltine's  big-sisterly  defense 
of  the  bullied  poet.  It  appears  that  Shenstone's  strongminded 
contemporaries  were  nearer  right  in  their  estimate  of  the  man 
than  his  friends  Jago,  Graves,  and  Robert  Dodsley,  who 
venerated  him  for  virtues  negative  at  best  and  injured  his 
reputation  by  indiscriminate  publication  of  his  writings.  If 
Thoreau  was  in  Stevenson's  word  a  "skulker,"  there  is  no  term 
in  the  language  to  describe  the  abjectness  of  Shenstone's  retire- 
ment. He  early  lapsed  from  the  cultivation  of  his  small  talents 
into  that  graceful  desuetude  possible  only  to  a  generation 
nourished  on  Pomfret's  Choice,  where  a  little  poetry,  a  little 
gardening,  and  a  little  giving  and  receiving  of  visits  entertained 
the  harmless  day.  Marriage  he  avoided  from  motives  of  pru- 
dence, though  Dodsley  records  that  one  "tender  impression" 
received  in  youth  "was  with  difficulty  surmounted."  The 
improvement  of  his  Shropshire  pastures  became  his  master 
passion,  literature  his  diversion.  Possibly  because  his  purse 
was  slender,  he  allowed  nature  to  co-operate  in  his  landscape 
gardening,  instead  of  domineering  over  her  in  the  fashion  of 
his  day.  But  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  would  not  have  had 
more  urns,  statues,  temples,  "root-houses,"  and  artificial 


550  Whicher 

effects  if  he  could  have  afforded  them.  In  short,  Dr.  Johnson 
was  well  within  the  truth  in  insinuating  that  Shenstone's 
talents  were  not  comprehensive. 

A  small  quantity  of  his  poetry,  nevertheless,  has  genuine 
merit  and  deserves  a  treatment  more  intelligently  critical  and 
less  narrowly  scholarly  than  Miss  Hazeltine  gives  it.  It  is 
hardly  worth  while,  for  example,  to  record  that  a  German  has 
found  hints  of  The  Schoolmistress  in  Ovid,  Chaucer,  Spenser, 
Milton,  Rochester,  Parnell,  Pope,  Ramsay,  Prior,  Gay,  ballads, 
and  versions  of  the  Psalms,  and  has  then  characterized  the 
poem  as  "one  of  the  earliest  pioneer  works  in  a  special  literary 
form,  the  lesser  epic  (Kleinepos)."  Nor  is  it  worth  while  to 
point  out  that  certain  lines  of  Shenstone  anticipate  this  or  that 
thought  of  Gray,  Cowper,  Wordsworth,  or  Emerson.  Original- 
ity in  literature  consists,  not  in  saying  a  thing  first,,  but  in  say- 
ing it  last;  Shenstone's  "little  bench  of  heedless  bishops"  has  in 
despite  of  dates  sunk  into  an  echo  of  Gray's  "mute  inglorious 
Milton."  To  consider  minor  poetry  in  relation  to  absolute  stand- 
ards inevitably  results  in  damage  either  to  the  poetry  or  to 
the  standards.  In  the  face  of  this  dilemma  Miss  Hazeltine 
favors  the  poetry.  But  the  embarrassing  alternative  might 
better  have  been  avoided  altogether.  Considered  in  relation 
to  the  spirit  of  its  age  minor  poetry  usually  gains  in  significance. 

From  this  point  of  view  Shenstone's  Schoolmistress  furnishes 
a  particularly  apt  illustration  of  how  satirical  burlesque  was 
passing  over  into  the  literature  of  sentiment.  The  successive 
modifications  of  the  poem  deserve  a  scrutiny  which,  in  spite 
of  a  hint  from  Isaac  Disraeli,  Miss  Hazeltine  neglects  to  give 
them.  When  it  was  first  published  in  1737,  mock-epic,  mock- 
romance,  and  mock-pastoral  were  in  the  air.  Shenstone  then 
spoke  of  it  as  "ludicrous  poetry,"  and  "purely  to  show  fools 
that  I  am  in  jest"  added  a  "ludicrous  index"  or  synopsis  of 
the  poem,  stressing  the  burlesque.  The  temper  in  which  he 
conceived  it  was  close  to  that  which  inspired  his  "culinary 
eclogue"  entitled  Colemira: 

"Ah!  who  can  see,  and  seeing,  not  admire, 
Whene'er  she  sets  the  pot  upon  the  fire ! 
Her  hands  outshine  the  fire  and  redder  things; 
Her  eyes  are  blacker  than  the  pot  she  brings." 

Like  this  mock-pastoral  The  Schoolmistress  was  to  all  appear- 
ances originally  intended  as  one  of  the  author's  "levities." 
Dodsley,  his  publisher,  was  to  blame  for  its  absurd  inclusion 
under  the  head  of  "moral  pieces"  and  also  for  the  suppression 
of  the  ludicrous  index.  But  there  are  indications  that  Shen- 
stone himself  ultimately  joined  the  ranks  of  the  "fools"  who 
persisted  in  taking  the  poem  seriously.  The  changes  in  later 
editions  of  the  poem  cited  by  Disraeli  show  him  consistently 
working  away  from  burlesque  and  in  the  direction  of  tender 
realism.  A  notable  example  is  the  addition  of  stanzas  11-15, 
which  describe  without  a  trace  of  ridicule  the  old  dame's 


Reviews  and  Notes  551 

herb  garden  and  her  psalmody.  As  Shenstone  left  it  the  poem 
is  neatly  balanced  between  whimsy  and  sentiment.  It  remained 
for  Burns,  who  as  a  provincial  and  a  rustic  falsely  admired 
Shenstone  for  his  "divine  Elegies,"  to  develop  the  strain  of 
homely  sentiment  with  complete  seriousness  in  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night.  The  Schoolmistress  in  poetry  is  like  Joseph 
Andrews  in  fiction,  a  work  begun  as  a  parody  but  ended  in 
earnest  as  an  appeal  to  the  sentiments.  The  change  was 
eminently  characteristic  of  the  time,  and  to  define  Shenstone 
in  relation  to  it  is  a  task  that  still  remains  to  be  done. 

Miss  Hazeltine's  thesis  includes  a  description  of  the  manu- 
script book,  now  owned  by  Professor  George  Herbert  Palmer, 
from  which  she  prints  fifteen  new  poems  and  a  number  of 
others  containing  new  stanzas  or  other  variants  from  the 
published  versions.  These,  she  says  truly,  "make  no  new 
revelation  of  the  nature  or  the  art  of  Shenstone."  There 
follows  a  brief  outline  of  Shenstone's  life,  an  account  of  "Periods 
of  Interest  in  Shenstone,"  and  a  long  "Critical  Estimate,"  in 
which  she  discusses  the  poet's  personality,  his  landscape 
gardening  at  the  Leasowes,  and  his  writings — poems,  essays, 
letters,  and  literary  criticism  gleaned  from  the  letters.  In 
the  sections  on  Shenstone's  prose,  where  she  is  not  under 
obligation  to  retort  the  jeers  of  hostile  critics,  Miss  Hazeltine 
shows  a  faculty  for  judicious  quotation  and  performs  a  genuine 
service  in  calling  attention  to  aspects  of  his  work  that  should 
be  better  known. 

GEORGE  F.  WHICHER 

Anther st  College 

EINE  WESTFALISCHE  PSALMENttBERSETZUNG  aus 
der  ersten  Halfte  des  14.  Jahrhunderts  untersucht  und  her- 
ausgegeben.  Akademische  Abhandlung  von  Erik  Rooth. 
Uppsala,  1919.  Appelbergs  Boktryckeri.  CXXXIV, 
164  pp. 

This  is  an  edition  of  the  somewhat  fragmentary  psalms 
(from  15,  9  on),  with  twelve  canticles  and  parts  of  a  breviary, 
from  a  Wolfenbuttel  codex  (Aug.  58.4  in  8°).  This  psalm 
translation  is  probably  the  oldest  reasonably  complete  version 
in  Low  German.  In  the  long  introduction  Dr.  Rooth  treats  the 
language,  vocabulary,  relation  to  possible  earlier  versions,  the 
version  as  a  translation,  and  the  phonology  of  the  text.  After  a 
laborious  study  of  all  possible  criteria,  the  author  is  inclined 
to  locate  the  home  of  the  scribe  in  S.  W.  Westfalia  (Sauerland), 
which  is  near  enough  to  Cologne  for  some  influence  of  Middle 
German  (Ripuarian)  literary  speech  to  appear  in  the  dialect. 
In  the  discussion  of  the  vocabulary  the  author  presents  several 
lists  to  illustrate  words  characteristic  of  High  German  or 


552  Williams 

hitherto  unrecorded  in  Middle  Low  German.  Due  to  the  con- 
servative nature  of  the  psalm  translations,  Dr.  Rooth  is  con- 
vinced that  the  vocabulary  of  this  version  contains  many 
survivals  of  the  old  fragmentary  interlinear  versions — that  it 
even  has  some  connection  with  the  Old  Low  Franconian  (Dutch) 
psalm  fragments.  There  is  no  text  of  the  Latin  psalms  which 
can  be  pointed  out  as  the  direct  source  of  this  translation. 
It  represents  essentially  the  Psalterium  Gallicanum  of  the  Vul- 
gate but  with  some  readings  of  Jerome's  Psalt.  Romanum  and 
Psalt.  juxta  Hebraeos,  and  even  with  traces  of  the*  earlier 
Old  Latin  readings.  Some  readings  of  this  Low  German 
version  (also  of  the  Old  Low  Franconian  and  other  psalters) 
find  their  closest  parallels  in  the  Old  English  psalms;  significant 
variants  of  the  latter  and  of  Notker's  psalms  are  entered  in  the 
apparatus  to  Dr.  Rooth's  text.  The  translation  itself  is  faithful 
to  the  Latin  but  reasonably  free  and  independent  in  word- 
order;  in  many  passages,  however,  Dr.  Rooth  detects  crudities 
of  style  that  seem  to  represent  the  tradition  of  the  old  inter- 
linear glosses. 

In  the  sections  of  the  study  dealing  with  the  localization  of 
the  dialect  and  with  the  sources  the  author  indulged  in  hy- 
pothesis rather  freely.  In  the  fifty  pages  and  more  devoted  to 
the  phonology  of  his  text  he  is  on  solid  ground  and  furnishes 
dependable  material  on  the  history  of  Low  German  sounds. 
The  publication  is  a  welcome  addition  to  the  material  on 
German  psalm  translations  and  a  valuable  contribution  to  the 
study  of  Low  German,  which  is  now  exhibiting  so  notable  a 
renaissance  in  the  universities  (with  new  chairs  in  Hamburg 
and  Greifswald)  and  through  many  aspiring  writers. 

CHAS.  A.  WILLIAMS 

University  of  Illinois 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINES  OF  ENGLISH  PHONOLOGY 
AND  MIDDLE  ENGLISH  GRAMMAR.  By  Samuel 
Moore.  Ann  Arbor,  Michigan:  George  Wahr,  1919. 
Pp.  7+83. 

Many — probably  most — of  us  who  endeavor  to  give  our  stu- 
dents a  real  grounding  in  Chaucer's  language  or  some  precise 
acquaintance  with  the  development  of  the  English  tongue 
have  felt  handicapped  through  the  lack  of  a  serviceable  hand- 
book. Professor  Moore's  compendium  is  in  the  main  well 
planned  to  supply  this  need,  as  a  brief  summary  of  the  contents 
will  show.  The  first  section  is  a  somewhat  too  scant  but  reason- 
ably clear  sketch  of  "The  Elements  of  Phonetics,"  which  is 
followed  by  a  short  chapter  on  "Modern  English  Sounds." 
These  two  chapters  provide  the  student  with  the  means. for 


Reviews  and  Notes  553 

observing  his  own  production  of  speech  sounds,  without  which 
no  intelligent  approach  can  be  made  to  the  subject  of  lin- 
guistic history.  Part  II  contains  a  compressed  but  adequate 
treatment  of  the  pronunciation  and  inflections  of  Chaucer's 
language,  together  with  an  explanation  of  "final  e"  that  should 
be  of  the  greatest  assistance  to  the  student  whose  acquaintance 
with  earlier  English  begins  with  Chaucer.  Something  over  a 
hundred  lines  of  the  Prologue  in  phonetic  notation  is  not  the 
least  serviceable  part  of  this  chapter.  Part  III,  "The  History 
of  English  Sounds,"  traces  the  main  courses  of  sound  changes 
from  Old  into  Present  English  with  some  attention  to  American 
pronunciation  where  it  differs  from  that  of  Standard  English. 
So  condensed  a  treatment  naturally  does  not  concern  itself 
with  minutiae  and  disputed  points — and  properly  so,  as  this 
manual  is  intended  for  elementary  students  who  would  be 
bewildered  by  a  complete  and  detailed  discussion.  Part  IV 
presents  "The  Historical  Development  of  Middle  English 
Inflections."  In  this  chapter  the  Old  English  Forms,  the 
corresponding  forms  that  developed  (or  would  have  developed) 
phonologically,  and  analogical  new  formations  are  arranged  in 
parallel  columns.  Such  an  arrangement  makes  for  clearness  of 
presentation  at  some  cost  of  accuracy.  Part  V  is  a  presentation 
of  the  conventional  material  on  the  distribution  and  charac- 
teristics of  the  four  chief  dialects  of  Middle  English.  An 
Appendix  on  "Middle  English  Spelling"  concludes  the  work. 
A  surprisingly  large  amount  of  serviceable  material  is  thus 
provided  within  the  narrow  limits  of  eighty-three  pages. 
The  division  into  practically  independent  parts  allows  the 
instructor  who  is  familiar  with  this  manual  to  assign  what  his 
students  need  in  their  particular  work  without  forcing  upon 
them  other  material  that  would  confuse  them.  The  chapters 
on  linguistic  history  as  well  as  that  on  the  language  of  Chaucer 
do  not  presuppose  any  knowledge  of  Old  English. 

Though  this  little  volume  has  thus  been  carefully  planned 
for  a  definite  group  of  users  and  should  prove  very  serviceable  to 
them,  it  is  open  to  adverse  criticism,  I  believe,  in  a  good  many 
respects.  I  shall  merely  illustrate  particulars  to  which  serious 
exception  may  be  taken.  In  the  first  place,  the  proof  reading 
should  have  been  done  much  more  carefully.  An  elementary 
student  would  be  much  puzzled  by  hott  for  hqli  (p.  23),  by 
Epicurus  ownes  one  (p.  26)  and  by  the  paradigm  of  the  present 
indicative  singular  of  Northern  find(e}  (p.  78).  There  are  also 
decidedly  questionable  or  wholly  inaccurate  statements.  For 
example,  there  may  be  warrant  for  beginning  the  Middle 
English  period  as  early  as  1050  (p.  79) ;  but  if  this  is  done,  the 
statement  (p.  81,  footnote  97)  that  "a  does  not  occur  in  the 
earliest  ME.,  for  the  OE.  a  became  Q  in  ME."  is  obviously 
not  true.  It  is  also  misleading  to  write  c,  g  (with  palatal 


554  Bryan 

dot)  as  Old  English  spellings  (pp.  37  ff.)  and  only  after  forty 
pages  to  state  in  a  footnote  that  "the  dot  is  added  by  modern 
editors."  Further,  the  thoughtful  student  who  recalls  his 
Modern  English  pronouns  and  wishes  to  connect  them  with  the 
Middle  English  forms  will  be  led  sadly  astray  by  such  incon- 
sistencies (pp.  58-59)  as  occasional  indications  of  long  vowels 
in  us,  $e  (Je),  hi,  he,  and  only  short  vowels  in  mi(ri),  me,  we, 
ure,  etc.  There  are  a  good  many  other  particulars  to  which 
objection  may  be  raised.  For  example,  the  sound  of  a  in  mate 
or  of  ey  in  they  is  hardly  a  "fair  approximation"  (p.  13)  to  the 
sound  of  Chaucer's  ei,  ai.  The  definition  of  preterite  present 
verbs  as  those  having  present  indicatives  like  strong  preterite 
indicatives  only  "in  that  they  have  no  ending  in  the  first -and 
third  persons  singular  and  have  the  ending  -e(n)  (from  Old 
English  -on)  in  the  plural"  (pp.  30,  66)  is  so  incomplete  as  to  be 
inaccurate.  And  is  the  vowel  of  the  stressed  syllable  of  airy 
(p.  6)  properly  represented  by  $?  In  connection  with  the  em- 
ployment of  this  symbol  ?,  I  must  regret  that  Professor  Moore 
felt  impelled  to  depart  from  the  notation  of  the  International 
Phonetic  Alphabet.  A  student  has  no  great  difficulty  in 
learning  his  first  set  of  phonetic  characters — and  he  has  great 
difficulty  in  unlearning  them.  The  International  Alphabet  is 
the  only  one  that  has  any  considerable  prospect  of  general 
currency;  every  substitution  of  symbols  for  those  provided  in 
it  increases  the  confusion  now  existing  and  postpones  the  day 
when  a  single  set  of  phonetic  characters  will  be  consistently 
employed  and  readily  understood  by  students  and  scholars 
everywhere.  Finally,  mention  must  be  made  of  an  error  in 
method  that  is  quite  sure  to  confuse  the  student.  Mercian  or 
Midland  is,  of  course,  presented  as  the  basis  of  Standard 
Middle  and  Modern  English,  whereas  Old  English  and  West 
Saxon  are  used  as  synonyms.  When  (pp.  61-62)  sl&pan,  healdan, 
etc.,  are  presented  as  the  Old  English  forms  and  the  statement 
is  made  that  "By  the  operation  of  the  sound  changes  which 
have  been  explained,  these  Old  English  forms  developed  into 
the  following  Middle  English  forms" — slepe(n)  [slepon],  holde(ri) 
[hqlddn],  the  normal  student  will  not  note  in  his  mind  the  small 
type  statement  in  a  footnote  which  calls  attention  to  differences 
between  West  Saxon  and  Mercian  and  explains  that  the 
Middle  English  forms  are  derived  from  the  latter.  The  same 
sort  of  misinterpretation  will  result  from  the  statement  (p.  74) 
about  the  development  of  "Old  English  ie"  in  Kentish.  In 
adapting  his  book  to  the  needs  of  students  who  may  be  ac- 
quainted with  Old  English,  Professor  Moore  encountered  a 
real  difficulty.  It  might  have  been  met,  I  think,  by  a  clear 
statement — placed  prominently  in  the  text — of  the  essential 
differences  between  Mercian  and  West  Saxon,  and  by  a  con- 
sistent derivation  of  Midland  forms  from  Mercian. 


Reviews  and  Notes  555 

It  is  unfortunate  that  in  a  review  of  this  work  the  effective 
features  are  obvious  from  a  mere  statement  of  the  contents, 
whereas  the  defects  have  to  be  pointed  out  at  some  length; 
the  result  is  to  make  the  latter  appear  out  of  proportion. 
The  book  does  need  a  careful  revision;  one  must  exercise 
considerable  care  in  using  it  with  inexperienced  students; 
but  even  in  its  present  state  a  careful  and  competent  instructor 
will  find  it  of  very  great  service. 

W.  F.  BRYAN 

Northwestern  University 


SUNUFATARUNGO 

Die  Erklarung  des  merkwiirdigen  Wortes  habe  ich  vor 
einer  Reihe  von  Jahren  in  dem  Aufsatze  "Zum  Hildebrands- 
liede,"  in  Paul  u.  Braunes  Beitragen  36  (1910)  367  ff.,  zu  fordern 
gesucht.  Der  Vers 

Sunufatarungo    iro  saro  rihtun, 

so  f iihrte  ich  aus,  ist  wortlich  zu  iibersetzen :  "Sohn-  und  Vaters- 
kinder  brachten  (sie)  ihre  Riistung  in  Ordnung."  Neben 
Hildebrand  und  seinem  Sohne  Hadubrand  wird  ja  in  dem  alten 
Liede  ausdriicklich  der  Vater  Hildebrands,  mit  Namen  Heri- 
brand,  erwahnt.  Wenn  also  Sohn  und  Vater  an  sich  stets  auch 
Sohne  oder  Nachkommen  von  Sohn  und  Vater  sind,  so  brauchen 
wir  in  diesem  Falle  an  der  Verwendung  des  patronymischen 
Suffixes  -ung-  in  der  feierlich  einherschreitenden  Zusammenset- 
zung  sunufatarungo  um  so  weniger  Anstoss  zu  nehmen.  Diese 
Deutung  hat  sich  neuerdings  der  Zustimmung  mehrerer  Fach- 
genossen  (vor  allem  E.  v.  Steinmeyer,  Die  kleineren  ahd.  Sprach- 
denkmaler,  Berlin,  1916,  S,  13)  zu  erfreuen  gehabt.  Ich  hatte 
also  kaum  Anlass  gehabt,  an  sie  zu  erinnern,  ware  nicht  in  dem 
letzten  Hefte  dieser  Zeitschrift  (oben  S.  153  ff.)  eine  neue 
Erklarung  der  Endung  -ungo  vorgelegt,  deren  Urheber  anschein- 
end  weder  mein  kleiner  Aufsatz  noch  Steinmeyers  musterhaftes 
und  iiberall  forderliches  Werk  vorgelegen  hat.  Muss  ich  aus- 
driicklich erklaren,  dass  ich  an  meiner  Auffassung  noch  fest- 
halte?  Aber  ich  benutze  diese  Gelegenheit  gerne,  um  bei  dem 
in  vieler  Beziehung  lehrreichen  Worte  sunufatarungo  noch 
etwas  langer  zu  verweilen. 

Wie  man  weiss,  hat  Hermann  Moller,  Zur  ahd.  Alliterations- 
poesie  (Kiel,  1888)  S.  88  f.  die  Endung  -o  an  die  idg.  Dualendung 
-ou  angeknupft.  Steinmeyer  (a.  a.  O.)  S.  14,  bemerkt  dazu: 
"Ob  ein  Dual  oder  ein  Plural  vorliegt,  weiss  ich  nicht."  Auch 
ich  habe  den  Eindruck,  dass  die  Griinde  fur  die  eine  und  fur 
die  andere  Auffassung  ziemlich  gleich  schwer  wiegen.  Vom 
Standpunkte  der  Lautlehre  aus  ist  gegen  die  Gleichsetzung  der 
Endung  -o  mit  aind.  -<z(u)  gewiss  nichts  einzuwenden,  und 
Moller  selbst  hat  schon  auf  das  parallele  Lautverhaltnis  in  ahd. 
ahto,  got.  ahtau  und  skr.  astau  hingewiesen.  Ebenso  erscheint 

557 


558  Collitz 

die  Annahme  durchaus  statthaft,  eine  Dualform  habe  sich  in 
der  Nominalflexion  "wenn  auch  vielleicht  bereits  als  Antiquitat 
oder  nur  in  erstarrten  Wortern"  bis  auf  die  Zeit  der  Abfassung 
des  Hildebrandsliedes  erhalten.  Als  ausgemacht  aber  konnte 
Mollers  interessante  Erklarung  nur  gelten,  wenn  es  unmoglich 
ware,  sunufatarungo  als  Nominativ  pluralis  zu  fassen.  Letztere 
Auffassung  scheint  ja  zunachst  durch  helidos  (Z.  6)  ausgeschlos- 
sen.  Aber  Lachmanns  Vorschlag,  letzterer  Form  zuliebe  das 
uberlieferte  sunufatarungo  in  sunufatarungos  zu  andern,  diirfte 
heute  nur  noch  wenige  Anhanger  finden,*  zumal  Plural-Nomi- 
native auf  -o  gerade  in  den  altesten  ahd.  Sprachquellen  auch 
sonst  begegnen.  Eine  stattliche  Reihe  von  Beispielen  hat 
namentlich  R.  Kogel,  Gesch.  d.  dt.  Lit.  2,  448  gesammelt.  Frei- 
lich  werden  derartige  Formen  von  Franck,  Alt/rank.  Gramm. 
S.  174  und  Braune,  Ahd.  Gramm.3  S.  173  rundweg  als  Schreib- 
fehler  erklart.  Letzterer  sagt  gradezu:  "Eine  Nebenform 
auf  -o  (Kogel,  Lit.  2,  448)  gibt  es  im  Ahd.  nicht."  Aber  Nutz- 
horn  hat  sich  dadurch  in  seiner  ergebnisreichen  Studie  iiber 
die  Murbacher  Sprachdenkmaler  (Zs.  f.  dt.  Phil.  44,  453)  nicht 
abhalten  lassen,  dem  altelsassischen  Dialekte  eine  Nebenform 
auf  -o  zuzuschreiben,  und,  wie  mir  scheint,  mit  guten  Griinden. 
Dass  in  einzelnen  Fallen  Schreibfehler  vorliegen,  mag  ja  sein. 
Wenn  Ahd.  Gl.  1,  86,  25  der  cod.  Pa.  als  Glosse  zu  'servi  mili- 
tum*  scalcho  milizzo  aufweist,  gegen  scalkha  milizzo  in  Gl.  K., 
so  ist  ja  moglich  oder  wahrscheinlich,  dass  ihm  bei  scalcho  die 
Endung  des  folgenden  Wortes  vorschwebte.  Aber  auch  die 
Moglichkeit  ist  nicht  ganz  ausgeschlossen,  dass  er  scalcho  schon 
in  seiner  Vorlage  fand  und  es  unter  dem  Eindrucke  von  milizzo 
unterliess,  die  alte  Endung  in  -a  zu  andern.  Dieser  Fall  steht 
jedenfalls  nicht  ganz  auf  einer  Linie  mit  dem  von  sterno  Ahd. 
Gl.  1,  247,  23,  cod.  Ra.  Das  lateinische  Lemma  ist  'sidera,' 
und  das  in  den  Gl.  K.  entsprechende  sternon  scheint  zu  bestati- 

*Schwerlich  ist  Lachmann  der  Meinung  gewesen,  das  -s  babe  urspriinglich 
in  der  Handschrif t  gestanden  und  sei  nur  ganz  oder  teilweise  erloschen.  Freilich 
weist  ja  die  Handschrift  zwischen  fatarungo  und  iro  noch  einen  Punkt  auf 
(vgl.  namentlich  die  photogr.  Facsimilia  in  Koenneckes  Bilderatlas  und  bei 
M.  Enneccerus).  Aber  man  darf  darin  nicht  den  tJberrest  eines  Buchstabens 
sehen,  sondern  es  handelt  sich  um  den  Trennungspunkt,  wie  er  in  der  Hand- 
schrift vielfach  wiederkehrt,  um  den  Abschluss  einer  Langzeile  oder,  wie  hier, 
einer  Halbzeile  zu  bezeichnen. 


Sunufatarungo  559 

gen,  dass  hier  das  o  dem  Original  angehort.  Nimmt  man  hinzu, 
dass  das  Wort  fur  'Stern'  auch  in  Pa.  und  Gl.  K.  sonst  starke 
Flexion  aufweist  (sterna  'stelle'  Pa.  und  Gl.  K.  1,  16,  38;  thero 
sterna  Gl.  K.  1, 17, 39;  st'na  'stille'  Gl.  K.  1,  247,  24),  so  wird  man 
hier,  denke  ich,  dem  sterno  von  Ra.  mindestens  so  viel  Autoritat 
beimessen,  wie  dem  sternon  der  Gl.  K.  Schwerer  jedoch  als 
derartige  Glossen,  fallen  Formen  wie  himilo  in  der  Isidor- 
tlbersetzung  (himilo  endi  anghila  'celi  et  angeli'  24,  17;  vgl. 
ace.  pi.  ahuo  ir  himilo  garauui  frumida  'quando  praeparabat 
celos'  (1,  2)  und  angilo  der  Murbacher  Hymnen  (ace.  pi.  duruh 
angilo  uuntarlihe  'per  angelos  mirabiles'  17,  3)  ins  Gewicht. 

Somit  bin  ich  der  Meinung,  dass  sunufatarungo  zwar  von 
Moller  zutreffend  als  alte  Dualform  gedeutet  ist,  aber  zur  Zeit 
der  Aufzeichnung  des  Hildebrandsliedes  nicht  mehr  so  ver- 
standen  wurde.  Es  blieb  als  vermeintliche  Pluralform  unver- 
andert. 

Da  im  Althochdeutschen  der  Gen.  plur.  der  einzige  Kasus 
der  a-Deklination  ist,  welcher  regelmassig  die  Endung  -o  auf- 
weist, so  versteht  man,  wie  Jacob  Grimm  (Gott.  gel.  Anz.  1831, 
S.  71  =  Kl.  Schr.  5,  23)  auf  den  Gedanken  kommen  konnte, 
sunufatarungo  als  Gen.  pi.  zu  fassen  und  von  dem  vorher- 
gehenden  heriun  tuem  abhangen  zu  lassen.  Diese  Auffassung 
findet  ja  auch  heute  noch  hier  und  da  einen  Verteidiger,  darf 
aber  dennoch  wohl  nach  den  Einwendungen  von  Lachmann 
(Vber  d.  Hildebrandslied  S.  12  =  Kl.  Schr.  1,  418)  und  Miillen- 
hoff  (Anmerkungen  zu  den  Denkmalern3  S.  13)  als  abgetan  gel- 
ten.  Dagegen  wird  es  nicht  iiberfliissig  sein,  hervorzuheben, 
dass  ein  von  Lachmann  nach  dem  Vorgange  Grimms  (Gramm. 
2,  359)  angefiihrtes  Femininum  fadrunga  'Gevatterin'  nicht 
existiert,  also  auch  auf  die  Deutung  von  sunufatarungo  keinen 
Einfluss  ausuben  kann.  Allerdings  las  man  im  Beowulf,  Z.  2128 
zu  Grimms  Zeit  feondes  fadrunga,  und  auch  noch  bei  Bosworth- 
Toller  erscheint  auf  Grund  der  Beowulfstelle  als  &ira£  \ey6fjtevov 
ein  schwaches  Masculinum  fadrunga  mit  der  Bedeutung  'a 
patre  cognatus.'  Aber  man  weiss  jetzt,  dass  dieses  fcedrunga  nur 
auf  einer  Konjektur  Thorkelins  beruht,  und  der  Vers  erscheint 
in  den  neueren  Ausgaben  als 

fgondes  faed(mum  un)der  firgen-strgam. 

Man  findet  Naheres  in  den  kritischen  Anmerkungen  der  neueren 
Herausgeber. 


560  Cottitz 

Dies  fiihrt  mich  zu  einer  weiteren  Bemerkung  iiber  das 
Patronymsuffix  -ung  und  sein  Verhaltnis  zu  dem  gleichbedeu- 
tenden  -ing.  Uber  beide  hat  seinerzeit  J.  Grimm  im  2.  Bande 
seiner  Deutschen  Gramm.  S.  349  ff.  und  359  ff.  in  griindlicher 
und  vorbildlicher  Weise  gehandelt,  sowohl  was  die  Sammlung 
des  Materials  wie  das  Verstandnis  desselben  anlangt.  Den 
iiberreichen  Stoff  vollstandig  zu  buchen  oder  abschliessend  zu 
verarbeiten,  konnte  nicht  in  seiner  Absicht  liegen.  Nach 
Grimm  hat  sich  K.  von  Bahder  in  seiner  ausgezeichneten  Schrift: 
Die  Verbalabstracta  in  den  Germanischen  Sprachen  (Halle  1880) 
um  die  Erklarung  der  beiden  Suffixe  am  meisten  verdient  ge- 
macht.  Den  Endungen  -unga,  -inga,  an  deren  Deutung  Grimm 
verzweifelt  hatte  und  deren  Zusammenhang  mit  dem  Patronym- 
suffix bis  dahin  iiberhaupt  dunkel  geblieben  war,  sind  in  dieser 
Schrift  voile  dreissig  Seiten  (S.  163-192)  gewidmet,  und  das 
Ratsel  ist,  wie  ich  glaube,  gliicklich  gelost.  Naheres  dariiber 
weiter  unten.  Nur  in  einer  Beziehung  scheint  mir  v.  Bahder 
Grimm  gegeniiber  auf  einen  Abweg  geraten  zu  sein.  Letzterer 
hatte  (Gramm.  2,  364)  von  den  Ableitungen  mit  ng  im  ganzen 
den  Eindruck,  es  liege  darin  "ein  Begriflf  der  Abstammung  oder 
lieber  Verwandtschaft."  Diese  Definition  ist  nach  v.  Bahder 
zu  eng.  "Ich  glaube,"  sagt  er  (S.  168)  "dass  man  von  einer 
viel  allgemeineren  Bedeutung  ausgehen  muss,  der  der  Zuge- 
horigkeit."  Aus  letzterem  Begriffe  leitet  er  dann  zunachst 
(S.  169)  den  der  Abstammung  oder  Verwandtschaft  ab.  Aber 
sind  damit  nicht  die  Begriffe,  vom  Standpunkte  der  geschicht- 
lichen  Entwicklung  aus  angesehen,  geradezu  auf  den  Kopf 
gestellt? 

Jedem  Suffix,  das  in  lebendigem  Gebrauche  bleibt  und  pro- 
duktiv  wirkt,  wohnt  die  Tendenz  inne,  nicht  nur  sich  innerhalb 
seiner  urspriinglichen  Grenzen  zu  erhalten,  sondern  dariiber 
hinaus  sich  auszudehnen.  Insbesondere  geht  bei  personlichen 
Suffixen  die  Neigung  dahin,  sie  auf  Gegenstande  zu  iibertragen, 
deren  Eigenschaften  sich  dem  Wesen  und  der  Betatigung  von 
Personen  vergleichen.  Ein  nahe  liegendes  Beispiel  gewahren  die 
Nomina  agentis  auf  -er  im  Neuhochdeutschen  und  Englischen. 
Mogen  wir  diese  den  lat.  Bildungen  auf  -arius  oder  den  goti- 
schen  auf  -areis  gleichsetzen:  wir  haben  es  jedenfalls  mit  einer 
alten  Kategorie  zu  tun,  die  sich  urspriinglich  auf  Personen 
beschrankte,  z.  B.  nhd.  Backer,  Fischer,  Gartner,  Jager,  Maler, 


Sunujatarungo  561 

Sanger,  engl.  baker,  fisher,  gardener,  hunter,  painter,  singer. 
Aber  dann  sprengt  das  Suffix  seine  urspriinglichen  Schranken, 
und  greift  auf  das  Gebiet  von  Bildungssilben  iiber,  die  ur- 
spriinglich  ein  Mittel  oder  Werkzeug  bezeichnen.  Die  mit  dem 
Suffix  -er  versehenen  Gegenstande  erscheinen  dadurch  halb 
personifiziert,  indem  sie  als  selbstandig  tatig  hingestellt  werden, 
mogen  sie  auch  nur  als  Hiilfsmittel  bei  einer  Tatigkeit  dienen. 
So  z.  B.  nhd.  Bohrer,  Dampfer,  Halter,  Schlager,  Trejffer,  Wecker, 
Zeiger,  Handschuhknb'pfer,  Hosentrager,  Seelenwarmer,  Schuh- 
anzieher  u.  dgl.  Im  Englischen  sind  Worter  dieser  Art  besonders 
zahlreich.  Es  gehoren  hierher  z.  B.  borer,  breakers  (p\.), buffer, 
bumper,  burner,  cracker,  drainer,  drawers  (pl.)>  fritter,  muffler, 
poker,  rattler,  rocker  (Am.  = 'rocking  chair'),  rubber,  shutter, 
sprinkler,  steamer,  strainer,  ticker,  ausserdem  viele  Komposita, 
z.  T.  neuesten  Datums,  z.  B.  ash-receiver,  cigar-holder ',  fly-catcher , 
fire-cracker,  gas-lighter,  lawn-mower,  ocean-liner,  paper-cutter, 
pen-holder,  screw-holder,  sky-scraper,  steam-roller,  torpedo-chaser. 
Zur  Kennzeichnung  des  heutigen  Sprachgebrauchss  geniigt  es 
hier  ja,  zu  sagen  (vgl.  F.  Blatz,  Nhd.  Grammatik,3  Karlsruhe, 
1895,  S.  653),  bei  Ableitungen  von  Verbalstammen  finde  sich 
das  Suffix  -er  bei  personlichen  oder  sachlichen  nomina  agentis. 
Will  man  aber  der  geschichtlichen  Entwicklung  gerecht  werden 
und  zu  wirklichem  Verstandnis  gelangen,  so  wird  man  die  Sache 
darstellen  miissen,  wie  es  O.  Curme,  A  Grammar  of  the  German 
Language,  §245,  I.  5,  getan  hat:  "tR  ...  .  masc.  suffix,  used 
to  form  appellations  of  male  beings.  .  .  .  Figuratively  er  is 
often  applied  to  names  of  lifeless  objects:  Wecker  alarm  clock, 
Bohrer  gimlet." 

Wie  das  Suffix  -er  den  Begriff  der  Betatigung  bei  Gegenstan- 
den  unter  dem  Bilde  einer  handelnden  Person  darstellt,  so 
macht  das  Suffix  -ung  (oder  -ing,  bezw.  -ling)  den  Begriff  der 
Zugehorigkeit  dadurch  anschaulich  und  lebendig,  dass  er  ihn 
der  Abstammung  des  Sohnes  vom  Vater  oder  der  Nachkommen 
vomVorfahren  gleichsetzt. 

An  dieser  Meinung  lasse  ich  mich  auch  dadurch  nicht  irre 
machen,  dass  R.  Much  in  PB.  Beitr.  17  (1893)  S.  65  Grimms 
Ansicht  entgegentrat,  um  seinerseits  die  das  Suffix  -ing  enthal- 
tenden  altgermanischen  Volksnamen  als  "Eigenschaftsbezeich- 
nungen"  zu  fassen,  denen  Adjektive  und  Abstrakte  zugrunde 
liegen  sollen.  Diese  Auffassung  steht  ja  in  Einklang  mit  Muchs 


562  Collitz 

Bemiihung,  den  alten  Volksnamen  moglichst  iiberall  eine  sinn- 
volle  Bedeutung  abzugewinnen.  Aber  seine  Erklarungsmethode 
stiess  sogleich  auf  Widerspruch  bei  H.  Hirt,  der  in  dem  Aufsatze 
'Die  Deutung  der  german.  Volkernamen'  (PBB.  18,  512-519) 
geltend  machte,  es  werde  mit  ihnen  der  sichere  Boden  wissen- 
schaftlicher  Forschung  verlassen.  Auf  Muchs  Entgegnung,  die 
denselben  Titel  tragt  (ebd.  20,  1-19),  antwortete  Hirt  mit  einem 
weiteren  Aufsatze  'Nochmals  die  Deutung  der  german.  Vol- 
kernamen' (ebd.  21,  125-159).  Im  Zusammenhange  mit  un- 
serem  Suffixe  interessiert  uns  an  dieser  Erorterung  namentlich 
Hirts  Hinweis  (an  der  letztgenannten  Stelle,  S.  143  Anm.) 
darauf,  dass  Much  bei  der  Deutung  von  Namen  auf  -ing-  mit 
seiner  eignen  Erklarung  dieses  Suffixes  in  Konflikt  gerat;  sowie 
sein  wohlbegriindeter  Widerspruch  (S.  156)  gegen  die  herge- 
brachte  Erklarung  des  Namens  Hermunduri,  von  der  Much  bei 
seiner  Deutung  des  Namens  Thuringi  als  'die  wagenden,' 
(a.  a.  O.,  17  S.  65)  ausgegangen  war.  Da  die  hergebrachte 
Etymologic  auch  noch  M.  Schonfeld  in  seinem  verdienstlichen 
"Worterbuch  der  altgerm.  Personen-  u.  Volkernamen  (Heidelberg, 
1911)  s.v.  Thuringi  als  feststehend  gilt,  wird  noch  eine  kurze 
Bemerkung  dariiber  hier  am  Platze  sein.  K.  Zeuss,  der  Urheber 
dieser  Etymologic  (Die  Deutschen  u.  die  Nachbarstamme  S.  102) 
liess  sich  dabei  von  dem  altnord.  Verbum  pora  'wagen'  leiten. 
Aber  dieses  Verbum  ist  speziell  nordisch,  und  muss  trotz  seiner 
einfachen  Form,  die  den  Schein  einer  altererbten  Bildung  ge- 
wahrt,  als  verhaltnismassig  junge  Neubildung  gelten.  Es  ist  an 
die  Stelle  des  alten  Praterito-Prasens  got.  ga-dars,  pi.  ga-daur- 
sum,  inf.  ga-daursan  getreten,  wahrscheinlich  so,  dass  der  im 
Nordischen  zu  erwartende  Inf.  *dorra(ri)  nach  dem  Muster  des 
Verbums  frola  'dulden' —  das  sich  als  Gegenstuck  zu  'wagen' 
ansehen  lasst — in  pora  umgewandelt  wurde.  Ein  so  alter  Name 
wie  Ermun-duri  konnte,  wenn  er  mit  dem  gemeingerm.  Verbum 
(ga-}dorsan  'wagen'  zusammenhinge,  kaum  anders  als  *Ermun- 
dorsi  lauten.  Vollig  einverstanden  bin  ich  mit  Schonfelds 
Bemerkung  s.v.  Ermunduri:  "Thuringi  ist  also  eine  Art  Kurz- 
name  zu  Ermen-duri"  Aber  diese  Erklarung  lasst  sich  mit  der 
von  Much  bef  iirworteten  schwerlich  vereinigen. 

Am  weitesten  hat  sich  in  der  Beurteilung  des  -«g-Suffixes 
W.  Wilmanns  in  seiner  Deutschen  Grammatik,  Abt.  2  (2  Aufl.. 
Strassburg,  1899)  S.  278-283,  von  Jac.  Grimm  entfernt,  und  ist 


Sunufatarungo  563 

infolgedessen  am  griindlichsten  in  die  Irre  gegangen.  "Das 
«g-Suffix,"  sagt  er  (S.  279,  Anm.  2),  "bedeutet  zunachst  nichts 
weiter,  als  dass  das  abgeleitete  Wort  zu  dem  Grundwort  in 
irgend  einer  Beziehung  steht  (vgl.  PBB.  17,  65) ;  eine  speziellere 
Anwendung  hat  es  friih  als  patronymische  Endung  gefunden. 
Gr.  2,  349.  von  Bahder  S.  169.  174."  Ich  erhalte  von  dieser 
Darstellung  den  Eindruck,  dass  Wilmanns  versuchte,  die  drei 
verschiedenen  Ansichten  iiber  das  Suffix,  die  er  bei  seinen 
Vorgangern  vorfand,  unter  einen  Hut  zu  bringen.  Als  gemein- 
samer  abstrakter  Ausdruck  fiir  Verwandtschaft  (Grimm), 
Zugehorigkeit  (v.  Bahder)  und  Eigenschaft  (Much)  ergab  sich 
ihm  "irgend  eine  Beziehung."  Er  ist  in  den  Fehler  verf alien, 
der  ja  bei  der  Behandlung  der  Wortbildung  nahe  liegt,  die 
verschiedenen  Bedeutungen  eines  Suffixes  als  gleichberechtigt 
anzusehen,  sie  infolgedessen  unter  einem  gemeinsamen  Begriffe 
zu  vereinigen,  und  dann  letzteren  als  urspriingliche  Bedeutung 
an  die  Spitze  zu  stellen.  In  Wirklichkeit  aber  liegt  die  Sache 
meist  so,  wie  bei  dem  oben  beriihrten  Suffixe  -er:  das  Suffix  hat 
eine  charakteristische  Bedeutung,  die  aber  im  Laufe  der  Zeit 
auf  andre  Wortkategorien  iibertragen  wird  oder  sonstwie  eine 
andre  Farbung  erhalt.  Als  allgemeine  Regel  darf  gelten,  dass 
die  anscheinend  farblose  Verwendung  die  jiingste  ist.  Die  von 
Wilmanns  bei  unserem  Suffixe  als  Ausgangspunkt  gewahlte 
Bedeutung  ist  vollig  farblos.  Es  ist  diejenige  Bedeutung, 
welche  alien  Suffixen  gemeinsam  ist.  Oder  gibt  es  ein  Suffix,  das 
nicht  zum  Ausdrucke  "irgend  einer  Beziehung  .  .  .  zu  dem 
Grundworte"  dient?  Fassen  wir  nicht  geradezu  Suffixe  und 
Flexionsendungen  als  Beziehungselemente  zusammen,  im 
Gegensatz  zu  dem  materiellen  Elemente  des  Wortes,  der  soge- 
nannten  Wurzel?  Dass  diese  Deutung  des  ng-  Suffixes  nicht 
richtig  sein  kann,  liegt,  denke  ich,  auf  der  Hand.  Die  Frage  ist 
nur:  wie  konnen  wir  ihr  entgehen?  Und  auf  diese  Frage  lasst 
sich  eine  sehr  einfache  und,  wie  ich  glauben  mochte,  vollig  aus- 
reichende  Antwort  geben:  wir  miissen  uns  an  die  Anschauung 
gewohnen,  dass  ein  Suffix  in  bildlicher  Bedeutung  gebraucht 
werden  kann. 

Damit  werden  wir  auf  den  Weg  zuriickgefiihrt,  welchen  Jac. 
Grimm  bei  der  Darstellung  der  ng-  Bildungen  eingeschlagen 
hatte.  Wir  haben  es  mit  einem  Suffixe  zu  tun,  das  urspriinglich 
die  Abstammung  bezeichnete.  Dieser  Begriff  lasst  bildliche 


564  Collitz 

Verwendung  im  weitesten  Umfange  zu,  und  es  wird  nur  darauf 
ankommen,  ob  es  uns  gelingt,  die  in  der  Sprache  ausgepragte 
bildliche  Anschauung  wieder  zu  finden.  Denn  es  ergeht  den 
Wortern,  wie  den  Miinzen,  dass  die  Pragung  im  Laufe  der  Zeit 
sich  abgreift  und  oft  schwer  zu  erkennen  ist. 

Uns  alien  ist  der  biblische  Sprachgebrauch  gelaufig,  wonach 
die  Nachkommen  Jakobs  als  "die  Kinder  Israel"  bezeichnet 
werden.  Der  Ausdruck  "Kinder"  schliesst  hier  viele  Genera- 
tionen  von  Kindern  in  sich,  so  dass  er  fast  gleichbedeutend  mit 
'Angehorige'  oder  'Leute  ein  und  desselben  Stammes1  wird. 
Ferner  werden  wir  unwillkurlich  auch  den  Stammvater  selber 
als  Mitglied  des  Stammes  betrachten.  Ahnlich  werden  unter 
den  Karolingern  zwar  zunachst  die  Nachfolger  oder  Nach- 
kommen Karls  des  Grossen  verstanden;  zugleich  aber  gilt  Karl 
selber  als  der  erste  der  Karolinger.  So  erklart  sich  auch  eine 
auff allige  Verschiedenheit  im  Gebrauche  des  Namens  'Wolsung,' 
mit  der  man  sich  seit  W.  Grimm,  Dt.  Heldensage,  S.  16  (  =  318) 
abgemiiht  hat.  Als  Stammvater  des  Geschlechts  der  Wol- 
sungen  heisst  Siegmunds  Vater  im  Beowulf  898  Wals  (also 
germ.  *Wals),  wahrend  die  nordische  Uberlieferung  (z.  B.  die 
altere  Edda)  ihn  Vqlsungr  (  =  ags.  Walsing)  nennt.  W.  Grimm 
(a.  a.  O.)  und  J.  Grimm  (H.  Zs.  1,  3  =  K1.  Schr.  7,  53)  hielten  die 
nordische  Benennung  fur  unrichtig,  wahrend  R.  Much,  PBB. 
17,  65  darin  eine  Bestatigung  seiner  Theorie  findet,  dass  die 
mit  -ing  oder  -ung  gebildeten  Namen  nur  eine  Eigenschaft 
bezeichnen.  Ich  glaube  mit  Much,  dass  ein  und  dieselbe  Per- 
son Vals  oder  Vqlsungr  genannt  werden  kann,  mochte  aber 
auch  glauben,  dass  dies  sich  mit  dem  patronymischen  Charak- 
ter  des  Suffixes  -ung  sehr  gut  vertragt.  Bei  dem  ganz  ahnlich 
gebildeten  Namen  Nibelung  oder  Niflung  tragt  der  Stammvater 
des  mythischen  Geschlechtes  schon  allgemein  denselben  Namen 
wie  seine  Nachkommen. 

Aus  der  Verwendung  des  Suffixes  -ung  oder  -ing,  zur  Bezeich- 
nung  von  Angehorigen  eines  Geschlechtes  oder  Stammes 
begreift  sich  auch  leicht  seine  Beliebtheit  bei  appellativen 
Verwandtschaftsnamen,  z.  B.  in  nhd.  Nachkommling  neben 
Nackkomme,  und  in  dem  gemeingermanischen  Ausdruck  fur 
'Verwandter' :  got.  gadiliggs  =  a,gs.  g&deling,  as.  gaduling,  ahd. 
gatiling.  Ahnlich  ags.  cedeling  =  ahd.  editing,  mhd.  u.  mndd. 
edeling,  zunachst  'der  aus  einem  edlen  Geschlecht  kommende' 


Sunufatarungo  565 

oder  'zu  den  Edelleuten  gehorig.'  (Im  Mhd.  bedeutet  edelinc 
sowohl  nach  Benecke-Miiller  wie  nach  Lexer  tiberall  'Sohn  eines 
Edelmannes,'  im  Mndd.  nach  Schiller-Liibben  uberall  'Edel- 
mann.'  Man  beachte  die  Parallele  mit  Wals  und  Wolsung.) 

Es  handelt  sich  aber  bei  der  Herkunft,  und  demgemass  bei 
der  Funktion  patronymer  Suffixe,  nicht  ausschliesslich  um  den 
Ausdruck  personlicher  Zugehorigkeit,  sondern  oft  auch  um  die 
Art  des  Verhaltnisses  zwischen  Vorfahr  und  Nachkommen  oder 
zwischen  dem  Einzelnen  und  den  Familienmitgliedern  oder 
Stammesgenossen.  Abstammung,  Verwandtschaft,  und  Ahn- 
lichkeit  sind  synonyme  Begriffe.  Man  erwartet  in  dem  Sohne 
die  Ziige  der  Eltern  und  die  Eigenschaften  der  Vorfahren 
wiederzufinden,  wie  in  dem  Individuum  den  Typus  seines 
Stammes.  Solche  Anschauungen  verbinden  sich  von  selbst  mit 
der  Bezeichnung  der  Herkunft.  Zur  Erlauterung  kann  schon  das 
ebengenannte  'Edeling'  dienen.  Ein  weiteres  charakteristisches 
Beispiel  liefert  das  Wort  'Konig'  (ahd.  as.  kuning,  ags.  cyning), 
das  von  Bahder  (S.  171)  einleuchtend  als  'den  das  Geschlecht 
.  .  .  gleichsam  in  seiner  Person  reprasentierenden'  erklart  hat. 
Man  kann  sich  den  Begriff  auch  schon  etwa  so  klar  machen, 
dass  der  Konig  in  seiner  Person  den  ganzen  Stamm  (got.  kuni 
'Geschlecht,  Stamm' =  ahd.  kunni,  ags.  cynne,  engl.  kin, 
anord.  kyn)  gewissermassen  verkorpert.  (Das  o  in  an.  konungr, 
das  mit  den  ubrigen  altgerm.  Sprachen  in  Widerspruch  steht, 
wird  auf  nachtraglicher  Anlehnung  an  altn.  konr,  pi.  konir 
'Sohn,  Mann'  beruhen.) 

Gerade  der  Begriff  des  Ebenbildes  und  der  Verkorperung 
typischer  Eigenschaften  hat  anscheinend  dazu  eingeladen,  das 
patronyme  Suffix  von  Personen  auf  Dinge  jeder  Art  zu  iiber- 
tragen.  Leicht  verstandlich  ist  z.B.  die  Anwendung  auf  ver- 
schiedene  Arten  von  Apfeln,  fur  die  Grimm  2,  350  mehrere 
alte  Beispiele  anfiihrt;  denn  jede  der  Sorten  ist  besoderer  Her- 
kunft und  reprasentiert  eine  typische  Eigenart.  Ahnlich  bei 
Weinsorten  (z.B.  Riessling).  Aber  wie  kommt  der  'Daumling' 
(im  Sinne  von  Uberzug  fiir  den  Daumen)  und  der  'Faustling' 
(im  Sinne  von  Fausthandschuh)  zu  dem  patronymen  Suffix? 
Der  Daumling  ist  das  Ebenbild  des  Daumens,  nach  ihm  geformt, 
also  gewissermassen  von  ihm  ins  Dasein  gerufen;  der  Faustling 
ebenso  eine  Reproduktion  der  Faust.  Das  Mittelhochdeutsche 
hat  ahnlich  hendelinc,  d.  i.  Ebenbild  der  Hand,  im  Sinne  von 
Fausthandschuh. 


566  Collitz 

Die  Sprache  tut  einen  weiteren  Schritt,  indem  sie  durch  das 
Herkunftssuffix  lebende  Wesen  mit  einem  Adjektiv  (nhd. 
Jung-ling,  Neuling)  oder  gar  Verbum  (nhd.  Saugling)  verkniipf  t, 
um  auszudriicken,  dass  der  Adjektiv-  oder  Verbalbegriff  in 
ihnen  lebendige  Form  gewonnen  hat,  also  in  ihnen  verkorpert 
erscheint.  Der  Begriff  der  Abstammung  ist  somit  auch  hier — 
wenn  auch  nur  bildlich — festgehalten,  und  man  gibt  den  Zusam- 
menhang  mit  der  eigentlichen  Funktion  des  Suffixes  preis,  wenn 
man  in  solchen  Bildungen  nur  den  Ausdruck  eines  wesentlichen 
Merkmales  oder  der  Haupteigenschaft  einer  Person  oder  Sache 
sieht. 

Die  letztgenannten  Beispiele  zeigen  das  Suffix  -ing  mit 
vorausgehendem  /,  und  gerade  in  dieser  Form  ist  es  ja  im  Nhd. 
so  beliebt  geworden  und  so  sehr  tiber  sein  altes  Mass  hinausge- 
wachsen,  dass  man  den  Zusammenhang  mit  seiner  eigentlichen 
Funktion  nicht  immer  auf  den  ersten  Blick  erkennt.  Gerade  in 
dieser  Richtung  bleibt  auch  nach  den  als  Stoffsammlung  vor- 
trefflichen  Arbeiten,  z.B.  von  Carl  Miiller  ('Das  Suffix  -ling,' 
Zs.  f.  dt.  Wortforschung  2,  186-201)  und  Charles  G.  Davis 
('Die  deutschen  Substantiva  auf  -ling  im  18.  Jahrhundert,' 
ebd.  4,  161-209)  noch  viel  zu  tun  ubrig.  Miiller  hebt  zwar 
(S.  186)  rich  tig  hervor,  dass  man  mit  Schottel  und  Grimm  von 
dem  Grundbegriffe  der  Abstammung  auszugehen  hat.  Aber  er 
hat  darauf  verzichtet,  den  Zusammenhang  im  einzelnen  klar- 
zulegen.  Und  schon  gleich  bei  Davis  tritt  dieser  Gesichtspunkt 
wieder  so  sehr  in  den  Hintergrund,  dass  er — wohl  durch  Wil- 
manns  beeinflusst — bei  der  Aufzahlung  der  Kategorien  die 
Personennamen  ans  Ende  verweist,  statt  sie  an  die  Spitze  zu 
stellen.  Jedoch  entschadigt  uns  Davis  dafiir  einigermassen 
durch  den  Versuch  (S.  162-167),  eine  Gruppierung  der  Ableit- 
ungen  nach  dem  grammatischen  Charakter  des  Grundwortes 
vorzunehmen.  Auch  das  ist  nicht  immer  leicht.  Zwar  wird  man 
ihm  ohne  weiteres  beistimmen,  wenn  er  die  von  Adelung  befiir- 
wortete  Herleitung  von  Wortern  wie  Frommling,  Witzling  aus 
den  Verben  frommeln,  witzeln  ablehnt.  Aber  ebenso  ist  er  im 
Rechte,  wenn  er  geltend  macht,  in  Wortern  wie  Liebling, 
Mietling,  Fliichtling  konne  das  Grundwort  entweder  als  Sub- 
stantiv  oder  als  Verb  aufgefasst  werden.  "Solche  Falle,  wo  ein 
Subst.  und  ein  Verbum  mit  gleichem  Stamm  nebeneinander 
bestehen,  sind  haufig,"  fiigt  er  hinzu,  um  dann  zu  versuchen,  in 


Sunufatarungo  567 

28  Fallen  eine  Entscheidung  zu  treffen.  Ein  solcher  Versuch 
scheint  mir  aussichtslos,  und  auf  keinen  Fall  kann  ich  mir  den  • 
Vorschlag  von  Davis  zu  eigen  machen,  nur  ein  halbes  Dutzend 
auf  Substantive,  die  iibrigen  auf  Verba  zu  beziehen.  Zu  den 
Ableitungen  von  Verben  rechnet  er  z.B.  das  Wort  Lehrling. 
Mir  scheint  Lehr-  hier  derselben  Art  wie  in  Lehrjahre,  Lehr- 
funge,  Lehrzeit,  und  von  Haus  aus  das  Subst.  die  Lehre  zu 
enthalten,  in  Einklang  mit  Wendungen  wie:  'in  die  Lehre 
gehen,'  'noch  in  der  Lehre  sein,'  u.  ahnl.  Im  Mhd.  findet  sich 
entsprechend  (ler(e)-kint  oder  lere-knabe  'Lehrling,  Schiller,' 
lere-kneht  'Lehrling,'  Ure-tohter  'weibl.  Lehrling.'  lere-meister 
'Lehrmeister,'  u.  a.,  neben  lire  f.  'Lehre,  Anleitung,  Unterricht.' 
Es  kommen  im  Mhd.  auch  parallele  Bildungen  mit  Urn-  im 
ersten  Gliede  vor:  lern-kint,  lern-knabe,  lern-kneht,  lern-tohter. 
Aber  sie  miissen  wol  als  Ersatzbildungen  fur  die  erstgenannten 
gelten,  um  dem  Unterschiede  zwischen  dem  Lehren  des  lere- 
meister  und  dem  Lernen  des  lereknabe  Rechnung  zu  tragen. 
Dann  zeigen  sie,  dass  die  Erinnerung  an  den  Ursprung  des  ersten 
Kompositionsgliedes  am  Erloschen  war.  Wie  der  'Lehrling' 
als  'Sohn  der  Lehre,'  so  ist  der  'Taufling'  als  'Sohn  der  Taufe' 
oder  'Taufkind'  bezeichnet.  Ist  der  Ausdruck  etwa  auffalliger 
und  die  Anschauung  schwierieger,  als  bei  dem  allbekannten 
nhd.  'Gluckskind?'  Bei  einem  Worte  wie  Fremdling  (mhd. 
vremdelinc)  haben  wir  die  Wahl,  in  dem  ersten  Gliede  das  Adj. 
fremd  oder  das  Masc.  der  Fremde  oder  das  Fern,  die  Fremde 
(vgl.  die  Feme,  die  Hohe,  die  Tiefe)  zu  sehen.  Vielleicht  legt  die 
Sprache  kein  Gewicht  darauf,  bei  diesem  Worte  zwischen  der 
Deutung  'fremder  Leute  Kind'  und  'Sohn  der  Fremde'  zu 
scheiden.  Jedenfalls  vertragt  sich  das  Suffix  -ling  sehr  wohl  mit 
abstrakten  Substantiven,  wie  in  Gunstling,  Fliichtling.  Es 
entspricht  das  ganz  der  im  Nhd.  so  haufigen  bildlichen  Ver- 
wendung  des  Wortes  Sohn  in  Verbindung  mit  abstrakten  oder 
unpersonlichen  Begriffen.  Der  Titel,  z.B.,  von  Halms  bekann- 
tem  Drama  'Der  Sohn  der  Wildnis'  ist  in  demselben  Sinne 
gemeint,  wie  das  Wort  der  Wildling.  Man  findet  reichliche 
Belege  im  Grimmschen  Worterbuche  unter  Sohn*  sowie  in 
Sanders  'Worterbuch  der  Dt.  Sprache'  unter  Sohn  2d  und  /. 
Hier  nur  eine  kleine  Auswahl  daraus:  eynen  sun  der  ungehorsam 
und  bosheyt  (Luther) ;  ihn,  des  Rummers  miiden  Sohn  (Burger) ; 
ich,  Sohn  des  Ungliicks,  zeige  mich  (Schiller,  Don  Carlos');  der 


568  Collitz 

Mensch,  der  fliichtige  Sohn  der  Stunde  (ders.,  Braut  v.  Messina) ; 
er  nannte  sich  Sohn  des  Himmels,  wie  wir  Giinstlinge  des  Clucks 
Sohne  des  Clucks  nennen  (Schiller);  der  Kiinstler  ist  zwar  der 
Sohn  seiner  Zeit,  aber  schlimm  fur  ihn,  ivenn  er  zugleich  ihr 
Zogling  oder  gar  noch  ihr  Giinstling  ist  (Schiller) ;  set  mir  gegriisst, 
du  Sohn  von  grossen  Taten  (Tieck) ;  un d  es  schivieg  der  Sohn  der 
Lieder  (Uhland).  Der  Gebrauch  ist  so  allgemein,  dass  man 
nach  ahnlichen  Beispielen  nicht  lange  zu  suchen  braucht.  Die 
beiden  folgenden,  z.B.,  gehoren  der  Zeit  nach  dem  Erscheinen 
der  genannten  Worterbiicher  an:  der  Sohn  der  Fremde  (Ztschr.  d. 
Dt.  Morgenland.  Gesellschaft,  1908,  S.  106);  als  echter  Sohn 
des  Jahrhunderts  (Kiihnemann,  Herder,  2.  Aufl.,  Miinchen  1912, 
S.  336).  Ahnlich  im  Franzosischen  der  bildliche  Gebrauch  von 
fils;  z.B.  nous  sommes  lesfils  de  la  fortune;  im  amerikan.  "Slang" 
der  von  son  in  a  son  of  a  gun,  (einer  der  Lieblingsausdriicke  des 
Kapitans  in  Stevensons  Roman  The  Wrecker),  nicht  sehr 
verschieden  von  a  big  gun,  etwa  'ein  grosses  Tier,'  d.h.  eine 
Respektsperson. 

Schliesslich  nur  noch  ein  Wort  iiber  die  Abstrakta  auf  -ung, 
im  Nhd.  ohne  Zweifel  die  beliebteste  Kategorie  der  wg-Formen, 
zugleich  aber  diejenige,  welche  von  jeher  die  Sprachforscher  in 
die  grosste  Verlegenheit  gesetzt  hat.  Grimm  gesteht  (Gramm. 
2,  364),  dass  die  Beriihrung,  welche  zwischen  dem  Begriffe  der 
Masc.  auf  -ng  und  dem  der  weibl.  Abstrakta  stattfinde,  ihm 
unklar  sei.  Und  noch  jetzt  gehen  die  Meinungen  dariiber 
auseinander,  ob  diese  Abstrakta  als  urgermanisch  gelten  durfen 
und  wie  sie  zu  erklaren  sind  (vgl.,  z.B.,  v.  Bahder,  Verbal- 
abstracta,  S.  185  ff.  und  anders  Wilmanns,  Dt.  Gramm.  II2  S. 
375).  Mir  scheint  v.  Bahder  den  richtigen  Weg  eingeschlagen 
zu  haben,  wenn  er  auf  die  altnord.  denominativen  Feminina 
auf  -ung  mit  abstrakter  Bedeutung  zuriickgreift.  Wie  er  her- 
vorhebt  (S.  187  f.),  gehoren  Worter  wie  lausung  f.  'Unzu- 
verlassigkeit,  Trug'  und  verbung  f.  'Gefolgschaft'  nicht  nur  dem 
Sprachschatze  der  alteren  Edda  an,  sondern  erweisen  sich 
durch  die  ihnen  entsprechenden  Worter  ags.  leasung,  andd. 
losunga  und  ahd.  werdunga  als  gemeinsam  westgermanisch- 
nordisch.  "Mit  der  Bildung  der  denominativen  Abstrakta 
auf  -ungd-"  fahrt  v. Bahder  fort,  "hatte  die  Sprache  den  ersten 
Schritt  getan,  mit  der  Schopfung  der  verbalen  tat  sie  den  zwei- 
ten,  der  von  ungleich  grosserem  Erfolge  begleitet  sein  sollte." 


Sunufatarungo  569 

Dieser  zweite  Schritt  wird  sich  am  leichtesten  begreifen,  wenn 
wir  annehmen,  dass  er  von  denominalen  Bildungen  ausging, 
die  man  zugleich  als  Deverbativa  verstehen  konnte.  Als 
Bildung  dieser  Art  lasst  sich  z.B.  ahd.  samanunga  "Versamm- 
lung,  Gemeinde"  (im  altesten  Ahd.  noch  in  der  Form  samanunc 
erhalten)  ansehen.  samanung(a)  ist  wahrscheinlich  von  dem 
alten  Adjektiv  saman(a)-  abgeleitet,  das  sich  als  Adverb 
(saman  'zugleich'  Tat.,  Otfr.;  vgl.  samant  Graff  6,  42,  und  das 
haufige  zisamane  'zusammen')  und  in  Ableitungen  wie  gisama.nl 
n.  'Versammlung,  Menge'  erhalten  hat.  Von  demselben 
Adjektiv  stammt  das  Verb  ahd.  samanon  'versammeln'  =  anord. 
samna,  ags.  samnian.  Es  lag  nun  nahe,  samanung(a)  und 
gi-samanunga  auf  den  in  samanon  vorliegenden  Verbalbegriff 
zu  beziehen,  und  demgemass  als  Ableitungen  aus  dem  Verbum 
aufzufassen.  Aus  dieser  Verkniipfung  ergab  sich  dann  ein 
bequemes  Vorbild,  um  Verben  auf  -on  und  weiterhin  Verben 
iiberhaupt  eine  Abstraktbildung  auf  -unga  zur  Seite  zu  stellen. 

Wie  bei  den  Masculina,  so  driickt  das  rag-Suffix  auch  hier 
urspriinglich  die  Abstammung  aus  und  verleiht  Gegenstanden 
und  abstrakten  Verhaltnissen  gewissermassen  das  Fleisch  und 
Blut  lebender  Wesen.  Nur  handelt  es  sich  hier  um  Worter,  die 
durch  ihre  Endung  und  ihre  Flexion  deutlich  als  Feminina 
charakterisiert  sind.  Um  ihren  Gehalt  voll  zu  wiirdigen  und  die 
Anschauung,  aus  der  sie  erwachsen  sind,  nachzuempfinden, 
brauchen  wir  nur  statt  des  Suffixes  den  Begriff  der  Tochter  oder 
den  allgemeineren  des  Kindes  einzusetzen.  Und  auch  hier 
diirfen  wir  uns  auf  den  bildlichen  Ausdruck  in  Poesie  und  Prosa 
berufen,  der  in  ahnlicher  Weise  das  Wesen  abstrakter  Ver- 
haltnisse  und  lebloser  Dinge  durch  den  Hinweis  auf  ihre  Her- 
kunft  uns  naher  riickt  und  anschaulich  macht.  Fiir  die  Wahl 
zwischen  dem  Femininum  'Tochter'  und  dem  Neutrum  'Kind' 
ist  dabei  vorzugsweise  das  grammatische  Genus  des  bildlich 
dargestellten  Wortes  entscheidend,  nur  dass  'Kind'  nicht  auf 
das  Neutrum  beschrankt  ist  und  namentlich  auch  als  gemein- 
samer  Ausdruck  fur  Masc.  und  Fern.  gilt.  Der  Gebrauch  des 
Wortes  Kind  in  iibertragenem  Sinne  ist  von  Rud.  Hildebrand 
im  5.  Bande  des  Grimmschen  Worterbuches  so  griindlich 
erlautert,  dass  ich  mich  der  Kiirze  halber  darauf  beschranken 
mochte,  nur  das  aus  Goethes  Faust  bekannte  Wort: 
das  Wunder  ist  des  Glaubens  liebstes  Kind 


570  Collitz 

anzufiihren,  um  im  ubrigen  auf  die  Darstellung  Hildebrands 
zu  verweisen.  Es  kommen  hier  in  erster  Linie  die  Abschnitte 
II  7.  10-12.  14  u.  15  s.v.  'Kind'  in  Betracht.  Fur  Tochter' 
steht  das  Grimmsche  Worterbuch  noch  aus;  einstweilen  gewahrt 
hier  das  Worterbuch  von  Sanders  wohl  die  beste  Auskunft. 
Dort  findet  man  Wendungen  angefiihrt  wie:  Gierigkeit,  die 
Tochter  und  Gefdhrtin  der  Unwissenheit  (Forster);  weil  die 
Bewunderung  eine  Tochter  der  Unwissenheit  ist  (Kant);  diese 
feige  Reue,  mehr  eine  schwache  Tochter  der  Unentschlossenheit 
als  der  Uberlegung  (Schiller);  Tochter chen  des  Augenblicks  ist 
das  fliichtige  Vergnugen  (Klamer  Schmidt;  das  Diminutiv  ist  hier 
wohl  nur  gewahlt,  um  Ubereinstimmung  mit  dem  gramma- 
tischen  Genus  von  Vergnugen  zu  erzielen).  In  diesen  Zusam- 
menhang  gehort  auch  der  Anfang  von  Schillers  Lied  an  die 
Freude: 

Freude,  schoner  Gotterfunken,  Tochter  aus  Elysium. 

Kants  pessimistischer  Ausspruch  iiber  die  Bewunderung  stimmt 
ja  zu  dem  nil  admirari  der  Romer.  Trotzdem  wird  man  sagen 
miissen,  dass  z.  B.  die  Bewunderung  fur  die  klassische  Kunst 
eher  ein  Wissen  auf  dem  Gebiete  der  Kunst  voraussetzt.  Die 
Sprache  nimmt  in  solchen  Fragen  keine  Partei.  Sie  bezeichnet 
das  Wort  durch  das  Abstammungssumx  zwar  auch  als  eine  Art 
Tochter,  aber  nur  als  die  des  Begriffes  'bewundern.'  Bei 
abgeleiteten  Verben  und  weiterhin  bei  Verben  uberhaupt  war 
ein  solcher  Begriff  in  allgemeiner  Form  immer  schon  durch  den 
Infinitiv  gegeben.  Man  brauchte  nur  fur  die  Infinitivendung 
das  Abstammungssumx  einzusetzen,  um  dem  allgemeinen 
Begriffe  eine  mehr  konkrete,  fassbare  Form  zu  geben.  Diese 
zuweilen  sehr  deutliche,  oft  aber  auch  kaum  merkbare  Umfor- 
mung  des  im  Infinitiv  ganz  abstrakt  hingestellten  Verbalbe- 
griffes  kleidet  die  Sprache  in  das  Bild  der  Abstammung,  oder, 
genauer  gesprochen,  in  das  Verhaltnis  der  Tochter  oder  des 
Kindes  zur  Mutter.  Hildebrand  a.  a.  O.  (Grimms  Wb.  5, 
723,  g)  schreibt  dem  Worte  Kind  unter  andren  die  Bdtg.  'Ausge- 
burt'  zu.  Mogen  wir  dieses  oder  irgend  ein  andres  Wort  an 
Stelle  von  'Tochter'  einsetzen,  um  uns  die  urspriingliche  Funk- 
tion  des  Suffixes  klar  zu  machen:  jedenfalls  werden  wir  an 
zwei  Gesichtspunkten  festhalten  miissen. 

1)  Die  Feminina  auf  -ung  stehen  ihrer  Bedeutung  nach  von 


Sunufatarungo  571 

Haus  aus  nicht  mit  dem  Infinitiv  oder  dem  allgemeinen  Ver- 
balbegriff  auf  einer  Stufe,  sondern  erscheinen  nur  als  mit  diesem 
Begriffe  verwandt  oder,  genauer  ausgedriickt,  aus  ihm  abge- 
leitet. 

2)  Ahnlich  wie  bei  den  Masculina  auf  -ling  ist  damit  fur 
die  weitere  Entwicklung  dieser  Klasse  ein  breiter  Spielraum 
gegeben.  In  der  Regel  bleibt  der  Zusammenhang  mit  dem 
Verbalbegriffe  durchsichtig,  so  dass  es  nahe  liegt,  diese  Feminina 
als  Verbalnomina  im  Sinne  eines  substantivierten  Infinitivs  zu 
verwenden.  Aber  in  solchen  Fallen  ist  ihre  eigentlich  Be- 
deutung  schon  etwas  verblasst,  und  zudem  wird  selbst  bei 
anscheinend  ganz  abstrakten  Ausdriicken  wie  Einteilung,  Uber- 
zeugung,  Verwendung  die  Stufe  des  Infinitivs  kaum  erreicht. 
Es  bleibt  wenigstens  noch  ein  Rest  gegenstandlicher  Auffassung, 
der  gleich  in  Ausdriicken  wie  eine  Einteilung  vornehmen,  die 
Uberzeugung  gewinnen,  Verwendung  finden,  hervortritt,  mogen 
auch  diese  Ausdriicke  synonym  sein  mit  den  Infinitiven  ein- 
teilen,  sick  uberzeugen,  verwendet  werden.  Rein  gegenstandlich 
aber  werden  Worter  wie  Festung,  Quittung,  Rechnung,  Post- 
anweisung  empfunden.  Hier  haben  die  Nomina  den  Verbal- 
begriff  so  vollig  verloren,  dass  man  nachdenken  muss,  um  ihn 
wieder  zu  finden.  Eine  Mittelstellung  nimmt  die  Hauptmasse 
der  tt»g-Bildungen  ein,  wie  etwa  Ausserung,  Griindung,  Rich- 
tung,  Wendung,  usw.  Der  Zusammenhang  mit  dem  Verbal- 
begriffe liegt  bier  klar  zu  Tage,  zugleich  aber  ist  die  Bedeutung 
eigenartig. 

Blicken  wir  auf  den  Ausgangspunkt  unsrer  Untersuchung 
zuriick,  so  werden  wir  nicht  zweifeln,  dass  sich  in  sunufatarungo 
ein  altertumlicher  Gebrauch  des  Suffixes  erhalten  hat,  der 
vollig  in  Einklang  steht  mit  den  alten  mythischen  Namen  der 
Heldensage  wie  Amelungen,  Nibelungen,  Wolsungen.  Von  hier 
aus  bis  zu  Wortern  wie  Rechnung  und  Quittung  ist  zwar  ein 
weiter  Weg.  Aber  hoffentlich  sind  wir  nicht  fehlgegangen. 
Und  vielleicht  haben  wir  uns  unterwegs  iiberzeugt,  dass  die 
Grammatik  gut  daran  tun  wird,  mit  der  bildlichen  Verwendung 
von  Suffixen  (insbesondere  bei  der  Ubertragung  personlicher 
Suffixe  auf  sachliche  Kategorien)  kiinftig  mehr  zu  rechnen, 
als  sie  bisher  gewohnt  war. 

HERMANN  COLLITZ. 

Johns  Hopkins  University 


MODERN  WELSH  VERSIONS  OF  THE 
ARTHURIAN  STORIES 

Although  works  dealing  with  the  Arthurian  story  in  modern 
times  are  by  no  means  as  numerous  as  those  which  cover  the 
earlier  periods,  yet  the  student  is  not  left  to  shift  entirely  for 
himself  in  this  field.  The  books  of  Professor  MacCallum  and 
Professor  Maynadier  for  example  give  all  that  the  ordinary 
inquirer  needs  to  know  about  the  English  versions  of  the  story 
down  to  the  time  of  their  publication,  and  by  a  small  amount 
of  annotating  they  may  be  brought  down  to  date.  The  former, 
too,  devotes  considerable  space  to  the  French  and  German 
versions  of  the  story  but  neither  in  these  books  nor  anywhere 
else  have  I  been  able  to  find  any  consideration  of  the  modern 
Welsh  treatment  of  it.  Yet  in  the  number  of  stories  written 
on  this  subject  in  recent  years  the  Welsh  rank  ahead  of  both 
the  French  and  the  Germans  and  not  far  behind  the  English, 
and  several  of  the  poems  are  of  decided  literary  merit.  It  is 
to  give  the  reader  who  knows  no  Welsh  some  idea  of  what  is 
being  done  in  that  language1 — "Amheus  pob  anwybod  (Every- 
thing not  known  is  doubtful),"  as  the  Welsh  proverb  says — by 
pointing  out  the  general  characteristics  of  the  movement  and 
by  giving  summaries  of  some  of  the  more  important  poems, 
that  I  have  undertaken  the  following  article.2 

The  Welsh  Arthur  stories  deserve  a  certain  amount  of 
consideration  also  from  the  fact  that  they  are  one  of  the  mani- 
festations of  that  racial  consciousness  that  is  so  strong  in  the 
Celt.  We  are  most  familiar  with  it  in  the  political  disturbances 
in  Ireland  and  in  certain  phases  of  Anglo-Irish  literature,  but 
in  the  Brythonic  countries  it  is  no  less  active.  While  both 

I  The  English  reader  can  get  some  idea  of  the  character  of  this  movement 
from  the  poems  and  plays  of  Mr.  Ernest  Rhys  who,  although  he  writes  in 
English,  is  thoroughly  saturated  with  the  Welsh  spirit. 

I 1  do  not  pretend  that  this  list  is  complete;  the  meagerness  of  the  Welsh 
collections  available  in  this  country  makes  that  impossible  to  hope  for.    I  do 
believe  however  that  the  examples  I  give  are  representative  of  the  tendencies 
existing  in  modern  Welsh  literature,  and  that  I  have  included  the  more  import- 
ant poems  dealing  with  the  Arthurian  material.    For  an  adequate  treatment  of 
the  equally  interesting  subject  of  the  Arthurian  stories  in  Brittany  I  have  not 
the  necessary  materials  at  hand  as  yet. 

572 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  573 

Wales  and  Brittany  are  desirous  of  greater  freedom  in  deter- 
mining their  own  political  and  economic  affairs,  the  movement 
in  these  countries  has  been  largely  linguistic  and  literary  rather 
than  political.  Even  in  Cornwall  there  have  been  attempts 
on  the  part  of  some  people  to  join  in  this  movement  by  re- 
viving the  ancient  language  and  poems  have  been  written  and 
speeches  made  in  Cornish,  although  these  are  probably  intel- 
ligible to  a  far  larger  number  of  people  in  Brittany  than  in 
Cornwall  itself.  But  in  the  two  former  countries3  there  is  to- 
day a  strong  and  vigorous  literature  in  the  native  tongue 
drawing  its  inspiration  either  from  the  past  history  of  the 
Celt  or  from  the  life  of  the  ordinary  Welshman  or  Breton  of 
to-day.  In  either  case  the  attempt  is  made  to  emphasize  the 
fact  that  the  Celts  are  a  race  distinct  from  either  Saxon  or 
Gaul;  to  this  purpose  the  story  of  Arthur,  the  Celtic  hero, 
lends  itself  admirably  and  it  is  in  this  way  that  it  has  been 
used  by  many  of  the  Welsh  writers. 

But  in  Wales  the  use  of  the  story  for  this  purpose  has  been 
complicated  by  the  presence  of  what  some  Welsh  critics  have 
called  "Puritanism"  (although  in  this  country  that  term  has 
lately  been  applied  to  something  very  different),  and  even 
to-day  that  influence  has  not  been  wholly  eliminated  although  it 
is  lessened.  Until  very  recently  almost  the  only  people  in  Wales 
who  possessed  any  book-learning  and  still  kept  to  the  old  lan- 
guage were  the  ministers  of  the  various  dissenting  churches. 
They  it  was  who  wrote  most  of  the  poetry — the  novel  and 
the  drama  were  considered  improper  for  Christians  to  meddle 
with — and  they  practically  controlled  the  eisteddfod  and 
dictated  the  choice  of  subjects  for  its  competitions.  Hence  it 
was  that  while  in  England  poets  were  producing  The  Idylls 
of  the  King  and  The  Defence  of  Guenevere,  the  Welsh  poets  were 

1  Wales  and  Brittany  are  doing  much  at  the  present  day  that  is  calculated 
to  draw  them  closer  together.  The  Welsh  National  anthem  Hen  Wlad  Fy 
Nhadau  has  been  adopted  by  the  Bretons  with  words  by  Taldir  (Francois 
Jaffrennou)  under  the  title  Bro  Goz  Ma  Zadou.  A  number  of  Breton  poets  have 
been  invested  at  the  Welsh  eisteddfod,  and  since  1901  Brittany  has  had  her 
own  Gorsedd  and  her  own  eisteddfodau.  At  the  eisteddfod  is  performed  the 
symbolic  "joining  of  the  sword,"  half  of  which  is  kept  by  each  nation,  in  order 
to  signify  that  the  two  peoples  are  essentially  one. 


574  Parry 

busying  themselves  with  such  subjects  as  Emmanuel?  The 
Destruction  of  Jerusalem  (Awdl  Dinystr  lerusalem)?  or  Charity 
(Elusengarwch).6  Even  in  the  latter  part  of  last  century 
Eifion  Wyn  (Eliseus  Williams}  was  denied  a  prize  for  his  poem 
on  The  Shepherd  (Y  Bugail}  because  in  it  he  made  no  mention 
of  any  but  earthly  shepherds.7  In  such  an  atmosphere  as  this 
it  was  next  to  impossible  to  write  about  King  Arthur  and  his 
court;  the  few  mentions  we  do  find  of  him  are  in  pseudo-his- 
torical works  such  as  Dewi  Wyn's  (David  Owen)  Ode  in  Praise 
of  the  Island  of  Britain  (Awdl  Molawd  Ynys  Prydairi)*  written 
in  1805,  or  Cynddelw's  (Robert  Ellis)  Ode  on  the  Race  of  the 
Welsh  (Awdl  Cenedl  y  Cymry)*  The  former  mentions  briefly 
Arthur  "whose  bright  praise  shall  long  endure"  (pery  yn  hir 
ei  glir  gl6d),  his  sword  Caledfwlch,  and  Medrod  "whose  name 
rots."10  The  latter  devotes  ten  lines  to  Arthur  and  his  defense 
of  Britain,  and  eleven  more  to  Geraint  who  fell  in  the  battle 
of  Llongborth.11  Neither  author  shows  the  least  feeling  for 
the  romantic  elements  of  the  story. 

The  only  person  of  any  note  to  deal  with  the  romantic 
portions  of  the  Arthur  story  during  the  nineteenth  century — for 
the  Can  o  Hanes  y  Canvr  Trwstan12  (Poem  from  the  Story  of  Tris- 
tan the  Lover)  of  Twm  o'r  Nant  (Thomas  Edwards)is  hardly 
Arthurian  in  spite  of  its  title — was  that  self-satisfied  literary 
rebel  Llew  Llwyfo  (Lewis  William  Lewis).13  He  chose  the 

*  Gwilym  Hiraethog.  Emmanuel;  neu  Ganolbwngc  Gweithredoedd  a 
Llywodraelh  Duw.  2  vol.  Dinbych,  1861-1867. 

8  Eben  Fardd.    Gweithiau  Barddonol,  6*c.    Bryngvvydion  [1873],  p.  46. 

6  Blodau  Arfon;  sef,  Gwaith  yr  Anfarwol  Fardd  Dewi  Wyn.     Caerlleon, 
1842,  p.  73. 

7  T.  Gwynn  Jones.    Henyddiaeth  Gymraeg  y  Bedwaredd  Ganrif  ar  Bymtheg. 
Caernarfon,  1920.    p.  33. 

8  Blodau  Arfon.    p.  1. 

9  Barddoniaeth  Cynddelw.    Caernarfon,  1877.    p.  9. 

10  Blodau  Arfon.    p.  25. 

11  Barddoniaeth  Cynddelw,  p.  51. 

12  Gwaith  Thomas  Edwards  (Twm  o'r  Nant}  Liverpool,  1874,  p.  460.    I  am 
using  the  term  "nineteenth  century"  somewhat  loosely  since  this  poem  was 
first  published  in  1790. 

» Gemau  Llwyfo,  Utica,  N.  Y.,  1868.  T.  R.  Roberts,  in  his  Eminent 
Welshmen  (p.  310)  mentions  an  edition  published  in  Liverpool  in  that  year,  but 
in  view  of  the  very  positive  statements  made  in  the  preface  to  the  Utica  edition 
(Dec.  1868)  it  seems  that  this  must  be  an  error. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  575 

subject  of  Modred's  love  for  Guinevere  and  his  consequent 
rebellion  against  his  uncle,  Arthur,  as  the  subject  for  his  poem 
Gwenhwyfar13*  submitted  to  the  eisteddfod  at  Merthyr  Tydfil 
in  1859.14  The  materials  for  this  poem,  a  "dramatic  epic  after 
the  style  of  those  of  Goethe  (arwrgerdd  dramataidd  .  .  .  megis 
Arwrgerddi  Goethe15),"  are  taken  largely  from  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth  with  the  addition  of  a  few  details  from  the  triads, 
but  the  whole  is  shaped  by  the  author's  own  invention.  The 
story  briefly  is  as  follows: 

Gwenhwyfar,  waiting  vainly  for  news  of  Arthur  and  his 
Roman  wars,  asks  Medrawd,  in  whom  she  has  the  utmost 
confidence,  to  send  ten  trusty  messengers  to  different  parts 
of  the  continent,  each  with  instructions  not  to  return  with- 
out news  from  the  king.  Medrawd  instead  gets  Iddog  to 
forge  a  letter  which  he  then  takes  to  Gwenhwyfar.  It 
purports  to  be  from  Arthur  to  Medrawd,  telling  him  that 
since  coming  to  the  continent  he  has  fallen  in  love  with 
another  woman  and  therefore  he  desires  to  have  Gwenhwyfar 
put  quietly  out  of  the  way.  Medrawd  renews  his  protesta- 
tions of  love  for  her  and  of  Arthur's  unfaithfulness,  but  in 
spite  of  the  letter,  which  she  believes  genuine,  she  rejects 
him.  Medrawd's  next  step  is  to  introduce  Rhitta  as  a 
messenger  coming  from  the  army.  Rhitta  tells  Gwenhwyfar 
that  in  the  last  battle  Arthur  was  much  changed  and  all 
laid  it  to  the  French  woman  with  whom  he  had  fallen  in 
love.  His  army  was  defeated  and  he  himself  stopped  in 
the  midst  of  an  ignominious  flight  and  committed  suicide. 
Gwenhwyfar  is  finally  won  over  to  marry  Medrawd,  whom 
she  respects  but  says  she  can  never  love.  Meanwhile 
Arthur,  who  has  defeated  the  Romans  under  Lucius  and 
Cotta  and  is  about  to  cross  the  Alps  to  Rome,  hears  of 
Medrawd's  treachery;  he  divides  his  forces,  sending  Hoel 

13»  At  the  International  Eisteddfod  held  in  Chicago  in  1893  a  prize  of  one 
hundred  dollars  was  awarded  to  the  Rev.  Erasmus  W.  Jones  for  a  translation  of 
this  poem  into  English.  So  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  discover,  this  translation 
has  never  been  printed. 

14  Evidently  the  subject  at  this  eisteddfod  was  not  fixed,  as  it  usually  is. 
See  Jones,  Llenyddiaeth,  p.  30. 

15  Gemau  Llwyfo,  p.  45.     The  translations  throughout  are  my  own.     I 
have  tried  to  make  them  idiomatic  rather  than  pedantically  literal. 


576  Parry 

with  part  of  the  army  to  attack  Rome,  while  he  himself 

returns  with  the  rest  to  Britain.    On  his  approach  Gwen- 

hwyfar  flees  to  the  nunnery  at  Afallon,  while  Medrawd 

prepares  to  resist.     He  makes  his  men  drunk  to  keep  up 

their  courage  but  they  are  defeated  and  he  himself  is  killed 

by  Arthur.     Iddog  however  mortally  wounds  Arthur  with 

an  arrow.    Arthur  is  carried  to  the  nunnery  at  Afallon  where 

he  meets  Gwenhwyfar,  forgives  her,  and  dies  in  her  arms.16 

Again  in  1866  Llew  Llwyfo  tried  his  hand  on  an  Arthurian 

subject — this  time  in  his  poem  Arthur  y  Ford  Grew11  (Arthur  of 

the  Round  Table}  which  won  the  prize  at  the  eisteddfod  in 

Chester  in  that  year.    This  poem,  as  the  author  says,18  covers 

the  same  ground  as  Gwenhwyfar  and  is  in  his  opinion  better, 

being  less  dramatic  but  more  heroic,  slower  but  more  dignified 

(yn  fwy  arwrol  ac  yn  llai  dramataidd — yn  arafach    ond    yn 

fwy  urddasol).     In  several  important  incidents  and  in  many 

minor  ones  this  poem  differs  from  the  other. 

In  the  beginning  Medrawd  holds  a  council,  decides  on 
rebellion  against  Arthur,  and  tells  that  as  a  preparation 
for  it  he  has  sent  Celdric  back  to  Germany  for  additional 
forces.  Arthur  meanwhile  is  encamped  in  the  Alps  where, 
at  a  banquet  of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  Peredur 
tells  the  story  of  Arthur's  early  battles,  his  dream,  and 
his  fight  with  the  giant  much  as  they  are  related  by  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth.  The  next  morning  comes  news  of  Medrawd's 
treachery,  and  Arthur  returns  to  Britain  with  part  of  his 
forces.  Upon  landing  he  is  everywhere  received  with  joy 
because  of  the  cruelty  of  Medrawd  and  the  pagans.  An 
example  of  this  cruelty  is  the  plot  to  kidnap  Enid  to  give 
her  as  a  bribe  to  Celdric  to  keep  him  contented.  She  is 
saved  from  him  only  by  the  fact  that  his  men  call  him  to 
lead  them  to  the  battle  and  he  is  forced  to  leave  her.  Both 
armies  march  to  Camlan;  Medrawd  is  entrenched  on  a 
hill  and  waits  for  Arthur  to  attack  him,  which  the  latter 
does  not  wish  to  do  because  of  a  warning  dream  he  has  had. 

18  Another  summary,  not  particularly  flattering,  is  given  by  Elphin  (R.  A. 
Griffith)  in  his  article  on  Yr  Arwrgerdd  Gymreig,  in  Transactions  of  the  Cym- 
mrodorion  1904-05,  p.  37. 

17  Gemau  Llwyfo,  p.  120. 

18  ibid.,  p.  119. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  577 

The  two  leaders,  each  with  seven  followers,  meet  between 
the  lines,  and  then  the  poem  ends  with  a  version  of  the 
chapter  (Book  XXI,  Chap.  IV)  which  Malory  entitles, 
"How  by  misadventure  of  an  adder  the  battle  began." 
It  seems  as  though  Llew  Llwyfo,  finding  the  time  short  before 
the  meeting  of  the  eisteddfod,  has  been  obliged  to  send  in  his 
poem  in  an  unfinished  condition.  But  both  this  poem  and 
Gwenhwyfar  are  but  fragments  of  a  longer  poem  that  he  intended 
to  write.  He  tells  us  in  the  preface  to  Arthur  y  Ford  Gron  as 
printed  in  Gemau  Llwyfo19  that  it  was  his  life's  dream  that  he 
should  be  able  to  use  both  poems  in  the  composition  of  a  Welsh 
national  epic  which  when  he  was  dust  should  become  "the 
subject  of  the  attention  of  the  nations  of  the  world,  and  should 
make  the  critics  of  the  earth  confess  that  there  is  in  the  Welsh 
language  one  great,  superior,  heroic,  and  truly  national  composi- 
tion (cyfansoddiad  mawr,  uchelradd,  arwrol,  a  gwir  gen- 
edlaethol),  one  that  can  be,  and  will  be,  translated  into  every 
literary  language  under  the  shining  sun."  He  died  without 
realizing  his  ambition,  and  it  is  perhaps  significant  of  the  at- 
titude of  his  countrymen  at  this  time  toward  the  story,  that  he 
was  unable  to  get  a  Welsh  publisher  to  accept  what  he  had  done 
in  that  direction,  and  he  was  obliged  to  come  to  the  United 
States  before  he  could  find  a  printer  for  it.20 

It  was  a  number  of  years  after  this  before  another  serious 
attempt  was  made  to  make  use  of  the  Arthur  stories.  At  the 
National  Eisteddfod  held  at  Llanelly  in  1895,  a  prize  was 
offered  for  the  best  libretto  on  the  subject  of  Myrddin  (Merlin) 
and  there  were  two  contestants.  In  1897  at  Newport  Arthur 
y  Ford  Gron  (Arthur  of  the  Round  Table)  was  again  assigned  as 
the  subject  for  an  "arwrgerdd"  (epic  or  heroic  poem).  The 
results  were  not  such  as  to  encourage  the  committee  to  repeat 
the  experiment,  but  in  1901  at  the  National  Eisteddfod  held 
at  Merthyr  Tydfil  a  prize  was  offered  for  a  "rhiaingerdd" 
(love  poem)  on  Cilhwch  ac  Olwen  (Cilhwch  and  Olwen),  and  the 
results  were  more  promising.  In  the  following  year  at  Bangor, 
Arthurian  subjects  were  assigned  for  both  of  the  main  literary 

19  p.  119. 

10  ibid.,  p.  5. 


578  Parry 

competitions,  the  "subject  of  the  chair"21  being  Ymadawiad 
Arthur  (The  Departure  of  Arthur},  and  the  "subject  of  the 
crown"  Try stan  ac  Essyllt  (Tristan  and'Iseulf).  In  1904  at 
Rhyl  the  subject  of  the  chair  was  Geraint  ac  Enid  (Geraint 
and  Enid},  and  in  1907  at  Swansea  the  subject  of  the  crown  was 
F  Great  Santaidd  (The  Holy  Grail).  In  1915  at  Bangor  William 
Morris's  Defence  of  Guenevere  was  chosen  as  the  subject  for 
translation  from  English  into  Welsh,  and  in  1918  at  Neath 
the  subject  assigned  for  the  "rhieingerdd"  was  Olwen.  From 
time  to  time  still  other  Arthurian  poems  have  been  produced 
without  the  stimulus  of  an  eisteddfodic  contest.22 

The  prize  offered  at  the  1895  eisteddfod  for  a  libretto  on 
Myrddin  was  awarded  to  Gwili  (John  Jenkins).23  Under  the 
conditions  governing  the  competition  the  poem  was  limited  to 
300  lines  and  as  the  author  has  crowded  into  it  four  acts  and 
thirteen  scenes  he  is  able  to  give  but  the  barest  outline  of  a 
story.  Myrddin  claims  the  newly-born  Arthur  of  his  father 
Uther  and  gives  him  to  Ector  to  be  brought  up.  Later  upon 
the  death  of  Uther,  Arthur,  after  all  others  have  failed,  draws 
the  sword  from  its  sheath  (o'r  waen)  and  becomes  king  of 
Britain.  In  the  third  act  he  has  been  wounded  in  battle  and 
has  lost  this  sword;  Myrddin  leads  him  to  the  lake  where  he 
receives  Caledfwlch.  In  the  last  act  Arthur  sends  to  Lodigran 
to  ask  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter  Gwenhwyfar;  he  receives 
her,  and  with  her  the  Round  Table;  he  establishes  the  Order 
of  The  Round  Table,  and  dedicates  himself  and  his  knights  to 
God,  whereupon  Myrddin  dies,  his  work  now  completed. 

21  At  the  National  Eisteddfod  a  carved  oaken  chair  is  given  as  a  prize  for 
the  best  poem  on  a  designated  subject  written  in  the  "strict  metres"  (mesurau 
caethion),  the  old  Welsh  alliterative  metres,  and  a  silver  crown  for  another 
similarly  composed  in  the  "free  metres"  (mesurau  rhyddion)  which  are  based 
on  the  English  metrical  schemes. 

22  Along  with  this  movement  has  gone  a  revival  of  interest  in  the  non- 
Arthurian  portions  of  the  Mabinogion.    In  1906  the  subject  of  the  crown  at 
Carnarvon  was  Bran-wen  ferch  Llyr  (Branwen  the  daughter  of  Lear);  in  1917  at 
Birkenhead  it  was  Pwyll  Pendefig  Dyfed  (Pwyll,  Prince  of  Dyfed);  in  1921  at 
Carnarvon  the  contestant  for  the  crown  was  given  a  choice  of  four  subjects,  one  of 
which  was  Breuddwyd  Macs  en  (The  Dream  of  Maxeri).    A  number  of  minor 
poems  of  the  same  type  have  been  produced  also. 

23  Cofnodion  a  Chyfansoddiadau  Buddugol  Eisteddfod  Llanelli,  1895.    Lon- 
don, 1898. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  579 

At  Newport  two  years  later  the  prize  for  a  "heroic  poem" 
(arwrgerdd)  on  the  subject  of  Arthur  y  Ford  Gron  was  awarded 
to  the  Rev.  T.  Mafonwy  Davies.24  Very  probably  his  poem  was 
the  best  of  the  nine  submitted,  but  one  wonders  somewhat 
whether  the  three  dissenting  ministers  (Dyfed,  Ceulanydd, 
and  Elfed)  who  acted  as  judges  based  their  decision  solely  upon 
the  poetic  merits  of  the  poem,  or  whether  they  took  into  con- 
sideration the  moral  tone  as  well.  One  of  the  judges,  who  voted 
at  first  for  another  of  the  poems,  objected  to  the  presentation  of 
the  sin  of  Guinevere  as  being  a  dark  blot  upon  this  poem,  and 
expressed  his  disappointment  at  seeing  the  author  mar  his  work 
in  this  way.25  Mr.  Davies'  poem  may  be  described  as  a  Welsh 
version  of  Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the  King  with  all  the  poetry 
left  out  of  it,  and  with  the  moral  greatly  emphasized  and  so 
labelled  that  the  most  careless  reader  cannot  miss  it.  The 
author  begins  by  asking  whether  Arthur  is  a  real  person  or  a 
poetic  creation  and  answering  his  own  question  he  says  that  he 
is  both — "His  dress  is  poetry  but  I  see  a  man  in  it";29  so  he 
"listens  at  the  closed  door  of  the  ages"27  and  gets  the  story. 
The  summary  which  the  author  prefixed  to  his  poem,  while  it 
leaves  out  little  touches  such  as  Arthur's  moistening  the  blade 
of  Caledfwlch  with  his  tears  before  striking  with  it,28  gives  a 
pretty  good  idea  of  the  general  tone  of  the  poem. 

The  heroism  of  justice  (cyfiawnder) — the  boy  Arthur — 
justice  begins  to  bud  in  his  character  in  the  house  of  Hector, 
his  foster-father — protects  the  wretched  and  his  native 
land  in  the  face  of  wrong. — Justice  gives  him  energy  and 
courage — chases  away  the  enemy — finds  the  crown  of  some 
king  under  the  feet  of  his  horse — puts  it  on  his  head — feels  a 

14  Cofnodion  a  Chyfansoddiadau  Eisteddfod  Genedlaethol  1897  (Casnewydd-ar- 
Wysg.)  p.  40. 
2S  ibid.,  p.  39. 

A  chwiliaf  fi  drwy'r  niwl  am  fylchog  gledd 

Na  chafodd  un  fudolaeth; — neu  am  fedd 

Yr  hwn  sydd  heb  ei  gladdu, — marw  na  byw, — 

Arthur?    Ai  person  neu  farddoniaeth  yw? 

Y  ddau. — Barddoniaeth  yw  ei  wisg,  ond  dyn 

A  welaf  dani.  ibid.,  p.  41. 

17  Clustfeiniaf  fi  wrth  gauad-ddor  yr  oesau  ibid. 

18  Mae'm  cledd  yn  llaith 

Gan  ddagrau  cyn  eu  taro, — galed  waith!  ibid.,  p.  45. 


580  Parry 

desire  to  be  a  king  for  the  sake  of  getting  justice  into  the 
laws. 

I.   THE    "CROWN"   AND   THE    "CROSS"=THE 

CHRISTIAN  KING. 

Coronation  day  in  Caerlleon — Myrddin  tells  Arthur 
his  story — the  justice  of  Arthur  turns  to  grief  and  anger 
after  hearing  how  he  was  begotten — offended  at  Myrddin  for 
helping  his  father  to  sin — thinks  to  remove  the  shame  of 
his  father  and  of  his  country  by  living  and  serving  justice — 
establishes  laws  to  defend  the  wretched  and  punish  the 
wicked. — Justice  in  punishments  and  rewards — joy  of  the 
weak  and  the  poor — the  responsibility  makes  Arthur's 
soul  sober. 

II.    "EXCALIBUR"—  THE    "DRAGON"  =  THE 

NATIONAL  WARRIOR. 

Treachery  and  oppression  raise  the  rudiments  of  justice 
in  Arthur's  bosom — raises  the  sword  to  defend  it — justice 
in  his  brotherly  love  and  in  his  patriotism — his  crushed 
feeling  at  administering  justice  on  his  brothers  with  the 
sword — overcomes  his  enemies  at  home — order — overcomes 
the  aggressive  foreigners  and  makes  them  acknowledge  his 
laws.  Myrddin  puts  into  rhyme  a  list  of  Arthur's  battles — 
shows  the  victory  of  justice  in  them  all — looks  at  Gwen- 
hwyfar  and  his  song  becomes  silent. 

III.  THE  "ROUND  TABLE"  =  THE 
JUST  JUDGE. 

The  Round  Table — the  kingdom  of  justice  and  order — 
the  judgment-hall  of  Arthur  where  his  justice  is  administered 
— the  needs  of  nature  and  of  man  are  supplied — the  victory 
of  justice — the  golden  age  of  Arthur. — The  soberness  and 
severity  of  Arthur  kill  the  love  of  Gwenhwyfar — she  turns 
to  Launcelot  for  sympathy — the  two  fall — the  influence  of 
their  fall  upon  the  court — others  follow  their  example. — The 
sharp  justice  of  Arthur  becomes  an  element  of  pain  in  the 
court — the  knights,  having  failed  to  live  the  laws  of  Arthur, 
seek  to  get  his  reputation  by  following  the  Holy  Grail — 
fail. — The  love  of  Arthur  for  Gwenhwyfar  turns  to  anger 
against  her — seeks  to  administer  punishment  to  her. — 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  581 

Launcelot    defends    her — war — destruction. — Arthur    con- 
tinues to  fight  and  to  administer  justice. 

IV.  "AvALON"  =  THE  IMMORTAL 
CONQUEROR. 

Arthur  sees  the  world  forsake  justice  for  a  time — night 
and  the  last  battle — kills  the  traitor  Medrod  and  his  army — 
he  himself  is  wounded  by  the  traitor — the  country  is 
sacrificed. — Arthur  sleeps  in  his  blood  near  the  altar — 
dreams — sees  that  the  life  of  sacrifice  is  the  highest — sees 
the  victory  of  justice — Gwenhwyfar,  Launcelot,  and  Myrddin 
in  their  monasteries  repent — they  return  in  their  tears  and 
seek  for  him  in  the  paths  of  justice — Myrddin  announces 
to  him  (in  his  sleep)  that  he  is  not  to  die — to  go  to  "Avalon" 
— to  return  constantly  to  fight  the  battles  of  justice  and 
to  win  them — the  country  follows  him  to  some  Avalon — 
the  immortal  conqueror. 

Certainly  the  romantic  revival  has  not  yet  touched  the  Arthur 
story  in  Wales. 

Of  the  poems  submitted  in  1902  on  the  subject  of  the  de- 
parture of  Arthur  nearly  all  were  of  this  same  type  ("solilo- 
quies, meditations,  essays  on  the  influence  of  Arthur,  Arthur 
yet  living,  etc.")-29  Among  them  however  was  one  of  a  very 
different  type — the  "Awdl"  (poem  in  the  strict  metres)  of  Mr. 
T.  Gwynn  Jones.30  This  is  a  work  of  real  poetic  merit.  It 
follows  closely  Malory's  account  of  Arthur's  departure,  and 
therefore  at  once  challenges  comparison  with  Tennyson's 
poem  on  the  same  subject  which  it  so  closely  resembles.  One 
critic  has  expressed,  although  perhaps  not  quite  fairly  to 
Tennyson,  the  essential  difference  between  the  two  poems: 
"The  two  characteristics  of  the  Awdl  are  Dramatic  Move- 
ment and  Concentration.  Two  characteristics  of  Tennyson's 
Passing  of  Arthur  are  Eloquence  and  Fine  Writing.  King  Arthur 
in  the  Awdl  is  a  dying  desperate  man.  In  Tennyson  he  is  a 

*•  Translation  of  the  adjudication  of  Sir  John  Morris  Jones.  Cofnodion  a 
Chyfansoddiadau  Buddugol  Eisteddfod  Bangor,  1902.  Liverpool,  1903,  p.  1. 

80  Both  this  poem  and  the  winning  "Pryddest"  on  Tristan  and  Iseult  were 
published  in  Cofnodion  .  .  .  Bangor,  1902,  and  both  are  reviewed  by  Elphin 
(R.  A.  Griffith)  in  Y  Cymmrodor,  XVI,  140-168.  The  Awdl  was  later  published 
in  Ymadawiad  Arthur  a  Chaniadau  Ereitt.  Carnarvon,  1910. 


582  Parry 

polished  deliberate  speaker,  with  a  tendency  to  exaggerate,  and 
a  love  of  show.  In  the  Awdl  Arthur  is  Arthur.  In  the  Idyll 
he  is  the  Poet  trying  to  be  Arthur."31  Part  of  the  terseness 
which  makes  the  Awdl  so  effective  comes  from  the  use  of  the 
"mesurau  caethion,"32  which  lend  themselves  naturally  to 
compression,  but  more  of  it  is  due  to  the  author's  deliberate 
treatment  of  his  subject.  The  story  as  he  tells  it  is  as  follows: 

Over  the  tumult  of  Camlan  rises  the  cry  "Medrawd 
is  killed,"  and  Medrawd's  army  turns  in  flight  followed  by 
that  of  Arthur,  leaving  only  two  persons  alive  on  the  field 
of  battle,  "the  one  like  a  god  of  carnage  with  his  weight 
on  the  fair  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  the  other  beside  him, 
amazed,  watching  him."33  To  Bedwyr's  inquiry  as  to  why 
he  has  left  his  men,  Arthur  replies  that  he  is  seriously 
wounded34  and  asks  to  be  helped  from  the  field.  So  Bedwyr 
carries  him  to  a  green  glade  near  by  and  lays  him  down  by 
the  stream.  At  Arthur's  command  he  takes  Caledfwlch 
(Excalibur)  to  a  near-by  lake,  but  as  he  is  about  to  cast  it 
in  he  hears  the  croak  of  a  raven,  and  this  calls  to  his  mind 
the  old  stanza, 

Hast  thou  heard  what  the  raven  sang, 

Is  it  good  or  bad  his  foreboding? 

"There  shall  be  no  strong  man  without  a  fair  sword."3* 


31  William  Hughes  Jones.    At  the  Foot  of  Eryri.    Bangor,  1912.,  p.  160. 

32  Very  brief  treatments  of  these  metres  may  be  found  in  H.  Idris  Bell's 
Poems  From  the  Welsh,  p.  9,  and  in  Alfred  Percival  Graves'  Welsh  Poetry  Old 
and  New  in  English  Verse,  p.  135.     Somewhat  more  full  are  The  Rules  and 
Metres  of  Welsh  Poetry  by  H.  Elvet  Lewis  (Transactions  of  the  Society  of  the 
Cymmrodorion  for  1902-3,  p.  76),  and  Welsh  Versification  by  Sir  John  Morris 
Jones  (Zeitschrift  fiir  Cellische  PhUologie,  IV,  106).    A  full  and  clear  explanation 
(in  Welsh)  of  the  whole  matter  is  given  by  Dafydd  Morganwg  (David  William 
Jones)  in  Yr  Ysgol  Farddol.    (5th  edition  Carmarthen,  1911.) 

Yno,  mal  duw  celanedd, 

A'i  bwys  ar  garn  glwys  ei  gledd, 

Yr  naill  oedd,  a'r  llall  ger  llaw 

A  golwg  syn,  yn  gwyliaw.  p.  4. 

M  Ebr  yntau:  "Clyw,  brwnt  y  clwyf 

Hwn;  clyw  Fedwyr,  claf  ydwyf."  p.  4. 

Glywaist  ti  a  gant  y  fran, 

Ai  drwg  ai  da'r  darogan, 

Na  fid  cryf  heb  gleddyf  glan  p.  8. 

This  triplet  is  modelled  after  the  old  Welsh  poetry  such  as  "The  Sayings 
of  the  Wise  (Chwedlau'r  Doethion)."  See  for  example  the  lolo  MSS.,  pp.  260- 
261. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  583 

Bedwyr  looks  again  at  the  sword  and  feels  that  to  throw 
it  away  would  be  a  great  mistake  and  that  Arthur  must  have 
been  distracted  by  the  pain  of  his  wound  when  he  ordered 
it  done,  so  he  hides  the  sword  in  a  cave  not  far  away  and  re- 
turns to  the  King.  As  in  Tennyson's  poem  he  is  sent  back 
a  second,  and  again  a  third  time  with  emphatic  orders  to 
throw  the  sword  into  the  lake.  On  the  third  trip  he  does 
hurl  it  away  and  a  hand  comes  up  out  of  the  water  and 
catches  it.  When  he  returns  and  tells  this  to  the  king 
Arthur  bids  him  carry  him  to  the  shores  of  the  lake.  There 
they  find  a  vessel,  not  dark  like  Tennyson's  but  brightly 
colored,  and  the  three  maidens  receive  Arthur  on  board. 
Bedwyr  asks  to  go  too,  saying  simply,  "Together  we  were 
in  battle;  together  from  the  world  let  us  escape  the  day  of 
death,"36  but  one  of  the  maidens  replies,  "Be  thou  silent, 
the  end  is  not  yet  come;  Arthur  shall  never  sink  into  the 
grave;  as  for  thee,  go,  there  is  work  yet  remaining  for  thee 
ere  thou  goest  to  rest,"37  and  as  the  boat  sails  Arthur  says 
to  him,  "Be  not  sad;  I  go  now  to  the  fine  summer  weather  of 
Afallon  to  recover,  but  I  shall  come  back  again  to  my  people, 
and  when  the  day  comes  I  shall  restore  them,  victorious, 
their  renown  among  the  nations."38  As  the  ship  sails  away 
Bedwyr  hears  sweet  voices  singing  of  Afallon,  and  then  a 
fog  slowly  spreads  over  the  lake  and  into  it  the  vessel 
vanishes  like  a  phantom. 

No  summary  of  this  poem  can  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the 
swift  movement  and  dramatic  power  of  it.  It  is  without  a 
doubt  the  best  thing  the  Welsh  have  produced  on  King  Arthur 
in  modern  times,  and  it  is  worthy  to  rank  with  the  best  in  any 
language. 

*  Ynghyd  y  buom  ynghadau,  ynghyd 

O'r  byd  caffom  ddiengyd  ddydd  angau.  p.  18. 

17  Bid  iti  dewi,  ni  ddaeth  y  diwedd; 

Arthur  byth  ni  syrth  i'r  bedd ;  tithau  dos, 

Y  mae'n  d'aros  waith  cyn  mynd  i  orwedd.  p.  18. 

*•  "Na  bydd  alarus,"  eb  o: 

"Mi  weithion  i  hinon  ha 

Afallon  af  i  wella; 

Ond  i  fy  nhud  dof  yn  ol, 

Hi  ddygaf  yn  fuddugol 

Eto,  wedi  delo  dydd 

Ei  bri  ymysg  y  broydd."  p.  18. 


584  Parry 

The  Tristan  and  IseulP9  of  R.  Silyn  Roberts,  the  other  prize- 
winning  poem  at  the  Bangor  Eisteddfod  of  1902,  is  of  a  very 
different  character.  In  the  first  place  the  metre  is  modelled 
upon  those  of  England  instead  of  on  the  old  Welsh  forms,  and 
in  the  hands  of  the  author  it  often  lacks  the  dignity  that  the 
subject  demands.  Perhaps  the  most  striking  example  of  this 
is  to  be  found  in  Part  V  where  Trystan,  sick  in  Brittany,  turns 
his  face  toward  Cornwall,  "whispering  the  anguish  of  his  breast 
into  the  ear  of  his  harp  (wrth  suo  cynni'i  fron  yng  nghlust  ei 
delyn),"40  to  a  tune  that  makes  one  think  at  once  of  Annabel 
Lee.  Again  Trystan  after  his  return  from  Ireland  sits  on  a  rock 
on  the  Cornish  coast  and  sings  to  the  breezes  a  song  of  Esyllt41 
modelled  probably  after  the  old  Welsh-song  of  Mentra  Gwen 
but  reminding  the  American  reader  of  Here's  to  Good  Old  Yale. 
That  the  poem  seems  just  as  undignified  to  the  native  Welsh- 
man is,  I  think,  sufficiently  clear  from  the  review  of  it  by 
Elphin  (R.  A.  Griffith),42  himself  a  Welsh  poet  of  considerable 
note.  Neither  the  phraseology  nor  the  metrical  form  seems 
to  him  worthy  of  the  subject.43 

In  subject  matter  too  there  is  a  great  difference  between 
the  two  poems.  The  Awdl  is  wholly  tragic,  and  the  action  is 
compressed  into  the  space  of  perhaps  an  hour.  The  Pryddest 
is  largely  romantic,  and  the  action  occupies  several  years. 

"  R.  Silyn  Roberts.  Trystan  ac  Esyttl  a  Chaniadau  Eraitt.  Bangor,  1904. 
The  text  given  there  is  changed  slightly  from  the  original  form.  (See  note 
30.) 

40  ibid.,  p.  60. 

41  ibid.,  p.  18. 

"  F  Cymmrodor.    XVI,  154-168. 

43  He  attempts  to  translate  one  couplet  so  as  to  give  the  English  reader  the 
same  impression  that  the  original  would  give  to  a  Welshman,  and  evolves  the 
following: 

His  eye  flashed  out  in  anger  fierce,  he  gave  the  Pat  a  shove, 
My  golden  harp  has  won  the  girl,  a  fiddler  she's  above. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  criticism  that  caused  the  author  to  change,  "I'r  Gwyddel 
rhoddodd  wth  (he  gave  the  Irishman  a  shove)"  to  "Ymaith,  anghenfil  rhwth 
(Away  gaping  monster)"  when  he  reprinted  the  poem  in  the  collected  edition 
of  his  works. 

Elphin  also  points  out  in  his  review  the  extent  to  which  Mr.  Roberts  is 
indebted  to  Swinburne  and  other  poets,  not  only  for  the  ideas  of  many  of  his 
best  passages  but  often  even  to  the  words  of  whole  lines. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  585 

A  summary  of  the  poem  will  perhaps  make  the  difference  more 

clear. 

In  Part  I  we  find  a  vessel  driving  toward  the  coast  of  Ireland 
in  a  March  storm  and  on  board  it  a  wounded  man. 

But  who  is  the  man?    Why  is  his  aspect  sad? 
Why  does  the  grey  of  the  grave  cover  his  splendor?44 

The  answer  to  this  question  occupies  the  rest  of  the  canto, 
and  tells  us  of  Trystan's  birth  and  rearing,  of  his  fight  with 
Morollt,  and  of  his  attempts  to  find  a  cure  for  his  wound. 
Part  II  begins  with  Trystan  sitting  on  the  Cornish  coast 
singing  of  Esyllt.  March  (Mark),  passing  by,  hears  him 
and  asks  if  she  is  more  beautiful  than  Gwenhwyfar.  Trystan 
assures  him  that  she  is,  and  tells  March  the  story  of  his 
trip  to  Ireland — how  by  his  harping  he  had  won  the  favor 
of  the  king  and  queen  and  had  been  healed  of  his  wound. 
March  falls  in  love  with  the  maiden  Esyllt  whom  he  has 
never  seen,  and  upon  the  advice  of  Trystan's  enemies  he 
sends  his  nephew  to  Ireland  to  win  her  and  bring  her  back 
to  Cornwall.  Trystan,  upon  his  arrival,  kills  the  dragon 
that  is  wasting  the  country,  and  when  he  is  brought  to  court 
to  receive  his  reward,  the  hand  of  the  princess,  Esyllt 
recognizes  in  him  her  old  teacher  Tantrys.  Later  she 
discovers  from  the  notch  in  his  sword  that  he  is  the  Trystan 
who  killed  Morollt,  but  she  quickly  finds  that  her  love  for 
Tantrys  is  stronger  than  her  hatred  for  Trystan.  Part  III 
opens  with  Trystan  and  Esyllt  aboard  ship  on  their  way  back 
to  Cornwall.  They  are  already  in  love  with  each  other  but 
neither  is  ready  to  admit  it.  Esyllt  pretends  to  be  home- 
sick and  asks  Trystan  to  sing  to  her.  When  the  song 
is  finished  Trystan  takes  the  oars — the  rowers  have  all 
fallen  asleep  from  weariness — and  drives  the  vessel  onward. 
After  a  time  Esyllt  sends  Branwen  to  sleep  and  whispers, 

Trystan  leave  your  rowing, 

And  sit  here  a  while  to  rest  yourself. 

Tell  me  the  story  of  the  love  of  Gwenhwyfar, 

And  Lancelot,  her  brave  matchless  knight.4* 

44          Ond  pwy  yw'r  marchog?    Pam  mae'n  drist  ei  wedd? 

Paham  y  gwisga'i  harddwch  Iwydni'r  bedd?  p.  6. 

44  Trystan,  gad  dy  rwyfo; 

Ac  eistedd  yma  ennyd  i  orffwyso. 

Cei  adrodd  imi  hanes  serch  Gwenhwyfar 

A  Lanselot,  eim  harchog  dewr  digymar.  p.  38. 


586  Parry 

So  Trystan  comes  and  sits  at  her  feet.  The  details  of  her 
wooing  may  be  passed  over,  but  finally  he  asks  for  a  drink. 
She  searches  in  vain  for  wine  until  finally  she  finds  a  golden 
flask  in  the  bosom  of  Branwen.  She  dances  lightly  back 
again48  and  offers  Trystan  the  drink  in  a  golden  cup,  but 
he  suggests  that  they  both  drink  from  it  at  the  same  time. 
As  they  do  so  a  shudder  runs  through  them,  for  the  wine  is  a 
love  potion  brewed  by  Esyllt's  mother  and  given  to  Bran- 
wen  to  keep  against  Esyllt's  wedding  day.  Part  IV. 
Esyllt  has  given  March  her  hand  but  not  her  heart.  Soon, 
at  the  instigation  of  Meiriadog,  Trystan  is  banished  from 
court  and  forced  to  live  in  a  cave  in  the  woods  with  only 
his  horse,  his  sword,  and  his  harp  for  company.  A  brook 
came  out  of  the  woods  and  flowed  by  the  door  of  Esyllt's 
home,  and  regularly  every  day  Trystan  sent  her  flowers 
by  this  means.47  One  day  a  knight  from  Ireland,  a  former 
lover  of  Esyllt's,  appeared  at  March's  court.  He  was  a 
wonderful  fiddler  but  he  refused  to  play  until  March 
promised  to  give  him  as  a  reward  anything  he  might  ask. 
The  next  morning  he  named  as  his  reward  Esyllt,  and  as 
March  could  not  go  back  on  his  word  the  knight  led  her 
away.  But  Trystan  who  had  heard  about  it  all  came  up 
just  as  they  were  sailing,  and  Esyllt  persuaded  the  knight 
to  return  to  take  the  supposed  minstrel  with  them.  As 
soon  as  the  vessel  landed  Trystan  seized  Esyllt  and  bore  her 
away  to  his  cave  in  the  woods;  there  they  lived  for  some 
time  until  their  hiding-place  was  discovered  and  Esyllt 
was  brought  home  and  Trystan  forced  to  flee  with  a  price 
on  his  head.  Part  V.  Trystan,  now  in  Brittany,  is  singing 
of  Esyllt,  and  Esyllt  of  the  White  Hands  thinks  that  the 
song  refers  to  her;  when  her  father  offers  her  as  wife  to 
Trystan  the  latter  is  afraid  to  refuse.  He  soon  falls  sick  and 
sends  his  squire  Dyfnant  to  Cornwall  for  Esyllt,  bidding 
him  hoist  a  white  sail  if  she  returns  with  him  and  a  black 
one  if  she  does  not.  His  wife  Esyllt  hears  of  the  plan,  and 
when  he  asks  her  the  color  of  the  returning  sail  she  says 

*  Ar  ysgafn  droed  hi  ddawnsiai'n  61  yn  llawen.       p.  42. 

47  Bob  dydd  cyn  wired  ag  fod  dydd  yn  dyfod, 

Doi  blodau  gyda'r  dwr  at  drws  yr  hafod.  p.  50. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  587 

"black."    He  dies  of  grief,  and  Esyllt  of  Ireland  comes  in 
only  to  fall  on  his  body  and  die  also. 

To  my  mind  a  much  better  poem  on  the  same  subject  is 
the  one  by  Mr.  W.  J.  Gruffydd.48  It  is  written  in  blank  verse, 
which,  while  it  never  has  in  Welsh  quite  the  dignity  that  it 
sometimes  does  in  English,  is  not  unsuitable  for  a  serious  poem. 
The  author  has  wisely  simplified  his  material  by  leaving  out  a 
great  deal  of  the  early  history  of  Trystan,  while  the  remainder 
Trystan  himself  tells,  so  that  the  whole  time  actually  occupied 
by  the  poem  is  but  a  single  night. 

Trystan  lies  sick  within  his  castle  in  Brittany,  with  his 
wife  Esyllt  of  Brittany  watching  over  him  while  overhead 
a  sentry  paces  back  and  forth  looking  anxiously  for  an 
expected  sail.  Trystan  in  his  delirium  begins  to  live  over 
again  his  past  life:  the  voyage  from  Ireland  upon  which  he 
and  the  first  Esyllt  had  drunk  together  the  love-draught 
which  on  a  sudden  changed  her  hatred  into  love;  the  night 
before  Esyllt's  marriage  which  he  spent  with  her  after  killing 
the  sentinel  who  guarded  the  house,  thus  making  necessary 
the  substitution  of  Bran  wen  for  her  on  the  wedding  night; 
his  forced  flight  to  Brittany  where  he  married  the  second 
Esyllt  that  he  might  have  flesh  to  clothe  the  soul  of  his 
dreams,49  and  finally  his  delirium  in  which  he  imagined 
himself  leaving  this  wife  and  dwelling  for  a  time  in  a  far-off 
land  with  the  first  Esyllt.  His  wife  is  so  angered  by  this 
revelation  of  his  feelings  toward  her  that,  when  the  watch- 
man comes  in  to  announce  that  a  vessel  is  approaching, 
she  tells  Trystan  that  the  sail  it  bears  is  black  and  taunts 
him  with  his  vain  hope  that  his  former  love  would  give 
up  her  station  in  Cornwall  and  come  to  him.  Trystan  dies 
of  his  grief  and  Esyllt  of  Ireland,  who  really  has  come, 
enters  soon  afterward,  falls  upon  his  body,  and  expires. 
The  last  section  of  this  poem  has  been  translated  into  English 
blank  verse  by  Mr.  H.  Idris  Bell;50  from  his  translation  the 
person  ignorant  of  Welsh  may  get  a  fairly  accurate  idea  of  the 
character  of  the  whole  poem. 

The  next  Arthurian  poem  to  receive  a  prize  at  a  National 

•  W.  J.  Gruffydd.    Caneuon  a  Cherddi.    Bangor,  1906.,  p.  75. 
.  *'  "cnawd  i  wisgo  enaid  fy  mreuddwydion."    P.  98. 
"  Poems  from  the  Welsh.    Carnarvon,  1913.    P.  61. 


588  Parry 

Eisteddfod  is  the  Geraint  and  Enid  (Geraint  ac  Enid}  of  Mach- 
reth  (J.  Machreth  Rees).61  In  subject  matter  it  follows  so 
closely  the  version  given  in  Lady  Guest's  Mabinogion  that  it  is 
unnecessary  to  say  much  about  it:  Part  I  begins  just  before 
Geraint  cets  to  the  town — he  tells  to  Ynywl  what  had  led  up 
to  his  journey — and  ends  when  Geraint  and  Enid  are  received 
at  court;  Part  II  begins  with  Geraint,  after  three  years  of 
married  life,  neglecting  his  warlike  exercises,  and  ends  with 
the  recovery  of  Geraint  from  his  swoon  and  the  killing  of 
Limwris. 

The  poem  is  written  in  the  strict  metres,  as  is  required  in 
one  submitted  in  competition  for  the  Chair,  and,  if  it  is  per- 
missible in  one  for  whom  Welsh  is  an  acquired  language  to 
express  an  opinion  on  a  point  of  Welsh  metrics,  I  should  say 
that  herein  lies  its  chief  weakness.  When  composing  in  the 
strict  metres  one  must  pay  so  much  attention  to  the  form  that 
often  the  spirit  is  sacrificed.  This  is  particularly  likely  to 
happen  in  the  "englyn"  which  is  the  most  elaborate  and  arti- 
ficial of  all  the  twenty-four  metres.  Mr.  Gwynn  Jones  seems  to 
realize  this  danger  and  in  The  Departure  of  Arthur  he  uses 
chiefly  the  simpler  forms,  and  employs  the  englyn  very  sparingly, 
but  Machreth  in  Geraint  and  Enid  uses  it,  and  forms  similar 
to  it,  very  frequently.  The  result  is  that,  although  the  reader 
may  be  filled  with  admiration  for  the  author's  mastery  of  the 
technical  details  of  his  craft,  he  finds  it  difficult  to  get  into  the 
spirit  of  the  story  and  he  longs  for  the  simplicity  of  the  Mabinog- 
ion version. 

Of  the  eight  competitors  for  the  crown  in  1907  some  merely 
retold  in  Welsh  verse  stories  that  were  much  better  in  the 
original  prose  versions;  others  cast  aside  the  old  stories  entirely 
and  wrote  simply  sermons  or  essays  in  moral  philosophy 
crammed  full  of  abstract  terms  from  beginning  to  end.62  The 
winner,  who  proved  to  be  Dyfnallt  (John  Dyfnallt  Owen),51 
avoided  both  of  these  extremes.  His  characters  exhibit  some- 

61  Geraint  ac  Enid  a  Chaniadau  Eraitt  gan  Machreth.  Liverpool,  1908. 
It  had  previously  been  published  in  Cofnodion  a  Chyfansoddiadau  Eisteddfod 
Genedlaethol  1904  (Rhyl).,  p.  21. 

"  Adjudication  of  Haweh  (David  Adams)  in  Cofnodion  a  Chyfansoddiadau 
Eisteddfod  Genedlaethol  1907  (Abertawe).  London,  1908.,  p.  48. 

» Pryddest:  "F  Greal  Santaidd."  in  Cofnodion  .  .  .  1907.,  p.  61. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  589 

thing  of  a  tendency  toward  rhetorical  speeches  but  the  plot, 
composed  largely  of  incidents  taken  from  Malory  (Books 
XIII-XVII),  is  one  that  is  not  fat  from  the  spirit  of  some  of 
the  old  Grail  romances. 

The  poem  begins  (after  a  brief  introduction)  with  the 
assembling  of  the  knights  at  Eastertime  in  Arthur's  court. 
Kai,  Gwalchmai,  Peredur,  and  Lawnslot  each  has  a  story 
to  tell  of  some  marvel  he  has  seen  or  heard  while  on  his 
journey.  Then  Galahad,  "The  Red  Knight,"  arrives  at  the 
court  and  preaches  the  Grail  Quest  to  them.  One  test 
after  another  proves  his  fitness  to  lead  this  enterprise: 
his  forgetfulness  of  self  is  shown  by  his  sitting  in  the  Siege 
Perilous  (Eisteddfa  Beryglus);  his  strength  by  drawing 
a  sword  from  a  stone  in  the  river  after  all  the  other  good 
knights  had  failed;  his  courage  by  his  conduct  in  the  tourna- 
ment in  which  he  wins  the  victory.  Finally  a  mystic  light 
accompanied  by  thunder  fills  the  hall  in  which  all  the  knights 
are  at  meat  and  all  take  this  as  a  sign  that  the  Quest  should 
begin. 

The  knights  ride  forth  from  Camelot  amid  general 
mourning  on  the  part  of  those  left  behind.  Galahad  is 
leading  and  one  after  another  the  rest  turn  aside  as  the 
fancy  strikes  them,  until  finally  he  is  left  alone.  He  comes 
to  the  Castle  of  the  Maidens  and  frees  them  from  their 
oppression.  Meanwhile  Gwalchmai  has  been  riding  on- 
ward, his  mind  full  of  worldly  things.  He  curses  himself 
for  his  folly  in  taking  the  rash  oath  of  a  Quester.  As  he 
passes  by  the  cell  of  a  hermit  the  latter  comes  out  and,  as 
though  reading  Gwalchmai's  mind,  rebukes  him  for  his  inter- 
est in  the  world  and  exhorts  him  to  seek  spiritual  things. 
Lawnslot,  too,  soon  tires  of  an  enterprise  which  he  had  under- 
taken out  of  love  for  Gwenhwyfar  rather  than  from  religious 
motives  and  he  longs  to  be  back  with  her  again.  Finally 
a  realization  of  his  sin  comes  to  him  and  just  at  this  time  he 
meets  a  hermit  who  explains  that  because  of  his  unlawful 
love  the  Grail  has  remained  hidden  from  him.  He  meets 
Galahad  who  sails  with  him  for  some  months  but  at  the 
bidding  of  the  mystic  voice  leaves  him  again.  Lawnslot 
alone  in  a  boat  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  waves  prays 
night  and  day  that  he  may  have  a  vision  of  the  Grail. 


590  Parry 

He  arrives  at  the  Grail  Castle  but  when,  not  yet  purged  of 

his  pride,  he  attempts  to  stride  into  the  sacred  chamber  he 

is  met  by  a  whirlwind  that  strikes  him  powerless  to  the 

floor  and  the  vision  is  hidden  from  him.    Peredur  has  been 

sustained  during  his  wanderings  by  the  prophecy  that  he 

should  be  one  of  the  three  knights  to  finish  the  Quest,  but 

after  he  has  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  Mount  of  Vision 

he  begins  to  doubt  his  power.     Galahad  meets  him  and 

cheers  him  and  they  ride  on  together  until  they  meet  Bwrt. 

Bwrt  tells  them  that  he  has  met  Lawnslot  returning  to  his 

old  life;  he  himself  was  sorely  tempted  by  the  delights  of  the 

flesh  but  managed  to  overcome  them.    The  three  reach  the 

Temple  of  the  Grail  and  Galahad,  the  object  of  his  whole 

life  now  accomplished,  prepares  to  die.    To  Peredur  he  gives 

his  sword  and  to  Bwrt  his  shield  and  sends  them  back  to 

tell  his  friends  that  he  has  passed  through  the  veil  that 

separates  this  life  from  the  life  eternal. 

Of  the  poems  produced  without  the  stimulus  of  a  prize 

contest  a  considerable  number  deal  with  the  expected  return  of 

Arthur  to  aid  his  people  in  the  day  when  their  need  shall  be 

greatest.64    In  most  cases  this  takes  the  form  of  the  legend  of 

Arthur  and  his  men  sleeping  in  a  cave  until  the  day  comes,  a 

belief  which  has  persisted  as  folk-lore  down  to  the  present  day 

in  many  parts  of  Wales.66    The  most  ambitious  work  on  this 

**  This  theme  has  become  associated  also  with  the  Nationalist  and  Pan- 
Celtic  movements  in  Brittany.  As  early  as  1859  Francois-Marie  Luzel  in  the 
preface  to  Bepred  Breizad  (Always  Breton)  wrote,  "Did  the  old  Bards  lie  to  us 
when  they  prophesied  the  resurrection  of  Arthur?  No,  Arthur  shall  yet  reap- 
pear in  the  midst  of  his  faithful  Bretons  and  the  old  Celtic  spirit  will  be  reborn," 
while  fidouard  Beaufils  calls  upon  Merlin  to  hear  the  cry  of  distressed  Brittany 
and  to  arise — to  keep  the  French  from  building  a  railroad  between  Guingamp 
and  Tr6guier.  Of  the  twenty-seven  poems  containing  Arthurian  references 
which  are  included  in  Le  Mercier  d'Erm's  collection  of  Breton  nationalist 
poetry  of  the  19th  and  20th  Centuries,  fourteen  make  use  of  the  theme  of  the 
expected  return  of  Arzur  (Arthur),  and  often  of  Marzin  (Merlin)  as  well,  to 
free  Brittany  from  the  yoke  of  the  French.  The  editor  himself  says  in  his 
preface,  "Quant  a  moi,  s'il  doit  nous  naitre,  un  jour,  un  O'Connel  ou  un 
Mazarik — et  il  nous  nattra! — et  si  Arthur —  qui  n'est  pas  mort — doit  se  mani- 
fester  £t  ses  fiddles  sous  quelque  nouvel  avatar,  mon  ambition  et  ma  fonction 
auront  6t6  d'etre  un  peu  comme  le  Precurseur  de  ce  Messie  des  Bretons." 

K  Sir  John  Rhys  has  collected  a  number  of  versions  of  this  legend  in  Chapter 
VIII  of  his  Celtic  Folklore,  Welsh  and  Manx. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  591 

subject  is  the  Dyfodiad  Arthur  (The  Coming  of  Arthur)™  of  the 
late  Robert  Bryan,  which  the  author  calls  an  "operetta  libretto 
on  a  Welsh  subject  (Libretto  Operetta  ar  Neges  Cymru)." 
There  are  five  solo  parts,  a  chorus  of  men — the  knights,  and  a 
full  chorus — the  Welsh  People.  A  good  idea  of  the  story  of  the 
piece  may  be  obtained  from  the  summary  which  the  author 
prefixes  to  it. 

"SCENE  I.  THE  VIGIL.  The  Welsh  people,  remembering 
the  afflictions  of  the  past  and  longing  for  the  dawning  of 
the  day  when  Arthur  and  his  knights  shall  come. 

SCENE  II.  THE  CAVE.  Arthur  and  his  armed  knights 
sleeping.  A  Covetous  Man  intrudes  into  the  cave  and  the 
bell  of  the  watchman  rings.  The  knights  arise  and  ask, 
'Has  the  day  come?'  The  watchman  replies  that  some  one 
in  search  of  riches  is  there.  Arthur  drives  him  away  to  be 
punished  and  bids  the  host  sleep  for  the  day  has  not  come. 
Then  an  Ambitious  Man  comes  in  and  the  bell  rings  a 
second  time.  The  knights  awake  again  and  ask,  'Has  the 
day  come?'  No,  the  day  has  not  dawned;  this  man  loves 
selfish  glory  (hunanglod).  Away  with  him  to  his  fate,  and 
the  knights  sleep  again.  Then  a  Patriot  appears  and  the 
bell  rings  a  third  time.  The  knights  rise  up  and  the  watch- 
man announces  that  the  day  is  dawning.  Arthur  calls  for 
the  Patriot,  and  having  heard  his  message  the  host  starts 
out  into  the  world  with  the  light  of  the  long-expected  day 
shining  on  their  arms. 

SCENE  III.  THE  DAWNING  OF  THE  DAY.  The  Welsh 
people  rejoicing  at  the  dawning  of  the  day.  King  Arthur 
and  his  knights  are  seen  marching  with  the  dawn  on  the 
eastern  hills.  They  are  greeted  by  the  Welsh,  and  the  heroes 
of  Old  Wales  and  Modern  Wales  (Cymru  Fu  a  Chymru 
Sydd)  join  in  a  song  of  triumph  on  the  dawning  of  a  new  day 
in  the  history  of  the  world."57 

M  Robert  Bryan.  Tua'rWawr.  Liverpool,  1921.,  pp.  22-32.  It  was  written 
first  in  English  for  a  musical  festival  (see  the  author's  letter  to  Sir  Owen  M. 
Edwards  concerning  it  in  Cymru,  Number  352,  p.  144),  was  apparently  never 
published,  and  was  then  rewritten  in  Welsh  by  the  original  author,  and  was 
published  in  Cymru,  No.  352,  p.  146,  before  appearing  in  Bryan's  collected 
works. 

67  Another  play  on  the  same  subject,  Y  Deffroad  (The  Awakening)  by 
Griffith  R.  Jones,  I  have  not  seen;  it  is  written  for  children's  schools. 


592  Parry 

Another  poem  on  the  same  subject  is  the  Ogof  Arthur 
(Arthur's  Cave}59  of  Mr.  T.  Gwynn  Jones,  the  fourth  of  his  Songs 
of  Yesterday  (Cerddi  Doe);  it  follows  very  closely  the  popular 
version  of  the  story  found  in  Glamorgan  by  lolo  Morgannwg.68 
A  Welshman  walking  one  day  in  London  is  stopped  by  an 
old  man  who  asks  him  where  he  cut  the  ash  wand  which  he 
carries  in  his  hand,  and  tells  him  that  beneath  that  spot  is  a 
great  cave  in  which  sleep  Arthur  and  his  men.  The  cave 
contains  a  great  treasure  but  in  its  entrance  is  a  bell  which, 
when  touched,  will  give  forth  a  sound  that  will  awaken  the 
warriors.  Arthur  will  start  up  and  ask,  "Is  it  day?"  and 
if  one  answers  "Sleep,  the  time  has  not  come,"  they  will  sink 
back  again,  but  when  one  comes  and  answers,  "Arise,  the 
day  comes,"  they  will  all  rise  up  and  Britain  shall  yet  be 
free.  The  Welshman  went  to  the  spot  indicated  and  found 
everything  as  the  old  man  had  said;  as  he  was  carrying  away 
a  load  of  the  treasure  he  touched  the  bell  which  sounded 
loudly,  but  to  Arthur's  question  he  answered,  "Sleep,  the 
time  has  not  come,"  and  the  knights  all  sank  back  to  sleep. 
Many  a  time  after  that  the  man  sought  for  the  cave  but  never 
found  it  again. 

Very  much  the  same  story  is  told  by  J.  Spinther  James  in 
his  Ogof  Arthur  Gawr  (Giant  Arthur's  Cave)60  except  that  Einion 
hears  of  the  cave  from  a  witch  whom  he  meets  in  the  hills  of 
Wales.  Other  poems  which  tell  the  same  story  but  omit  some 
of  the  details  are  Arthur  Gyda  Ni  (Arthur  with  us)*1  by  Elfed 
(Ho well  Elvet  Lewis),  and  Arthur  yn  Cyfodi  (Arthur  arising)*1* 
by  R.  Silyn  Roberts.  Still  others  who  treat  more  briefly  of  the 
same  subject,  usually  with  the  emphasis  on  the  expected  return 
of  Arthur  are  Gwmryn  (Gwmryn  Jones)  in  Codi  Baner  Cymry,83 

"  T.  G.  Jones.    Ymadawiad  Arthur.,  p.  95. 

19  J.  Rhys.  Celtic  Folklore.  II,  485.  A  very  closely  related  version  of  the 
story  (taken  from  Llyfrau  Ystraeon  Hanes  by  Owen  M.  Edwards)  has  been 
used  by  Mr.  Ernest  Rhys  for  his  English  poem  King  Arthur's  Sleep.  (Welsh 
Ballads,  p.20). 

M  Cyfattl  yr  Adroddwr.    Wrexham,  1910.,  p.  60. 

«  Caniadau  Elfed.    Cardiff,  [1909].,  p.  94. 

"  Telynegion  gan  R.  Silyn  Roberts  a  W.  J.  Grujfydd.  Bangor,  1900,  p.  78. 
Reprinted  in  Trystan  ac  Esyllt,  p.  125. 

M  Gemau  Ceredigion.    Cardiff,  n.d.    II,  63. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  593 

T.  E.  Nicholas  in  Gymru  Annwyl,  Cwyd  dy  Galonf*  D.  R.  Jones 
in  Gobaith  Cymru,65  Eifion  Wyn  (Eliseus  Williams)  in  Coel- 
certhi'r  Bannau60  and  Machreth  in  Dychweliad  Arthur*1 

A  somewhat  different  treatment  of  the  same  materials  is  to 
be  found  in  Yr  Awrhon  a  Chynt  (Now  and  Formerly)6*  by  Index 
(David  Rhys  Williams),  who  has  lived  in  the  United  States  since 
1883.  The  poem  is  wholly  humorous  in  tone  but  back  of  the 
humor  the  author  seems  to  have  had  a  serious  purpose;  like 
other  writers  who  use  the  Arthur  story  he  attempts  to  appeal  to 
the  feeling  of  Welsh  nationality,  but  he  is  interested  also  in 
other  problems  of  the  day  and  he  fits  a  discussion  of  them  into 
the  framework  of  his  story. 

The  poet  dreams  that  he  discovers  Arthur's  Cave  and  the 
watchman  leads  him  through  the  midst  of  the  host  to  the 
monarch's  presence  where  a  stool  is  placed  for  him  and  he 
sits  and  converses  with  the  king.  The  mention  of  Medrawd's 
rebellion  causes  the  poet  to  remark  that  such  a  lack  of  unity 
had  been  the  curse  of  their  race  throughout  the  ages,  and  to 
regret  that  Arthur  could  not  come  back  to  earth  to  annihi- 
late the  Dicshondafydds69  and  other  enemies  of  the  Welsh 
people.  His  inquiry  as  to  Arthur's  wound  and  the  physician 
who  tended  him  leads  to  a  comparison  between  the  simple 
living  of  the  older  time  which  needed  no  doctors,  and  our 
modern  life  which  places  so  much  reliance  upon  them  that 
it  is  a  wonder  that  any  of  us  survive.  Arthur  is  much 
heartened  to  hear  that  in  spite  of  everything  the  Welsh 
people  are  still  prospering,  for  he  has  had  no  news  of  the 
outside  world,  being  without  either  telephone  connections 
or  newspapers.  At  this  point  Gwenhwyfar  comes  into  the 
room  and  is  introduced — "This  is  my  wife!  A  friend  from 
Wales!  (Dyma'm  cydwedd!  Car  o  Gymru!)" — and  the 
talk  drifts  to  modern  education,  the  modern  woman  who 

*  Salmau'r  Werin.    Second  Edition.    Wrexham,  1913,  p.  78. 
K  Cyfaill  yr  Adroddwr.  p.  30. 

*  Tdynegion  Maes  a  Mor.    Second  Edition.    Cardiff,  [1908].    p.  110. 
*7  Geraint  ac  Enid.    p.  81. 

"  Am  Dro  i  Erstalwm.  Utica,  N.  Y.,  [n.d.]  pp.  97-125.  In  the  same  volume, 
pp.50-62,  is  a  discussion  of  some  of  the  versions  of  the  Arthur  story. 

*'  Welshmen  who  are  ashamed  of  their  nationality;  so  called  from  the  poem 
of  Glan  y  Gors  (John  Jones)  which  may  be  found  on  page  51  of  Gwaith  Clan  y 
Gors,  Llanuwchllyn,  [1905]. 


594  Parry 

rides  astride  and  is  learning  to  spit  like  a  man,  the  wonders 

of  modern  science,  and  finally  to  religion.     The  poet  is 

rather  bitter  over  the  pretensions  of  the  Catholic  Church  to 

have  a  monopoly  of  divine  grace,  and  Arthur  and  Gwenhwy- 

far  agree  with  him  that  the  faith  professed  by  the  Welsh 

people  is  by  far  the  best.     He  is  invited  to  remain  over 

night,  and  the  next  morning,  after  having  been  shown  over 

the  whole  palace,  he  is  sent  back  to  earth  with  the  best 

wishes  of  both  the  king  and  the  queen  for  his  people. 

Next  in  popularity  as  a  source  for  Arthurian  poems  is  the 

story  of  Kilhwch  and  Olwen  included  by  Lady  Guest  in  her 

Mabinogion.     The  Cilhwch  ac  Olwen10  of  Elphin  (Robert  A. 

Griffith)  is  a  somewhat  impressionistic  retelling  of  this  story. 

Cilhwch  abCilydd,  a  noble  young  warrior,  had  no  thought 
of  love  until  one  day  he  met  a  witch  who  warned  him  to 
love  while  he  was  young.  Meanwhile  Olwen,  the  beautiful 
daughter  of  Ysbyddaden  Gawr  the  bitterest  of  Arthur's 
enemies,  is  living  a  lonely  life.  Cilhwch  rides  by  followed  by 
Cai,  Bedwyr,  Gwalchmai,  Sandde  Bryd  Angel,  Trystan, 
and  Rhun.  Cilhwch  falls  in  love  with  Olwen,  and  with  the 
help  of  the  six  other  knights  he  fights  his  way  into  the 
presence  of  her  father.  Ysbyddaden  lays  upon  him  certain 
seemingly  impossible  tasks  that  he  must  perform  before 
he  can  win  Olwen.  He  rides  away  and  she  waits  lonely  for 
him,  but  at  last  he  returns  with  all  the  feats  accomplished 
and  takes  her  away  with  him. 

The  Olwen™*  of  Bryfdir  (Humphrey  Jones)  tells  very  much 
the  same  story,  dwelling  upon  the  descriptions  of  Cilhwch  and 
Olwen  as  the  Mabinogion  does;  the  various  tasks  which  play  so 
important  a  part  in  that  version  are  left  out,  and  instead  we  get  a 
certain  amount  of  sentimentality  that  was  unknown  to  the  old 
story-teller.  In  places  where  the  author  has  followed  closely  the 
Mabinogion  it  would  seem  that  he  has  used  Lady  Guest's 

70  This  poem  was  awarded  one  of  the  lesser  prizes  at  the  National  Eistedd- 
fod held  at  Merthyr  Tydfil  in  1901.  It  was  printed  in  Cofnodion  a  Chyfan- 
soddiadau  Eisteddfod  Cenedlaethol,  1901  (p.  82),  and  reprinted  in  Elphin 's 
0  F6r  i  Fynydd  a  Chaniadau  Ereill.  Liverpool,  1909.  (p.  27.) 

70»  This  was  awarded  the  prize  for  a  rhieingerdd  at  the  National  Eisteddfod 
at  Neath  in  1918.  It  is  published  in  Cofnodion  a  Chyfansoddiadau  Eisteddfod 
Genedlaethol  1918  (Castell  Nedd).  London,  1919.  p.  119. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  595 

translation  rather  than  the  original  Welsh.  For  instance,  the 
Red  Book  "a  llugorn  eliffeint  yndi"  she  renders  "his  war-horn 
was  of  ivory"  (Loth  refers  this  to  the  sword  and  translates 
"dans  la  croix  etait  une  lanterne  d'ivoire"),  and  Bryfdir  has 
"Teg  ifori  oedd  ei  udgorn";  the  Red  Book  "Os  ar  dy  gam  y 
doethost  mywn.  dos  ar  dy  redec  allan"  she  translates,  "If  walking 
thou  didst  enter  here,  return  thou  running,"  and  Bryfdir  has,  in  a 
slightly  different  construction,  "Tan  gerdded  daethai'r  porthor, 
tan  redeg  aeth  yn  ol";  the  Red  Book  "Pedeir  meillonen  gwynn- 
yon.  a  uydei  yn  y  hoi  pa  fford  bynnac  y  delhei"  is  given  by 
Lady  Guest  as  "Four  white  trefoils  sprung  up  wherever  she 
trod,"  and  by  Bryfdir  as  "  'Roedd  pedair  o  feillion  claerwynion 
yn  tyfu  lie  sangai  ei  throed,"  losing  completely  the  play  on  the 
name  Olwen.  In  other  places  however  he  approaches  the 
original  more  closely  in  his  choice  of  words. 

Certain  incidents  of  this  story  are  taken  by  other  poets  as 
the  subjects  of  poems  such  as  the  Hela'r  Tivrch  Trwythn  of 
G.  ap  Lleision  (W.  Griffiths),  which  tells  the  story  of  the  hunting 
of  the  Twrch  Trwyth,  and  Y  Morgrug™  by  Sir  John  Morris 
Jones,  which  relates  how  the  ants  recovered  the  flax-seed 
demanded  by  Ysbaddaden  Gawr,  but  the  feature  of  the  story 
that  seems  to  have  appealed  most  to  the  poets  is  the  picture  of 
the  fair  Olwen  in  whose  foot-steps  white  clovers  sprang  up. 
Sometimes  she  is  used  simply  to  bring  out  the  beauty  of  the 
poet's  own  love  as  in  the  Fy  Olwen  i  (My  Olwen)73  of  Crwys 
(W.  Crwys  Williams),  but  more  often  she  becomes  a  symbol  of 
Springtime  as  in  the  Dewiniaeth  Olwen  (The  magic  of  Olweri)u 
of  Elfed  or  the  Mabinogi™  of  Eifion  Wyn.  References  to  one  or 
the  other  of  these  characteristics  of  Olwen  are  so  numerous  in 
Welsh  poetry  that  it  is  idle  to  attempt  to  make  a  list  of  them.78 

71  Cerddi'r  Mynydd  Du.    Aberhonddu,  1913.    P.  21. 

"Caniadau.    Oxford,  1907.    P.  21. 

71  Cerddi  Crwys.    Llanelli,  1920.    P.  49. 

74  Caniadau  Elfed.    P.  54. 

7*  Telynegion  Maes  a  Mor.    P.  85. 

76  This  type  of  poem  is  well  illustrated  by  the  Olwen  of  Sarnicol  (Jacob  T. 
Thomas)  which  is  written  in  English  but  is  very  likely  to  escape  the  English 
reader  since  it  is  published  in  the  midst  of  a  volume  of  Welsh  poems.  Odlau 
M6r  a  Mynydd,  Abergavenny  [1912],  p.  94. 


596  Parry 

The  Gareth  ac  Eluned  (Gareth  and  Lynette)"11  of  Pedr  Alaw 
(Peter  Edwards),  a  musical  play  intended  for  school  children, 
is  worthy  of  comment  as  showing  the  Welsh  interest  in  this 
story  that  became  attached  to  the  Arthurian  cycle,  but  it  is 
too  well  adapted  to  its  purpose  to  deserve  extended  considera- 
tion here.  Mention  should  be  made  also  of  the  0  Ffarwel,  fy 
Arthur  Fawr  (0  farewell  my  great  Arthur)"**  of  Ceiriog  (John 
Ceiriog  Hughes),  "Written  after  reading  the  Gwenhwyfar  of 
Llew  Llwyfo,"  and  the  Molawd  Arthur,  sef  Can  y  Frenhines 
(The  praise  of  Arthur,  or  the  song  of  the  Queen)79  by  R.  J.  Derfel, 
but  a  much  better  poem  than  either  of  them  is  the  Arthur 
Gawr  (Arthur  the  Giant)90  which  is  number  three  in  the  Songs 
of  Yesterday  of  Mr.  T.  Gwynn  Jones.  This  is  a  spirited  ballad, 
full  of  color,  describing  the  assembling  of  the  lords  of  Britain 
to  select  a  successor  to  Uther  Bendragon,  their  failure  to  agree, 
and  the  suggestion  of  Myrddin  that  they  pray  for  guidance. 
The  next  morning,  there  in  the  public  square  they  found  an  anvil 
with  a  sword  stuck  through  it,  and  on  the  stone  beneath  was 
written  in  letters  of  gold,  "He  who  pulls  the  sword  out  of  the 
middle  of  the  steel  shall  be  king  of  the  island."81  No  one  could 
accomplish  this  feat  except  Arthur,  and  he  was  accordingly 
chosen  king.82 

In  one  respect  the  Welsh  Arthurian  stories  are  different 
from  those  of  any  other  nation  in  modern  times.  For  all  the 
others  Arthur  is  a  purely  imaginary  person,  good  as  the  subject 

77  Wrexham,  1911.    Another  book  prepared  for  school  children  is  Y  Seint 
Great  by  J.  M.  Edwards  (Cardiff  n.d.)  a  reader  based  on  the  Grail  stories  in  the 
Peniarth  and  Mostyn  manuscripts. 

78  First  published  in  Oriau'r  Bore  in  1862.    In  the  collected  edition  of  Ceir- 
iog's  Works  (Third  Edition,  Wrexham,  1911)  it  is  printed  on  page  65  of  the 
second  section  of  the  first  volume. 

79  Cerddi  Cymru.    Carnarvon,  n.d.    I,  210. 

80  Ymadawiad  Arthur.    P.  90. 

81  A  dynno'r  cledd  o  ganol  y  dur 
A  fydd  ar  yr  ynys  ri. 

81  In  this  paper  I  have  not  taken  into  consideration  poems  such  as  the 
Myrddin  Wyllt  and  the  Arthur  Llewelyn  of  Glasynys  (Owen  Wynne  Jones)  or 
the  Derwen  Arthur  of  Machreth  which  make  use  of  certain  Arthurian  names, 
but  belong  to  quite  different  traditions;  neither  have  I  made  any  attempt  to 
make  a  collection  of  all  the  brief  references  to  Arthurian  subjects.  There  is 
also  a  cantata  Llys  Arthur  (Arthur's  Court)  by  Joseph  David  Jones  which  I  have 
not  seen.  See  Eminent  Welshmen,  p.  261. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  597 

for  a  romantic  story  but  having  absolutely  no  connection  with 
modern  life  and  not  to  be  taken  seriously.  The  Welshman, 
however,  does  take  him  seriously.  For  the  simple  peasant  Arthur 
still  sleeps  in  the  midst  of  his  men  in  some  remote  cavern  in  the 
Welsh  hills,  while  for  some,  though  not  all,  of  the  writers  the 
return  of  Arthur  has  become  symbolic  of  the  future  in  store  for 
the  Cymric  race.  Sir  John  Morris  Jones  in  the  preface  to 
Gwladfy  Nhadau  (The  Land  of  my  Fathers}, M  a  book  of  selections 
from  Welsh  literature  and  art  published  during  the  war  for  the 
Welsh  troops,  says,  "Surely  it  will  be  noticed  how  appropriate 
to  the  present  occasion  are  many  of  the  pieces  that  relate  to  the 
patriotic  tradition  of  the  Welsh ;  the  reason  is  that  this  conflict  is 
the  old  one — between  the  spirit  of  the  Celt  and  the  spirit  of  the 
Teuton.  Britain  is  throughout  more  Celtic  than  was  formerly 
thought,  and  to-day  is  fighting  the  battle  of  the  Celt  for  freedom 
and  civilization  against  the  military  arrogance  and  barbarism 
of  the  Teuton,  (brwydr  y  Celt  dros  ryddid  a  gwareiddiad  yn 
erbyn  traha  milwrol  ac  anwariaeth  y  Teuton.)"  Among  the 
selections  printed  in  this  book  we  find  Eifion  Wyn's  Coelcerthi'r 
Bannau  in  which  occur  the  lines 

Shall  the  stranger  have  a  road  he  can  travel 

Shall  our  castles  fall? 

What  are  you  doing  in  the  cavern, 

Idle  host  of  Arthur  the  Great?84 

and  Elfed's  Arthur  Gyda  Ni  which  reads  when  translated: 

Arthur  the  Great  is  sleeping 

And  his  warriors  who  are  around  him 

Grasping  their  swords: 

When  day  shall  come  in  Wales, 

Arthur  the  Great  shall  rise  up 

Alive — alive  from  his  grave! 

When  the  land  of  men  shall  arise 

To  battle  true-heartedly 

On  the  side  of  heaven  and  man, 


M  Gwladfy  Nhadau;  Rhodd  Cymru  i'w  Byddin.    London,  [1915], 
84  Gaiff  yr  allfro  ffordd  yr  elo 

Gwympo'n  cestyll  hyd  y  llawr? 
Beth  a  wnewch  chwi  yn  yr  ogof, 

Fintai  segur  Arthur  Fawr?     Gwlad  fy  Nhadau.    P.  115. 
This  poem  is  found  also  in  Telynegion  Maes  a  Mor,  p.  110. 


598  Parry 

The  undying  ages  shall  come 
To  stand  beside  them — 
To  stand  unshaken. 

When  the  knd  shall  be  ready, 
And  greater  purity  be  the  custom, 
Arthur  shall  be  with  us: 
Where  the  polished  heart  is  found, 
There  shall  be  found  the  Holy  Grail, 
And  man  in  honor.86 

as  well  as  Dyfed's  (Evan  Rees)  rather  prosaic  Saf  i  fyny  dros 
dy  Wlad  (Stand  up  for  your  Country)  in  which  occur  the  lines 

Remember  Glendower  and  Llewelyn 
And  the  knights  of  Arthur  the  great; 
And  in  the  face  of  the  surly  enemy, 
Put  your  foot  down  hard." 

All  of  these  poems,  I  believe,  were  selected  by  the  editors  in 


•»  Mae  Arthur  Fawr  yn  cysgu, 

A'i  ddewrion  sydd  o'i  ddeutu 

A'u  gafael  ar  y  cledd : 
Pan  ddaw  yn  ddydd  yng  Nghymru, 
Daw  Arthur  Fawr  i  fyny 
Yn  fyw — yn  fyw  o'i  feddl 

Pan  ddeffry  gwlad  o  ddynion 
I  frwydro'n  gywir-galon 

0  blaid  y  nef  a  dyn, 
Daw  anfarwolion  oesau 

I  sefyll  wrth  ei  hochrau — 

1  sefyll  yn  ddS-gryn. 

Pan  fydd  y  wlad  yn  barod, 
A  glendid  mwy  yn  ddefod, 

Bydd  Arthur  gyda  ni: 
Lie  ceir  y  galon  lathraidd, 
Fe  geir  y  Greal  Santaidd, 

Ac  fe  geir  dyn  mewn  bri.         Gwlad  fy  Nhadau.  pp.  5-6. 
Printed  also  in  Caniadau  Elfed,  p.  94. 

Cofia  Lyndwr  a  Llywelyn, 

A  marchogion  Arthur  fawr; 
Ac  yn  wyneb  sarrug  elyn, 

Rho  dy  droed  yn  drwm  i  lawr. 

Gwlad  fy  Nhadau,  p.  114. 


Versions  of  the  Arthurian  Stories  599 

accordance  with  the  thought  already  quoted  from  the  preface 
to  the  book.87 

Mention  has  already  been  made  of  Robert  Bryan's  Dyfodiad 
Arthur.  This  was  written  before  the  war  but  its  author  evi- 
dently intended  it  to  be  symbolic,  for  in  1920  he  writes  con- 
cerning it,  "You  will  see  how  close  I  was  to  prophesying  the 
influence  of  Wales  upon  the  world  through  our  Prime  Minister. 
(Gwelwch  mor  agos  a  fum  i  broffwydo  dylanwad  Cymru  ar  y 
byd  trwy  ein  Prif  Weinidog.)"88  Finally  one  must  not  over- 
look the  Wedi'r  Frwydr  (After  the  Conflict)  written  in  the  midst 
of  the  great  war  by  that  promising  young  poet  Hedd  Wyn 
(Ellis  H.  Evans),  private  in  the  Royal  Welsh  Fusiliers,  B.  E.  F., 
who  soon  afterwards  lost  his  life  in  this  great  conflict  "some- 
where in  France": — 

In  the  day  of  the  battle  thou  shalt  become  as  an  old  man, 

And  thy  long  hair  the  color  of  the  foam  on  the  wave; 
Behind  thee  shall  be  the  days  of  the  battle  and  their  troubles 

Before  thee  the  blue  sea  with  its  peaceful  bosom; 
Thou  shalt.  see  on  the  crests  of  the  waves 
The  ships  of  the  maidens  from  the  beautiful  shores 

Coming  to  take  thee  like  Arthur  of  old 
Over  each  blue  wave  there  to  Avalon, 
The  war-less  isle  of  the  immortals, 

The  island  of  green  trees  and  melodious  winds; 
There  shall  be  forgetfulness  of  thy  deep  wounds; 
There  shalt  thou  have  the  joy  of  the  hall  of  the  Pendragon; 

And  thou  shalt  dwell  forever  in  the  Isle  of  the  Dawn, 

The  island  whose  ramparts  are  the  blue  sea.89 


87  Another  poem  that  might  well  have  been  included  in  the  book  is  Eifion 
Wyn's  Ochain  y  Clwyfawg  (The  groaning  of  the  Wounded)  in  which  the  dying 
soldier  sends  home  word  "that  I  died  like  Arthur  and  the  men  of  the  Round 
Table  of  old — my  face  to  the  banner,  and  my  wounds  in  my  breast."    Telynegion 
Maes  a  Mor.    P.  114. 

88  Letter  to  Sir  Owen  M.  Edwards,  dated  25/IV/20.    Cymru,  Number 
352,  p.  144. 

Yn  nydd  y  frwydr  cei  droi'n  hynafgwr, 

A'th  hirwallt  un  liw  ewyn  y  don; 
O'th  61  bydd  dyddiau'r  frwydr  a'u  cynnwr' 

O'th  flaen  bydd  glasfcr  tawel  ei  fron; 
Dithau  a  weli  ar  frig  y  tonnau 
Fadau  rhianedd  y  teg  ororau 

Yn  dod  i'th  gyrchu  fel  Arthur  gynt 
Bros  fin  pob  glasdon  draw  i  Afallon, 


600  Parry 

When  a  simple  shepherd  lad,  taken  from  his  father's  farm 
among  the  Welsh  hills  and  brought  face  to  face  with  death  in 
the  trenches  of  Flanders,  thus  uses  the  Arthur  story  for  the 
concluding  stanza  of  one  of  his  most  thoughtful  poems,  surely 
he  does  not  look  upon  it  as  an  idle  fiction ;  rather  is  it  for  him, 
as  for  so  many  of  his  countrymen,  a  symbol  of  all  the  hopes 
and  the  longings  of  the  Celtic  race. 

JOHN  J.  PARRY 

University  of  Illinois 


Ynys  ddi  frwydrau  yr  anfarwolion, 
Ynys  dan  lasgoed  a  cherddgar  wynt; 

Yno  bydd  angof  dy  glwyfau  dyfnion; 

Yno  cei  lender  Llys  y  Pendragon; 
A  thrigi  fyth  yn  Ynys  y  Wawrddydd, 
Ynys  a'r  glasfor  iddi  yn  geyrydd. 
Ccrddi'r  Bugail,  Cyfrol  Go/a  Hedd  Wyn.    Cardiff,  1918.    P.  145. 


SUPPLEMENTARY  NOTE.  The  Arthurian  Story  is  to  receive 
recognition  again  at  the  Eisteddfod  to  be  held  at  Mold  next 
summer;  among  the  subjects  recently  announced  is  "The 
Return  of  Arthur,"  (Dychweliad  Arthur),  which  is  assigned  as 
the  subject  of  the  ode  to  be  presented  in  competition  for  the 
chair. 


DIE  RELIGIONSGESCHICHTLICHE  BEDEUTUNG  DER 
ALTESTEN  RUNENINSCHRIFTEN 

Wahrend  man  bis  vor  nicht  langer  Zeit  glaubte,  der  Norden 
Europas  habe,  ehe  das  romische  Reich  seine  Fangarme  nach  ihm 
ausstreckte,  ein  von  der  iibrigen  Kulturwelt  isoliertes  Dasein 
gefiihrt,  wissen  wir  jetzt,  dass  das  niemals  der  Fall  war,  seit 
man  vom  Aufbliihen  der  menschlichen  Kultur  reden  kann. 
Handelsverbindungen  zwischen  Nord-und  Siideuropa  bestanden 
schon  in  fernen  vorgeschichtlichen  Perioden.1  Nordische  Pro- 
dukte  wie  der  Bernstein  finden  sich  bereits  in  den  Grabern  der 
mykenischen  Zeit  in  Griechenland,  und  fremde  Erzeugnisse 
wie  die  Bronze  wurden  dafur  nach  dem  Norden  eingefuhrt. 
Aber  nicht  nur  materielle  Giiter  wanderten  auf  uns  nur  teil- 
weise  bekannten  wegen  von  Volk  zu  volk,  auch  geistige  Anre- 
gungen  verbreiteten  sich  schon  in  undenklicher  Vorzeit  im 
Gefolge  der  Handelsbeziehungen  und  kriegerischen  Erobe- 
rungen.  Wir  wissen,  dass  sich  lange,  bevor  das  Licht  der 
Geschichte  liber  Europa  dammerte,  die  Ausbreitung  der  indo- 
germanischen  Sprachen  vollzog;  aber  auch  religiose  Vorstel- 
lungen  wanderten  schon  vor  Jahrtausenden  iiber  weite  Strecken, 
wie  in  geschichtlicher  Zeit  die  Weltreligionen  des  Buddhismus, 
des  Christentums  und  des  Islam.  Der  prahistorische  Kult  des 
Sonnenrads,  der  sich  vom  Orient  aus  bis  nach  Nordeuropa 
verbreitete  und  zum  christlichen  Kreuz  umgestaltet  noch  heute 
fortlebt2;  die  Doppelaxt  als  heiliges  Symbol,  das  wir  von  dem 
minoischen  Kreta  bis  in  die  jiingste  heidnische  Zeit  Nord- 
europas  verfolgen  konnen  (Thorshammer),3  sind  Beispiele  fiir 
die  Wanderungen  religioser  Symbole.  Die  in  den  verschiedenen 
prahistorischen  Perioden  abwechselnde  Erdbestattung  und 
Verbrennung  der  Toten  zeigt,  dass  sich  die  Vorstellungen  vom 
Leben  nach  dem  Tode  anderten  und,  wie  die  wandernden  Be- 
grabnisriten  beweisen,  von  Volk  zu  Volk  verbreiteten.  Ein 

1  O.  Montelius,  Der  Handel  in  der  Vorzeit.    Prahist.  Zs.  2,  249  ff. 

2  Ders.  Das  Rad  als  religioses  Symbol  in  vorchristlicher  und  christlicher 
Zeit.    Prometheus  16,  Nr.  16-18  u.  Mannus  1,  53  ff. 

1 R.  Dussaud,  Les  Civilisations  prehell&iiques  dans  le  Bassin  de  la  Mer 
figee,  2  eel.  p.  329  ff.  Sophus  M  Oiler,  Urgeschichte  Europas,  S.  59  f.  f.  O. 
Montelius,  Kulturgeschichte  Schwedens,  55  f . 

601 


602  Feist 

schwedischer  Forscher  hat  in  den  letzten  Jahren  die  Ansicht 
vertreten,  dass  die  nordischen  Felszeichnungen  Symbole  eines 
Totenkultes  sind,  der  von  Aegypten  ausgehend  sich  schon  in  der 
jiingeren  Steinzeit  nach  Nordeuropa  verbreitet  hat.4  Gewisse 
Darstellungen  auf  schwedischen  Felswanden  stimmen  auffal- 
lend  zu  Szenen  aus  dem  agyptischen  Totenbuch.  Es  ist  nicht 
ausgeschlossen,  dass  sich  auch  der  sprachliche  Niederschlag 
dieser  religiosen  Vorstellungen  aufspiiren  lasst.  Wenn  die 
Zwerge  in  Strophe  14  der  Vglospg  durch  sumpfige  Taler  "til 
jgrovalla  "ziehen,  so  wird  das  dunkle  Wort  JQrovQllr  entweder6 
als  "Sandfeld"  oder6  als  "Kampfebene"  gedeutet  (daneben 
findet  sich  iibrigens  ein  mit  dem  gleichen  ersten  Bestandteil 
JQru-zusammengesetztes  jgruskogr  "Joruwald"  in  dem  Vers  1 
des  Stjornu-Odda  draumr7;  zu  deuten  als  "Sandwald"?) 
Offenbar  steht  der  JQrovQllr  in  einem  Gegensatz  zu  dem 
iJ?avQllr,  wo  sich  die  Gotter  treffen,  von  ebenfalls  unsicherer 
Bedeutung.  Vermutlich  haben  wir  sowohl  in  JQro — wie  ij>a- 
hochst  altertumliche,  vielleicht  pragermanische  Bestandteile  zu 
erblicken.  Darf  man  bei  dem  Versammlungsplatz  der  Gotter 
an  eine  Art  'HXi><noj>  irebiov  nach  griechisch — homerisch — 
minvischer  (?)  Vorstellung  denken,  so  wird  man  bei  den  Zwer- 
gen,  die  doch  chthonische  Wesen  sind,  einen  Ort  der  Unter- 
welt  als  Treffpunkt  annehmen  mussen.  Da  bietet  sich 
nun  zur  Deutung  von  joro-der  Name  des  Feldes  Earu  aus  dem 
agyptischen  Totenglauben  (eig.  Binsenfeld?),  zu  dem  man  iiber 
die  umgebenden  Gewasser  (vgl.  die  sumpfigen  Taler  in  der 
VglospQ)  auf  einem  Kahn  gelangt8).  Sollte  der  Name  nicht  mit 
der  Vorstellung  von  dem  Jenseitsdasein  nach  dem  Norden 
gekommen  sein? 

Denn  gerade  die  von  Agypten  ausgehenden  Vorstellungen 
von  dem  Leben  nach  dem  Tode  scheinen  im  Norden  am  nach- 
haltigsten  gewirkt  zu  haben.  Die  "Bootfahrt  ins  Jenseits"9 
ist  ein  Glaubenssatz  geworden,  der  vom  Ende  der  jiingern  Bron- 

4  G.  Eckholm,  De  skandinaviska  hallristingarna  och  deras  Betydeke. 
Ymer  1916,  275  ff. 

•  Nach  K.  Miillenhoff,  Deutsche  Altertumskunde,  Bd.  5,  93. 
'  Sv.  Egilsson,  Lexicon  poeticum  ed.    F.  J6nsson.  S.  330. 

7  ebenda. 

8  A.  Erman,  Die  agyptische  Religion,  S.  93  ff. 

9  M.  Ebert,  Die  Bootfahrt  ins  Jenseits.    Prahist.  Zs.  12,  179  ff. 


Bedeutung  der  dltesten  Runeninschriften  603 

zezeit  mit  Unterbrechungen  bis  zur  Wikingerzeit  fortlebte. 
Auf  der  schwedischen  Insel  Gotland  findet  sich  eine  grosse 
Anzahl  schiffsformiger  Steinsetzungen  um  die  Gra"ber,  die  in 
Verbindung  mit  den  haufigen  Schiffsbildern  auf  Grabplatten 
und  auf  den  Felsenritzungen  keinen  Zweifel  iiber  einen  schon 
damals  herrschenden  Totenglauben,  nach  dem  man  zu  Schiff  in 
das  Jenseits  gelangt,  lassen  konnen.  Seine  glanzendste  Aus- 
gestaltung  aber  findet  er  viele  Jahrhunderte  spater  zur  Wikinger- 
zeit, wenn  der  verstorbene  Hauptling  entweder  mit  seinem  Boot 
bestattet  oder  in  ihm  auf  der  See  verbrannt  wird. 

Aber  auch  abgesehen  von  den  Jenseitsvorstellung  ist  der 
germanische  Glaube  von  orientalischen  Einflussen  nicht  frei 
geblieben.  G.  Neckel  hat  in  einem  vor  2  Jahren  erschienenen 
Buch  den  Versuch  gemacht,10  die  Gestalt  des  Gottes  Balder  aus 
dem  Bild  des  phrygischen  Gottes  Attis  herzuleiten,  der  selbst 
mit  dem  babylonischen  Tamuz  identisch  ist  und  in  dem  griech- 
ischen  Dionysos  eine  uns  vertrautere  Widerspiegelung  gefunden 
hat.  Er  durfte  sich  dabei  auf  das  Zeugnis  von  Axel  Olrik,  des 
beriihmten  nordischen  Sagen-und  Religionsforschers,  sowie 
von  Gudmund  Schiitte,  des  bekannten  Altertumsforschers, 
stiitzen,  die  ebenfalls  an  friihe  Beeinflussung  des  germanischen 
Glaubens  durch  orientalische  Vorstellungen  glauben,  worauf  in 
einem  gleich  zu  erwahnenden  Aufsatz  Neckels  hinge  wiesen  wird. 

Dieser  im  Jahre  1921  erschienene  Aufsatz  ist  fur  den  in 
der  vorliegenden  Abhandlung  verfolgten  Zweck  ganz  besonders 
interessant,  weil  G.  Neckel  die  auf  dem  Goldhorn  von  Gallehus 
aufgeloteten  Menschenfiguren  als  Gotter  orientalischen  Ur- 
sprungs  zu  deuten  versucht.11  Dieses  Horn  tragt  aber  bekannt- 
lich  eine  der  altesten  Runeninschriften,  auf  die  wir  im  Folgenden 
noch  zu  sprechen  kommen  werden.  Mogen  wir  diesen  Deutun- 
gen  immerhin  einige  Skepsis  entgegenbringen — zumal  die 
anderen  eingeritzten  Bilder  auf  naherliegende  Vorbilder 
romischer  Herkunft  zuriickgehen12 — die  Tatsache,  dass  ein 
solcher  Versuch  von  einem  so  griindlkhen  Kenner  germanischer 
Religiongeschichte  unternommen  werden  konnte,  spricht  fur 
die  in  wissenschaftlichen  Kreisen  allmahlich  durchdringende 

10  Die  Uberlieferungen  vom  Gotte  Balder.    1920. 

11  Die  Gotter  auf  dem  goldenen  Horn,  Zs.  f.d.  Altert.  58,  225  ff. 

11 0.  Almgren,  Det  runristade  guldhornets  datering.  Namn  og  Bygd,  2, 
217  ff. 


604  Feist 

Uberzeugung  von  der  Bedeutung  der  Einfliisse  des  Orients  auf 
die  Ausgestaltung  der  germanischen  Religion. 

Doch  dem  sei,  wie  es  wolle,  jedenfalls  steht  das  eine  fest, 
dass  in  verschiedenen  Epochen  der  vorgeschichtlichen  Zeit 
bis  zum  Beginn  der  geschichtlichen  Periode  Nordeuropas,  schon 
vor  dem  Eindringen  des  Christentums,  religiose  Vorstellungen 
und  wohl  auch  zugehorige  Formeln  oder  Worte  von  den  Hohen- 
lagen  uralter  Kultur  im  vorderen  Orient  zu  den  abgelegenen 
Landern  des  Nordens  gewandert  sind.  Eine  solche  Wanderung 
religiosen  Gutes  wollen  wir  nun  auch  in  den  folgenden  Zeilen 
beleuchten. 

In  vielen  urnordischen  Runenschriften  findet  sich  eine 
Formel:  "ich  (haufig+Name)  schrieb  die  Runen  (oder  ahn- 
lich)". 

Die  Inschrift  der  im  Jahre  1910  entdeckten  Grabplatte  von 
Hugl13  lautet:  ek  gudija  (oder  gudinga)  ungandiR  ih  .  .  . 
"ich  Gudja  (Gudinga),  der  zauberfeste,  schrieb  (zu  erganzen 
der  fehlende  Schluss:  die  Runen)," — oder  wenn  man  gudja 
appellativ  und  ungandiR  als  Eigennamen  fasst,  "ich,  der 
Priester  UngandiR,  schrieb.  .  .  ."  Auf  dem  Lanzenschaft  von 
Kragehul  steht:  ek  erilaR  a(n)sugisalas  muha  haitega"  ich, 
(der)  Jarl  Ansugisals  Muha  (aisl.  Moe)  heisse  ich."  Auf  der 
Felswand  von  Valsfjord  (Norwegen)  ist  zu  lesen:  ek  hagus- 
taldaR  bewaR  godagas  .  .  .  "ich  Hagestolz,  der  Knecht 
Gothags,  .  .  .  (schrieb  die  Runen).  Das  eine  der  Goldhorner 
von  Gallehus  trug  um  die  Trinkoffnung  die  Inschrift:  ek 
hlewagastiR  holtingaR  horna  tawido  "ich  Hlewagastir  der 
Holting  (oder  aus  Holt)  machte  (d.h.  liess  anfertigen)  das  Horn." 
Auf  dem  Stein  von  Einang  steht:  dagaR  baR  runo  faihido 
"DagaR  schrieb  (eig.  malte)  die  Runen."  Auch  auf  dem  Kon- 
tinent  ist  die  Formel  vertreten,  wenn  die  erste  Zeile  der  Frei- 
laubersheimer  Spange  lautet:  boso  wraet  runa  "Boso  schrieb 
den  Runen  (spruch)."  Die  Beispiele  lassen  sich  noch  vermehren, 
doch  geniigt  das  vorgelegte  Material  fur  unseren  Zweck. 

Ich  habe  schon  friiher  darauf  hingewiesen,14  dass  diese  In- 
schriftenmehr  besagen  als  die  blosse  Mitteilung,  wer  die  Runen 
angebracht  habe.  Sie  tragen  sakralen  Charakter  und,  wie  Mag- 

13  Norges  Indskrifter  med  de  aeldre  Rimer,  Bd.  II  1,  60S  ff. 
"  Arkiv  for  nordisk  Filologi  35,  243  ff. 


Bedeutung  der  altesten  Runeninschriften  605 

mts  Olsen  an  verschiedenen  Stellen16  nachgewiesen  hat,  sollen  sie 
einen  magischen  Zweck  erfiillen:  Der  Tote  soil  in  seiner 
Grabesruhe  vor  bosen  Geistern  geschiitzt  sein;  das  Grab  soil 
gegen  Grabschander  gesichert  werden;  der  Trager  eines 
Schmuckstiicks  glaubt  in  dem  runenbeschriebenen  Gegenstand 
ein  Amulett  zu  besitzen  und  dergleichen  mehr. 

Um  eine  Zauberwirkung  zu  erreichen,  sind  bekanntlich 
feststehende  Formeln  notig,  von  denen  im  Wortlaut  nicht 
abgewichen  werden  darf.  Diese  Vorstellung  ist  zu  alien  Zeiten 
und  bei  alien  Volkern  die  gleiche.  Die  Zauberformeln  wandern 
nicht  selten  von  Volk  zu  Volk;  mit  dem  Wechsel  der  Religion 
werden  wohl  die  Benennungen  alter  Gottheiten  durch  neue 
Namen  ersetzt,  aber  die  althergebrachte  Form  bleibt  die  Jahr- 
hunderte  hindurch  erhalten.16  Soil  die  Zauberwirkung  freilich 
eine  dauernd  wirksame  sein,  so  muss  die  Formel  festgehalten 
werden,  indem  man  sie  aufschreibt.  Die  aufgeschriebene  Zau- 
berformel  dient  dann  als  Schutzmittel  gegen  alle  dem  irdischen 
(und  nachirdischen)  Wohle  des  Menschen  feindliche  Machte.17 

Dieses  Ziel  suchen  auch  die  Runenmeister  durch  die  Runen- 
inschriften (neben  sonstigen  magischen  Zeichen  und  Mitteln, 
iiber  die  hier  nicht  zu  sprechen  ist)  sakralen  Charakters  und 
religioser  Form  zu  erreichen.  Die  den  Runen  zugeschriebene 
Zauberwirkung  ist  ein  Ausfluss  des  auch  schon  im  Altertum 
weitverbreiteten  Glaubens  an  Buchstabenzauber,18  und  viel- 
leicht  sind  die  Runen  in  erster  Linie  zu  solch  magischen  Zwecken 
erfunden  worden,  wie  Magnus  Olsen  annimmt.  Wir  legen  uns 
aber  ferner  die  Frage  vor,  woher  die  Ich-Formel,  in  die  der 
Zauber  haufig  eingekleidet  wird,  stammt  und  auf  welchem  Weg 
sie  nach  dem  Norden  gekommen  ist. 

Um  diese  Frage  zu  beantworten,  wollen  wir  uns  in  der  aus- 
sergermanischen  Literatur  tiber  das  Auf  treten  der  Ich-Paraklese 

16  Festschrift  zu  Vilhelm  Thomsens  70.  Geburtstag  IS  ff.;  Bergens  Museums 
Aarbok  1911,  No.  11;  Norges  Indskrif ter  med  de  ieldre  Runer,  Bd.  II,  2,  615  ff.; 
Om  Troldruner  (  =  Fordomtima  II);  Eggjum — Stenens  Indskrif t  med  de  seldre 
Runer,  Kristiania  1919. 

16  Zahlreiche  Beispiele  bei  S.  Chr.  Bang,  Norske  Heaefonnularerogmagiske 
Opskrifter  1901. — Fr.  Kraus,  Zauberspriiche  und  Krankheitssegen  aus  dem 
Rosnerland.   Korr.-Bl.  des  Ver.  f.  siebenb.  Landesk.  42/43,  39  ff.  mw  44,  25  ff. 

17  A.  Wuttke,  Der  deutsche  Volksaberglaube,  177  ff. 

11  A.  Dieterich,  A-B-C-Denkmaler  in  Kleine  Schriften  202  ff.  und  M.  Olsen 
in  den  oben  genannten  Schriften. 


606  Feist 

unterrichten.19  In  den  soteriologischen  Reden  der  oriental- 
ischen  Pseudopropheten  spielt  sie  eine  grosse  Rolle.  Ein  Bei- 
spiel  ist  uns  bei  dem  Kirchenschriftsteller  Origines  erhalten,20 
wenn  er  den  Christenfeind  Celsus  eine  solche  pf/<fis  eines  pho- 
nikischen  oder  samaritanischen  Phropheten  beginnen  lasst: 
'£70?  6  cos  efyu  77  cov  TTCUS  f)  irvevfjia  ftov  .  .  .  €700  dt  oxoaai  E\O) 
"Ich  bin  Gott  oder  Gottes  Sohn  oder  der  gottliche  Geist.  .  .  . 
ich  aber  will  euch  retten."  Sehr  haufig  ist  die  Wendung  ey<a 
dpi  in  den  johannaischen  Reden;  man  vergleiche  Job.  6,  35: 
flirev  avTots  6  'I?7<roC$  •  tytb  e£/u  6  &PTOS  TTJS  fco^j  "Jesus  sprach  zu 
ihnen:  ich  bin  das  Brot  des  Lebens;"  Job.  8,  12;  ey&  dm  TO 
<p&s  TOV  Koapov  "ich  bin  das  Licht  der  Welt";  Job.  10,  7;  ey& 
elfju.  i)  Oijpa  rS)v  irpo&a.Tu>v  "ich  bin  die  Tiir  zu  den  Schafen"; 
Joh.  11,  25:  c7w  ei/w  17  &v&<rTa.<m  nal  i)  ^"0017  "ich  bin  die  Aufer- 
stehung  und  das  Leben." 

Man  wende  nicht  ein,  dass  Jesus  sich  ganz  natiirlich  so 
habe  ausdriicken  miissen,  denn  die  Wendung  "ich  bin  .  .  ." 
findet  sich  dafiir  zu  haufig  und  gerade  an  den  Stellen  gehobener 
Redeweise,  wo  Jesus  starken  Eindruck  auf  die  Horer  machen 
will.  Eine  Zufalligkeit  erscheint  auch  deshalb  ausgeschlossen, 
weil  die  Ich-Formel  in  noch  weit  hoheres  Altertum  hinauf- 
reicht. 

In  der  mystischen  (hermetischen  wie  gnostischen)  Literatur 
des  hellenisierten  Orients  ist  die  Formel  weit  verbreitet.  So 
spricht  der  Samaritaner  Simon  beim  Verfasser  des  Martyriums 
Petri  und  Pauli21  zum  Kaiser  Nero:  anowov,  bya.61  /3a<r\eO  '  eyw 
ei/ii  6  vios  TOV  dfov  6  fK  TOV  ov(f>ayov  Kara/3as  Hore,  o  guter  Konig: 
ich  bin  der  Sohn  Gottes,  der  vom  Himmel  herabgestiegen  ist." 
Zu  der  Quelle  fur  diese  Literaturgattung  gehort  aber  (freilich 
unbewusster  Weise)  die  althellenische  Prophetie  und  auch  hier 
findet  man  die  Ich-Pradikation,  wenn  z.B.  Empedokles  in  der 
Vorrede  zu  einem  Gedicht  sagt:  "Ich  aber  wandle  jetzt  ein 
unsterblicher  Gott,  nicht  mehr  ein  Sterblicher  vor  euch." 
Offenbar  ist  seit  alter  Zeit  im  vorderen  Orient  ein  soteriologischer 
Redetypus  gang  und  gabe  gewesen,  bei  dem  die  Ich-Formel  eine 
erhebliche  Rolle  spielte.  Zahlreichen  Sedimenten  dieses  Rede- 

19  Die  meisten  Hinweise  verdanke  ich  der  Zusammenstellung  bei  A.  Deiss- 
mann,  Licht  vom  Osten,  92  ff.  und  E.  Norden,  Agnostos  Theos,  188  ff. 
«°  Buch  VIII,  8  f. 
11  Acta  apocrypha  ed.  Lipsius-Bonnet  I,  132. 


Bedeutung  der  altesten  Runeninschriften  607 

typus  begegnen  wir  im  alten  Testament;  ich  erinnere  nur  an 
den  Beginn  des  Dekalogs  (im  griechischen  Gewand  der 
Septuaginta) :  '£70)  efyu  nvpios  6  0e6s  aov.  .  .  .  "Ich  bin  der 
Herr,  dein  Gott."  Doch  hier  ist  er  nicht  original,  sondern  geht, 
wie  das  hebraische  Schrifttum  iiberhaupt,  auf  altere  Vorbilder 
zuriick. 

Wenden  wir  uns  noch  weiter  ostwarts,  so  treffen  wir  auf  die 
gleiche  Redewendung  an  vielen  Stellen  in  den  dreisprachigen 
keilinschriftlichen  Texten  der  persischen  Achameniden.  So 
sagt  Kyros  in  der  Tonzylinderinschrift22:  "Ich  (bin)  Kyros, 
der  Konig,  der  grosse  Konig,  der  machtige  Konig,  Konig  von 
Babylon,  Konig  von  Sumer  und  Akkad  .  .  .  u.  s.  w."  Darius 
I  in  der  grossen  Inschrift  von  Blsutun:23  Ich  (bin)  Darius,  der 
grosse  Konig,  Konig  der  Konige,  Konig  in  Persien  .  .  .  u.s.w." 
Ja  selbst  auf  unbedeutenden  Gegenstanden  wie  Gewichten  und 
Siegeln  steht  die  Formel,  offenbar  zum  Zwecke  der  Weihung.24 
Sein  Nachfolger  Xerxes  bedient  sich  ihrer  gleichfalls  zu  Anfang 
der  von  ihm  herriihrenden  Inschriften,25  nachdem  er  in  der  er- 
sten  Strophe  Ahuramasda  im  gleichen  feierlichen  Stil  wie  sein 
Vorganger  angerufen  hat. 

Wie  das  Schriftsystem  der  persischen  Inschriften,  so  geht 
auch  die  von  ihren  Konigen  zur  Selbstpradikation  verwendete 
Formel  auf  das  Vorbild  des  assyrisch-babylonischen  Stils 
zuriick,  dessen  religiose  Auspragung  auch  fur  den  jiidischen 
Brauch  Muster  gewesen  ist.  Wir  nahern  uns  daher  jetzt  dem 
Urquell  der  Ich-Formel,  wenn  wir  ihn  in  assyrisch-babylonischen 
religiosen  Texten  finden.  So  heisst  es  in  einem  Orakel  an 
Asarrhadon:26 

Ich  bin  die  Ischtar  von  Arbela! 

Aschschur  habe  ich  dir  gnadig  gestimmt.  .  .  . 

Ich  bin  Nebo,  der  Heir  des  Schreibmeissels. 
Preise  mich! 

Oder  in  einem  Beschworungstext — also  unseren  Runeninschrif- 
ten vergleichbar — heisst  es:27 

"  F.  H.  Weissbach,  Die  Keilinschriften  der  Achameniden,  S.  5. 
"  Ebenda  S.  9. 
M  Ebenda  S.  105. 
»  Ebenda  S.  109. 

*•  Edv.  Lehmann,  Textbuch  zur  Religionsgeschichte  S.  119. 
*r  Ebenda  S.  129  und  in  etwas  anderer  Fassung:  A.  Ungnad,  Die  Religion 
der  Babylonier  und  Assyrer,  S.  291. 


608  Feist 

Der  Beschworer,  der  Oberpriester,  bin  ich,  der  rein  ausf  iihrt  die  Zeremonien 
von  Eridu,  der  Bote  Eas,  der  vor  ihm  einhergeht,  bin  ich.    Marduks,  des  weisen 
Reinigungspriesters,  des  erstgeborenen  Sohnes  Eas,  Bote  bin  ich.     Der  Be- 
schworer von  Eridu,  dessen  Beschworung  kunstvoll  ist,  bin  ich.  .  .  . 

Wahrend  in  altester  Zeit  die  Selbstpradikation  nur  dem  Gott 
zukommt,  wendet  sie  spater  auch  dessen  Vertreter,  der  Priester 
oder  der  Priesterkonig,  auf  sich  an.  So  spricht  Hammurapi  in 
seiner  Einleitung  zu  seinem  Rechts  kodex:28 

Hammurapi,  der  Hirte,  der  von  Enlil  Berufene  bin  ich.  .  .  . 

und  nun  folgen  die  zahlreichen  Eigenschaften  und  Taten  des 
grossen  Konigs  in  einer  langen  Liste. 

Wie  bekannt,  ist  das  babylonische  Ritual  nur  der  Abklatsch 
des  alteren  sumerischen,  das  die  einziehenden  Semiten  mitsamt 
der  iibrigen  Kultur  (Schriftsystem  u.s.w.)  einfach  ubernommen 
haben.  Bei  den  Sumerern  sind  wir  somit  am  Endpunkt  der  stilis- 
tischen  Reihe  angelangt,  die  wir  vom  neuen  Testament  iiber 
die  Gnosis,  das  alte  Testament,  die  persischen  Keilinschriften 
und  die  babylonischassyrischen  Texte  bis  an  den  Anfang  der 
uns  bis  jetzt  zuganglichen  menschlichen  Kulturen  im  vorderen 
Orient  in  ununterbrochener  Reihe  verfolgen  konnten. 

Merkwurdigerweise  findet  sich  die  Ich-Pradikation  in 
ihrer  altesten,  auf  Gotter  beschrankten  Anwendung  auch  in 
Agypten.  So  heisst  es  im  17.  Kapitel  des  Totenbuchs:29 

Ich  bin  Atum,  indem  ich  allein  bin  im  Urwasser,  ich  bin  Re  in  seinem 
ersten  Erglanzen.  .  .  .  Ich  bin  der  grosse  Gott,  der  von  selbst  entstand,  der 
seine  Namen  schuf,  der  Herr  der  Neunheit  der  Gotter  .  .  .  u.s.w. 

tlber  die  Frage,  ob  ein  Zusammenhang  zwischen  der  agyp- 
tischen  und  sumerischen  religiosen  Form  der  Selbstpradikation 
besteht,  lasst  sich  nichts  Bestimmtes  sagen.  Das  Werden  der 
Kultur  in  den  Gebieten  des  Nil  und  des  Zweistromlands  ist  ja 
noch  in  Dunkel  gehiillt;  sie  tritt  uns  auf  beiden  Gebieten  beim 
Beginn  der  geschichtlichen  tJberlieferung  (4.  Jahrtausend  v. 
Chr.)  schon  auf  einer  Hohe  entgegen,  die  eine  lange  Entwicklung 
voraussetzt. 

Wohl  aber  konnen  wir  nachweisen,  dass  zwischen  der  sumer- 
ischen Form  der  Selbstpradikation  und  der  magischen  Formel 
der  germanischen  Runenmeister  ein  Filiationsverhaltnis  besteht, 

28  Edv.  Lehmann,  S.  76. 

29  Edv.  Lehmann,  S.  49. 


Bedeutung  der  altesten  Runeninschriften  609 

das  wir  im  Vorangehenden  bis  zum  vorderen  Orient  verfolgt 
haben.  Es  fehlt  nur  noch  die  Briicke  zum  germanischen 
Norden.  Diese  bieten  uns  die  in  Agypten  in  grosser  Anzahl 
zu  Tage  getretenen  Zauberpapyri. 

Zauberei  war  ja  schon  in  alter  Zeit  in  Agypten  (wie  iiberall 
auf  Erden)  im  Schwang  —  wir  denken  an  die  Zauberkiinste  Moses 
im  alten  Testament  —  und  die  Inschriften  liefern  uns  zahlreiche 
Zaubertexte.30  In  einem  Zauberspruch  des  neuen  Reiches  spricht 
Re  zu  Isis:  "Ich  bin  der,  der  Himmel  und  Erde  machte  .  .  . 
ich  bin  der,  der  das  Wasser  machte  und  die  Himmelsflut  schuf 
.  .  .  u.s.w."  mit  fortwahrenden  Ich-  Pradikationen. 

Die  Form  der  Beschworung  hat  sich  von  der  altesten  bis  in 
die  historische  Zeit  unverandert  erhalten;  nur  wurde  in  die  alte 
Form  neuer  Inhalt  gegossen,  als  die  alten  Gotter  erblassten  und 
neue  Machte  an  ihre  Stelle  traten.  Eine  hervorragende  Rolle 
spielte  der  Judengott  Jehovah  (oder  wie  er  in  den  Zauberin- 
schriften  heisst:  Jao)  in  der  spatagyptischen  Zauberei.  Sein 
Name  oder  seine  Pradikate  erscheinen  oft  in  den  griechischen 
Zauberpapyri  aus  Agypten.  Eine  ofter  angewendete  Formel 
lautet  mit  Gebrauchsanweisung:31  Aeye  Trp6s  avaroKas  •  'Eyu 
flfu  6  exi  TUIV  dvo  Xe^oujSeiv,  o.va  y.kaov  T&V  5uo  <pvffed)v,  ovpavov 
Kal  yrjs,  ri\Lov  Kal  ffe\rjVT]s  KT\. 

Sprich  nach  Osten  gewandt:  "Ich  bin  der  iiber  den  beiden 
Cherubim,  mitten  zwischen  den  zwei  Naturen,  Himmel  und 
Erde,  Sonne  und  Mond  u.s.w." 

Aehnlich  spricht  auf  einer  Tabella  defiionalis  aus  Amisos  der 
Zauberer  im  Namen  der  Gottheit:  '£700  efyu  6  neyas  b  kv  ovpavy 
naQfifjifvos  "ich  bin  der  grosse  (Gott),  der  im  Himmel  thro- 
nende."32 

Aber  auch  die  alten  Gotter  sind  nicht  untergegangen,  wie 
wir  aus  einem  andern  Papyrus33  ersehen,  wo  ein  merkwurdiger 
Synkratismus  herrscht:  'Eyu  elm  6  0e6s  &v  ouSets  6p£  ovbl  TrpoTrcrws 
6vofjLa.£ei  .  .  .  cyo>  flfjLt.  6  77X105.  .  .  tyu  efyu  '  AppoddTij  Trpovayop- 
.  .  .  ty&  *«i/zi  Kpovos  .  .  .  e<po>  et/ii  nrjTi]p  6eu>v  T) 


10  A.  Ennan,  Die  agyptische  Religion,  S.  148  ff  . 

11  C.  Leemans,  Papyri  Graeci  Lugduni-Batavi  II,  101. 

"  R.  Wiinsch,  Archiv  fur  Religionswissenschaft,  1909,  25  zitiert  bei  Th. 
Schermann,  Griech.  Zauberpapyri  in  Texte  und  Untersuchungen  zur  altschristl. 
Lit.  Ill,  4,  Bd.  II  a  (1909),  S.  44,  Anm.  5. 

»  C.  Leemans,  a.  a.  O.  S.  27. 


610  Feist 

Ka\ovfj,kvij  ovp&vios.  €70)  et/xi  'Otrtpis  6  KaXovjuevos  i;5cop.  eya>  ei/xi 
TI<?is  ij  /caXou/iej'Tj  5p6<foj  KrX.  /crX. 

"Ich  bin  der  Gott,  den  niemand  sieht  noch  leichtfertig 
nennt  (also  Jehovah)  .  .  .  ich  bin  die  Sonne  .  .  .  ich  bin 
Aphrodite  mit  dem  Beinamen  Typhe  .  .  .  ich  bin  Kronos 
.  .  .  ich  bin  die  Mutter  der  Gotter,  die  Himmlische  genannt; 
ich  bin  Osiris,  der  das  Wasser  (Totenfluss?)  genannt  wird;  ich 
bin  Isis,  die  der  Tau  genannt  wird  u.s.w.  u.s.w." 

Die  Haufung  der  Formel  €700  ei/u  schliesst  jeden  Zweifel 
aus,  dass  sie  etwa  nur  eine  alltagliche  Redensart  ohne  religiosen 
Hintergrund  sei.  Im  Grossen  Pariser  Zauberbuch34  kommt  sie 
sehroft  vor;  so  heisst  es  Zeile  573:  Xeye  01717  0-1717  °^  *  «7W  «/" 
tftyiTrXapos  vp.iv  aarr/p  /cat  fK  TOV  ftadovs  avaXajuTrwy 
"Sprich!  Stille!  Stille! 

Ich  bin  der  mit  euch  umherschweifende  Stern,  der  aus  der 
Tiefe  aufleuchtet."  Zeile  1018:  €70*  «/u  o  TTC^UKCOS  e/c  TOV  ovpavov 
"Ich  bin  der  aus  dem  Himmel  Entsprossene."  Wichtig  fur 
die  Art  des  germanischen  Runenzaubers  ist  die  Anweisung  in 
demselben  Papyrus  Zeile  1075:  ypa\l/as  fir  avrov  ^vpvav  ravra 
fju  fLfj.t  wpos  aXxi/3  aptrajuaxris  law. 

"Nachdem  du  auf  demselben  Myrrhenblatt  folgendes  ge- 
schrieben  hast:  Ich  bin  Horos,  Alkib,  Arsamoses,  Jao."  Wir 
denken  unwillkiirlich  an  die  Strophen  6  ff.  der  eddischen 
SigrdrifumQl,  wo  Anweisung  gegeben  wird,  Runen  zu  Zauber- 
zwecken  auf  die  verschiedenartigsten  Gegenstande  (Baumrinde, 
Ruder,  Hand,  Schnabel  u.s.w.)  zu  schreiben  und  dabei  den 
Namen  des  Gottes  Tyr  zu  nennen. 

Die  Nennung  eines  magisch  wirksamen  Namens  war  also 
wesentlich. 

Der  Namenzauber,  den  wir  in  Agypten  wie  im  germanischen 
Norden  treffen,  war  im  ganzen  hellenisierten  Orient  seit  alter 
Zeit  verbreitet.  Die  ihm  zu  Grunde  liegende  Vorstellung  war, 
dass  der  Name  dem  Trager  Macht  verleiht.  Wenn  ein  Gott  oder 
ein  seine  Stelle  auf  Erden  vertretender  Mensch  (Priester, 
Konig)  seinen  Namen  ausspricht  und  dies  zudem  noch  schrift- 
lich  dokumentiert,  so  weichen  die  Damonen,  die  vor  nichts  mehr 
Angst  haben  als  vor  einem  sie  zwingenden  und  bindenden 
Namen.  Es  unterliegt  keinem  Zweifel,  dass  die  Goten,  als  sie 

84  Heransgegeben  von  C.  Wessely,  Griechische  Zauberpapyri.  Denk- 
schriften  der  Wiener  Akademie  der  Wiss.  Philos.-Hist.  Kl.  36,  II,  27  S. 


Bedeutung  der  dltesten  Runeninschriften  611 

in  die  Kulturzone  des  vorderen  Orients  einbezogen  wurden, 
diesen  Namenzauber  (wie  auch  den  Buchstaben-und  Zahlenzau- 
ber)  kennen  lernten  und  ihn  mit  den  wohl  bei  ihnen  erfundenen 
Runen  ausiibten.  Auf  den  nie  unterbrochenen  Verbin- 
dungswegen  zwischen  ihnen  und  ihren  germanischen  Stammes- 
genossen  gelangten  dann  Runen  und  Runenzauber  nach  dem 
Norden,  wo  uns  die  Zeugnisse  dafiir  erhalten  blieben,  weil  hier 
das  jedem  Zauber  feindliche  Christentum  erst  spat  seinen 
Einzug  hielt  und  die  volkstiimlichen  Brauche  viel  schonender 
behandelte  als  auf  dem  Kontinent.  Doch  wie  die  Inschrif  t  der 
Freilaubersheimer  Spange  zeigt,  fehlt  ein  Zeugnis  fiir  die 
zauberische  Ich-Formel  auch  hier  nicht. 

Wenn  wir  im  germanischen  Norden  die  spatesten  Zeugnisse 
einer  Jahrtausende  alten  religiosen  Tradition  finden,  die  ihren 
Ursprung  im  Zweistromland  (Mesopotamien)  hat  so  stellt  sich 
diese  Erscheinung  in  Parallele  zu  der  fiir  die  germanische  Urge- 
schichte  wichtigsten  tJberlieferung  aus  dem  klassischen  Alter- 
tum,  der  Germania  des  Tacitus.  Auch  dieses  Buch  steht  als 
letztes  und  spatestes  Glied  einer  langen  Reihe  da,  die  bei  den 
jonischen  Historiographen  des  6.  Jahrhunderts  vor  Christus 
beginnt  und  bei  alien  Geschichtswerken  griechischen  Geistes 
als  unumgangliche  Beigabe  geschatzt  wurde,  der  etheno- 
graphischen  Schilderung  der  behandelten  Volker.  Auch  in  die 
Germania  sind  weitverbreitete  literarische  tJberlieferungen  des 
Altertums  in  reicher  Fiille  eingestromt,  wie  Eduard  Norden 
in  einem  unlangst  erschienenen  gehaltvollen  Buche  gezeigt 
hat.35  So  verkniipft  sich  der  heutigen  wissenschaftlichen 
Erkenntnis  der  zeitlich  und  raumlich  feme  Orient  mit  dem 
germanischen  Norden  auf  mannigfachen  Wegen.  Der  Gedanke 
eines  isolierten  Daseins  der  Germanen  vor  ihrer  Beruhrung  mit 
dem  Romertum,  der  so  lange  die  geschichtlichen  Darstellungen 
beherrscht  hat,  muss  endgiiltig  fallen  gelassen  werden.  Auch 
fiir  die  Germanen  gilt  zum  Teil  wenigstens  was  Adolf  Erman 
jiingst  wieder  in  einer  Akademierede36  von  dem  geistigen  Leben 
des  Abendlands  gesagt  hat: 

Wir  leben  doch  alle  von  dem  grossen  Strom  der  Kultur, 
der  seinen  Ursprung  im  Orient  hat. 

Berlin  SIGMUND  FEIST 

*  Die  germanische  Urgeschichte  in  Tacitus  Germania.  Leipzig-Berlin 
1920.  Zweiter  Abdruck  mit  Nachtragen  1922. 

88  Sitzungsberichte  der  Preuss.  Akademie  der  Wiss.  1922,  S.  XXVIII. 


SEMANTIC  NOTES 

NE.  baffle 

The  NED.,  after  discussing  the  possible  influence  of  Fr. 
beffler  'deceive,  mock  or  gull  with  faire  words'  (Cotgr.)  and  Fr. 
bajjouer  'hoodwink,  deceive,  besmeare'  (Cotgr.)  as  well  as  the 
Scotch  bauchle  'treat  contemptuously'  on  NE.  baffle,  comes  to 
the  conclusion  that  there  is  a  confusion  of  two  or  possibly  three 
stems  in  the  word.  This  confusion  is  not  one  of  phonetic  form 
but  one  of  the  variety  of  meanings  which  apparently  cannot  be 
explained  from  any  one  of  the  above  words.  NE.  baffle  has  the 
following  meanings,  the  earliest  dating  from  the  16th  century 
(I  give  them  as  arranged  by  the  NED.):  'disgrace,  subject  to 
public  disgrace  of  infamy;  vilify,  run  down;  cheat,  juggle, 
bewilder,  confound,  foil;  hoodwink,  gull,  cheat,  juggle,  shuffle, 
quibble;  bewilder,  confuse,  confound;  frustrate,  foil;  struggle 
ineffectually,  exert  oneself  in  a  futile  manner.'  The  arrangement 
of  the  meanings  here  given  is  obviously  an  accommodation  to 
the  three  assumed  sources.  But  the  two  French  sources  are 
brought  in  apparently  only  to  explain  the  meanings  'cheat, 
deceive.'  Other  meanings  such  as,  'bewilder,  confound,  confuse, 
frustrate,  etc.'  are  left  out  of  account  and  no  explanation  of 
them  is  attempted. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  French  words  have  influenced  NE. 
baffle  in  any  way.  Of  the  underlying  meanings  of  these  we  have 
no  trace  in  the  English  word.  A  similarity  of  phonetic  form  and 
the  secondary  meaning  'deceive'  are  hardly  sufficient  proof  of 
influence. 

We  need  not  go  outside  of  the.  NE.  and  the  NE.  dialects  for 
an  explanation  of  most  of  the  meanings  of  NE.  baffle.  Scotch 
bauchle  mentioned  by  Skeat  and  the  NED.  as  furnishing  some 
of  the  earliest  meanings  'disgrace,  vilify,  etc.,'  is  probably  the 
source  of  most  of  the  meanings.  According  to  Jamieson  (Scotch 
Etym.  Diet.)  it  has  the  following  meanings:  'wrench,  distort, 
put  out  of  shape;  treat  contemptuously,  vilify,  bauchle,  bachle 
'shamble,  move  loosely  on  the  hinder  legs,  walk  as  those  who 
have  flat  soles,  sb.  whatsoever  is  treated  with  contempt  or  dis- 
regard; a  mean,  feeble  creature;  an  awkward,  clumsy  person,' 

612 


Semantic  Notes  613 

bauch  'weak,  tired  out,  exhausted.'  Wright,  NE.  dialect  Diet, 
gives  baffle  these  meanings:  'confuse,  perplex,  worry,  annoy; 
impede,  obstruct,  thwart,  balk;  twist  irregularly,  entangle; 
cheat,  humbug,  make  a  fool  of;  insult  bully,  tease;  strike,  beat 
In  the  supplement  of  his  Dictionary  Wright  further  adds: 
baffle  'confuse,  discredit;  flutter,  beat  the  wings,'  baffled  'con- 
fused, rendered  stupid.'  From  a  comparison  of  the  above,  it 
would  appear  that  the  underlying  meaning  of  the  word  was  a 
movement  from  side  to  side  as  in  walking  in  a  slovenly  manner 
or  with  a  shambling  gait.  This  meaning  of  the  word  Jamieson 
calls  attention  to  more  particularly  by  citing  a  number  of 
Scotch  dialect  words,  all  with  the  ending-chle,  such  as:  jauchle, 
scrauchle,  shauchle,  trauchle,  trachle,  wauchle,  hauchle,  hychle, 
and  with  such  meanings  as:  'move  from  side  to  side  in  walking, 
like  a  young  child;  walk  with  a  shuffling  gait,  as  with  trailing 
feet,  as  with  feeble  joints,  etc.'  The  suffix  seems  to  have  the 
frequentative  force  of  -le  in  NE.  shamble,  wriggle,  waddle,  waggle, 
hobble,  etc. 

Such  meanings  as  'twist,  distort,  etc.'  in  NE.  baffle  develop 
directly  from  'move  from  side  to  side  in  walking.'  There  also 
develop:  'walk  awkwardly,  unsteadily,  walk  in  a  slovenly  man- 
ner; be  clumsy,  stupid,  confused,  perplexed;  confound,  bewilder, 
etc.' 

For  similar  meanings  in  other  words  compare  the  following: 
NE.  dial,  hyter  'walk  with  tottering  steps;  work  in  a  weak,  un- 
skilful manner,  sb.  an  act  of  working  or  walking;  state  of  con- 
fusion; nonsense,  weak,  stupid  person,'  Scotch  hyter  'confusion, 
ruin,  nonsense,  act  of  walking  with  a  weak  tottering  step,  or 
working  in  a  weak,  confused  manner;  weak,  stupid  person.' 

From  the  meanings  'perplex,  bewilder,  confuse'  develop 
'deceive,  humbug,  etc.'  in  baffle  just  as  they  do,  for  example,  in 
the  following:  NE.  flummock,  flommock'  go  about  in  an  untidy, 
slovenly  way;  trail  the  dress  in  a  slovenly  manner,  sb.  hurry, 
confusion,  'flummox  'bewilder,  perplex,  puzzle,  astound;  over- 
come in  an  argument,  non-plus,  confound,  baffle;  cheat,  de- 
ceive, 'NE.  dial,  flummer  'state  of  agitation,  confusion,'  Norw. 
dial,  fluma,  floma'  tumble  or  flounder  about  as  a  horse  in  the 
mire.'  Cf.  Wood,  Hesperia,  Erganz.  I,  §20. 

Since,  therefore,  Fr.  beffler  and  bajfouer  have  been  brought 
in  merely  to  explain  the  meaning  'deceive'  their  connection 


614  Kroesch 

becomes  superfluous,  if  this  meaning  can  be  explained  from  the 
NE.  dialects. 

As  for  other  influences  on  NE.  baffle,  it  is  very  likely  that 
such  meanings  as  'strike,  beat,  insult,  bully,'  in  the  NE.  dialect 
word  are  influenced  by  NE.  baff  'strike,  beat'  connected  with 
Norm.  Fr.  baffer  'slap  in  the  face,'  Prov.  bafa  'scoff,'  which  may 
be  borrowed  from  MHG.  be/en  'scold.'  It  is  even  likely  that 
Fr.  beffler  and  bajfouer  may  be  from  the  same  word,  a  connection 
which  Skeat  suggests. 

NE.  gum 

For  this  word  the  Century  Dictionary  records  the  following 
meanings:  'smear  with  gum,  clog  by  gum  or  gumlike  substance; 
play  a  trick  upon,  humbug,  hoodwink  (U.  S.  slang).'  For  the 
last  three  meanings  it  gives  this  explanation:  "said  to  be  from 
the  fact  that  opossums  and  racoons  often  elude  hunters  and  dogs 
by  hiding  in  the  thick  foliage  of  gum  trees."  I  have  been  unable 
to  trace  the  origin  of  this  explanation,  but  the  uses  of  the  word 
given  by  the  Cent.  Diet,  and  the  NED.  do  not  in  the  least  indi- 
cate any  such  origin.  The  explanation,  in  fact,  smacks  of 
'folk-etymology. ' 

The  quotations  are: 

"You  can't  gum  me,  I  tell  you  now, 

An*  so  you  needn't  try."    Lowell,  Biglow  Papers,  1st  series 

(Cent.  Diet.,  NED.) 

"I  began  to  think  he  was  quizzing  me — 'gumming'  is  the  proper  Trans- 
atlantic colloquialism."  Sala,  Tw.  Round  the  Clock  (1861). 

(NED.) 

This  much  is  clear  about  the  word.  It  is  used  here  in  the 
sense  of  'deceive,'  and  its  use  with  this  meaning  is  confined  to 
the  United  States. 

Two  very  natural  semantic  developments  of  the  meaning 
'deceive'  in  this  word  are  possible.  In  the  first  place,  if  we  take 
ME.  gomme<Fr.  gomme<'La,t.  gummi  as  the  phonetic  ante- 
cedents, 'deceive'  develops  from  'smear  with  gum,  clog  or  stick 
by  a  gumlike  substance'  directly,  just  as  in  NE.  stick  'smear 
with  a  viscuous  or  glutinous  matter;  impose  upon,  cheat 
(slang),'  and  numerous  other  words  in  the  Germanic  dialects 
especially. 

Secondly,  it  may  have  developed  (and  this  seems  still  more 
likely)  from  E.  Dial,  gum  'impertinent  talk,  chatter,  'jaw/ 


Semantic  Notes  615 

insolent  talk;  deceitful  speech,'  gummy  'deceitful,  boastful.' 
Compare  the  following  quotations  from  the  NED.:  "Come,  let 
us  have  no  more  of  your  gum."  Grose,  Diet.  Vulg.  Tongue. 
"Come,  none  of  your  gum — now  you  are  but  an  underling" 
R.  B.  Peake,  Americans  Abroad. 

The  use  of  this  noun  as  a  verb,  a  very  common  occurrence 
in  slang,  gives  us  a  meaning  parallel  to  the  use  in  the  quotations 
above.  Note  especially  the  quotation  from  Sala  defining  'gum- 
ming' as  'quizzing'  by  which  he  means  'bantering  talk.'  Here, 
then,  the  idea  'deceive'  develops  from  the  meaning  of  the  sub- 
stantive gum  'flesh  of  the  jaws':  ME.  gome,  OE.  goma  'jaws, 
palate'  just  as,  for  example,  the  following:  E.  dial,  gag  'ridicule, 
quiz;  hoax,  deceive,'  NE.  gag'  impose  upon,  ply  with  talk, 
'stuff,'  deceive':  OE.  gagul,  MDu.  gaghel  'palatum,  caelum  oris.' 

Now  it  is  possible  that  the  word  may  have  been  used  by 
hunters  of  the  opossum  in  the  meaning  'deceive,'  but  it  is  not 
probable  that  he  originated  the  meaning  'deceive'  as  that  could 
easily  have  been  current. 

NHG.  •  belemmern 

Kluge  (Etym.  Wb.  9,  45.)  regards  NHG.  belemmern  'be- 
triigen'  as  of  Low  German  origin,  derived  from  the  comparative 
of  Germ.  *lam-  in  NHG.  lahm,  etc.,  and  compares  MLG. 
belemmern  'verleumden,  belastigen'  without  any  further  explana- 
tion of  or  investigation  into  the  meanings  of  the  word  in  the 
other  German  dialects.  Evidently  he  erroneously  believes  that 
'betriigen'  develops  from  'hindern,  belastigen.'  Weigand 
(DWb.,  199)  calls  attention  to  the  prevalent  meaning  in  the 
High  German,  viz.  'beschmutzen,'  and  surmises  correctly  that 
'betriigen'  develops  from  this.  But  he  is  puzzled  by  the  appar- 
ently unrelated  meanings  of  the  MLG.  and  MDu.  forms. 

The  word  appears  in  the  various  NHG.  dialects  as  follows: 
Early  NHG.  belemmern,  belampern,  belemmeln  'bedrecken, 
sordidare,'  NHG.  belemmern  'sich  beschmutzen,  durch  kleine 
Kniffe  betriigen,  ubers  Ohr  hauen,'  Sax.  belammern,  belampern' 
'einen  etwas  einreden,  ihn  herumkriegen;  betriigen,'  belemmern 
'besudeln,  belasten,  hintergehen,'  Westph.  belammern  'be- 
schmutzen; hintergehen,  iiberlisten,  iibervorteilen,  betriigen, 
'Pruss.  belammern  'besudeln,  verunreinigen,  ubervorteilen, 
betriigen,'  KurHess.  belemmern,  belammeln  'beschmutzen; 


616  Kroesch 

betrugen,  hintergehen,'  lammel  'der  beschmutzte  untere  Rand 
des  Weiberrockes,'  belammeln  'den  Rock  am  unteren  Rande 
beschmutzen.' 

The  meanings  of  the  NHG.  word  clearly  indicate  the  seman- 
tic development  'befoul:  deceive/  a  common  development  in  the 
German  dialects.  MLG.  belemmern,  MDu.  belemmeren,' 
'hindern,  hemmen,'  EFris.  lemmern  hindern,  hemmen,  aufhal- 
ten/  belemmern  zum  Stehen  bringen;  aufhalten,  hemmen 
hindern,  lahmen;  beschweren,  belasten'  do  not  develop  the 
meaning  'deceive'  at  all  and  are  unrelated  semantically.  These 
forms  are  explained  by  Franck  (Etym.  Wb.)  as  coming  from  the 
stem  *lam-  in  NHG.  lahm,  OHG.  bilemen  'lahmen,'  MLG. 
lemmen,  MDu.  lemen  'lahmen,  lahm  machen,'  etc.  But  this 
connection  does  not  satisfactorily  explain  the  meanings  of  the 
NHG.  words. 

These  belong  to  another  base,  the  Germ.  *limp-  *lamp- 
'hang  down,  hang  loosely.'  Compare  the  following  words  from 
this  base:  NE.  limp  'walk  lamely,  adj.  flaccid,  pliant,  hanging 
down,'  MHG.  lampen  'welk  niederhangen,'  limpfen  'hinken,. 
Swiss  lampe  'Wamme,  herabhangender  Lappen':  Skt.  Idmbate 
'hangt  herab,'  Lat.  limbus  'Besatz  am,  Kleide.'  Cf.  Pick,  Wb. 
Ill,4  363. 

The  meaning  'soil,  befoul'  in  NHG.  belemmern  comes  from  a 
form  like  Hess,  lammel  'der  beschmutzte  untere  Rand  des 
Weiberrockes,'  i.e.  'the  part  of  the  dress  hanging  down  and  there- 
fore soiled,'  belammeln  'den  Rock  am  unterem  Rande  beschmut- 
zen,' early  NHG.  belampern,  belemmeln  'sordidare.' 

Note  the  same  semantic  development  in  Als.  hammel  'der 
beschmutzte  nasse  Saum  eines  Frauenrockes;  unreinliche, 
dicke,  bose  Frauensperson,'  hammeln  'sich  beschmutzen,' 
Lothr.  hammelen  'den  unteren  Rand  der  Kleider  beschmutzen,' 
KurHess.  behammeln  'beschmutzen;  betrugen. ' 

NFris.  bislanterje  'onder  het  eten  zich  bemorsen;  bekladden, 
een  smet  aanwrijven;  bedriegen,  soil  in  eating;  besmear,  stain, 
deceive,'  EFris.  slunteren  'schlottern,  schlaff,  lose,  u.  unordent- 
lich  hangen,'  slunie  'unreinliche  Person.' 

It  is  probable  that  Kluge  and  Franck  are  right  regarding  the 
origin  of  the  Low  German  and  Dutch  forms.  We  have  here  a 
case  of  different  stems  *limp-,  *lamp-,  and  *lam-,  *lom-,  develop- 
ing synonymous  meanings.  Compare  the  meanings  given  for 


Semantic  Notes  617 

*limp~,  *lamp-  above  with  the  following  from  the  stem  *lam- 
*lom-:  MHG.  OHG.  lam  'gliederschwach,  lahm,'  NE.  lame, 
ON.  lemja  'hindern,'  OHG.,  MHG.  lemen,  'lahmen,'  EFris., 
lorn  'gelahmt,  hinkend,  matt,'  Du.  loom  'lahm,  trage,  faul, 
langsam,'  MHG.  luomen  'matt,  schlaff  sein  od.  werden.' 

Du.  lorrendraaier 

An  attempt  has  been  made  by  Falk-Torp  (Etym.  Wb., 
665)  to  explain  this  Dutch  word  from  which  the  Dan.  luren- 
dreier  was  borrowed.  The  Dutch  word  has  the  meanings 
'smuggler,  deceiver'  and  is  used  today  principally  among  sailors 
speaking  the  Low  German  and  Scandinavian  dialects.  Falk- 
Torp  derive  the  first  part  of  the  compound  from  Du.  loer  'Lump, 
Tolpel'  which  is  identical  with  Du.  luur  'Windel,'  OHG.  ludara, 
lodera  ibid.,  OS.  lodara  'Fetzen,'  found  also  in  the  shorter  form  in 
OHG.  lodo,  ludo  'grobes  Wollenzeug,'  NHG.  loden,  etc.,  from  a 
Germ,  base  *lub-  'hang  down  loosely.' 

The  semantic  connection  between  these  and  the  compound 
is  arrived  at  in  the  following  ingenious  way.  There  is  a  Dutch 
expression  iemand  een  loer  draaien  corresponding  to  NHG. 
einem  eine  Nase  drehen  'deceive,'  as  well  as  an  older  NHG. 
expression  einem  ein  Lodlein  eintragen  also  meaning  'deceive,' 
an  expression  referring  to  the  dishonest  weaver  who  weaves 
poor  wool  (Lodlein  is  diminutive  of  NHG.  Loden,  cf.  above) 
into  cloth.  In  the  Low  German  the  word  corresponding  to  Du. 
loer  has  the  forms  lurde,  lorde,  lurre  'Fetzen,  Sorrgarn  aus 
altem  Tauwerk'  with  the  additional  meaning  'verfalschtes 
Tauwerk'  from  which  are  supposed  to  have  developed  'Luge, 
Erfindung,  falscher  Pass,  falsches  Dokument,  'which  we  find  in 
LG.  lurrendreier  'einer,  der  mit  falschem  Pass  oder  falscher 
Flagge  fahrt;  Betriiger.'  Starting  with  the  expression  iem. 
een  loer  draaien,  lorrendraaier  would  apparently,  according  to 
this  explanation,  have  the  following  semantic  development: 
'one  who  mixes  (twists)  shoddy  wool  into  cloth  (in  weaving), 
adulterater,  falsifier;  one  who  goes  with  a  false  pass  or  under  a 
false  flag:  smuggler,  deceiver.' 

The  compound  appears  in  verb  as  well  as  noun  form.  Com- 
pare the  following:  Du.  lorrendraaier  'smokkelaar,  schipper  van 
een  smokkelvaartuig;  schip,  voor  den  sluikhandel  gebezigd; 
bedrieger,  misleider,  smuggler,  the  skipper  of  a  smuggler  (ship) ; 


618  Kroesch 

a  ship  used  in  the  smuggling  trade;  cheat,  deceiver/  lorren- 
draaien  'sluikhandel  drijven,  misleiden,  bedriegen,  carry  on  a 
smuggling  trade,  deceive,'  EFris.  lurendreier,  lurrendreier 
'ein  Mensch,  der  andere  Leute  durch  allerhand  Kniffe  u. 
Pfiffe  hinters  Licht  fiihrt,  Betriiger,  Schurke,'  Dan.  lurendreier 
'betriigerische  u.  listige  Person,  Duckmauser,  Leisetreter,'  Swed. 
lurendragere  'Schleichhandler.'  It  will  be  seen  from  a  com- 
parison of  these  words  that  the  idea  common  to  all  is  that  of 
some  furtive,  stealthy,  surreptitious  action,  such  as  is  practiced 
by  the  smuggler.  But  such  an  idea  is  not  in  evidence  in  the 
semantic  explanation  of  Falk-Torp,  for  to  'go  with  a  false  pass' 
does  not  imply  'going  surreptitiously' ;  in  fact,  the  implication  is 
rather  the  opposite  of  a  secret,  stealthy  action. 

An  investigation  of  the  possible  sources  of  our  word  is  some- 
what confusing.  We  have,  for  example,  the  following  words: 
Du.  loer,  lor,  leur,  luier  and  luur  all  meaning  'cloth,  rag,  patch, 
worthless  article,  etc.'  besides  a  variety  of  other  meanings  from 
other  stems  which  must  be  kept  distinct  from  these.  The  above 
words  may  all  represent  a  Germ,  base  *lup-  'hang  down  loosely* 
as  accepted  by  Falk-Torp,  since  the  different  dialect  usages  of 
the  word  account  for  the  variety  of  spellings.  (Cf.  Franck, 
Etym.  Wb.  s.  v.  leur,  luier,  lor).  Various  verbs  have  developed 
from  this  stem,  of  which  let  us  note  especially  the  following: 
MDu.  (Kil.)  leuren,  loren  'trekken,  traag  handelen,  drag,  act 
slowly,  lazily'  (Franck,  s.v.  lurken),  MDu.  loren,  lorren  'be- 
triigen,  pfuschen,  heimlichen  u.  unerlaubten  Handel  treiben,' 
Du.  leuren  'einen  Klein-  od.  Hokerhandel  od.  auch  einenSchleich- 
handel  betreiben,'  lorren  'betriigen,  anfiihren,'  Antwp.  lorren 
smokkelen,  heimlijk,  diefachtig  wegdragen,  smuggle,  carry  off 
secretly,  stealthily'  (Dornkaat  Koolman,  Wb.  d.  OstFries.  Spr.). 
The  Woordenboek  d.  nederlandsch  Taal  (s.v.  leuren)  gives  these 
meanings  for  Du.  leuren:  1.  'venten,  carry  on  a  trade;  2.  lappen 
knoeirrig  herstellen,  knoeien,  onhandig  met  iets  omgaan, 
bedrieglijk  handelen,  bedriegen,  patch,  bungle,  botch,  handle 
awkwardly,  act  deceptively,  deceive;  3.  sleuren,  drag.'  A 
comparison  of  MDu.  leuren,  loren,  lorren,  and  Du.  and  Du. 
dial,  leuren,  lorren,  lorren  shows  these  to  be  probable  variants 
of  the  same  stem.  The  semantic  development  is  clear  and  can 
be  paralleled  by  many  words  in  the  German  dialects.  Such 
words  show  a  semantic  development  analogous  to  the  following: 


Semantic  Notes  619 

'move  back  and  forth,  work  in  a  careless  manner;  dawdle, 
fritter  away  time;  botch,  bungle,  be  awkward,  slovenly,  trifling, 
deceptive;  do  something  in  a  surreptitious,  stealthy  manner: 
deceive.'  With  the  ideas  botch,  bungle,  be  awkward,  slovenly 
are  associated  such  meanings  as  'hang  loosely,'  or  'a  piece  of 
cloth,  rag,  patch,  etc.'  Conversely,  a  word  meaning  'a  rag, 
patch,  a  worthless  piece  of  cloth,  etc.'  may  develop  verb  ideas 
such  as  'work  carelessly,  botch,  etc.*  Compare:  MHG.  blez 
'Lappen,  Flicken,  Fetzen,'  Swiss  bletzen  'flicken,  pfuschen, 
durchpriigeln,  p.  part,  angefiihrt,  betrogen,'  anbletzen  'anliigen, 
zum  besten  haben,'  Als.  bletzen  mit  einen  Lappen  besetzen, 
flicken;  hintergehen,  betriigen.' 

Whatever  the  origin  of  Du.  leuren  may  be,  this  development 
of  meaning  in  the  word  seems  clear:  'drag,  act  lazily,  awkwardly; 
botch,  bungle,  be  trifling,  stealthily  deceptive:  deceive.'  Note 
the  similar  development  in:  EFris.  fudden  'unordentlich  und 
nachlassig  arbeiten,  pfuschen;  heimlich  beiseite  schaffen;  fudde 
'Lappen,  Fetzen,  NE.fode  'waste  time,  delay,  postpone  a  matter 
by  evasive  excuses;  beguile,'  Westph.  fudeln  'betriigen,'  Als. 
fudlen  'cine  Arbeit  langsam  verrichten,  oberflachlich  arbeiten.' 

Antwp.,  WFlem.,  SEFlem.  foefelen  'haastig  en  ruw,  slordig 
iets  bijeendoen;  heimlijk  verbergen,  noffelen;  bedrieglijk  te 
werk  gaan;  brodelen,  knoeien,  put  together  in  a  hasty,  clumsy 
slovenly  manner;  hide  secretly,  shuffle,  act  deceptively;  botch, 
bungle,  'Antwp.,  WFlem.  Zaan.  foefen  'bedektelijk  bedriegen, 
foppen,'  befoefelen  'heimlijk  bedriegen,'  WFlem.  foef  'vod,  lap, 
rag,  piece  of  cloth.'  But  Du.  leuren  also  means  'carry  on  a 
trade.'  The  association  of  this  meaning  with  the  foregoing 
idea  of  a  stealthy  action  developed  'carry  on  a  trade  stealthily, 
secretly:  smuggle.' 

The  word  lorrendraaier,  then,  developing  from  the  expression 
iem.  een  loer  draaien  'deceive'  gets  the  meaning  'smuggler,  etc.' 
not  through  the  LG.  lurde,  lorde,  lurre  'verfalschtes  Tauwerk,' 
etc.,  but  from  the  meanings  of  the  related  Du.  leuren,  lorren. 
(Falk-Torp  regard  lorren  as  developing  'deceive'  through  the 
meanings  'verfalschtes  Tauwerk,  etc.*  But  compare  the 
semantic  explanation  above.)  The  word  originally  probably 
meant  'deceiver'  and  was  formed  just  as,  for  example,  NHG. 
Nasendreher  'deceiver'  might  be  formed  from  einem  eine  Nose 
drehen  'deceive,'  but  that  would  not  explain  the  meaning 


620  Kroesch 

'smuggler.'  The  explanation  for  this  must  be  sought  for  in 
Du.  leuren,  lorren  which  also  meant  'deceive,'  but  which  de- 
veloped this  meaning  in  an  entirely  different  way. 

SAMUEL  KROESCH 
University  of  Minnesota 


HEINRICH  VON  KLEIST'S  "DER  PRINZ  VON 
HOMBURG"1 

Ein  Verhangniss  ist  es  wohl,  dass  das  letzte  sonnenklare 
Drama  Heinrich's  von  Kleist  von  den  drangenden  Schatten 
einer  griibelnden  Kritik  verdunkelt  wird,  und  durch  den  Eifer 
der  Interpreten,  durch  das  Blei  der  Erwagungen  die  schlichte, 
riihrende  Tragik  des  Stiickes  eine  unnotige  Belastung  erfahrt 
und  unser  inneres  Gefiihl  ins  Schwanken  gebracht  wird.  Ver- 
wirrend  wirkt  hauptsachlich  die  anfangliche  Strenge  des  Kurfiir- 
sten,  sein  Beschluss  die  Pflichtversaumnis  des  jungen  Prinzen 
mit  aller  Entschiedenheit  zu  strafen,  um  dem  Gesetze,  dem 
Leitstern  seines  Staates,  unbedingte  Achtung  zu  verschaffen. 
Diinkte  ihm  wirklich  die  Schmach  des  durch  Ungehorsam  und 
Trotz  erlangten  Sieges  so  gross,  um  gleich  zum  aussersten 
Mittel  der  Siihne,  dem  Tode  des  Schuldigen,  zu  greifen,  und 
erbarmungslos  das  vom  Kriegsgericht  gefallte  Urteil  vollstrecken 
lassen  zu  wollen?  Erstickte  er  selbst  gewalttatig  im  Herzen 
alle  milden  Gefiihle,  verjagte  er  alle  Gedanken  der  Gnade,  oder 
drohte  er  bloss  mit  dem  furchtbaren  Todesgespenst,  um  die 
schliessliche  Bekehrung  und  Heilung  des  Helden  zu  erzielen? 
Und  war  sein  fester  Vorsatz  die  Aufopferung  des  Prinzen,  seines 
Lieblings,  auf  dem  Altare  des  Vaterlands;  wann  und  wodurch 
erfolgte  seine  innerliche  Umkehr,  die  zur  Begnadigung  fiihrte? 
Welche  Stimmen  waren  massgebend?  Wollte  er  noch  kurz  vor 
dem  ktzten  Entschlusse  die  delphische  Weisheit  seiner  Offiziere 
mit  einer  Verstellungskomodie  irrefiihren? 

Miissige  Fragen,  die  den  Kern  der  Schopfung  nicht  beriihren 
und  unser  Verstandniss  so  wenig  fordern  wie  das  haufige  Hervor- 
heben  der  Gegensatze  im  Seelendrama:  Empfindung  und 
Vernunft,  jugendliche  Bestiirzung  und  Besonnenheit  des  reifen 
Mannes,  die  Gebote  des  Herzens  und  jene  der  Pflicht,  das  Recht 
des  Individuums  und  die  Erfordernisse  des  Staates,  der  Nation. 
Gewiss  liebte  der  Dichter  die  scharfen  Kontraste;  die  Kampfe 

1  Gedanken  .und  Betrachtungen  aus  meinem  im  zweiten  Kriegsjahre  ge- 
haltenen  Kolleg  tiber  Heinrich  von  Kleist.  Eine  allgemeine  Charakteristik 
Kleists  in  italienischer  Sprache  enthalt  das  Buch  L'opera  d'un  maestro  Torino 
1920. 

621 


622  Farinelli 

im  Gemtite  seiner  Helden  steigerte  er  geflissentlich  ins  Mass — 
und  Grenzenlose;  aus  den  hochsten  Dissonanzen  des  Lebens 
entnahm  er  oft  die  liber waltigende  Harmonic  seiner  Kunst. 
Im  Labyrinth  der  Menschenbrust  sah  er  aber  das  Wirken 
dunkler,  geheimnissvoll  kontrastirender  Krafte,  die  steigenden, 
die  sinkenden  Wellenberge  und  Wellentaler  des  Gefiihls,  und 
mit  dem  Gleichmut  der  Athleten,  mit  der  starren  Festigkeit 
der  fertig  entwickelten  und  nicht  mehr  im  Werden  begriffenen 
Individuen  wusste  er  nichts  anzufangen.  Mit  diesem  Complex 
von  Empfindungen  und  den  immer  tatigen,  menschenbildenden 
Seelenkraften  musste  sein  Drama  rechnen.  Sein  "Prinz  von 
Homburg"  sollte  die  innere  Lauterung  eines  jungen,  durch 
Leichtsinn,  Torheit  und  Ehrgeiz  in  grosses  Verschulden  gera- 
tenen  Helden  darstellen,  dem  ein  machtiges  Aufriitteln  seines 
Gewissens  und  selbst  ein  Gleiten  und  Drangen  der  Todesschatten 
iiber  die  tollkiihnen  Plane  der  Selbstiiberhebung  notwendig 
waren,  um  in  der  tiefsten  Tiefe  der  eignen  Brust  die  Stimme  der 
Pm'cht  zu  vernehmen.  Dieses  schlummernde  Pflichtgefiihl 
zu  wecken,  und,  in  ernster  Stunde,  den  Verblendeten  und 
Irregeleiteten  zur  Einsicht  in  sein  Vergehen  zu  bringen,  war 
Aufgabe  des  weisen  Staatslenkers,  der  nicht  im  Entfernsten  an 
ein  Ersticken  der  Lebenskeime  in  der  Seele  des  jungen  Fiirsten 
dachte,  seinen  Liebling  gewiss  niemals,  selbst  mit  dem  festen 
Erfassen  des  Todesurteils,  dem  Tode  weihen  wollte,  vielmehr 
ein  voiles,  unerschutterliches  Vertrauen  zu  seinen  edlen  Instink- 
ten  hegte,  und  den  Augenblick  des  Erwachens  des  noch  ungeahn- 
ten  kategorischen  Imperatives  herbeisehnte,  um  den  zur 
richtigen  Schatzung  der  Nichtigkeit  aller  Lebensgtiter  gelangten 
Jiingling  zur  vollen  Entfaltung  seiner  Gaben,  zum  hochsten 
Genuss  seiner  Lebensfiille,  zu  fiihren. 

Lasst  die  Jugend  gewahren,  denn  ihr  gehort  das  Leben, 
durch  die  Jugend  allein  erzwingen  wir  das  Hochste.  Die  innere 
Garung  ineinander  wirkender  Krafte  im  Jiingling  gestattet 
freilich  keine  Ruhe  im  Denken  und  im  Handeln;  sturmisch,  auf 
regellosen  Bahnen,  durch  die  Macht  uniiberlegter  Impulse, 
unaufhaltsam  wird  man  weiter  und  weiter  gedrangt.  Der  zum 
Mann  gereifte  Dichter  dachte  an  seinen  eigenen  Lebensfriihling, 
den  wirren  ungestiimen  Lauf  ins  Ungewisse.  Ware  ihm  doch, 
wie  seinem  Sieger  in  der  Schlacht  bei  Fehrbellin,  mild  und 
streng  ein  weiser  Lenker  entgegengetreten!  "Wir  kennen  die 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  623 

Beschworungsformel  noch  nicht,"  schrieb  er,  tastend  noch  im 
Jahre  1799,  um  "den  sichern  Weg  des  Clucks  zu  finden,"  "um 
die  wunderbar  ungleichartigen  Gestalten,  die  in  unserem 
Innern  wiihlen  und  durcheinander  treiben,  zu  besanftigen  und 
zu  beruhigen.  Und  alle  Junglinge,  die  wir  um  und  neben  uns 
sehen,  teilen  ja  mit  uns  dieses  Schicksal.  Alle  ihre  Schritte  und 
Bewegungen  scheinen  nur  die  Wirkung  eines  unfiihlbaren  aber 
gewaltigen  Stosses  zu  sein,  der  sie  unwiderstehlich  mit  sich 
fortreisst.  Sie  erscheinen  mir  wie  Kometen,  die  in  regellosen 
Kreisen  das  Weltall  durchschweifen,  bis  sie  endlich  eine  Bahn 
und  ein  Gesetz  der  Bewegung  finden."  Wehmutig  blickte 
Kleist  damals  in  sein  ewig  bewegtes  Herz.  Sturme  rissen  ihn 
fort  und  fort.  Es  wankte  jede  Lebensstiitze.  Die  besonnene 
Schwester  Ulrike  vernahm  die  bitteren  Klagen.  Unter  die  Men- 
schen  wollte  der  Dichter  nicht  passen.  Und  wiederum,  von  der 
Sehnsucht  nach  Ruhe  erfasst,  "wonach  die  ganze  Schopfung 
und  alle  immer  langsamer  und  langsamer  rollenden  Weltkorper 
streben,"  greif t  er  zum  Bilde  der  regel-und  ziellos  ins  Ungewisse 
irrenden  Gestirne,  um  das  Pochen  und  Gliihen  seines  Herzens  zu 
offenbaren,  "das  wie  ein  Planet  unaufhorlich  in  seiner  Bahn 
zur  Rechten  und  zur  Linken  wankt." 

Wiiteten  aber  die  Damonen  im  Innern  und  schien  auch  die 
Welt,  auf  die  die  Cotter  kaum  einen  mildtatigen  Blick  warfen, 
aus  den  Fugen  zu  gehen,  so  blieb  doch  die  Freude  an  diesem 
mutigen  Wagen,  und  machtigen  Anschwellen  der  Gefuhle  in 
der  beklommenen  Brust;  der  hochste  Ruhmeskranz  winkte  aus 
der  Feme;  es  gab  kein  Zogern,  kein  Schwanken  im  kuhnen 
Siegeslauf,  gerade  so  wie  im  tollen  Vorwartsdrangen  Egmonts, 
der  in  iiberschwanglicher  Rede  sein  "Frisch  hinaus  ins  Feld" 
schmetterte,  "ins  Feld,  wo  aus  der  Erde  dampfend  jede  nachste 
Wohltat  der  Natur  und,  durch  die  Himmel  wehend,  alle  Segen 
der  Gestirne  einhullend  uns  unwitteren;  wo  wir,  dem  erdge- 
bornen  Riesen  gleich,  von  der  Beruhrung  unsrer  Mutter  kraf- 
tiger  uns  in  die  Hohe  reissen;  wo  wir  die  Menschheit  ganz  und 
menschliche  Begier  in  alien  Adern  fiihlen;  wo  das  Verlangen, 
vorzudringen,  zu  besiegen,  zu  erhaschen,  seine  Faust  zu  brau- 
chen,  zu  besitzen,  zu  erobern,  durch  die  Seele  des  jungen  Jagers 
gliiht;  wo  der  Soldat  sein  angeboren  Recht  auf  alle  Welt  mit 
raschem  Schritt  sich  anmasst  und  in  furchterlicher  Freiheit  wie 


624  Farinelli 

ein  Hagelwetter  durch  Wiese,  Feld  und  Wald  verderbend 
streicht  und  keine  Grenzen  kennt,  die  Menschenhand  gezogen." 

Kleist's  junger  Held,  der  mit  flammendem  Eifer  sich  ins 
Gewiihl  der  Schlacht  stiirzt,  und,  wie  sein  Dichter,  Menschen- 
ruhm  und  Grosse  als  das  begehrenswerteste  Gut  erachtete,  das 
Gift  des  "unseligen  Ehrgeizes"  in  sich  sog,  gepeitscht  von  den 
inneren  Furien,  unfahig  noch  dem  Andrange  und  dem  Sturme 
der  Leidenschaften  zu  widerstehen,  verbindet  mit  dem  gliihen- 
den  Empfinden  und  der  unbandigen  Energie  der  Tat  die  Zart- 
heit  und  Weichheit  eines  Kindes.  Der  verwegene  Kampfer 
unterliegt  einer  tiefen  Ohnmacht  im  Augenblick  der  tiefsten 
Seelenspannung.  Mit  riihrender  Scheu  wagt  er  den  Namen  des 
geliebten  Madchens,  das  sein  Tun  und  Denken  ganzlich  be- 
herrscht,  nicht  zu  nennen.  Der  Anblick  lieblich  duftender 
Blumen  begliickt  ihn;  im  markischen  Lande  entdeckt  er  den 
griinen  Lorbeer,  womit  er  sich,  traumend,  eitel  wie  ein  Mad- 
chen,  die  Stirn  umwindet.  Ein  "lieblicher  Traumer" — so 
nannte  auch  Henriette  Vogel  im  Taumel  der  Gefuhle  ihren 
Todesgefahrten — wandelt  er,  sich  selbst  unbewusst,  im  Mond- 
schein,  durch  den  stillen  Garten,  dem  er  seine  schwarmerischen 
Visionen  anvertraut. 

Wesshalb  dieses  Aufdrangen  der  Welt  des  Traumes  in  dieser 
so  iiberaus  konkreten  und  fasslichen  Welt  der  kiinstlerischen 
Wirklichkeit?  Hebbel,  Dahlmann,  und  wie  viele  Andere  noch, 
hatten  in  den  Dramen  Kleists,  im  "Kathchen"  sowohl  wie  im 
"Prinz  von  Homburg,"  Magnetismus  und  Wandeln  im  Schlafe 
preisgegeben  und  alles  tJbersinnliche  durch  das  Greifbare, 
Sichtbare  und  Sinnliche  ersetzt!  Gewiss  hatte  ein  Liebesblick 
der  Prinzessin  mehr  Wunder  der  Zerstreutheit  und  Geistesab- 
wesenheit  in  dem  Helden,  wahrend  der  Verteilung  der  Schlacht- 
befehle  bewirkt,  die  Ungeduld,  durch  das  eigenmachtige  Ein- 
greifen  den  schliesslichen  Triumph  herbeizufiihren,  begreiflicher 
gemacht,  als  alle  traumerischen  Visionen  in  der  mondbeglanzten 
Zaubernacht.  Ob  aber  dadurch  der  Zauber  der  Kleistschen 
Poesie  nicht  beeintrachtigt  worden  ware,  mochte  ich  bezweifeln. 
Das  Unbewusste  in  dieser  Wunderwelt,  das  geheimnissvoll 
Unfassbare  in  unserem  Innenleben  war  es  gerade,  was  den 
Dichter  an  seinem  Lebensende  am  meisten  beschaf  tigte.  Seinen 
Anteil  an  dem  griiblerischen  Sinnen  und  Forschen  Schuberts 
brauchen  wir  darum  nicht  zu  iibertreiben,  um  seine  Sucht  in 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  625 

jeder  Menschenbrust  Geheimnisse  zu  wittern,  seinen  Eifer  im 
Entratseln  ("Und  jeder  Busen  1st,  der  fiihlt,  ein  Ratsel" — 
"Penthesilea")  fur  erklarlich  zu  finden.  Im  Schlaf-und  Traum- 
zustande  kann  der  Mensch  gleichsara  ein  hoheres  seelisches 
Sein  entwickeln,  sein  Wahrnehmungsvermogen  klarer  als  bei 
wachen  Sinnen  entfalten.  Die  Last  der  ausseren  Welt  ist 
gefallen.  Das  Gefiihl  waltet  allein.  Das  innere  Auge  durch- 
schaut  alle  Herzenswirren.  Alle  Dissonanzen  der  Seele  scheinen 
sich  zu  losen.  Ahnend  wird  in  die  Zukunf  t  gegriff  en.  In  lichtere 
Spharen  gehoben,  befreit  von  der  Erdenschwere,  tritt  der 
Mensch  den  iibernaturlichen  Offenbarungen  entgegen,  und  die 
Stimme  Gottes  ist  ihm  in  der  feierlichen  Stille  der  Mysterienwelt 
lauter  vernehmbar.  Musste  ja  der  feurige  Prinz  zur  stillen 
Andacht  neigen,  und  riihmte  ihn  auch  Kottwitz,  der  ihn  betend 
uberraschte,  als  "einen  frommen  jungen  Herrn." 

Sein  Amt  als  Dichter  wollte  Kleist  am  wiirdigsten  verwalten, 
indem  er  die  Welt  des  Sinnlichen  und  des  tJbersinnlichen  har- 
monisch  verkettete,  aus  der  willenlosen  Wahrnehmung  im 
Traum,  dem  tiefen  Schweigen  der  Sinne,  das  Konkrete  und  Ziel- 
bewusste  ableitete,  und  die  hellsten  Lichtfunken  aus  dem 
dunklen  Reich  des  Unerforschlichen  entstehen  liess.  Ein 
Traumbild  wird  zum  besten  und  sichersten  Vorboten  des 
wirklichen  Ereignisses.  Wer  mochte  die  tiefe  und  klare  Sym- 
bolik  im  "Prinz  von  Homburg"  entbehren?  Und  doch  hat  sie 
immer  noch  nicht  die  gebiihrende  Beachtung  gefunden;  ihr 
mangelhaftes  Verstandnis  hat  das  iippige  Gedeihen  aller  unniit- 
zen  Erorterungsversuche  verschuldet.  Alle  sparlichen  Scenen- 
deutungen,  welche  die  versifizirte  Handlung  begleiten,  sind 
besonders  im  letzten  Drama  von  grosser  Bedeutung.  Der 
Dichter  legte  entschieden  ein  Hauptgewicht  auf  die  Selbst- 
kronung  des  "sinnverwirrten  Traumers,"der  nach  iiberstandener 
Priifung,  nach  der  Suhne  der  leichtsinnigen  Uberhebung,  die 
wirkliche  Siegeskronung  des  Helden  von  der  Hand  der  Gelieb- 
ten,  mit  allem  strahlenden  Glanz  entsprechen  sollte. 

Wie  oft,  seit  friihster  Jugend,  beschaftigte  sich  die  Phantasie 
des  Dichters  mit  dem  Flechten  und  Winden  des  Ruhmeskranzes! 
Dieser  Kranz,  nach  dem  der  Schopfer  der  "Penthesilea"  sich 
machtig  sehnte  und  der  ihm,  dem  masslos  Strebenden,  so  oft  die 
Stirn  umrauschte,  wurde  ihm  zum  Segen  und  zum  Fluch.  Tag 
und  Nacht  wollte  er  sich  bemuhen,  "zu  so  vielen  Kranzen,  noch 


626  Farinelli 

einen"  auf  die  Kleistsche  Familie  herabzuringen.  Zu  seinem 
"einzigen  Vergniigen"  wollte  er  die  geliebte  Schwester  betatigt 
wissen,  ihm  "den  Kranz  der  Unsterblichkeit  zusammen  zu 
pfliicken."  Nach  den  hochsten  Lorbeeren  streben  seine 
Helden,  und  erfahren  fast  immer  wie  im  Augenblick,  wo  sich 
die  gierige  Hand  nur  regt,  den  voruberfliegenden  Ruhm  "bei  sei- 
nem goldnen  Lockenhaar  zu  fassen,"  wie  eine  verb  angniss  voile 
Macht  ihnen  hamisch  in  den  Weg  tritt.  Was  herrlich  begann, 
droht  ins  Verderben  zu  stiirzen.  Selbst  um  den  nimmer  zu 
losenden  Freundschaftsbund  mit  Riihle  zu  verdeutlichen,  greift 
Kleist  zum  Bilde  des  Kranzes;  "dieser  Kranz,  er  ward  beim 
Anfang  der  Dinge  gut  gewunden,  und  das  Band  wird  schon, 
auch  ohne  weiteres  Zuthun,  solange  aushalten,  als  die  Blumen." 
Und  wirklich  gait  filr  den  Kampfer  in  der  Schlacht  bei  Fehr- 
bellin,  die  Frage,  welche  der  Dichter  an  den  Sieger  im  Kriege 
der  bewegten  Jahre,  die  der  Schopfung  des  "Prinzen  von  Hom- 
burg"  vorangingen,  stellte:  "den  Ruhm  eines  jungen  und  unter- 
nehmenden  Fiirsten,  der  in  dem  Duft  einer  lieblichen  Sommer- 
nacht,  von  Lorbeeren  getraumt  hat." 

Den  vertraumten  Liebling  belauscht  der  Kurfurst,  wie  er 
sich  im  Garten  in  vorgeriickter  Nachtstunde  den  Siegeskranz 
windet.  Was  fur  ein  Laub  flicht  er?  Laub  der  Weide?  Nein, 
seltsam,  beim  Himmel,  der  Lorbeer  ist's.  Des  jungen  Toren 
Brust  bewegt  sich  im  fiebrigen  Wahne.  Sein  hoher  Herr  "mit 
der  Stirn  des  Zeus,"  naht  sich  ihm,  und  nimmt  ihm  den  Kranz 
aus  der  Hand;  er  "schlingt  seine  Halskette  um  den  Kranz  und 
gibt  ihn  der  Prinzessin"  um  dann  mit  einem  "Geschwind! 
Hinweg!",  mit  dem  dreifachen  Zuruf :  Ins  Nichts — ins  Nichts — 
ins  Nichts,  und  der  feierlichen  Erklarung:  "Im  Traum  erringt 
man  solche  Dinge  nicht,"  sammt  der  Prinzessin  Nathalie  zu 
verschwinden.  Der  scheinbar  harmlose  Scherz  hat  doch  seine 
tiefe  Bedeutung.  Wesshalb  dieses  Umschlingen  des  Lorbeer- 
kranzes  mit  dem  Golde  der  Kette  des  Staatsfiirsten?  Zielte  der 
Dichter  nicht  auf  ein  Befestigen  jener  Heldentugenden,  die 
noch  locker  und  flatternd,  in  der  Garung  der  Gefuhle  die  Brust 
des  Jimglings  bewegten?  Dieser  Kette,  deren  Glanz  das  Auge 
der  sonst  weitsehenden  Kritiker  nicht  traf,  gewiss  ein  Symbol 
der  verbindenden  nicht  zu  brechenden  Macht  des  Gesetzes, 
wird  immer  wieder  im  Drama  gedacht;  dem  Lorbeer  einmal 
zugesellt,  teilt  sie  das  Loos  des  blattrigen  Ruhmesspenders. 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  627 

Lebhaf  t  erinnert  sich  der  Scene  des  Prinzen  jugendlicher  Freund, 
der  Graf  von  Hohenzollern,  selbst  von  der  Strenge  des  Kur- 
fiirsten  irregeleitet: 

Du,  gleichsam  um  sein  tiefstes  Herz  zu  priifen, 
Nahmst  ihm  den  Kranz  hinweg,  die  Kette  schlugst  du, 
Die  dir  vom  Hals  hangt,  lachelnd  um  das  Laub; 
Und  reichtest  Kranz  und  Kette,  so  verschlungen, 
Dem  Fraulein,  deiner  edlen  Nichte,  bin. 

Gleichsam  um  das  tiefste  Herz  des  Prinzen  zu  priifen!  Ja, 
auch  der  Held  selbst,  der  schlafend  und  traumend,  klar  doch  des 
Kurftirsten  Tat  erblickte,  hatte  die  gleiche  Empfindung.  Sah 
er  ja  wie  sein  vaterlicher  Fiihrer,  um  ihm  "ganz  die  Seele  zu 
entziinden,"  den  Schmuck,  der  ihm  vom  Nacken  hing,  um  den 
Lorbeerkranz  schlug,  und  den  so  verschlungenen  Kranz  dem 
geliebten  Madchen  reichte,  "auf  die  Locken  mir  zu  driicken" — 
"Hoch  auf,  gleich  einem  Genius  des  Ruhms,  /  Hebt  sie  den 
Kranz,  an  dem  die  Kette  schwankte,  /  Als  ob  sie  einen  Helden 
kronen  wollte." 

Die  ausgestrekte  Hand  sollte  doch  ins  Leere  greifen,  und 
verfluchtigen  sollte  sich  die  herrliche  Vision,  "wie  der  Duft,  der 
iiber  Taler  schwebt,  Vor  eines  Windes  frischem  Hauch  zer- 
stiebt."  Unfertig  und  unreif  war  noch  der  Held.  Noch  hatte 
er  nicht  strenge  Kriegszucht  und  unbedingten  Gehorsam  gelernt. 
Nur  einer  vollkommenen  Tugend  gebiihrt  die  schonste  Palme, 
jene  Krone,  welche  der  Dichter  strahlend  auf  dem  Haupte  seiner 
Konigin  Louise  von  Preussen  ruhen  sah;  "die  Krone  auch  der 
Welt — die  goldenste,  die  dich  zur  Konigin  der  Erde  macht,  / 
Hat  still  die  Tugend  schon  dir  aufgedriickt."  Und  wir  begreifen 
den  Dichter,  der  den  letzen  Bekranzungsakt  nach  erfolgter 
Lauterung  und  innerer  Festigung  des  Helden  und  dem  Schwin- 
den  aller  triigerischen  Phantome  des  Ruhms,  gerade  an  den  Ort 
der  anfanglichen  Vision  versetzt  wissen  wollte,  wo,  in  stiller 
Abgeschiedenheit,  in  der  griinenden  Flur,  lieblich  die  Nacht- 
violen,  Levkojen,  und  Nelken  dufteten,  die  Minne  in  der  Seele 
des  Helden  keimte,  im  unbewussten  Drange  der  glanzendste  Sieg 
erfochten  wurde.  Hier  nun,  in  lichter  Sphare  und  wie  befreit 
von  der  Erdenlast,  konnte  dem  Sieger  aus  der  Hand  der  Gelieb- 
ten der  ganze  Himmel  entgegengebracht  werden,  jener  Kranz, 
den  der  Dichter  dem  gefeierten  Erzherzog  Karl  mit  Begeisterung 
gewiinscht: 


628  Farinelli 

Und  so  duftet,  auf  welchem  Gipfel 
Unverwelklich,  wie  er  Alciden  kranzet, 
Jungfrau  und  Lorbeer,  dich,  o  Karl,  zu  kronen, 
tlberwinder  des  Unuberwindlichen ! 

Was  vorgeahnt,  musste  in  Erfiillung  gehen.  "Jungfrau  und 
Lorbeerkranz  und  Ehrenschmuck,"  durfte  der  milde  Gott  dem 
gereiften  Helden  kurz  nach  dem  Tage  der  Schlacht  schenken. 
Der  alles  adelnden,  erhebenden,  verklarenden  Liebe  ziemte  es 
das  Werk  der  Veredlung  zu  vollenden.  "Die  Prinzessin  tritt, 
umgeben  von  Fackeln,  vor  den  Prinzen,  welcher  erstaunt 
aufsteht;  setzt  ihm  den  Kranz  auf,  hangt  ihm  die  Kette  um, 
und  driickt  seine  Hand  an  ihr  Herz." 

Wie  konnte  nur  ein  Gedanke  an  eine  beabsichtige  Voll- 
streckung  des  Todesurteiles  seitens  des  Kurfiirsten,  nach  dem 
schweren  Vergehen  des  Prinzen,  im  Gehirne  der  Kritiker  und 
Teaterregisseure  Platz  greifen?  Verkannte  man  nicht  dadurch 
die  ganze  erzieherische  Mission  des  Staatsoberhauptes?  Streng 
und  mild,  fest  entschlossen  nirgends  in  seinem  geordneten  Lande 
die  Willkiir  walten  zu  lassen,  unter  der  granitenen  Saule  des 
Staates  keinen  schwankenden  Stiitzboden  zu  dulden,  gleich- 
zeitig  aber  die  Rechte  der  Jugend,  den  begeisternden  Drang  zur 
Tat,  die  Macht  der  lieblichen  Gefiihle  in  einer  Heldenbrust 
vollkommen  anerkennend,  klar  in  alle  Seelenwirren,  wie  in  alle 
Getriebe  des  Staats  blickend,  wollte  er  den  seiner  Obhut  anver- 
trauten  Jiingling  dem  Sturme  blinder  Leidenschaften  entreissen, 
ihm  die  Erfiillung  der  strengsten  aller  Pflichten,  die  Uber- 
windung  des  eigenen  Mutwillens  einscharfen.  Zum  Manne 
musste  er  ihn  bilden,  die  schweigenden  Stimmen  in  seinem 
Gewissen  musste  er  wachrufen. 

Durch  Einkehr  in  sich  selbst  und  das  Befragen  des  Innern, 
ohne  die  Wirkung  ausserer  Triebe  und  Einfliisterungen,  sieg- 
reich  iiber  alle  Todesschauer,  erfolgt  die  beabsichtigte  Lau- 
terung.  Kein  triiber  Gedanke,  kein  Zweifel  konnte  die  Stirne 
des  Herrschers  umdiistern.  Den  edlen  Kern  in  der  Natur  des 
Prinzen  hatte  er  wohl  im  dunklen  Drange  erkannt.  Von  der 
Macht  des  eigenen  Ubermuts  hingerissen,  konnte  der  Jungling 
irren,  dem  Vaterlande  die  schwerste  Krankung  beibringen,- 
schliesslich  musste  der  Edelmut  durchbrechen,  und  der  rechte 
Weg,  vom  sittlichen  Pflichtbewusstsein  geleitet,  gefunden,  der 
Triumph  "iiber  den  verderblichsten  /  Den  Feind'  in  uns,"  den 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  629 

Trotz  und  tJbermut,  glorreich  errungen  warden.  Spricht  ja 
der  Gott  im  Menschen  unmittelbar  durch  das  Gefiihl.  Fiir  das 
Gefiihl  des  Prinzen  tragt  der  Kurfiirst — ausdriicklich  will  er's 
betonen — "die  hochte  Achtung  .  .  .  im  Innersten."  Wo 
anders  als  in  uns  selbst,  in  unserer  Herzenstiefe,  die  Richtschnur 
fiir  unser  Handeln  und  Empfinden  suchen?  Seiner  Wilhelmine 
schrieb  einst  der  Dichter:  "Ich  trage  eine  innere  Vorschrift  in 
meiner  Brust,  gegen  welche  alle  aussern,  und  wenn  die  ein  Konig 
unterschrieben  hatte,  nichtswiirdig  sind,"  und  mahnte  unbe- 
sorgt  dem  schonsten  der  Triebe,  der  Herzensstimme  zu  folgen: 
"was  Ihnen  Ihr  Herz  sagt,  ist  Goldklang,  und  der  spricht  es 
selbst  aus,  dass  er  acht  sei."  Jede  Schuld  ist  im  Grunde  eine 
Versiindigung  gegen  unser  untriigerisches  Gewissen,  unser 
unbeirrbares  Gefiihl.  Wehe  dem,  dem  die  unfehlbare  Sicherheit 
des  eigenen  Herzens  versagt,  der  verschmaht,  mit  der  Goldwage 
der  Empfindung,  sein  Inneres  zu  befragen,  iiber  sich  selbst 
Gericht  zu  halten.  "liber  jedwedes  Gestandniss  geht  mein 
innerstes  Gefiihls  doch,"  verkiindigte  bereits  Eustache  im  ersten 
Schroffensteindrama.  Und  alle  Helden  Kleists,  das  riihrende 
Katchen  vor  Allen,  erfahren  wie  Alles  dem  Zuge  des  Innern 
weichen  muss,  schopfen  in  der  hochsten  Not  ihre  hochsten 
Gebote  aus  dem  Innern,  nur  in  ihrer  Brust  sehen  sie  die  Schick- 
salssterne  leuchten.  Damonen  peitschen  und  zerfleischen  die 
ungliickliche  Penthesilea,  doch  Nichts  von  Aussen  vermag  auf 
ihre  Entschliisse  zu  wirken;  massgebend  ist  ihr  Nichts  als  ihr 
toricht  Herz;  dem  Feinde  in  ihrem  Busen,  keinem  anderen 
Gegner,  fallt  sie  zum  Opfer,  und  sinkend,  dem  Lebenssturme 
entrissen,  wunscht  sie,  man  moge  die  Asche  der  Tanais  in  die 
Luf  t  streuen  und  gonnt  dem  armen  Menschenherzen  sein  voiles 
Recht.  Ungeheure  Entschliisse  walzt  Guiskard  im  Busen, 
"doch  sein  Geist  bezwingt  sich  selbst."  Der  Dichter  selbst 
empfindet  den  tiefsten  Seelenriss  wie  er,  kurz  vor  seinem  Sturze, 
den  Widerspruch  in  sich  zwischen  Handlung  und  Gefiihl  wahr- 
nimmt;  alles  gerat  ins  Schwanken,  es  Ib'scht  sich  Stern  um  Stern, 
unser  Dasein  wird  zur  Qual:  "Ach  es  ist  ekelhaft  zu  leben." 

Gewiss  war  es  nicht  leicht,  den  von  seinem  Liebes — und 
Ruhmestraum  verfiihrten  Jiingling,  der  in  entscheidender 
Stunde  alles  wagt  um  allein  an  der  Spitze  seiner  Schaaren  den 
Sieg  herbeizufuhren  und  sich  als  Held  kronen  zu  lassen,  noch  im 
wilden,  damonischen  Brausen  der  Leidenschaften  zu  bandigen, 


630  Farinelli 

ihn  zur  stillen  Einkehr  in  sich  selbst,  zur  Verurteilung  und 
Verdammung  des  eignen  Frevelmuts  zu  bewegen.  Vor  seinen 
Augen  verschwindet  gleischsam  der  Staat,  die  Welt,  seitdem  er 
das  erste  Zeichen  der  Liebeshuld  erhalt.  Siegen  musste  er, 
triumphiren  iiber  alle  Feinde,  koste  es  was  es  wolle.  Wer  vermag 
ihn  zur  Ruhe,  zur  Gehorsamkeit,  zur  Pflicht  zu  mahnen?  Die 
tiefe,  herrliche  Vision  hat  gewirkt.  Er  ist  zerstreut,  geteilt, 
im  hochsten  Grade  abwesend;  uberhort  alle  Befehle,  die  vor 
Schlachtanfang  erteilt  werden.  Umsonst  lasst  der  Kurfiirst 
seinen  Generalen  den  Kriegsplan  verkiindigen:  das  Heer  der 
Schweden  so  in  die  Flucht  zu  drangen  bis  es,  zersplittert  vor 
den  Briickenkopf  am  Rhyn  gelangt,  nach  Sprengung  der 
Briicke,  seine  ganzliche  Vernichtung  gefunden  hatte.  Umsonst 
wird  verordnet,  der  Prinz  solle  sich  in  seinem  angewiesenen 
Platz,  gegeniiber  dem  rechtem  Fliigel  des  Feindes,  unbeweglich 
halten,  vom  Platz  nicht  weichen  bis  der  gedrangte  linke  Fliigel 
des  Feindes,  aufgelost,  sich  auf  seinen  rechten  stiirzt  und 
wankend  zu  wilder  Unordnung  vor  die  Siimpfe  gelangt  ware. 
Die  wiederholten  Befehle  erschallen  in  die  Luft.  Dieses  nicht 
eher  sich  Riihren  a  Is.  .  .  stellt  dem  Prinzen  eine  unertragliche 
Schranke  entgegen.  Die  Fanfare  soil  er  blasen  lassen  an  einem 
bestimmten  Zeitpunkte  der  Schlacht;  seinem  Flammengeist 
musste  dieses  Zogern  des  Siegesmarsches  unertraglich  erscheinen. 
Beim  ersten  Siegesruf  der  Genossen  sieht  er  seinen  eigenen 
Triumph  gefahrdet,  und  er  bricht  auf,  reisst  die  Seinigen  mit 
sich  fort,  und  entscheidet  den  Sieg,  der  zwar  glanzend  erfochten, 
jedoch  dem  Kriegsplan  und  dem  festgesetzten  Ziele  des  Staats- 
lenkers  nicht  entsprach. 

Gliick  und  Zufall  hatten  jede  Kriegsweisheit  und  erleuchtete 
Vorbestimmung  zu  Schanden  werden  lassen.  Und  nicht  per- 
sonlicher  Mut,  dieses  Stiirzen  auf  die  Feinde  gleich  einer  ver- 
heerenden  Lavine,  der  zur  eigensinnigen  Uberhebung  hinzuge- 
kommene  edle  Drang,  den  todtgeglaubten  Kurfiirsten  mit 
linerhorter  Kampfeswut  zu  rachen,  konnten  die  Schuld  des 
Prinzen  rein  waschen.  Das  eigenmachtige  Eingreifen  hatte 
auch  verhangnissvoll  werden  konnen.  Entheiligt  waren  die 
Gesetze  des  Krieges.  Willkiir  ersetzte  die  Regel,  die  Ordnung. 
Ins  Herz  des  Vaterlandes  war  eine  tiefe  Wunde  geschlagen. 
Nun  hatte  der  Fiirst  seinem  Herrn  jiingst,  durch  Leichtsinn 
und  Trotz,  am  Ufer  des  Rheins,  zwei  Siege  verscherzt.  Bandi- 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  631 

gen,  massigen,  erziehen  musste  man  ihn  vor  der  erneuten 
Schlacht,  im  Zaum  sollte  er  gehalten  werden.  Wiewohl  als 
ruhmvoller  Fiihrer  gewiirdigt,  sollte  er  doch  Geduld  iiben,  etwas 
entlegen  gestellt,  der  Obhut  und  dem  Rat  des  Obristen  Kottwitz 
anvertraut  werden.  Der  vom  Kurfiirsten  empfohlenen  Ruhe 
folgte  aber  die  fieberhafte  tJberstiirzung,  dem  "regier  dich  wohl" 
ein  ziigelloses  Durchbrechen  aller  Schranken.  Was  Wunder, 
wenn  der  Herrscher  nun,  nach  dieser  neuen  Krankung  und  Miss- 
achtung  des  Gesetzes,  der  "Mutter  seiner  Krone,"  die  scharfsten 
Mittel  wahlt,  um  endlich  den  unreif  en,  eigenwilligen  Jiingling  zur 
strengen  Pflichterfiillung  reifen  zu  lassen,  wenn  er  das  Urteil 
des  Kriegsgerichts  fordert,  die  Todesschatten  vor  den  Augen 
des  Ruhmestrunkenen  gleiten,  Wolken  um  sein  Haupt  sammeln 
lasst,  und  mit  ungebrochenem  Willen,  die  Erkenntniss  der 
begangenen  Tat,  ein  eigenesGericht  im  Gewissen  des  Schuldigen 
verlangt? 

Die  Liebe  zu  dem  mutigen,  noch  immer  irregeleiteten  Helden 
brauchte  darum  nicht  vor  dem  Trotze  und  dem  schweren 
Verschulden  zu  weichen.  Sie  blieb  lebendig  und  ungeschmalert 
als  die  hochste  Triebkraf t  in  des  Herrschers  Brust.  Und  je  mehr 
Liebe,  desto  grosser  der  Eifer  des  Bildens  und  Erziehens  um  zur 
ersehnten  Vollendung  zu  gelangen.  Wir  kennen  den  Bildungs- 
trieb  in  der  Seele  des  Dichters,  der  ihn  oft  zum  Katecheten  der 
Menschheit  machte  und  zum  unermiidlichen  Ratgeber,  Priifer 
und  Lenker  seiner  geliebten  Wilhelmine,  unfahig  mit  Stiirmen 
und  Wellen  zu  kampfen,  hatte  er  nicht  selbst,  "mit  starkem 
Arm,"  "das  Steuer  des  Schiffers"  ergriffen.  Seine  Liebesbriefe 
gestalteten  sich  oft  zu  Erziehungstractaten.  Und  es  ist  nicht  ein 
geringes  Wunder  der  wunderreichen  Poesie  Kleists,  dieses 
Schmelzen  und  Verschmelzen  so  vieler  belehrenden  Elemente  im 
goldenen  Tiegel  der  Kunst,  diese  Verklarung  des  Unpoetischen 
ins  Poesievolle,  die  nirgends  erzwungene,  von  der  Natur  selbst 
bewirkte  Wandlung  des  Betrachtenden  ins  Handelnde  und 
Bildene,  der  harmonische  Bund  des  Bewussten  und  des  Unbe- 
wussten,  das  aus  dem  Boden  des  Begrifflichen  erstiegene  kraf  t- 
und  lichtvolle  Reich  des  Konkreten  und  des  Fasslichen.  Verhielt 
sich  auch  Kleist  zu  dem  "allerneuesten  Erziehungsplan" 
skeptisch  und  zuriickhaltend,  so  mahnte  er  doch  die  in  die 
Fusstapfen  Fichtes  und  Pestalozzis  tretenden  Weisen  sie 


632  Farinelli 

mochten  "die  Jugend  /  Nun  zu  Mannern"  erziehen.  Er  machte 
seinen  Kurfiirsten  zum  originellsten  aller  Erzieher  und  Gewissens- 
fiihrer.  So  sicher,  mit  einer  so  unfehlbaren  Erkenntnis  aller 
Seelenkrafte  hatte  noch  Keiner  den  Werdegang  eines  Helden 
bewacht  und  geleitet.  Er  durfte  am  Schlusse  der  harten  Priifung 
den  von  seinem  eitlen  Ubermut  geheilten,  siegreich  durch  "die 
Schule  dieser  Tage  durchgegangenen"  jungen  Helden  den  ver- 
sammelten,  um  das  Recht  der  Empfindung  noch  kampfenden 
Offizieren  als  den  Wurdigsten  der  Wiirdigen,  vollig  in  sich 
Befestigten,  vorstellen  und  feierlich,  mit  unerschiitterlicher 
Zuversicht  sein:  "Wollt  ihr's  zum  vierten  Male  mit  ihm  wagen?" 
aussprechen. 

Nur  dank  der  strengen  militarischen  Zucht  werden  die  Feinde 
Brandenburgs  in  den  Staub  geworfen.  Eine  stille  Wandlung  im 
Empfinden  und  im  Denken  des  Dichters  seit  der  ersten  stiir- 
mischen  Jugend  war  gewiss  eingetreten.  Einst  bereute  Kleist 
bitterlich  seinen  Soldatenstand;  ein  Offizier  schien  ihm  ein  be- 
sonders  gearteter  Mensch,  der  etwas  mit  seinem  eigenen  Wesen 
durchaus  Unvereinbares  in  sich  trug;  mit  der  erlangten  Freiheit 
atmete  er  auf ;  eine  neue  Sonne  beschien  seine  Leiden  und  seine 
Freuden,  ein  neues  Leben  begann.  Doch  die  vielen  Ent- 
tauschungen,  die  politischen  Wirren  und  Kampfe  in  seinem 
Lande,  die  drohende  Gefahr  einer  Unterjochung  stimmten  ihn 
milder  gegen  seinen  abgedankten  Stand,  den  er  in  der  Not  noch 
weiter  und  mit  entschlossenem  Mut  ergriffen,  hatte  man  ihm 
nur  den  angebotenen  Dienst  nicht  verweigert.  Und  fiirwahr  den 
schonsten  Gewinn  hatte  das  preussische  Heer  an  diesem  so 
innerlich  festen,  vom  Schicksale  so  gepeinigten  Dichter  gehabt. 
Mit  grosserer  Warme  empfahl  noch  Keiner  Ordnung,  innere 
Disciplin,  die  unbedingte  Hingabe  an  das  leitende  Gesetz,  die 
Selbstaufopferung  aller  individuellen  Wiinsche  auf  dem  Altar 
des  Vaterlandes.  Niemand  wage  es  an  die  feste  Burg  des  Staates 
zu  riitteln.  In  den  schweren  Zeiten  der  Bedrangnis  konnten  die 
Verse  des  Patrioten  wie  Schwerthiebe  wirken.  Und  machtig 
donnerte  der  von  der  felsigen  Hohe  seiner  thronenden  Germania 
angestimmte  Schlachtgesang  ins  Tal  hinab.  Und  Flammen  in 
die  Seele  der  Zogernden  hatte  das  leidenschaftliche  Vaterlands- 
drama  mit  der  Verherrlichung  der  gewaltigen,  von  Liebe  und 
Hass  und  Rache  und  Hinterlist  genahrten  Feldherrenkunst  des 
Befreiers  der  Germanen,  werfen  sollen. 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  633 

Doch  die  Leier,  die  der  Dichter  zum  Ruhme  seines  Landes  so 
begeistert,  mit  so  iiberwaltigendem  Gefiihle  schlug,  riihrte  die 
Wenigsten  und  drohte  in  der  Einsamkeit  zu  zerbrechen.  Weit 
mildere,  gedampf tere  Tone  hob,  in  geklarterer  Sphare,  die  patrio- 
tische  Muse  im  neuen  Drama  an.  Die  innere  Energie  blieb  aber 
ungelahmt.  Noch  in  reicherer  Fiille  waren  hier  die  Goldkorner 
der  militarischen  Weisheit  ausgestreut.  Ein  Dichter,  der  mit 
grosster  Ruhe  und  Verstandesscharfe  Schlachtenplane  entwirft, 
Massen  bewegt,  mit  der  befohlenen  Bedrangung  und  Umringung 
des  Feindes,  die  das  Versinken  und  Vernichten  in  den  Siimpfen 
in  der  letzten  Triebjagd  bezwecken  sollte,  die  geniale  strate- 
gische  Kunst  eines  Hindenburg  vorwegnimmt!  Dazu  ein 
Schopfer  von  so  lebensvollen,  wahren  Charakteren  wie  des 
prachtigen  in  ewiger  Jugendfrische  lebenden  Kottwitz,  der,  auf 
seine  Erfahrung  in  der  Kriegskunst  gestiitzt,  bereit  ist  die  Tat 
des  Prinzen,  das  eigenmachtige  Eingreifen  in  die  Ziigel  des  von 
dem  Kurfiirsten  geleiteten  Schlachtwagens  gut  zu  heissen,  und 
die  Rechte  der  Empfindung  vor  dem  unbeugsamen,  Gehorsam 
und  Zucht  fordernden  Staatslenker  in  hinreissender  Rede  zu 
verteidigen,  miihevoll  das  gliihende  Gefiihl  unter  der  harten 
Soldatenrinde  zuriickpressend,  gemacht  auch  er,  wie  der  Tag 
der  Schlacht,  vom  hohen  Herrn  der  Welt  "zu  susserm  Ding,  als 
sich  zu  schlagen!" 

Wiederum  geraten  hier  im  "Prinzen  von  Homburg"  wie  in 
der  "Penthesilea"  die  inneren  Forderungen  des  Individuums  mit 
den  Gesetzen  und  Rechten  des  Staates  in  tragischen  Konflict. 
Ein  Bezwingen  des  Gefiihls  und  der  brennenden  Leidenschaft  im 
Herzen  der  Amazone  war  nicht  denkbar;  losgelost  von  den 
Gesetzen  der  Tanais,  iibermannt  von  ihrer  Empfindung,  musste 
sie  zu  Grunde  gehen.  Hebbel,  der  immer  machtig  den  ziin- 
denden  Funken  der  Kunst  Kleists  in  sich  fiihlte,  und  der  den 
Zwiespalt  zwischen  Staat  und  Einzelindividuum,  zwischen 
Gefiihl  und  Vernunft  in  der  "Agnes  Bernauer,"  so  bis  zum 
Triumph  der  harten  Notwendigkeit  und  der  von  keiner  gesetz- 
gebenden  Macht  jemals  zu  billigenden  Aufopferung  und  Ver- 
nichtung  der  Unschuldigen2  verscharfte,  hatte  gewiss  die  Kluft 

1  Und  also  auch  aesthetisch  revoltirend,  wie  ich  in  meinem  in  Deutschland 
wenig  bekannten  Buche  "Hebbel  e  i  suoi  drammi,"  Bari,  1911,  S.  128  ff.  nach- 
zuweisen  versuchte. 


634  Farinelli 

zwischen  der  Empfmdungswelt  des  Kurfiirsten  und  derjenigen 
des  Prinzen  erweitert,  und  vielleicht  auch,  trotz  seiner  Aner- 
kennung  des  im  Drama  wundervoll  dargestellten  Werdegangs  des 
Junglings  zum  reifen  Manne,  die  strengste  Bestrafung,  das 
Opfer  des  Schuldigen  gefordert.  Eine  solche  Gegeniiberstellung 
der  Gegensatze,  ein  so  klares  Durchblicken  der  Idee,  ein  Werden 
und  Gedeihen  auf  Trummern  einer  dem  Untergang  geweihten 
Welt  war  nicht  Kleists  Sache.  Die  grosste  Spannung  musste 
gewiss  zwischen  dem  Leiter  des  Staates  und  dem  ubermiitigen, 
dem  Wahne  seines  Ruhmes  nachjagenden  Prinzen  herrschen, 
und  dunkle  Schatten  und  diistere  Wolken  sollten  den  Himmel 
des  verziickten,  pflichtvergessenen,  nur  seinem  Siegestraum 
lebenden  Junglings  verfinstern;  das  aufbauende,  immer  ver- 
klarende,  beseelende  Werk  der  Liebe  sollte  darum  keine  Unter- 
brechung  erleiden;  den  strengen  Herrscher  mit  dem  unbeugsa- 
men  Willen  fiihrt  ein  unwiderstehlicher  Drang  zum  jungen 
Helden,  der  jugendlich  die  Schranke  des  Gesetzes  durchbrochen. 
Ein  Vater  liebt  den  eigenen  Sohn  nicht  minder.  Sein  starkes, 
gegen  alle  Pfeile  gepanzertes  Herz  ist  so  voller  Milde.  Wehmuts- 
voll  denken  wir  an  das  Herz  des  Dichters  selbst.  Schliesslich, 
ohne  die  geringste  Uberraschung  seitens  des  Kurfiirsten,  erfolgt 
die  Erkenntnis  des  begangenen  Vergehens;  die  Stimme  des 
Gewissens  kann  laut  und  machtig  sprechen;  der  durch  diese 
Selbstschau  in  den  tiefsten  Seelengrund  und  den  gefundenen 
Imperativ  der  Pflicht  ganzlich  umgeschaffene  Held,  tritt  in 
voller  Wiirde  vor  seinen  Richter,  ein  Gleicher  zu  dem  Gleichen, 
selbst  im  Stande  seinem  alten  Kottwitz  Kriegszucht  und 
Gehorsam  zu  lehren.  Alle  Gegensatze  schwinden.  Die  Welt 
des  Kurfiirsten  ist  eins  geworden  mit  der  Welt  des  Prinzen. 
******** 

Wir  untersuchen  nicht  wie  weit  andere  Dramen,  die  ahnliche 
Konflicte  zwischen  Liebe  und  Pflicht,  Gefiihl  und  Vernunft 
behandeln,  Szenen  des  "Wallenstein,"  die  Ballade  Schillers 
"Der  Kampf  mit  dem  Drachen,"  die  den  harten  Kampf  in  der 
Brust  des  jungen  mutigen  Ritters,  die  Selbstdemiitigung  nach 
der  strengen  Riickweisung  des  hohen  das  Gesetz  schiitzenden 
Fursten  als  Bedingung  zum  Erlangen  des  hochsten  Sieges,  die 
tlberwindung  und  Unterdriickung  des  widerspenstigen  Geistes, 
"der  gegen  Zucht  sich  frech  emporet,  /  Der  Ordnung  heilig 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  635 

Band  zerreisst"  fordert  und  das  Flehen  aller  Briider  um  Gnade 
zu  Nichte  macht,  sowie  die  zur  Kenntniss  des  Dichters  gelangten 
sagenhaften  Berichte  iiber  die  Fehrbelliner  Schlacht  und  die 
Uberhebung  eines  Prinzen  von  Homburg,  die  Betrachtung  alter 
Kupfer  und  Gemalde  auf  das  Gestalten  und  Bilden  des  neuen 
Dramas  wirken  konnten.  In  Kleists  Schaffen  sind  allein  die  aus 
dem  Innern  fliessenden  Lebensquellen  massgebend.  Als 
einzige  Richtschnur,  wie  in  des  Prinzen  Neuumbildung,  gelten 
die  Gebote  des  Herzens.8 

Wie  durch  eine  machtige  Liebeswelle  der  Tatendrang  des 
Jiinglings  bestimmt  und  geleitet,  die  hochste  nimmer  zu  be- 
waltigende  Gahrung  der  Gefiihle,  das  titanische  Ansturmen  um 
den  hochsten  Schicksalskranz  zu  erringen,  hervorgebracht  wird, 
zeigt  der  Dichter,  der  selbst  in  den  Zeiten  seines  sturmischen 
Begehrens  um  sein  Alles  oder  Nichts  kampfte,  mit  packender 
Anschaulichkeit.  Vom  Gliick  einmal  gestreif  t,  schienen  die  Lock- 
ungen  des  Ruhms  unwiderstehlich.  Nicht  geklart,  noch  durch 
Edel-  und  Opfermut  gereinigt  von  den  Schlacken  des  Eigennutz- 
es,  und  massloser  Leidenschaftichkeit  war  dieses  hinreissende 
Liebessehnen  in  der  Brust  des  jungen  Helden.  Auch  die  Liebe 
verlangte  -em  Bilden  und  ein  Erziehen.  "Edler  und  besser 
sollen  wir  durch  die  Liebe  werden,"  erfuhr  einst  Wilhelmine  von 
ihrem  eifrigen  Herzenslenker.  Dem  ewig  Weiblichen  fiel  die 
Rolle  zu,  das  Werk  des  Verklarens,  der  sittlichen  Reinigung  zu 
vollenden,  und  so  leitet  die  liebliche  Prinzessin,  ganz  erfiillt  von 
ihrer  Mission,  zu  dem  ewig  Guten,  ewig  SchSnen;  dem  letzten 
Triumph  des  Helden  setzt  sie  die  funkelndste  Krone  hinzu. 

Immer  gefasst,  mit  ruhigem,  klarem  innerem  Blick,  mit 
entschlossenem  Mut,  und  dem  unbeirrbaren  Gefiihl  aller 

•Will  man  unbedingt  auch  auf  die  Wirkung  ausserer  Krafte  Gewicht 
legen,  so  vergesse  man  nicht,  wie  zumeist  geschieht,  die  Ballade  Schillers. 
Selbst  des  Lindwunns  ist  im  Drama  Erwahnung  gethan:  "Trat  er  dem  Lind- 
wurm  mannlich  nicht  aufs  Haupt?"  (Ill)  Unmut  und  Streitbegier  nagten 
an  dem  Herzen  des  Jiinglings  der  Ballade.  "Ja  selbst  im  Traum  der  stillen 
Nachte  /  Fand  ich  mich  keuchend  im  Gefechte."  Der  Meister  straft  den 
frivolen  Mut  des  Ritters,  die  Unf ahigkeit :  "Der  Pflichten  schwerste  zu  erfiillen, 
/  Zu  bandigen  den  eignen  Willen.  /  Dich  hat  der  eitle  Ruhm  bewegt."  Der 
Ritter  biisst,  legt  das  Gewand  von  sich,  kiisst  des  Meisters  strenge  Hand  und 
geht;  liebend  wird  er  zuriickgerufen:  "Umarme  mich,  mein  Sohn!  /  Dir  ist 
der  hartre  Kampf  gelungen.  /  Nimm  dieses  Kreuz:  es  ist  der  Lohn  /  Der 
Demut,  die  sich  selbst  bezwungen." 


636  Farinelli 

Kleistischen  Heldinnen,  steht  sie,  als  Anwalt  der  lieblichen 
Gefiihle,  dem  Anwalt  der  strengen  sittlichen  Pflicht,  mit  voller 
Zuversicht  bei.  Die  Welt  kann  ihr  ja  nichts  anderes  bieten  als 
das  Schicksal  des  Prinzen.  Spricht  man  ihr  von  Sitte,  so  ant- 
wortet  sie:  "Die  hochst'  in  solcher  Stunde"  ist  den  Geliebten  zu 
lieben.  Der  inneren  Vernichtung  des  Prinzen  setzt  sie  ihre 
Seelenfestigkeit  entgegen;  und  wie  er  niedersinkt,  von  Todes- 
angst  gepackt  und  jammerlich  um  Gnade  fleht,  erhebt  sie  sich 
in  majestatischer  Ruhe  und  Grosse.  Darf  denn  ein  Held,  der  so 
oft  im  Sturm  der  Schlacht  dem  Tode  ohne  ein  Zittern  entgegen- 
schaute,  jetzt  plotzlich  vor  einem  geoff netem  Grabe  mit  mattem 
Herzen  zuriickweichen?  "Der  im  Leben  tausendmal  gesiegt, 
/  Er  wird  auch  noch  im  Tod  zu  siegen  wissen."  Wiirdig  an  der 
Spitze  eines  Regiments  zu  stehen,  gibt  sie  mit  mannlicher  Tat- 
kraft  Befehle  und  Verordnungen  und  ftigt  der  Macht  des  Geset- 
zes  die  Macht  ihres  Willens  hinzu.  Freilich  musste  sie  auch,  so 
gut  wie  die  Mehrzahl  der  Kritiker  unseres  Dichters,  die  innerste 
Absicht  des  Oheims  verkennen  und  einen  Augenblick  wenigstens 
an  seinem  unerschutterlichen  Festhalten  am  Spruch  der  Kriegs- 
gerichts  irre  gehen;  auch  sie  beunruhigt  in  einem  so  milden 
Fiirsten  die  Starrheit  der  Antike.  Den  Helden  kranzen  zu- 
nachst,  dann  enthaupten,  "das  ware  so  erhaben  .  .  .  dass  man 
es  fast  unmenschlich  nennen  konnte."  Zur  entscheidenden 
Siegeskronung  erscheint  sie  aber  selbst,  das  "siisse  Kind," 
dem  strengen  Manne  unentbehrlich,  konnte  sie  auch  nicht 
ahnen,  dass  die  Entscheidung  in  dem  tragischen  Ehrenkonflikt 
in  der  Hand  des  Schuldigen,  nicht  in  der  des  Anklagers  lag. 
Sie  allein  durfte  als  Bote  jenes  Schreibens  gewahlt  werden,  das 
die  so  unliebsam  verzogerte  Entscheidung  fordern,  das  schlum- 
mernde  Pflichtgewissen  wecken  sollte:  "Willst  du  den  Brief 
ihm  selber  iiberbringen?"  Sie  eilt,  von  dem  fruheren  Anblick 
des  Verstorten  und  Zerknirschten  noch  eingenommen,  ihre 
Mission  zu  vollfiihren,  sie  wohnt  mit  einem  Gefuhl  des  Staunens 
der  sittlichen  Auferstehung  des  Geliebten  bei;  ein  leises  Beben 
durchzuckt  sie,  die  ersehnte  Rettung  konnte  noch  durch  ein 
Schwanken  in  der  Antwort  des  zum  eigenen  Gericht  Geforderten 
gefahrdet  werden;  wirklich  ergreift  das  Herz  des  Prinzen  eine 
neue  Regung;  die  uberraschendste  Wendung  tritt  wirklich  ein; 
mit  dem  Bekenntnis  der  schweren  Schuld,  und  dem  Zuriick- 
weisen  der  Gnade  gewinnt  der  Held  die  voile  innere  Festigung; 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  637 

der  Unbegreifliche,  der  Rasende,  der  Ungeheuerste  erscheint 
nun  in  voller  Wiirde,  geadelt,  gerettet,  verklart,  als  "siisser 
Freund"  vor  den  Augen  der  Fiirstin. 

Nimm  diesen  Kuss! — Und  bohrten  gleich  zwolf  Kugeln 
Dich  jetzt  in  Staub,  nicht  halten  konnt'  ich  mich, 
Und  jauchzt'  und  weint'  und  sprache:  du  gefallst  mir. 

Am  Rand  des  Verderbens  lacht  sonnenumstrahlt  die  schonste 
Seelenblute.  Wer  aber  regelt  in  diesem  ratselvollen  Leben  unser 
kiihnes  Emporsteigen  und  das  tiefe  Herabsinken?  Auf  den 
hochsten  Schwingen  des  Gliicks  schien  der  Prinz  getragen,  und 
Triumph  schrie  er  im  Sturmesbrausen,  als  plotzlich  sich  gahnen- 
de  Abgriinde  vor  den  trunkenen  Augen  offnen.  Dem  verwegenen 
Rufe:  "0  Casar  Divus  /  Die  Leiter  setz'  ich  an,  an  deinen 
Stern,"  donnert  ein  "Schuldig  des  Todes"  drohend  und  vernich- 
tend  entgegen.  Wer  zu  hoch  mit  titanischem  Ubermut  gegriffen, 
erfahrt  die  tiefste  Erniedrigung.  Die  Klage  iiber  die  Nichtigkeit 
aller  Menschengiiter  wird  aus  der  beklommenen  Brust  des  von 
den  Lockungen  irdischen  Glanzes  und  Ruhmes  Hingerissenen 
entsteigen.  Und  es  schwindet  der  Taumel  des  Lebens  sobald  die 
Schauer  des  Todes  sich  zeigen. 

Im  Grunde  handelt  der  Prinz  mit  blinder  Uberstiirzung  und 
verkennt  selbst  seine  eigene  innere  Anlage,  wie  er  die  strafende 
heilende  Tat  seines  Herrschers  richtet,  der  ihm  mit  der  Starrheit 
eines  Brutus,  ungeheuere  Entschlusse  in  sich  walzend,  entgegen- 
tritt.  Fur  einen  Schuft  hielt  er,  wer  sich  seinem  Schlachtbefehl 
widersetzt  und  befiehlt  einen  Offizier,  der  ihm  unbedingten 
Gehorsam  verweigerte,  gefangen  ins  Hauptquartier  abzufiihren. 
Den  eigenen  Fehltritt  begreift  er  nicht.  Sein  zu  friih  gewagter 
Angriff,  dem  doch  ein  entscheidender  Sieg  folgte,  war  er  denn 
ein  todeswiirdiges  Verbrechen?  Und  er  schmachtet  fassungslos 
in  dem  Kerker,  nur  auf  Mitleid  und  Gnade  harrend.  Erst  nach 
seiner  ganzlichen  Entwiirdigung  sollte  er  zur  vollen  Wurde 
gelangen.  Grimmig  naht  sich  das  Gespenst  des  Todes.  Auch 
Egmont  schiittelte  dieses  friihe  Drangen  ins  finstere  Schatten- 
reich,  "mitten  unter  Waffen,  auf  der  Woge  des  Lebens":  "Ver- 
sagt  es  dir  den  nie  gescheuten  Tod  vorm  Angesicht  der  Sonne 
rasch  zu  gonnen,  um  dir  des  Grabes  Vorgeschmack  im  eklen 
Moder  zu  bereiten?"  Ein  innerer  Schauer  durchzuckt  den 
Helden;  doch  jede  Zerknirschung  bleibt  ihm  erspart;  gleich 


638  Farinelli 

rafft  er  sich  zusammen;  mutig  scheidet  er  vom  siissen  Leben 
und  schreitet  dem  ehrenvollen  Tode  entgegen. 

Alle  inneren  Krafte  versagen  indessen  dem  Prinzen,  seitdem 
ihn  die  bleiche  Furcht  beschlichen.  Sein  Heldenherz  1st  geknickt. 
Und  tiefer  und  immer  tiefer  fallt  er,  ein  unfreundlich  jammerns- 
wiirdiger  Anblick  vor  den  Augen  der  Geliebten,  welche  seine 
Klagen  um  das  Schwinden  des  Lichts  des  goldenen  Tages  hort: 
"O,  Gottes  Welt  .  .  .  ist  so  schb'n!"  Das  Grab  hat  er  vor  sich, 
und  er  will  nichts  als  leben,  leben  um  jeden  Preis,  wie  Claudius 
in  Shakespeare's  "Measure  for  Measure";  "Let  me  live"  "it 
is  too  horrible" — "the  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldy  life 
...  is  a  paradise  to  what  we  fear  of  death."  Auf  Ruhm  und 
Grosse  will  er  Verzicht  leisten.  Die  Liebe,  die  ihn  entflammte 
und  all  sein  Tun  und  Streben,  das  heldenmiitige  Stiirzen  in  die 
Schlacht,  bestimmte,  will  er  nun  seinem  Herzen  entreissen,  und 
die  Geliebte  Nathalie  erfahrt  das  "Geh'  ins  Kloster,"  das  Hamlet 
seiner  Ophelia  bitterlich  riet:  "Geh  an  der  Main  ...  ins 
Stift  der  Jungfraun."  Himmelhoch,  den  Sternen  nah,  trugen 
ihn  die  Schwingen  des  Ruhms;  nun  wiinscht  er  sich  das  beschei- 
denste  Platzchen  unter  den  Ruhmlosen,  und  so  ein  stilles  Idyll 
auf  entlegener  Erde,  wie  einst  der  Dichter  selbst,  nach  erlittenem 
SchifFbruch  der  heissesten  Ideale  am  Thuner  See  es  suchte,  die 
geistigen  Giiter  mit  den  materiellen  vertauschen,  bauen,  nieder- 
reissen,  dass  ihm  der  Schweiss  herabtrieft,  auf  seinen  Gutern 
am  Rhein,  saen,  ernten,  und  nach  der  Ernte,  von  neuem  saen, 
"und  in  den  Kreis  herum  das  Leben  jagen,  /  Bis  es  am  Abend 
niedersinkt  und  stirbt."  Der  Schlachtgesang  ist  verstummt, 
und  nur  ein  zitterndes  Lied  .  .  .  auf  die  Verganglichheit  aller 
Erdengrosse  und  das  Schwinden  im  Fluge  des  Menschenlebens 
vermag  die  auf  Wehmut  und  Trauer  gestimmte  Leier  anzu- 
schlagen. 

"Ach  es  ist  nichts  ekelhaf  ter  als  diese  Furcht  vor  dem  Tode," 
schrieb  einst  der  Dichter  seiner  Wilhelmine.  Nie  hat  aber  Kleist 
die  Darstellung  des  tiefsten  Niederganges  und  des  ganzlichen 
Zusammenbruchs  der  Gefiihlswelt  seiner  Helden  gescheut;  ja 
mit  sichtlicher  Wollust  schildert  er  alle  Extreme  der  Emp- 
findung,  die  hb'chste  Verziickung,  wie  die  grosste  Fassungslosig- 
keit  unter  der  zermalmenden  Wucht  des  Schicksals.  Nach  dem 
jahen  Sturz  musste  ein  rasches,  ganz  unmittelbares  Aufstehen 
und  Wiederaufleben  im  vollsten  Glanz  erfolgen.  Ein  ernstes 


Kleisfs  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  639 

Wort  der  Pflicht  findet  Zugang  zum  Gewissen  des  so  verstorten 
Jiinglings  und  gleich  stromt  vom  Himmel  das  Licht,  gleich  sind 
alle  Schatten  und  Gespenster  verdrangt.  Mit  einem  Schlage 
gelangt  der  Fiirst  zu  seiner  sittlichen  Reife.  Die  hochste 
Lebensreife,  wir  wissen  es,  fallt  im  Urteil  des  Dichters  mit  der 
Reife  zum  Tode  zusammen.  Der  Spruch  des  Gesetzes  muss  fiir 
das  Heil  des  Staates  in  Erfiillung  gehen.  Der  friiher  um  Ret- 
tung  flehte  und  sich  an  die  Trummer  des  gesunkenen  Lebens 
anklammerte,  sieht  nun,  wie  Schillers  Maria  Stuart,  wohltatig 
heilend  den  Tod  nahen;  den  beseelenden  Willen  in  der  nun 
gestarkten  Brust  will  er  ausschliesslich  fiir  die  Verherrlichung 
des  heiligen  Gesetzes  des  Krieges  durch  einen  freien  Tod  ver- 
wenden.  Was  hat  denn  dieses  ratselhaf  te  Ding,  das  man  Leben 
nennt,  fiir  einen  anderen  Preis,  als  das  man  es  leicht  und  freudig 
opf ern  kann?  Wie  oft  hat  der  Dichter  diesen  seinen  f esten  Glau- 
ben  ausgesprochen!  "Das  Leben  ist  viel  wert,  wenn  man's 
verachtet" — "Das  Leben  hat  doch  immer  nichts  Erhabeneres 
als  nur  dieses,  dass  man  es  erhaben  wegwerfen  kann."  Und 
neue  Krafte  durchzucken  die  matten  Glieder  des  wiederaufer- 
standenen  Jiinglings.  Er  hat  entbehren,  entsagen  gelernt.  Die 
wiedererlarigte  Lebensfiille  stellt  er  jubelnd  in  den  Dienst  der 
notwendig  gewordenen  Lebensvernichtung.  "Ich  bin  so 
selig,  Sch wester!  Uberselig!  Ganz  reif  zum  Tode" — dieselbe 
Todesschwarmerei,  welche  den  Dichter  der  "Penthesilea" 
unmittelbar  vor  seinem  Ende  ergriff,  bemachtigt  sich  des  Prin- 
zen.  Die  Erdenschwere  fallt.  Alle  fmsteren  Machte  sind  ge- 
bannt.  Leicht  und  frei  erhebt  sich  die  Seele  iiber  die  Welt  in 
die  hoheren  Spharen.  Der  bangen  Scheu  vor  dem  Ungewissen 
folgt  der  freudige  trunkene  Blick  in  die  bald  zu  losenden  Mys- 
terien  des  Jenseits.  Der  befliigelte  Geist  schwingt  sich  durch 
stille  Aetherraume.  Mit  dem  Glanz  einer  tausendfachen  Sonne 
strahlt  den  Augen  des  Todtgeweihten  die  Unsterblichkeit  zu. 

So  sehr  wir  diese  Wollust  der  Selbstaufopferung  auch  im 
Hinblick  auf  des  Dichters  eigenes  Frohlocken  auf  "das  unend- 
liche,  prachtige  Grab"  und  den  selbstgewollten  Tod  billigen 
und  erhaben  finden,  so  unnotig  erscheint  uns  doch  der  Nach- 
druck,  den  der  Seelenforscher  auf  die  Einschiichterung  durch 
das  immer  wieder  gezeigte  offene  Grab  legen  will.  Durch 
dieses  zu  deutliche  Abzielen  auf  die  gewollte  Wirkung  erleidet 
das  Kunstwerk  unliebsame  Risse,  die  Auschaulichkeit,  die  man 


640  Farinelli 

erhohen  mochte,  wird  beeintrachtigt.  Es  1st  genug  des  qual- 
vollen  Gefiihls,  genug  der  Schatten,  die  aufgedrangt  werden. 
Dieses  Schaufeln  der  Erde,  die  das  Gebein  des  gefallenen  Helden 
empfangen  und  decken  soil,  widert  uns  schliesslich  an  und  hatte 
leicht  dem  so  tief  gesunkenen  Prinzen  erspart  werden  konnen. 
Die  Feuerprobe,  welche  der  Graf  von  Gleichen  von  seinem 
Katchen  mit  iibertriebener,  fast  grausamer  Harte  erfordert,  um 
zum  glanzvollsten  Triumph  der  Tugend  zu  gelangen,  wiederholt 
sich  hier  im  Drama  der  aufgezwungenen  Selbstzucht.  Nur 
Schade,  dass  dem  Kurfursten  die  Grabkunst  Michelangelos, 
die  von  dem  Gewaltigen  zur  Verdammung  des  eitlen  Menschen- 
ruhms  gebrauchten  Sinnbilder  menschlicher  HinfalJigkeit, 
nicht  zur  Verfugung  standen.  Die  militarischen  strengsten 
Bestimmungen  sollten  helfen.  Mit  dem  Bilde  der  offenen  Gruf t 
wetteifert  das  Bild  des  von  den  strafenden  Kugeln  zu  Tod- 
getroffenen.  Schon  sind  auf  dem  Markte  die  Fenster  bestellt, 
"die  auf  das  ode  Schauspiel  niedergehn."  Der  eifrigste  Ver- 
teidiger  des  Prinzen  wird  ausserwahlt,  "mit  seinen  zwolf 
Schwadronen  /  Die  letzten  Ehren  zu  erweisen."  Ein  Regiment 
soil  bestellt  sein  den  Versenkten  "aus  Karabinern,  iiberm  Grabes- 
hiigel  /  Versohnt  die  Totenfeier"  zu  halten.  Sollte  wirklich 
aus  dem  Ubermass  der  Liebe  des  Kurfursten  dieses  Ubermass 
von  drohender  Harte  fliessen? 

Nach  der  erfochtenen  Schlacht  sehen  wir  alle  Krafte  des 
Herrschers  verwendet,  um  die  Unwandlung  des  Prinzen,  den  Sieg 
iiber  den  verhangnissvollenTrotz  undMutwillen  herbeizufiihren. 
Vor  dieser  Pflicht  der  Erziehung  eines  unbesonnen  stiirmischen 
Jiinglings  zum  wahren,  des  Kranzes  wirklich  wiirdigen  Helden, 
treten  alle  Staatsgedanken  und  Geschafte  zuriick.  Und  wenig 
bedeuten  noch^die  einzelnen  Falle  der  Insubordination,  die 
sich  im  Kreise  der  um  das  Schicksal  des  Prinzen  besorgten 
Offiziere  wiederholen.  Eine  gelinde  Riige  geniigte  um  sie  zu 
beseitigen.  Wie  in  alien  vom  Dichter  ersonnenen  Herrscher- 
naturen  treten  Schroffheit  und  Unbeugsamkeit  des  Willens 
zusammen  mit  der  grossten  Feinheit  und  Zartheit  des  Emp- 
findens.  "Gott  schuf  nichts  Milderes  als  ihn,"  beteuert  die 
liebliche  Nathalie,  die  von  ihrem  machtigen  Beschiitzer  mit 
den  Koseworten:  "mein  susses  Madchen"  "susses  Kind," 
"mein  liebes  Kind,"  "mein  Tochterchen,"  "mein  Nichtchen," 
angesprochen  wird.  Und  Milde  erkannte  man  auch  in  dem 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  641 

gotterleuchteten,  alle  Mittel  und  Greuel  der  Bekampfung, 
Mord  und  Brand  nicht  scheuenden  Retter  und  Befreier  der 
Germanen.  "Der  Friihling  kann  nicht  milder  sein."  Als 
Fiirst  wohl,  aber  auch  mit  vaterlicher  Fiirsorge  liebte  der 
Brandenburger  Herrscher  den  jungen  Stiirmer:  "Ich  bin  ihm 
wert,  das  weiss  ich  /  Wert  wie  ein  Sohn."  Und  wie  andachtig 
und  liebevoll  blickte  der  Prinz  zu  seinem  Herrscher  empor;  wie 
pries  er  die  Tat  des  in  Staub  gesunkenen  Froben,  dieses  Opfers 
seiner  Treue!  Hatte  er  zehn  Leben,  konnte  er  sie  nicht  besser 
brauchen  als  so.  Den  Irrungen  des  Verblendeten  musste  das 
unbeirrbare,  durch  keine  Macht  ins  Schwanken  zu  bringende 
Vorgehen  des  weisen  Lenkers  entgegengestellt  werden. 

Dass  der  Kurfurst  mit  einem  Unfertigen  und  immer  noch  in 
Garung  Begriffenen  zu  tun  hatte,  der  ihm  in  der  wichtigsten 
Schlacht  noch  einen  tollen  Streich  spielen  konne,  wusste  er 
wohl.  Auch  zweifelte  er  nicht  im  Geringsten,  dass  die  beab- 
sichtigte  Wendung  im  Gewissen  des  Schuldigen  erfolgen  wiirde. 
Seine  Erkenntnisscharfe  konnte  keinem  argen  Trug  unterliegen. 
Eine  Entwicklung  zur  vollen  Geistesfreiheit  konnte  nur  unter 
eigener  Verantwortung  vor  sich  gehen.  Und  eigenmachtig  im 
tiefsten  Innern  keimt  im  Menschen  das  Pflichtgefuhl.  Wie 
bedacht  ist  der  Dichter,  Richter  und  Gerichteten  von  einander 
zu  trennen  und  sie  solange  auseinanderzuhalten  bis  der  Prozess 
des  Selbsturteilens  und  des  Selbstentscheidens  zur  Vollendung 
gelangt!  Kein  Wort  zwischen  ihnen  darf  vorher  gewechselt 
werden.  Und  nicht  im  Entferntesten  gedenkt  der  Kurfurst  in 
seinen  Schreiben  an  den  Prinzen  zur  Pflicht  zu  mahnen;  genug 
wenn  er  selbst  kein  Verschulden  gegen  das  innere,  alles  re- 
gierende  und  bestimmende  Miissen  begeht.  "Darf  ich  den 
Spruch  .  .  .  unterdriicken?"  Dass  die  Haft  den  Prinzen,  statt 
ihn  zu  ernster  Besinnung  zu  bringen,  so  erbarmlich  feige  macht, 
scheint  sein  eigenes  Gefiihl  einen  Augenblick  zu  beirren.  Ein 
Held,  der  um  Gnade  fleht,  muss  ja  sein  hochstes  Erstaunen 
erregen.  Wird  ihm  selbst,  dem  Priifer,  nicht  eine  schwere 
Priifung  zubereitet?  Ein  anderer  Dichter  hatte  gewiss  dem 
Schmerz  des  erfahrenen  Mannes  in  gesonderten  Selbstge- 
sprachen  Ausdruck  verliehen.  Bei  Kleist,  wo  Alles  auf  die 
Handlung,  auf  die  Tat,  auf  die  Charakter-und  Lebensgestaltung 
hinauslauft,  sind  derartige  Ergiessungen  miissig.  Ein  Hin- 
deuten  mit  lapidarischer  Kiirze  ersetzt  alle  Auseinandersetzung- 


642  Farinelli 

en.  Die  Kunst  ist  Fasslichkeit  und  Pragnanz.  Oft  leisten  die 
Kleistischen  Helden  im  Verschweigen  ihr  Hochstes. 

Gewahren  wir  dem  Kurfursten  nebst  anderen  Gaben  auch  die 
der  weisen,  immer  zum  gefassten  Ziel  fiihrenden  Strategik. 
Wer  so  die  Menschen  in  seiner  Macht  hat,  mit  Adlerblick 
erhaben  iiber  Alles  sieht,  darf  sich  mitunter  auch  in  der  streng- 
sten  Ausiibung  seiner  Pflicht  einen  Scherz,  ein  Verstellungsspiel 
als  Zeichen  seiner  Uberlegenheit  gestatten.  Wir  wissen,  wie 
auch  in  der  Kunst  der  Tauschung  die  Grosse  Hermanns  als 
Fiihrer  der  Germanen  sich  bekundet.  Die  ungemein  klare  Auf- 
fassung  der  Dinge,  die  Kenntniss  der  seelischen  Vorgange  teilt 
ja  der  Fiirst  mit  Niemanden  in  seiner  Umgebung;  und  so  kann 
er,  ohne  besondere  Rednerkunst,  bloss  gefasst  "auf  mark'sche 
Weise,"  die  Weisheit  Aller  uberfliigeln  und  gelegentlich  ver- 
wirren.  Die  Gesinnung  seiner  Treusten  lernt  er  am  Besten  und 
am  Tiefsten  durch  sein  Verharren  als  gnadenloser  Urteilsvoll- 
strecker,  und  die  Maske  des  grausamen  Richters,  die  er  tragt, 
kennen,  wahrend  doch  in  seinem  Innern  nur  Milde,  nur  Giite 
herrscht.  Nur  so  konnte  er  in  seinem  Lebensherbst  die  schwung- 
volle  Rede  von  Kottwitz  als  Verteidiger  der  scheinbar  verletz- 
ten  Rechte  des  Gefuhles  veranlassen,  die  hochste  Spannung  im 
Kreise  seiner  Untertanen  bewirken,  dem  staatschiitzenden 
Gesetz  die  grosste  unverlierbare  Kraft  und  Wiirde  verleihen. 
Ein  tragisches  Spielen  fiirwahr  mit  dem  Verbluten  der  starksten 
Seele,  keine  Komodie;  und  wir  begreifen  die  Bedrangniss  der 
Mitleidenden  an  dem  Spiele:  "O  Gott  der  Welt!  Musst' 
es  bis  dahin  kommen?" 

Er  allein,  der  Herrscher,  wiewohl  er  gewissenhaft  vor  den 
wichtigsten  Entschliissen  all  die  Seinigen  um  sich  sammelt, 
und  mit  einem  "was  meint  ihr?"  ihren  Rat  fordert,  waltet  iiber 
das  Schicksal  seines  Landes,  und  schlichtet  mit  fester  Hand  und 
unfehlbarem  Instinkt  Sorgen  und  Kampfe.  Der  Graf  von 
Hohenzollern  bleibt  im  Glauben  sein  Wort  fiele,  "ein  Gewicht, 
in  seine  Brust."  Nichts  als  die  eigene  Stimme  des  Gewissens 
ist  aber  entscheidend.  Und  wo  der  Fiirst  in  seine  Herzenstiefe 
greift,  findet  er  seinen  belebenden  Gott.  An  seiner  Lebens- 
neige,  kann  er  immer  noch  das  frische  Wagen,  das  warme 
Fiihlen,  das  Sehnen  der  Jugend  im  Bliihen  des  Lenzes  mitemp- 
finden.  Und  so  wird  ihm  vergonnt  die  vollste  Harmonic 
zwischen  der  Gefiihlswelt  und  der  Welt  des  Verstandes  zu 


Kleist's  "Der  Prinz  von  Hamburg"  643 

erzielen,  so  vermag  er  die  geloschten  Sterne  in  der  Brust  seines 
Lieblings  zu  entziinden  und  den  Gereiften  so  fest  an  sich  zu 
ziehen,  dass  ein  Seelenaustausch  erfolgen  kann,  und  der  Prinz 
zum  besten  Sachwalter  wird,  der  des  hohen  Herren  Sache 
fiihrt. 

Ein  Kuss  auf  die  Stirne  des  Helden  besiegelt  den  nun  unzer- 
trennlichen  Bund.  Das  Herz  bebt.  Wie  prachtig  war  das 
Werk  gelungen!  Mit  welcher  Manneswiirde  trat  ihm  der 
Jiingling  entgegen!  Wie  iiberragte  er,  selbst  an  Verstand  und 
Strenge  des  Pflichtbewusstseins,  die  besten  und  erfahrungs- 
reichsten  der  Fiihrer!  Doch  die  Verstellungskunst  sollte  weiter 
geiibt  werden.  Zuriickhaltend  noch  im  Anschwellen  der  Gefiihle 
sprach  der  Herrscher  von  der  Bewilligung  der  letzten  Bitte. 
Dann  aber  bereitet  er  den  hochsten  Triumph  des  Lebens  mitten 
in  der  hochsten  Todesverziickung  des  Geheilten.  Und  er  reicht 
den  Kranz  mit  der  nie  zu  brechenden  Kette  der  Prinzessin, 
die  als  Anwalt  der  Liebe  die  feierliche  Kronung  des  Helden 
vollfiihrt.  Ein  Donnern  der  Kanonen,  ein  machtiges:  "In 
Staub  mit  alien  Feinden,"  die  Siegessymphonie  eines  Kleist 
brauchte  keine  anderen  Tone.  Neue  Zeiten  dammern.  In  voller 
Ordnung  und  Eintracht,  innerlich  gefestigt,  schreitet  das 
Vaterland  seinen  kiinftigen  Schicksalen  entgegen. 

Sein  Dichter  aber,  mit  dem  Tod  im  Herzen,  entzieht  sich 
dem  feierlichen  Gang.  Das  Leben  bereitet  ihm  nur  Qual  und 
Leiden,  und  er  scheidet,  wagt  den  oft  ersonnenen  Wurf;  sinkt 
ungebeugt  wie  die  Eiche  "weil  sie  zu  stolz  und  kraftig  bliihte." 
Und  wir  denken  erschiittert  an  diesen  Sturz.  War  er  nicht 
selbst  der  Zauberer,  der  die  e»tgegengesetzten  Welten  har- 
monisch  zu  verbinden  verstand,  und  das  Leidenschaftliche, 
Himmelsturmende  der  Jugend  nahe  an  die  Sterne  gottlicher 
Weisheit  riickte?  Der  das  Herbe  und  Strenge  der  sittlichen 
Pflicht  mit  dem  lieblichsten  Schmelz  der  Gefiihle  und  der 
riihrendsten  Zartlichkeit  im  Bunde  mit  der  keuschesten  Liebe 
zur  schonsten  Entfaltung  und  innigstem  Zusammenwirken 
brachte?  Wer  sonst  noch  vermochte  in  die  gedrungenste 
Darstellung  der  Seelenkonflicte  so  viel  Anmut,  in  eine  so  wort- 
karge  Kunst  so  viel  Weichheit  und  Empfindungsfulle  hinein- 
zuzaubern,  den  Traum  des  Weltentruckten  so  lieblich  und 
tauschend  mit  dem  Ereignis  des  wachen  Lebens  mitten  im 
Weltgetiimmel  zu  verketten;  wer  Damonen  und  Cotter  im 


644  Farinelli 

Gewimmel  der  Erscheinungen  dieses  wunderlichen,  gebrech- 
lichen  Erdenreiches,  im  raschen  Zerstieben  des  Gliickstraums 
der  Menschen  in  so  tiefen  Einklang  tatig  nebeneinander  zu 
erdenken;  wer  das  Schreckliche  selbst  und  scheinbar  Wider- 
wartige  so  mit  poetischem  Glanz  zu  verklaren?  Wohl  hat  das 
lange  Verweilen  und  Sinnen  im  Reich  des  Unbewussten  diese 
geheimnissvolle  Macht  in  dem  Dichter  und  Traumer  entwickelt. 
Er,  der  ewig  unbegriffene,  unselige  Mensch,  der  einst  nach  dem 
hochsten  Kranz  der  Dichtung  strebte,  durfte  alle  Erdengiiter 
gering  schatzen,  gefasst  sein  eitel  Nichts  aussprechen — "wir 
begegnen  uns,  drei  Friihlinge  lieben  wir  uns,  und  eine  Ewigkeit 
fliehen  wir  auseinander" — nur  den  Gesang,  der  aus  der  freien 
Brust,  so  machtig,  so  voll  unnennbaren  Wonnen  stromte,  behor- 
chen,  und  singend,  frei  wie  der  Vogel  singt,  sich  losgelost  von 
alien  Banden  fiihlen.  Der  Todespfeil  traf,  und  das  Lied 
verstummte  in  der  zerschmetterten  Brust.  Und  sterbend 
nahm  der  Dichter  mit  sich  auf  die  Fluren  der  Seligen  das 
Geheimniss  seines  so  kraftigen  und  zugleich  so  siissen  Liedes. 

ARTURO  FARINELLI 
Torino,  Italy 


BURKE'S   ESSAY   ON   THE   SUBLIME   AND    ITS 
REVIEWERS 

Burke's  Philosophical  Inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of 
the  Sublime  and  Beautiful  has  often  been  reprinted,  and  almost 
always,  since  the  second  edition  of  January  10,  1759,1  'with  an 
Introductory  Discourse  concerning  Taste,  and  several  other 
Additions.'  A  comparison  with  the  original  edition,  published 
by  Dodsley  on  April  21,  1757,2  shows  that  most  of  the  changes 
were  merely  verbal  and  of  a  minor  sort;  these  casual  differences 
Burke,  in  his  second  Preface,  passes  over  in  silence — and  for  the 
present  we  may  follow  his  example.  Nothing  of  importance  is 
either  deleted  or  rewritten.  There  are,  however,  considerable 
additions.  The  significant  changes,  then,  consist  of  a  new  Pre- 
face, an  introductory  essay  on  taste,  and,  in  the  text  proper, 
scattered  additional  passages  in  sum  larger  by  half  than  the 
treatise  on  taste. 

The  original  Preface  recounts  the  manner  in  which  the 
Inquiry  came  to  be  written;  it  briefly  describes  the  common 
confusion  of  mind  upon  the  subject-matter  of  the  essay,  and  the 
author's  method  of  inquiry: 

He  observed  that  the  ideas  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  were  frequently 
confounded,  and  that  both  were  indiscriminately  applied  to  things  greatly 
differing,  and  sometimes  of  natures  directly  opposite.  Even  Longinus,  in 
his  incomparable  discourse  upon  a  part  of  this  subject,  has  comprehended 
things  extremely  repugnant  to  each  other  under  one  common  name  of  the 
.sublime.  The  abuse  of  the  word  beauty  has  been  still  more  general,  and 
attended  with  still  worse  consequences. 

Such  a  confusion  of  ideas  must  certainly  render  all  our  reasonings  upon 
subjects  of  this  kind  extremely  inaccurate  and  inconclusive.  Could  this  admit 
of  any  remedy,  I  imagined  it  could  only  be  from  a  diligent  examination  of  our 
passions  in  our  own  breasts,  from  a  careful  survey  of  the  properties  of  things 
which  we  find  by  experience  to  influence  those  passions,  and  from  a  sober  and 
attentive  investigation  of  the  laws  of  nature,  by  which  those  properties  are 
capable  of  affecting  the  body  and  thus  of  exciting  our  passions.3 

The  second  Preface  is  altogether  new,  both  in  phrase  and  in 
idea;  it  omits  any  account  of  the  origin  of  the  work,  but  mentions 

1  Ralph  Straus,  Robert  Dodsley,  Poet,  Publisher,  and  Playwright,  1910, 
p.  367. 

*Ibid.,  p.  255. 

1  Inquiry,  1757,  pp.  vi-vii. 

645 


646  Wichelns 

the  changes  in  the  second  edition,  and  discusses,  this  time  more 
technically,  the  method  of  investigation  and  its  uses: 

In  considering  any  complex  matter,  we  ought  to  examine  every  distinct 
ingredient  in  the  composition,  one  by  one,  and  reduce  everything  to  the  utmost 
simplicity;  since  the  condition  of  our  nature  binds  us  to  a  strict  law  and  very 
narrow  limits.  We  ought  afterwards  to  re-examine  the  principles  by  the  effect 
of  the  composition,  as  well  as  the  composition  by  that  of  the  principles.  We 
ought  to  compare  our  subject  with  things  of  a  similar  nature,  and  even  with 
things  of  a  contrary  nature;  for  discoveries  may  be  and  often  are  made  by  the 
contrast,  which  would  escape  us  on  the  single  view.  .  .  .  The  use  of  such 
inquiries  may  be  very  considerable.  Whatever  turns  the  soul  inward  on  itself 
tends  to  concentre  its  forces  and  to  fit  it  for  greater  and  stronger  flights  of 
science.4 

The  more  positive  tone  of  the  second  Preface  reflects  the 
favor  with  which  the  first  edition  had  been  received.  On 
August  10,  1757,  Burke  wrote  to  Shackleton,  a  former  school- 
mate: 

This  letter  is  accompanied  by  a  little  performance  of  mine,  which  I  will 
not  consider  as  ineffectual  if  it  contributes  to  your  amusement.  It  lay  by  me 
for  a  good  while,  and  I  at  last  ventured  it  out.  It  has  not  been  ill  received,  so 
far  as  a  matter  on  so  abstracted  a  subject  meets  with  readers.6 

David  Hume,  indeed,  in  spite  of  his  interest  in  literary  and 
aesthetic  questions,  which  in  1757  led  him  to  publish  a  dis- 
sertation on  taste,  and  another  on  tragedy,6  was  not  among  the 
early  readers;  it  was  not  until  after  the  second  edition  that  he 
mentioned  to  Adam  Smith,  in  a  letter  of  April  12,  1759,  his 
acquaintance  with  "Burke,  an  Irish  gentleman,  who  wrote 
lately  a  very  pretty  treatise  on  the  sublime."7  That  Burke's 
original  edition  was  not  ill-received  may  be  seen  from  three 
contemporary  reviews,  by  Arthur  Murphy  in  Johnson's  Literary 
Magazine*  by  an  unknown  writer  in  the  Critical  Review,9  and 

*  Inquiry,  1761,  pp.  v,  viii;  Works  1.58,  60.    (In  this  paper,  I  cite  as  Works 
the  six-volume  edition  published  in  the  World's  Classics  Series  by  the  Oxford 
University  Press,  1906.) 

5  Works  and  Correspondence  of  Burke,  1852,  1.17. 
'  In  Four  Dissertations. 

7  Burton,  Life  and  Correspondence  of  Hume,  2.55. 

8  Literary  Magazine  2.182-189  (1757).   This  review  was  ascribed  by  Thomas 
Davies  to  Samuel  Johnson,  and  was  inserted  in  the  first  edition  of  Johnson's 
works  ( 1787;  vol.  10)  by  Sir  John  Hawkins;  but  Boswell  ascribed  it  to  Murphy. 
It  is  not  included  in  the  edition  of  Johnson's  works  published  in  1792  with  an 
introduction  by  Murphy.    (W.  P.  Courtney,  Bibliography  of  Samuel  Johnson, 
p.  77;  Boswell's  Life,  ed.  by  G.  B.  Hill,  1.310.) 

•  Critical  Review  3.361-374  (April,  1757). 


Burke's  Essay  647 

by  Oliver  Goldsmith  in  the  Monthly  Review.10  The  London 
Chronicle11  carried  an  account  of  the  Inquiry  which  was  spread 
over  five  issues,  but  Dodsley  was  its  publisher,  and  the  review 
largely  consisted  of  quotations.  Yet  it  is  noteworthy  that  even 
Dodsley's  reviewer  did  not  subscribe  to  Burke's  theory,  and  was 
struck,  not  so  much  by  the  soundness  of  the  Inquiry,  as  by  its 
"bold  uncommon  spirit"  and  its  giving  "criticism  a  face  which 
we  never  saw  it  wear  before."12 

Murphy,  the  most  severe  of  the  three  reviewers  who  at- 
tempted serious  criticism,  said: 

Upon  the  whole,  though  we  think  the  author  of  this  piece  mistaken  in 
his  fundamental  principles,  and  also  in  his  deductions  from  them,  yet  we  must 
say  we  have  read  his  book  with  pleasure.  He  has  certainly  employed  much 
thinking;  there  are  many  ingenious  and  elegant  remarks  which,  though  they  do 
not  enforce  or  prove  his  first  position,  yet  considering  them  detached  from  his 
system,  they  are  new  and  just.  And  we  cannot  dismiss  this  article  without 
recommending  a  perusal  of  the  book  to  all  our  readers,  as  we  think  they  will  be 
recompensed  by  a  great  deal  of  sentiment,  [and]  perspicuous,  elegant,  and 
harmonious  style,  in  many  passages  both  sublime  and  beautiful." 

The  unknown  writer  in  the  Critical  Review  remarked  that  on  a 
subject  so  abstruse  he  could  give,  not  a  critique,  but  a  short 
review  of  the  work,  proposing  some  doubts  without  impugning 
the  theory,14  and  heartily  recommending  the  book  as  "a  perfor- 
mance superior  to  the  common  level  of  literary  productions  as 
much  as  real  ingenuity  is  superior  to  superficial  petulance,  and 
the  fruit  of  mature  study  to  the  hasty  produce  of  crude  con- 
jecture."18 Goldsmith,  though  he  vigorously  contested  Burke's 
theory,  was  yet  the  most  cordial  of  the  three.  His  summary 
very  largely  borrowed  Burke's  phrasing,  his  objections  he  rele- 
gated to  footnotes,  and  he  said: 

Our  author  thus,  with  all  the  sagacity  so  abstruse  a  subject  requires,  with 
all  the  learning  necessary  to  illustration  of  his  system,  and  with  all  the  genius 
that  can  render  disquisition  pleasing — by  proceeding  on  principles  not  suffi- 
ciently established,  has  been  only  agreeable  when  he  might  have  been  instruc- 

10  Monthly  Review  16.473-480  (May,  1757).    The  ascription  to  Goldsmith 
is  found  in  Prior,  Life  of  Oliver  Goldsmith,  1837,  pp.  226  ff. 

»  London  Chronicle  1.556-8,  580-581,  595-596;  2.26-27,  50-53  Qune  9-11, 
16-18,  21-23;  July  7-9,  14-16). 
"Ibid.,  2.52. 

11  Literary  Magazine  2.189. 
"  Critical  Review  3.374. 
"Ibid.,  3.361. 


648  Wichelns 

tive.  ...  If  we  have,  in  a  very  few  instances,  attempted  to  point  out  any 
mistake  or  oversight  in  this  very  agreeable  author's  principles,  not  a  captious 
spirit  of  controversy,  but  concern  for  truth,  was  the  motive;  and  the  ingenious 
Inquirer,  we  are  persuaded,  is  too  much  a  philosopher  to  resent  our  sometimes 
taking  a  different  course  in  pursuit  of  the  game  he  has  started.14 

These  notices,  perhaps,  together  with  the  need  for  a  new 
edition,  encouraged  Burke  in  his  second  Preface  to  omit  the 
following  remark  in  his  first: 

He  now  ventures  to  lay  it  before  the  public,  proposing  his  notions  as 
probable  conjectures,  not  as  things  certain  and  indisputable.17 

True,  in  the  later  Preface,  Burke  did  allude  to  the  possibility 
of  errors  in  his  work  and  even  of  failure,  but  he  asserted  also, 
perhaps  a  little  impatiently: 

A  theory  founded  on  experiment  and  not  assumed,  is  always  good  for  so 
much  as  it  explains.  Our  inability  to  push  it  indefinitely  is  no  argument  at 
all  against  it.18 

This  last  remark,  with  the  rest  of  its  paragraph,  evidently  was 
evoked  by  the  critics,  whose  practice  it  was  "to  pass  over  both 
the  premises  and  conclusion  in  silence,  and  to  produce,  as  an 
objection,  some  poetical  passage  which  does  not  seem  easily 
accounted  for  upon  the  principles  I  endeavor  to  establish."19 
This  offense  had  been  committed  by  all  three  reviewers,  and  in 
making  the  same  point,  that  terror  and  pain  are  not  the  only 
sources  of  the  sublime,  nor  sources  of  that  alone.20 

In  his  second  Preface,  Burke  gives  no  explanation  for  the 
introduction  of  the  Discourse  on  Taste  other  than  by  saying: 

It  is  a  matter  curious  in  itself,  and  it  leads  naturally  enough  to  the  principal 
inquiry.21 

It  is  not  within  the  design  of  this  paper  to  discuss  the  origins  of 
the  Discourse;  yet  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  point  out  here  that  the 
year  1757  saw  the  appearance  of  Hume's  Dissertation  on 
Taste,™  and  that  of  the  seventh  volume  of  the  Encyclopedic, 
which  contained  the  article  Gout.  This  article,  by  Voltaire, 

14  MontUy  Review  16.473,  480. 

17  Inquiry,  1757,  p.  viii. 

18  Inquiry,  1761,  p.  vii;  Works  1.59. 

19  Inquiry,  1761,  p.  vi;  Works  1.59. 

10  Monthly    Review    16.475;  Critical    Review    3.363;  Literary    Magazine 
2.183. 

11  Inquiry,  1761,  p.  iii;  Works  1.57. 

12  In  Four  Dissertations. 


Burke's  Essay  649 

Montesquieu,  and  D'Alembert,  was  later  translated  as  an 
appendix  to  Gerard's  Essay  on  Taste,23  and  Burke  included  a 
partial  translation  of  Montesquieu's  treatise  in  the  first  volume  of 
the  Annual  Register  (that  for  1758).  Gerard's  essay  was  written 
in  competition  for  the  gold  medal  offered  in  1756  by  the  Edin- 
burgh Society  for  the  Encouragement  of  Arts,  Sciences,  Manu- 
factures, and  Agriculture.24  It  would  be  interesting  to  know 
who  were  the  unsuccessful  competitors  of  Gerard. 

The  changes  in  the  body  of  the  work  fully  justify  the  words  of 
Burke  in  the  Preface  to  the  second  edition: 

Though  I  have  not  found  sufficient  reason,  or  what  appeared  to  me  suffi- 
cient, for  making  any  material  changes  in  my  theory,  I  have  found  it  necessary 
in  many  places  to  explain,  illustrate,  and  enforce  it.26 

Virtually  all  the  explanations  and  enforcements  were  called 
forth  by  the  opinions  expressed  in  the  three  reviews.  The  addi- 
tions, then,  represent  Burke's  side  of  a  debate  with  his  reviewers. 
It  would  hardly  be  profitable  to  try  to  discriminate  finally  and 
in  every  case  the  influence  of  each  of  these  upon  Burke's  addi- 
tions. For  a  number  of  changes,  it  is  clear  that  more  than  one 
criticism  is  responsible.  The  most  important  suggestions — or, 
rather,  occasions  for  rebuttal — concerning  the  first  two  parts, 
are  Goldsmith's;  he  was  aided  chiefly  by  Murphy.  The  expan- 
sion of  the  sections  on  proportion  in  the  third  part  was  chiefly 
called  forth  by  the  objections  of  the  writer  in  the  Critical 
Review,  as  were  also  the  few  additions  to  the  fourth  part.  Mur- 
phy's remarks  brought  the  relatively  large  additions  to  the 
short  final  part  on  words.  Save  for  the  strictures  of  Goldsmith, 
Burke  did  not  try  to  meet  every  objection. 

We  may  first  attend  to  the  changes  occasioned  by  the  criti- 
cisms of  Goldsmith.  He  first  objects  to  Burke's  distinction 
between  positive  pleasure  and  the  feeling  we  experience  upon  the 
removal  or  moderation  of  pain,  and  thus  states  his  objection : 

Our  author  imagines  that  positive  pleasure  operates  upon  us  by  relaxing 
the  nervous  system,  but  that  delight  [on  the  removal  of  pain]  acts  in  a  quite 
contrary  manner.  Yet  it  is  evident  that  a  reprieve  to  a  criminal  often  affects 
him  with  such  pleasure  that  his  whole  frame  is  relaxed,  and  he  faints  away 

"  1759. 

**  Advertisement  prefixed  to  Gerard's  Essay,  1759. 

**  Inquiry,  1761,  p.  iii;  Works  1.57. 


650  Wichelns 

Here  then  a  diminution  of  pain  operates  just  as  pleasure  would  have  done,  and 
we  can  see  no  reason  why  it  may  not  be  called  pleasure.*' 

This  argument,  which  Murphy  also  advanced,27  Burke  meets 
with  the  remark: 

It  is  most  certain  that  every  species  of  satisfaction  or  pleasure,  how  dif- 
ferent soever  in  its  manner  of  affecting,  is  of  a  positive  nature  in  the  mind  of  him 
who  feels  it.  The  affection  is  undoubtedly  positive;  but  the  cause  may  be,  as 
in  this  case  it  certainly  is,  a  sort  of  privation.  And  it  is  very  reasonable  that 
we  should  distinguish  by  some  term  two  things  so  distinct  in  nature  as  a  plea- 
sure that  is  such  simply,  and  without  any  relation,  from  that  pleasure  which 
cannot  exist  without  a  relation,  and  that  too  a  relation  to  pain.88 

Goldsmith's  next  objection  concerns  a  principal  part  of 
Burke's  theory,  namely  that  the  ideas  of  pain  and  danger  are  the 
ultimate  sources  of  the  sublime,  as  the  strongest  emotion  which 
the  mind  is  capable  of  feeling. 

Our  author,  by  assigning  terror  for  the  only  source  of  the  sublime,  excludes 
love,  admiration,  etc.  But  to  make  the  sublime  an  idea  incompatible  with  those 
affections  is  what  the  general  sense  of  mankind  will  be  apt  to  contradict.  It 
is  certain  we  can  have  the  most  sublime  ideas  of  the  Deity  without  imagining 
him  a  God  of  terror.  Whatever  raises  our  esteem  of  an  object  described  must 
be  a  powerful  source  of  sublimity;  and  esteem  is  a  passion  nearly  allied  to  love.29 

This  last  sentence  drew  from  Burke  the  frequently  quoted 
dictum  that  "love  approaches  much  nearer  to  contempt  than 
is  commonly  imagined."30  Burke  illustrates  and  enforces  his 
original  statement  as  to  the  relation  of  terror  and  sublimity 
with  the  words: 

I  am  satisfied  the  ideas  of  pain  are  more  powerful  than  those  which  enter 
on  the  part  of  pleasure.  Without  all  doubt,  the  torments  which  we  may  be 
made  to  suffer  are  much  greater  in  their  effect  on  the  body  and  mind  than  any 
pleasures  which  the  most  learned  voluptuary  could  suggest.  .  .  .  Nay,  I 
•  am  in  great  doubt  whether  any  man  could  be  found  who  would  earn  a  life  of 
the  most  perfect  satisfaction,  at  the  price  of  ending  it  in  the  torments  which 
justice  inflicted  in  a  few  hours  on  the  late  unfortunate  regicide  in  France.31 

To  strengthen  the  argument  by  alluding  to  the  regicide  in 
France  was  natural  enough  if  Burke  was  making  his  corrections 

*  Monthly  Review  16.474-475. 

*7  Literary  Magazine  2.183. 

"  Inquiry  1.4;  1761,  pp.  52-53;  Works  1.88.  The  addition  runs  one 
sentence  farther  than  the  quotation  above. 

"  Monthly  Review  16.475. 

M Inquiry  2.5;  1761,  p.  116;  Works  1.117. 

a  Inquiry  1.7;  1761,  p.  59;  Works  1.91.  The  addition  runs  from  the 
first  sentence  quoted  to  one  after  the  last  quoted. 


Burke's  Essay  651 

shortly  after  the  appearance  of  the  three  reviews.  Murphy, 
indeed,  had  suggested  it  by  the  remark,  left  unanswered  by 
Burke,  that  "the  iron  bed  of  Damiens  [is]  capable  of  exciting 
alarming  ideas  of  terror,  but  cannot  be  said  to  hold  anything  of 
the  sublime."32  Damiens  unsuccessfully  attempted  the  life  of 
Louis  XV  on  January  5,  1757,  and  after  other  tortures  was  put 
to  death  by  ecartelement  on  March  28  of  the  same  year.33  The 
Monthly  Review  for  May,  1757,  referred  to  two  lives  of  the 
regicide,  but  refused  to  review  either,  on  the  ground  that  "we 
have  seen  enough  of  Damiens  already  in  the  newspapers."  A 
later  number34  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the  trial  and  the 
torture. 

Goldsmith's  sentence  already  quoted,  alleging  that  we  can 
have  sublime  ideas  of  the  Deity  without  supposing  him  a  god  of 
terror,  was  by  Burke  made  the  occasion  of  part  of  another  and 
eloquent  addition,  the  section  on  power.36  Burke  held  that  to 
the  human  imagination,  the  power  of  the  Deity  is  the  most 
striking  of  his  attributes.  This  view  he  supported  with  quota- 
tions from  Horace,  Lucretius,  and  the  Scriptures.  Thus  the 
second  half  of  the  section  on  power  (the  whole  appeared  for  the 
first  time  in  the  enlarged  edition)  finds  its  cause  in  the  reviewer's 
allusion  to  the  Deity.  If  reflection  on  the  force  of  Goldsmith's 
remarks  had  not  been  sufficient  to  incite  Burke  to  the  account, 
in  the  first  half  of  the  inserted  section,  of  the  general  idea  of 
power  as  a  cause  of  the  sublime,  a  phrase  in  the  Critical  Review 
might  well  have  done  so: 

We  impute  the  idea  of  the  sublime  to  the  impression  made  on  the  fancy 
by  an  object  that  indicates  power  and  greatness.* 

Still  attacking  Burke's  fundamental  separation  of  the 
sublime  and  the  beautiful  on  the  basis  of  pain  and  pleasure, 
Goldsmith  had  cited  an  instance  in  which  painful  and  pleasant 
ideas  are  mingled: 

When,  after  the  horrors  of  a  tempestuous  night,  the  Poet  hails  us  with  a 

"  Literary  Magazine  2.183. 
M  La  Grande  Encyclopedic. 
M  Monthly  Review  17.57. 

*  Inquiry  2.5.    The  addition  of  a  whole  section  explains  the  two  sections 
numbered  4  in  this  Part. 

*  Critical  Review  3.369. 


652  Wichelns 

description  of  the  beauties  of  the  morning,  we  feel  double  enjoyment  from  the 
contrast.  Our  pleasure  here  must  arise  from  the  beautiful  or  the  sublime." 

Goldsmith  had  proceeded  to  overthrow  his  author's  fundamen- 
tal separation  of  the  causes  of  these  two  on  each  hypothesis. 
The  Critical  Review,  too,  had  more  curtly  refused  to  accept  the 
division.38  Accordingly,  Burke  took  a  hint  from  Murphy's 
remark39  that  "the  sublime  will  exist  with  beauty,"  and  said: 

In  the  infinite  variety  of  natural  combinations,  we  must  expect  to  find  the 
qualities  of  things  the  most  remote  imaginable  from  each  other  united  in  the 
same  object.  ...  If  the  qualities  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful  are  sometimes 
found  united,  does  this  prove  that  they  are  the  same?  Does  it  prove  that  they 
are  any  way  allied?  Does  it  prove  even  that  they  are  not  opposite  and  con- 
tradictory?40 

Goldsmith's  next  point  of  attack  was  Burke's  view  of  the 
relation  between  indistinctness  of  imagery  and  sublimity. 
Burke's  theory,  that  clearness  is  always  detrimental  to  emo- 
tional effect,  may  have  been  among  the  opinions  that  led  Arthur 
Murphy  to  say: 

The  love  of  novelty  seems  to  have  been  a  very  leading  principle  in  his 
mind  throughout  his  whole  composition;  and  we  fear  that  in  endeavoring  to 
advance  what  was  never  said  before  him,  he  will  find  it  his  lot  to  have  said  what 
will  not  be  adopted  after  him.41 

Goldsmith  refrained  from  a  like  censure,  and  even  granted  that 
obscurity  sometimes  produces  the  sublime,  as  indeed  did 
Murphy  also.42  Goldsmith  merely  said: 

Distinctness  of  imagery  has  ever  been  held  productive  of  the  sublime. 
The  more  strongly  the  poet  or  orator  impresses  the  picture  he  would  describe 
upon  his  own  mind,  the  more  apt  will  he  be  to  paint  it  on  the  imagination  of 
his  reader.  Not  that,  like  Ovid,  he  should  be  minute  in  description.  .  .  .  We 
only  think  the  bold  yet  distinct  strokes  of  a  Virgil  far  surpass  the  equally  bold 
yet  confused  ones  of  Lucan.43 

Burke  did  not  attempt  to  deal  with  these  arguments  merely  in 
the  passage  against  which  they  were  directed.44  To  this  he 
added  a  paragraph  in  which  he  argued  that  a  clear  idea,  being 

3T  Monthly  Review  16.475. 
38  Critical  Review  3.366. 
19  Literary  Magazine  2.188. 

40  Inquiry  3.27;  1761,  pp.  238-9;  Works  1.172-173.     The  addition  runs 
from  the  first  sentence  quoted  to  the  end  of  the  section. 

41  Literary  Magazine  2.183. 
"Ibid.,  2.185. 

43  Monthly  Review  16.477. 

"Inquiry  2.[4];  1761,  pp.  107-110;  Works  1.114-115.  The  addition  is  the 
last  paragraph. 


Burke 's  Essay  653 

readily  perceived,  "is  therefore  another  name  for  a  little  idea," 
and  that  painters,  in  picturing  scenes  of  horror,  had  achieved 
only  "odd,  wild  grotesques";  and  he  quoted  the  vision  of  Job 
as  an  instance  of  moving  indistinctness.  To  the  section  on 
Magnificence,45  Burke  added  an  instance  of  numerous  confused 
images  in  a  passage  from  Shakespeare,  and  another  from  Eccle- 
siasticus;  and  to  the  section  on  Light46  was  added  a  quotation 
from  Milton  illustrating  the  "power  of  a  well-managed  dark- 
ness." 

The  paradoxical  defense  of  obscurity  may  be  thought  to 
spring  from  Burke's  preference  for  an  idealistic  to  a  realistic 
art,  but  one  need  only  refer  to  his  idea  of  imitation,  expressed 
in  the  introduction,46*  to  see  that  his  was  by  no  means  an 
idealistic  theory  of  art.  Burke  really  derives  his  paradox  on 
obscurity  from  a  rhetorician's  examination  of  the  human 
passions,  as  is  evident  from  Part  V  of  the  Inquiry.  The  limi- 
tations of  Burke's  theory  are  made  clear  by  contrast  with 
Reynolds'  well-known  papers  in  the  Idler46*  published  some 
months  after  Burke's  enlarged  edition.  In  these  papers,  it 
will  be  recalled,  Reynolds  prefers  the  Italian  painters  to  the 
Dutch,  because  the  Italians  attend  "only  to  the  invariable,  the 
great  and  general  ideas  which  are  fixed  and  inherent  in  universal 
nature;  the  Dutch  ...  to  literal  truth  and  a  minute  exactness 
in  the  detail."460  The  opposition  of  the  invariable  idea,  inherent 
in  universal  nature,  to  the  accidental,  is  not  parallel  to  Burke's 
opposition  of  the  great  or  obscure  to  the  little  or  clear.  The 
extent  of  Reynolds'  debt  to  Burke  and  Johnson  has  been 
disputed,  but,  in  the  passage  here  quoted,  there  need  be  no 
question:  Reynolds  owes  his  idea  of  the  invariable  to  his 
friend  Mudge,46d  who  taught  him  Plato.468 

« Inquiry  2.13;  1761,  pp.  141-143;  Works  1.128-129.  The  addition  begins 
"There  are  also  many  descriptions"  and  runs  to  the  end  of  the  section. 

«•  Inquiry  2.14;  1761,  pp.  145-147;  Works  1.130-131.  The  addition  begins 
"Our  great  poet"  and  runs  to  the  end  of  the  section. 

*•*  Inquiry,  1761,  pp.  15-16;  Works,  1.72.  Inquiry  1.  16,  which  is  formally 
on  imitation,  adds  nothing  to  the  definition. 

«b  Nos.  76,  79,  82;  Sept.  29,  Oct.  20  and  Nov.  10, 1759. 

«•  No.  79. 

«d  Northcote,  Life  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  1.  113-115.  Northcote  relies 
on  Burke's  letter  of  1797  to  Malone. 

<*e  I  owe  to  Professor  H.  S.  V.  Jones  the  suggestion  of  a  comparison  with 
Reynolds,  as  also  the  reference  to  Ruskin's  interesting  qualifications  on  Rey- 
nolds' opinion:  Modern  Painters  3.4.1,  ed.  Cook  and  Wedderbum,  5.20ff. 


654  Wichelns 

Another  objection  of  Goldsmith's  was  to  Burke's  account  of 
beauty  as  the  cause  of  love.  In  a  passage47  somewhat  confused 
in  its  terms,  the  reviewer  held  that  love,  or  a  sense  of  beauty, 
is  not  always  caused  by  the  mere  physical  aspect  of  objects,  but 
by  our  reasonings  as  to  the  fitness  of  their  structure  for  our  uses 
or  for  their  own;  and  he  cited  friendship  as  a  kind  of  love  based 
rather  on  interest  than  on  physical  attraction.  Murphy48 
agreed  with  Goldsmith,  but  the  writer  in  the  Critical  Review 
approved  Burke's  rejection  of  utility  as  an  element  of  beauty.49 
Burke  strengthened  his  refutation  of  the  argument  that  fitness 
is  a  cause  of  beauty,  by  adding60  several  instances  of  fit  animals 
that  yet  are  not  considered  beautiful,  and  defended  his  limita- 
tion of  the  term81  to  "the  merely  sensible  qualities  of  things" 
on  the  ground  of  "preserving  the  utmost  simplicity"  in  a  difficult 
and  complex  subject. 

In  his  last  note,  Goldsmith  brought  his  incomplete  knowledge 
of  medicine  to  bear  on  Burke's  explanation  of  the  manner  in 
which  darkness  affects  the  eye.  Burke,  of  course,  consistently 
with  his  whole  theory,  held  that  darkness  is  terrible;  and  in 
Part  IV,  in  which  he  explained  the  efficient — that  is,  the  physical 
— causes  of  the  sublime  and  of  the  beautiful,  he  had  to  show 
how  darkness  is  painful  to  the  eye.  This  he  did  by  referring  to 
the  painful  contraction  of  the  radial  fibres  of  the  iris  as  the 
pupil  dilates;  and  this  painful  contraction  or  tension  he  opposed 
to  relaxation,  which  he  called  pleasant.  Goldsmith  said  in 
objection: 

The  muscles  of  the  uvea  act  in  the  contraction,  but  are  relaxed  in  the 
dilatation  of  the  ciliary  circle.  Therefore,  when  the  pupil  dilates,  they  are  in  a 
state  of  relaxation,  and  the  relaxed  state  of  a  muscle  is  its  state  of  rest.  .  .  . 
Hence  darkness  is  a  state  of  rest  to  the  visual  organ,  and  consequently  the 
obscurity  which  he  justly  remarks  to  be  often  a  cause  of  the  sublime,  can  affect 
the  sensory  by  no  painful  impression;  so  that  the  sublime  is  often  caused  by  a 
relaxation  of  the  muscles  as  well  as  by  a  tension." 

47  Monthly  Review  16.476. 

48  Literary  Magazine  2.187. 

49  Critical  Review  3.367. 

88  Inquiry  3.6;  1761,  pp.  193-195;  Works  1.152-153.  The  addition  begins 
'I  need  say  little  on  the  trunk  of  the  elephant'  and  ends  'not  very  different  from 
men  and  beasts.' 

51  Inquiry  3.1;  1761,  pp.  162-163;  Works  1.138-139.  The  new  matter 
includes  all  save  the  first  three  sentences  of  the  section. 

82  Monthly  Review  16.480. 


Burke's  Essay  655 

Burke  strengthened  his  original  position  by  showing  that  the 
antagonist  muscles,  the  radial  fibres  of  the  iris,  are  forcibly 
drawn  back  by  the  relaxation  of  the  iris;  and  he  alluded  to  the 
common  experience  of  pain  in  trying  to  see  in  a  dark  place.68 

Forster  in  his  life  of  Goldsmith  has  thus  described  the 
article  in  the  Monthly  Review: 

His  criticism  was  elaborate  and  well-studied;  he  objected  to  many  parts 
of  the  theory,  and  especially  to  the  materialism  on  which  it  founded  the  con- 
nection of  objects  of  pleasure  with  a  necessary  relaxation  of  the  nerves;  but 
these  objections,  discreet  and  thoroughly  considered,  gave  strength  as  well  as 
relish  to  its  praise,  and  Burke  spoke  to  many  of  his  friends  of  the  pleasure  it 
had  given  him." 

The  critical  part  of  this  description  is  not  more  correct  than  the 
last  statement  is  substantiated.  The  review  itself  was  avowedly 
a  bundle  of  extracts,  the  criticism  was  contained  in  but  five 
footnotes,  and  Goldsmith's  chief  objection  was  not  to  the 
author's  materialism,  but  to  his  strict  division  of  the  sublime  and 
beautiful  on  the  basis  of  pain  and  pleasure;  all  his  comments  on 
the  relation  of  pleasure  and  relaxation  are  to  this  end. 

Goldsmith  had  ranged  with  Burke  over  a  wide  field  of  fact 
and  deduction,  but  not  without  leaving  much  unsaid.  The 
writer  in  the  Critical  Review  directed  his  objections  chiefly  to 
the  relation  of  proportion  and  beauty.  Murphy  had  dismissed 
Burke's  reasons  for  not  considering  proportion  a  cause  of  beauty 
by  referring  to  the  authorities,  "Hutchinson  and  others,"  saying 
at  the  same  time  that  the  "gradual  variation"65  Burke  found 
beautiful  was  simply  another  name  for  proportion.  This  com- 
ment of  Murphy  drew  from  Burke  an  allusion  to  Hogarth's 
Analysis  of  Beauty  which  requires  explanation.  Burke's  words 
are: 

It  gives  me  no  small  pleasure  to  find  that  I  can  strengthen  my  theory 
in  this  point  [that  gradual  variation  is  necessary  to  beauty]  by  the  opinion  of 
the  very  ingenious  Mr.  Hogarth,  whose  idea  of  the  line  of  beauty  I  take  in  gen- 
eral to  be  extremely  just.  ...  I  must  add,  too,  that,  .  .  .  though  the  varied 
line  is  that  alone  in  which  complete  beauty  is  found,  yet  there  is  no  particular 
line  which  is  always  found  in  the  most  completely  beautiful.8* 

K  Inquiry  4.16;  1761,  pp.  279-280;  Works  1.191.  The  addition  constitutes 
sentences  5-7  of  the  section. 

M  Forster,  Life  and  Times  of  Oliver  Goldsmith,  ed.  1871,  1.107. 

B  Literary  Magazine  2.187. 

66  Inquiry  3.15;  1761,  pp.  216-217;  Works  1.163.  The  addition  comprises 
the  last  six  sentences  of  the  section. 


656  Wichelns 

This  addition  suggests  either  that  Burke,  though  he  finished 
his  work  in  1753,  did  not  come  upon  Hogarth's  book,  which  was 
published  in  December,  1753,57  until  his  own  first  edition  had 
appeared;  or  else  that  he  made  no  changes  in  the  writing  during 
the  four  years  in  which  it  lay  by  him;  the  latter  supposition  is 
strenghthened  by  Burke's  own  statement  in  his  first  Preface: 

It  is  four  years  now  since  this  inquiry  was  finished,  during  which  time  the 
author  found  no  cause  to  make  any  material  alteration  in  his  theory.68 

It  is  unlikely  that  Burke,  in  his  extended  refutation59  of 
the  arguments  for  proportion  and  fitness  as  causes  of  beauty,  was 
glancing  at  Hogarth,  as  Bosanquet60  asserts.  There  is  little  in 
Hogarth's  confused  work  that  could  be  taken  for  the  set  of 
ideas  Burke  was  opposing.  It  is  true  that  in  one  passage61 
Burke  seems  to  notice  a  view  held  by  Hogarth62  that  our  judg- 
ment of  beauty  depends  upon  an  intuitive  perception  of  the 
fitness  of  the  observed  proportion  for  use;  but  much  of  Burke's 
attack  on  proportion  and  fitness  is  found  in  the  first  edition,  and 
at  the  time  of  writing  this,  Burke,  as  we  see,  probably  did  not 
know  the  Analysis.  The  principal  advocates  of  proportion  and 
fitness  were  writers  who  had  been  longer  known  and  better 
received  than  Hogarth.  Shaftesbury  and  Hutcheson  had 
developed  the  idea  of  a  "sense  of  beauty"  that  responds  to  per- 
ceived proportions.  Shaftesbury  and  Bishop  Berkeley  had, 
with  varying  emphasis,  united  proportion,  fitness,  and  beauty.63 

The  passage  on  fitness,  inserted  in  the  second  edition,  has 
already  been  accounted  for  in  the  discussion  of  Goldsmith's 
influence  on  Burke.  The  additions  on  proportion  can  be 
attributed  in  part  to  Murphy's  curt  insistence64  that  "a  beauti- 
ful and  entire  whole  never  existed  without  proportion,"  and 

67  Dictionary  of  National  Biography  27.89. 

"  Inquiry,  1757,  p.  vii. 

"  Inquiry  3.1-8. 

•°  History  of  Aesthetic,  1917,  p.  208. 

« Inquiry  3.6;  1761,  p.  191  ff.;  Works  1.151  ff. 

M  Analysis  of  Beauty,  ch.  11. 

M  Shaftesbury,  Miscellaneous  Reflections  3.2;  Moralists  2.4.  Hutcheson, 
Inquiry  concerning  Beauty,  Order,  Harmony,  and  Design  1.12;  2.7,  8,  10,  11. 
Berkeley,  Alciphron  3.8,  9. 

84  Literary  Magazine  2.187. 


Burke' s  Essay  657 

chiefly  to  the  longer  argument  in  the  Critical  Review,95  which 
laid  great  stress  on  a  general  range  of  proportions  in  each  type 
of  beauty,  and  asserted  that  "proportion  is  symmetry."  The 
vague  ideas  of  proportion  held  by  his  critics  led  Burke  to  insert 
two  pages66  on  its  definition  and  his  method  of  reasoning  about 
it.  Proportion  he  defined  to  be  the  measure  of  relative  quantity. 
He  demanded  of  his  opponents  demonstrative  proof  that  in 
every  type  of  beautiful  object  there  is  a  fixed  quantitative  rela- 
tion of  parts.  He  himself  in  subsequent  passages  undertook  to 
show  the  absence  of  such  a  relation.  With  one  exception,  these 
passages  are  not  new;  the  single  change  is  the  argument  from  the 
different  proportions  of  the  sexes  in  the  same  species.67  It  is  of 
interest  that  Burke's  refusal  to  reduce  beauty  to  definite  ratios 
won  Ruskin's  cordial  assent  in  Modern  Painters™ 

The  declaration  in  the  Critical  Review**  that  "the  well- 
proportioned  parts  of  the  human  body  are  constantly  found 
beautiful,"  Burke  met  with  the  challenge: 

You  may  assign  any  proportions  you  please  to  every  part  of  the  human 
body,  and  I  undertake  that  a  painter  shall  religiously  observe  them  all,  and 
notwithstanding  produce,  if  he  please,  a  very  ugly  figure.70 

Burke  now  turned  to  the  broader  meaning,  suggested  in  the 
words  already  quoted  from  the  Critical  Review,  of  proportion  as 
a  common  form  of  a  species  within  which  individuals  vary  con- 
siderably.71 The  confusion  of  beauty  and  proportion  taken  as 
the  common  form  he  found  to  be  due  to  this,  that  beauty  was 
commonly  opposed  to  deformity.  Burke  rightly  held  that  the 
opposite  of  beauty  is  ugliness,  not  deformity,  and  he  streng- 

45  Critical  Review  3 . 366-367. 

*  Inquiry  3.2;  1761,  pp.  164-168;  Works  1.139-141.  The  addition  begins 
'what  proportion  is'  and  ends  'whilst  we  inquire  in  the  first  place.' 

"Inquiry  3.4;  1761,  pp.  177-179;  Works  1.145-146.  The  addition  so  far 
as  here  in  point  begins  'Let  us  rest  a  moment  on  this  point'  and  covers  six 
sentences. 

M  Modern  Painters  3.1.6;  ed.  by  Cook  and  Wedderburn,  4.109. 

••  Critical  Review  3.367. 

70  Inquiry  3 . 4;  1761,  p.  176;  Works  1 . 144-145.   The  addition  is  one  of  three 
sentences,  beginning  'You  may  asign  any  proportions.' 

71  Inquiry  3.4;  1761,  pp.  179-186;  Works  1.146-149.    The  addition  here 
in  question  is  the  rest  of  the  section  after  the  matter  mentioned  in  note  67. 


658  Wichelns 

thened  his  case72  against  the  common  or  customary  form  by 
repeating  the  argument  of  the  first  section  of  the  Inquiry.  In 
this  he  had  held  that  novelty  is  necessary  to  beauty,  and  that 
custom  soon  stales  all  beauty. 

Except  for  the  long  section  on  Power,  the  new  matter  on 
proportion  and  fitness  constitutes  the  most  considerable  of  the 
additions  to  the  Inquiry  proper. 

The  Critical  Review  joined  Goldsmith  in  the  attack  on 
Burke's  central  position,  that  the  sublime  is  caused  by  a  mode 
of  pain,  as  some  tension  or  labor  of  the  physical  organism,  or  by 
ideas  associated  with  pain,  and  that  pleasure  is  caused  by  a 
relaxation  of  the  nerves  or  by  related  ideas.  Goldsmith's 
citation  of  a  mixed  instance  has  been  mentioned.  The  Critical 
Review™  suggested  that  the  pleasures  of  love  might  be  con- 
sidered "an  exertion  of  the  nerves  to  a  tension  that  borders  upon 
pain."  Since  this  would  be  an  instance,  if  admitted,  of  positive 
pleasure  derived  from  a  relation  to  pain,  it  would  break  down  the 
fundamental  distinction.  Burke,  therefore,  struck  out  of  his 
definition  of  love,  "desire  or  lust,  which  is  an  energy  of  the 
mind,  that  hurries  us  on  to  the  possession  of  certain  objects,  that 
do  not  affect  us  as  they  are  beautiful,  but  by  means  altogether 
different."74  But  this  arbitrary  exclusion  did  not  satisfy  him; 
in  the  section  on  the  physical  cause  of  love,  accordingly,  he 
added  both  an  appeal  to  the  general  experience  of  mankind,  and 
an  admission  that  partial  exceptions  might  occur: 

Who  is  a  stranger  to  that  manner  of  expression  so  common  in  all  times 
and  in  all  countries,  of  being  softened,  relaxed,  enervated,  dissolved,  melted 
away  by  pleasure?  The  universal  voice  of  mankind,  faithful  to  their  feelings, 
concurs  in  affirming  this  uniform  and  general  effect;  and  although  some  odd 
and  particular  instance  may  perhaps  be  found,  wherein  there  appears  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  positive  pleasure,  without  all  the  characters  of  relaxation, 
we  must  not  therefore  reject  the  conclusion  we  had  drawn  from  a  concurrence 
of  many  experiments;  but  we  must  still  retain  it,  subjoining  the  exceptions  which 
may  occur  according  to  the  judicious  rule  laid  down  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton  in  the 
third  book  of  his  Optics* 

"Inquiry  3.5;  1761,  pp.  187-188,  189-190;  Works  1.150,  150-151.  Three 
sentences  beginning  'Indeed  beauty  is  so  far';  and  five  sentences  beginning 
'Indeed,  so  far  are  use  and  habit.' 

7J  Critical  Review  3.369. 

74  Inquiry  3.1;  1761,  p.  162;  Works  1.138. 

n  Inquiry  4.19;  1761,  p.  288;  Works  1.195. 


Burke 's  Essay  659 

To  Part  IV,  which,  it  will  be  remembered,  deals  with  the 
efficient  or  physical  causes  of  the  sublime  and  the  beautiful, 
two  other  small  additions  were  evoked  by  the  Critical  Review. 

We  likewise  conceive  he  is  mistaken  in  his  theory,  when  he  affirms  that 
the  rays  falling  on  the  eye,  if  they  frequently  vary  their  nature,  now  to  blue, 
now  to  red,  and  so  on  ...  produce  a  sort  of  relaxation  or  rest  to  the  organ, 
which  prevents  that  tension  or  labor  allied  to  pain,  the  cause  of  the  sublime. 
Such  a  quick  and  abrupt  succession  of  contrasted  colors  and  shapes,  will  de- 
mand a  quick  succession  of  changes  in  the  .  .  .  eye,  which,  instead  of  relaxing 
and  refreshing,  harass  the  organ  into  the  most  painful  exertions.71 

Burke  replied77  by  contrasting  "the  different  effects  of  some 
strong  exercise  and  some  little  piddling  action."  The  reviewer's 
second  objection  was  to  Burke's  classifying  sweet  things  with 
those  that  are  smooth  and  relaxing;  he  held  instead  "that  sweet 
things  act  by  stimulation,  upon  the  taste  as  well  as  upon  the 
smell."78  The  author's  rejoinder  was  an  appeal  to  the  custom  of 
languages:  in  Latin,  French,  and  Italian,  "soft  and  sweet 
have  but  one  name."79 

The  effect  of  Murphy's  criticisms,  in  so  far  as  they  did  not 
coincide  with  those  of  the  other  two  reviewers,  is  easily  traced. 
His  speculation,80  that  "astonishment  is  perhaps  that  state  of  the 
soul,  when  the  powers  of  the  mind  are  suspended  with  wonder," 
rather  than  with  horror,  drove  Burke  to  defend  his  own  theory 
by  instancing  the  use  of  several  languages.81  Murphy's  argu- 
ment 82  against  Burke's  idea  that  words  affect  the  emotions 
without  raising  images  in  the  mind,  led  to  two  long  additions, 
the  first  of  which  shows  Burke  at  his  best,  illustrating  his 
argument  by  apt  quotation  and  comment.  The  reviewer's 
argument  had  been: 

On  hearing  any  of  these  words  [virtue,  honor,  cited  by  Burke],  a  man  may 
not  instantly  have  in  view  all  the  ideas  that  are  combined  in  the  complex  one 


7e  Critical  Review  3.369. 

"Inquiry  4.10;  1761,  pp.  262-263;  Works  1.183.     The  addition  is  the 
third  sentence  of  the  section. 

78  Critical  Review  3.370. 

79  Inquiry  4.22;  1761,  p.  296;  Works  1.199.    The  addition  in  this  section 
comprises  sentences  3-5. 

80  Literary  Magazine  2.185. 

81  Inquiry  2.2;  1761,  pp.  97-98;  Works  1.109.    The  addition  comprises  the 
last  seven  sentences  of  the  section. 

"  Literary  Magazine  2.188. 


660  Wichelns 

.  .  .  but  he  may  have  the  general  idea  .  .  .  and  that  is  enough  for  the  poet's 
purpose. 

Burke's  reply  began: 

Indeed,  so  little  does  poetry  depend  for  its  effect  on  the  power  of  raising 
sensible  images,  that  I  am  convinced  it  would  lose  a  very  considerable  part  of 
its  energy  if  this  were  the  necessary  result  of  a  description.  Because  that  union 
of  affecting  words,  which  is  the  most  powerful  of  all  poetical  instruments,  would 
frequently  lose  its  force  along  with  its  propriety  and  consistency,  if  the  sensible 
images  were  always  excited.83 

Citations  from  Virgil,  Homer,  and  Lucretius  are  brought  to 
illustrate  the  confusion  of  images  by  which  poets  affect  the 
passions.  The  second  addition  in  this  part  is  a  passage  distin- 
guishing a  clear  from  a  strong  expression.  It  is  directed  against 
a  statement  of  Murphy's: 

He  who  is  most  picturesque  and  dearest  in  his  imagery,  is  ever  styled  the 
best  poet,  because  from  such  a  one  we  see  things  clearer,  and  of  course  we  feel 
more  intensely.  It  is  a  disposition  to  feel  the  force  of  words,  and  to  combine  the 
ideas  annexed  to  them  with  quickness,  that  shows  one  man's  imagination  to  be 
better  than  another's. 

The  distinction  between  clearness  and  force  which  Burke  made 
here,  he  had  already  stated  quite  definitely  in  a  different  con- 
text and  even  in  the  first  edition.84 

But  still  it  will  be  difficult  to  conceive  how  words  can  move  the  passions 
which  belong  to  real  objects  without  representing  these  objects  clearly.  This 
is  difficult  to  us,  because  we  do  not  sufficiently  distinguish,  in  our  observations 
upon  language,  between  a  clear  expression  and  a  strong  expression.  These  are 
frequently  confounded  with  each  other,  though  they  are  in  reality  extremely 
different.  The  former  regards  the  understanding,  the  latter  belongs  to  the 
passions.  The  one  describes  a  thing  as  it  is,  the  latter  describes  it  as  it  is  felt.8* 

Here  we  may  conclude  the  account  of  Burke's  alterations 
so  far  as  they  were  inspired  by  objections  to  his  thought.  A 
word  may  be  said  of  Burke's  use  of  Biblical  quotations  in  illus- 
tration or  enforcement  of  his  ideas.  Except  for  a  brief  reference 
to  the  phrase  "the  angel  of  the  Lord,"88  all  the  passages  from  the 

83  Inquiry  5.5;  1761,  pp.  328-332;  Works  1.213-215.    The  addition  begins 
with  the  sentences  quoted  and  runs  to  the  end  of  the  section. 

84  Inquiry  2.4,  Of  the  di/erence  between  Clearness  and  Obscurity  with  regard 
to  the  Passions. 

85  Inquiry  5.7;  1761,  pp.  338-341;  Works  1.218-219.    The  addition  runs 
from  'if  they  may  properly  be  called  ideas'  to  the  end  of  the  paragraph. 

84  Inquiry  5.7;  1761,  p.  336;  Works  1.217. 


Burke' 's  Essay  661 

Bible  appear  for  the  first  time  in  the  enlarged  edition.  All  are 
adduced  as  examples  of  the  sublime.  With  two  exceptions,  all 
appear  in  the  section  on  Power.87  One  passage  is  drawn  from 
Ecclesiasticus;  all  the  others  come  either  from  Job  or  from  the 
Psalms.  It  is  probable  that  two  papers  by  Joseph  Warton  in  the 
Adventurer**  inspired  these  additions.  Warton's  essays  are  in 
the  form  of  a  newly-discovered  letter  from  Longinus  in  praise 
of  the  Hebrew  writings,  and  include,  among  others,  passages 
from  the  Psalms  and  from  Job,  though  none  of  those  used  by 
Burke. 

The  collation  of  the  two  editions  has  then  shown  that  no 
changes  in  structure  or  substance  were  made  by  Burke;  that  in 
point  of  style  he  was  sensitive  to  the  turn  of  a  sentence,  and 
quite  willing  to  alter  details  of  expression;  and  that  he  was  so 
keenly  sensitive  to  the  public  reception  of  his  work  as  to  regard 
almost  every  objection  raised  against  him  as  a  challenge  to 
defend  his  position. 

HERBERT  A.  WICHELNS 

New  York  University 

87  The  exceptions  are  the  vision  of  Job,  Inquiry  2.[4],  last  paragraph,  and 
the  panegyric  of  Simon  from  Ecclesiasticus,  Inquiry  2.13. 

88  Adventurer  Nos.  51,  57.    The  statement  as  to  Warton's  authorship  is 
found  in  a  note  to  the  final  essay  of  the  series. 


METHODS  OF  SATIRE  IN  THE  POLITICAL 
DRAMA  OF  THE  RESTORATION 

Political  satire  in  the  Restoration  drama  can  largely  be 
classified  under  four  headings,  with  reference  to  the  method 
employed  in  inserting  it  in  the  plays.  First,  there  is  the  parallel 
play,  with  its  basis  of  real  or  feigned  history,  such  as  Dryden's 
The  Duke  of  Guise  and  several  of  Crowne's  and  Southerne's 
plays.  The  purpose  of  this  kind  of  play  is  to  cast  ridicule 
upon  a  party  or  faction  by  a  display  of  the  folly  of  their  views 
in  the  action  of  the  play.  In  this  sense  Coriolanus  is  a  satire 
upon  popular  government.  Such  a  play  may  be  purely  didactic. 
Gorboduc,  for  example,  may  be  interpreted  as  a  serious  exposi- 
tion of  the  misery  arising  from  civil  discord.  The  action  may 
be  subordinated  to  the  introduction  of  caricatures  of  political 
opponents,  as  is  the  case  with  Crowne's  City  Politics.  The 
parallel  play  may  be  comedy  or  tragedy.  Rowe's  Tamerlane 
is  a  tragedy,  but  it  satirizes  Louis  XIV,  in  the  person  of  Bajazet, 
by  making  him  utterly  ridiculous,  and  by  contrasting  him  with 
the  high-minded  Tamerlane,  William  III. 

Second,  political  satire  in  the  drama  often  makes  use  of  the 
typical  character.    The  use  of  the  typical  character  is  a  part 
of  the  classical  theory  of  comedy,  and,  as  such,  was  a  part 
of  the  dramatic  theory  of  Ben  Jonson,  who  had  great  influence 
'-Upon  the  political  satire  of  the  Restoration  period. 

From  the  typical  character  it  is  an  easy  step  to  the  use  of 

persons  in  the  drama.     Ben  Jonson  may  not  have  introduced 

/contemporary  Puritan  individuals  into  his  comedies,  but  some 

I  of  the  Restoration  dramatists  nad  no  hesitation  about  doing  so. 

\    Besides,  partisan  warfare  such  as ^Jaat[ which  existed  about  1680 

V is  not  likely  to  be  free  from  personalities. 

*     The  fourth  method  employed  consisted  in  the  insertion  of 

satirical  remarks  about  political  conditions  or  problems  into 

the  plays.     Such  remarks  were  often  put  into  the  mouths  of 

unimportant   characters,   as  was  the  case  in  Eastward  Hoe, 

where  the  remarks  that  apparently  gave  most  offense  and 

landed  the  authors,  Jonson,  Chapman,  and  Marston,  in  jail, 

are  spoken  by  an  unimportant  sea  captain. 

662 


Methods  in  the  Drama  of  Restoration  663 

All  four  of  these  methods  may  exist  in  combination,  or  only 
one  may  be  used  in  a  given  play.  Dryden's  Albion  and  Al- 
banius  and  possibly  The  Duke  of  Guise  employ  all  four  of  the 
methods  in  a  single  play.  The  comedy  of  manners,  on  the  other 
hand,  ordinarily  contented  itself  with  sneering  comments 
about  the  Puritans. 

The  most  important  of  the  four  methods  is  the  parallel 
play,  which  appeared  in  great  numbers.  It  was  the  favorite 
method  of  Dryden,  Crowne,  and  Southerne,  not  to  mention 
many  inferior  dramatists.  This  may  be  ascribed  to  two  things: 
the  taste  for  allegory,  and  the  comparative  safety  of  the  method 
for  the  dramatist.  The  age  of  Dryden,  it  should  be  remembered, 
is  the  age  of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  readers  of  which 
were,  to  be  sure,  of  a  very  different  class  from  that  which 
frequented  the  theaters,  and  it  precedes  the  age  of  A  Tale  of 
a  Tub  and  Gulliver's  Travels.  It  is  also  the  age  of  Absalom 
and  Achitophel  and  The  Hind  and  the  Panther.  It  is  not  least 
among  the  times  that  loved  allegory. 

If  the  play  is  to  be  personal,  the  allegorical  nature  of  the 
parallel  play  offers  a  very  convenient  refuge.  The  playwright 
may  avow,  as  Dryden  did  in  the  case  of  The  Duke  of  Guise, 
that  the  "play's  a  parallel"  or  he  may  deny  that  it  has  any 
significance  whatever,  as  Southerne  did  in  the  case  of  The 
Spartan  Dame,  written  about  the  time  of  the  Revolution  of  1688. 
The  plot  of  Southerne's  play  is  based  upon  the  story  of  the 
expulsion  of  Leonidas  by  Cleombrotus,  his  son-in-law.  This 
play  was  begun,  it  is  needless  to  say,  before  William  had 
succeeded  to  the  throne  formerly  held  by  his  father-in-law. 

If  the  parallel  play  permitted  the  dramatist  to  equivocate 
about  his  intentions,  it  sometimes  got  him  into  trouble  when 
no  offense  was  intended.  Dryden's  Cleomenes  may  not  be  a 
parallel  play  at  all,  but  it  gave  offense  to  Queen  Mary,  though 
her  anger  was  apparently  against  certain  passages  and  not 
against  the  nature  of  the  plot.  Taje^sj^aptation  of  Richard  II 
met  with  as  much  disfavor  from  the  court  party  as  Richard  III 
(itself  did  from  Eli7.a.hethr  jrhpn  it  was  being  us^d  as  a  parallel' 
play  by  Essex.  Nor  were  Tate  and  Dryden  the  only  sufferers. 
Lee's^  Lucius  Junius  BtulUH,  In  Which  the  character  in  the 
title  r61e  represents,  in  some  measure,  Charles  II,  was  stopped 
on  the  third  night  as  anti-monarchical,  though  the  play  is 


664  Jones 

about  as  anti-monarchical  as  Corneille's  Cinna.  The  play  does 
contain  some  ridicule  of  kings,  but  it  is  spoken  by  Vindicius, 
a  demagogue,  who  is  evidently  patterned  after  the  tribunes  of 
the  people  in  Coriolanus. 

The  parallel  play  might  be  concerned  only  with  presenting 
a  principle  or  an  institution,  as  was  the  case  with  Settle's 
The  Female  Prelate,  in  which  the  satire  was  directed  against 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  as  an  institution,  the  inference 
to  be  drawn  from  the  play  being  that  what  was  once  true  of 
the  church  was  still  true,  even  though  the  methods  of  the 
church  might  have  changed.  Or  the  satire  in  the  parallel  play 
might  be  largely  directed  against  individuals,  as  was  the  case 
with  Crowne's  City  Politics,  in  which  the  Neapolitan  setting 
and  the  Italian  names  form  an  almost  transparent  disguise 
for  Shaftesbury,  Gates,  and  others,  or  in  Southerne's  Loyal 
Brother,  the  action  of  which  takes  place  in  Persia,  but  the 
villain  which  is  Shaftesbury. 

All  such  political  plays  are  allegorical  in  their  nature, 
as  was  the  prophet  Nathan's  story  of  the  ewe  lamb.  In  fact, 
the  quintessence  of  the  satire  of  the  early  eighties  may  be 
found  in  Dryden's  Absalom  and  Achitophel.  But  such  plays 
seldom  passed  into  such  undiluted  allegory  as  Dryden's  Albion 
and  Albanius,  in  which  we  take  leave  of  the  machinery  of  history 
and  romance,  and  adopt  that  of  the  mask  or  opera. 

Ward  says,  in  his  A  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature, 
that,  in  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  "No  voice — except  that  of 
Milton  prophesying  in  his  days  of  darkness — was  heard  to 
protest  against  this  servility  of  sentiment — to  the  Crown."1 
We  need  to  know  more  about  the  real  meanings  of  the 
parallel  plays  to  be  able  to  accept  this  statement.  True,  most 
of  the  dramatists  favored  the  Crown,  but  Pepys  considered 
Robert  Howard's  The  Duke  of  Lerma  a  satire  upon  one  of  the 
prerogatives  of  Charles  II.2  He  also  records  the  furious, 
anger  of  the  king  over  Edward  Howard's  The  Change  of  Crowns* 
the  exact  nature  of  which  play  we  do  not  know,  though  it 
seems  to  have  had  elements  of  the  parallel  play. 

1  Second  Edition,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  293. 

2  Pepys's  Diary,  February  20,  1667-8. 

3  Ibid.,  April  15  and  16,  1667. 


Methods  in  the  Drama  of  Restoration  665 

The  genesis  of  the  parallel  play  may  be  sought  in  the 
French  romances,  with  their  use  of  allegory,  or  in  the  plays 
of  Pierre  Corneille,  the  political  nature  of  which  was  perfectly 
known  to  Dryden,  who  says  in  his  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy, 
"Look  upon  the  Cinna  and  the  Pompey;  they  are  not  so  properly 
to  be  called  plays  as  long  discourses  of  reason  of  state."  It  is 
not  necessary,  however,  so  far  as  the  dramatists  of  the  Restora- 
tion are  concerned,  to  seek  for  French  origins.  The  parallel 
political  play  had  already  existed  in  England  before  the  Civil 
War.  John  Tatham  does  not  figure  largely  in  the  standard 
histories  of  English  dramatic  literature.  Ward  gives  him  three 
lines  in  footnotes  with  mention  of  his  name  in  the  text  and 
Professor  Schelling  devotes  about  fifteen  lines  to  him  in  The 
Cambridge  History  of  English  Literature.  Nevertheless,  he 
is  important  as  a  connecting  link  between  the  two  divisions 
of  the  Stuart  drama,  and  he  illustrates  more  clearly  than  any 
other  author  of  the  period  the  methods  and  material  of  the 
dramatic  satire  of  the  Restoration. 

In  1641  Tatham  wrote  The  Distracted  State.  In  this  play 
Sicily  of  the  time  of  Agathocles  is  put  on  exhibition  to  show 
that  the  professions  of  popular  leaders  are  not  to  be  trusted 
and  that  the  whole  nation  suffers  from  any  attempt  to  dethrone 
an  established  and  legitimate  royal  family.  The  play  is  ap- 
parently not  personal.  The  Scotch  are  satirized;  so  are  all 
those  who  were  not  loyal  to  Charles  I.  Here  was  a  parallel 
play  before  the  Civil  War,  that  employed  the  methods  of 
The  Duke  of  Guise,  and,  incidentally,  some  of  the  same  argu- 
ments. And  this  play  is  not  unique. 

No  one  would,  I  suppose,  seriously  question  the  native 
English  origin  of  typical,  or  "humour,"  satire,  as  applied  to 
Puritans.  The  work  of  Ben  Jonson,  the  creator  of  Tribulation 
Wholesome  and  Zeal-of-the-Land  Busy,  in  this  field  is  too 
well  known  to  need  comment.  The  relation  of  satire  against 
the  Puritans  to  political  satire  comes  from  the  fact  that  the 
Puritan  was  politics:  he  was  the  chief  problem  with  which  the 
Crown  had  to  deal  from  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  James  I 
onward.  Ben  Jonson  recognized  that  fact,  though  he  con- 
sidered that  the  root  of  the  perversity  of  the  Puritan  was  in 
human  nature  itself.  Probee,  one  of  the  characters  in  the 
Induction  to  The  Magnetic  Lady,  says:  "The  reconciliation  of 


666  Jones 

humours  is  a  bold  undertaking,  far  greater  than  the  reconcilia- 
tion of  both  churches,  the  quarrel  between  humours  being 
ancienter,  and  in  my  opinion,  the  root  of  all  faction  and  schism 
in  church  and  commonwealth." 

From  the  time  of  Ben  Jonson  the  Puritan  was  a  stock 
figure  in  comedy.  The  tradition  is  continuous  through  Cart- 
wright  and  other  sons  of  Ben,  Tatham,  and  Wilson  to  Shadwell. 
Moreover,  when  the  Puritan  appeared  in  the  comedy  of  man- 
ners, which  was  but  seldom,  for  the  writers  of  the  comedy  of 
manners  regarded  the  Puritan  as  "low,"  he  showed  Jonsonian 
traits.  Traces  of  the  manner  of  Ben  Jonson  may  be  found  in 
Sir  Nicholas  Cully,  a  Puritan  character  of  Etheredge's  first 
play,  The  Comical  Revenge,  and  in  Sir  Samuel  Forecast,  of 
Sedley's  Mulberry  Garden.  Mrs.  Saintly,  of  Dryden's  Limber- 
ham,  is  assuredly  of  the  Jonsonian  type.  As  late  as  1709, 
almost  exactly  a  hundred  years  after  the  appearance  of  The 
Alchemist  with  its  Ananias  and  Tribulation  Wholesome,  Thomas 
D'Urfey  produced  the  Modern  Prophets,  a  play  satirized  in  the 
Taller  (Nos.  1,4,11,43),  in  which  D'Urfey  ridiculed  the  Puritans 
in  the  good  old  Jonsonian  way. 

Since  the  Puritans  detested  plays,  play  actors,  and  play- 
houses at  all  times,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  there  was  little  love 
lost  between  them  and  the  Royalist  supporters  of  the  theater. 
There  are,  however,  three  distinct  degrees  in  the  treatment  of 
the  Puritans  as  a  comic  figure.  The  Jonsonian  figure,  a  canting 
hypocrite,  decrying  the  things  of  the  world  and  secretly  en- 
joying them,  a  "humour"  character,  prevailed  before  1642. 
Immediately  after  the  Restoration,  he  reappeared  as  an  even 
more  maleficent  figure,  one  given  to  casuistry,  as  Scruple,  in 
Wilson's  The- Cheats,  a  minister  who  will  "conform,  reform, 
transform,  perform,  deform,  inform,  any  form"  for  three  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year,  or  to  abuse  of  power,  as  Mr.  Day,  in  The 
Committee.  The  playwrights  had  just  endured  a  long  period 
of  Puritan  rule  and  felt  toward  the  Puritans  about  as  a  Russian 
emigre  does  toward  Communists.  In  addition  to  these  changes, 
the  personal  element  figured  to  a  great  degree.  Cromwell  and 
his  associates  appeared  in  the  drama  in  person,  there  to  be 
held  up  to  the  execrations  of  an  angry,  exultant  mob. 

In  the  third  period,  the  treatment  of  the  Puritans  is  much 
more  conventional.  In  the  hands  of  Shadwell  it  returns  to  the 


Methods  in  the  Drama  of  Restoration  667 

Jonsonian  tradition.  The  Puritan  was,  for  the  most  part,  to 
be  found  in  the  ranks  of  the  Whigs,  after  the  parties  took  shape 
about  1680,  but  it  is  incorrect  to  think  that  the  satire  of  that 
period  against  the  Puritans  is  as  malicious  as  that  of  the  earliest 
period.  Satire  of  the  Puritans  had  some  value  to  the  Tory 
party,  but,  when  it  was  employed,  it  was  largely  a  matter  of 
convention  or  imitation  or  downright  plagiarism  from  older 
writers.  The  Tory  dramatists  were  interested  in  Puritans  just 
so  far  as  Puritans  were  Whigs  or  just  so  far  as  they  could  cast 
contempt  upon  the  Whigs  by  associating  them  with  the  fright- 
ful days  of  Cromwell.  Professor  Schelling,  in  The  Cambridge 
History  of  English  Literature*  mentions  two  Tory  satires 
of  the  eighties  that  illustrate  the  continued  use  of  the  Puritan 
as  an  object  of  satire:  Crowne's  City  Politics,6  and  Mrs. 
Behn's  The  Roundheads.  The  former  is,  however,  only  to  a 
slight  degree  a  satire  upon  the  Puritans  as  Puritans;  it  is  a 
personal  assault  upon  Shaftesbury  and  his  following.  Such 
satire  of  the  Puritans  as  exists  is  conventional,  harking  back  to 
the  sixties.  Mrs.  Behn's  The  Roundheads  is  her  version  of 
Tatham's  The  Rump.  What  she  did  was  to  eliminate  the  slight 
love  affair  of  the  original  and  substitute  a  large  amount  of 
intrigue,  in  which  she  was  a  specialist,  invent  conventional 
"humour"  characters,  such  as  Ananias  Goggle,  a  Jonsonian 
Puritan,  and  treat  Lady  Cromwell  more  respectfully  than  the 
original  did.  The  rest  of  the  satire  is,  of  course,  Tatham's. 

Although  the  Puritans  were,  for  the  most  part,  Whigs,  satire 
of  the  Puritans  was  a  distinct  thing  from  satire  of  the  Whigs. 
This  is  proved  by  the  writings  of  Shadwell,  who  never  ceased 
to  satirize  the  Puritans.  In  his  last  play,  The  Volunteers  (1693), 
he  mingles  ridicule  of  the  Jacobites  with  ridicule  of  the  Puritans 
in  the  person  of  an  Anabaptist,  Hackwell,  who  had  served 
under  Oliver.  This  character,  as  well  as  Scrape-All,  of  The 
Squire  of  Alsatia  (1688),  was  created  by  the  man  who  had  en- 
raged the  Tories,  high  and  low,  by  his  caricature  of  the  High 
Churchman  in  the  person  of  Smerk,  the  hypocritical  chaplain 
of  The  Lancashire  Witches. 

*  Vol.  VIH,  p.  122. 

•  The  date  of  City  Politics  is  1683,  not  1673,  as  it  is  printed  on  p.  122. 
Sec  p.  188  of  the  same  volume. 


668  Jones 

Ward  says  that  the  Restoration  dramatists,  "in  their 
personal  abuse  of  the  enemies,  real  or  supposed,  of  the  cause 
with  which'  they  have  identified  themselves,  add  a  new  element 
...  to  the  literature  of  the  theater."6  The  word  new  is  un- 
doubtedly too  strong.  Personal  abuse  on  the  stage  is,  of  course, 
as  old  as  Aristophanes.  The  War  of  the  Theaters  showed  that 
the  great  Elizabethans  were  not  wholly  averse  to  personal  satire. 
Shirley  is  said  by  Sir  Henry  Herbert,  Master  of  the  Revels,  to 
have  satirized  persons  about  the  court  in  his  and  Chapman's 
forbidden  play,  The  Ball  (1632).  It  is  true  that  the  amount  of 
personal  satire  increased  after  the  Restoration,  and  that  it 
formed  the  chief  feature  of  the  early  Tory  satires  of  Crowne 
and  Southerne. 

Again,  John  Tatham  is  interesting  as  one  who  led  the  way. 
His  The  Rump;  »r  a  Mirrour  of  the  Late  Times  (1660)  is  largely 
personal.  The  play  is  a  caricature  of  the  events  in  London  be- 
tween the  death  of  Cromwell  and  the  arrival  of  Monk.  The 
characters  are  presented  with  only  the  thinnest  of  disguises, 
that  is,  disguise  produced  by  a  slight  change  of  name.  Lam- 
bert appears  as  Bertlam;  Wareston,  as  Stoneware,  and  so  on. 
The  characters  are  treated  with  the  greatest  malevolence. 
Fleetwood  is  a  canting  hypocrite;  Wareston  is  given  to  low  trick- 
ery and  ribaldry.  The  women  fare  no  better  than  the  men. 
Lady  Lambert  is  domineering,  revengeful,  and,  of  course, 
unfaithful  to  her  husband.  Lady  Cromwell  is  a  coarse  old 
vixen,  who  attempts  to  scratch  Lady  Lambert's  face  in  return 
for  a  sneering  remark.  She  raves  over  her  troubles  and  pre- 
dicts for  herself  a  life  as  an  oyster  woman  or  bawd.  The  play 
is  interesting  not  only  as  marking  the  high-  or  low-water 
mark  of  the  personal  in  the  Restoration  drama,  but  is  a  joy  to 
the  source  hunter,  who  can  find  therein  not  only  reflections  of 
Ben  Jonson  but  imitations  of  Rabelais  and  Aristophanes, 
the  father  of  the  personal  attack  by  means  of  comedy.  The 
virulence  and  malignity  of  its  portrait  painting  were  not 
surpassed  during  the  Age  of  the  Restoration,  though  it  fell 
to  more  skilled  hands,  such  as  Otway,  Crowne,  and  Dryden, 
to  depict  Shaftesbury. 

Only  a  word  need  be  said  about  the  practice  of  satirizing 
persons  or  principles  in  the  dialogue  itself.  Ben  Jonson  had 

•  A  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature,  Second  Edition,  Vol.  Ill,  p.  293. 


Methods  in  the  Drama  of  Restoration  669 

used  no  little  amount  of  this  kind  of  satire.  His  jail  experience 
did  not  cure  him  of  the  habit.  His  contemporaries  and  suc- 
cessors, such  as  Shirley,  Brome,  Davenant,  Mayne,  and  Kil- 
legrew  continued  his  manner  of  poking  fun  at  the  Puritans  in 
this  way. 

Such  satire  served  one  useful  purpose  in  the  Restoration 
drama.  As  has  already  been  said,  the  writers  of  the  comedy  of 
manners  would  not,  as  a  rule*  use  Puritan  characters,  because 
they  were  "low."  Their  "high  bred"  characters  could,  however, 
ridicule  the  Puritans.  This  is  the  principal  political  satire 
that  appears  in  the  comedy  of  manners.  Dryden  made  ex- 
tensive use  of  this  method.  .  In  his  first  comedy,  The  Wild 
Gallant,  there  is  a  character  who  is  an  ex-Puritan,  but  little 
use  is  made  of  him  as  a  "humour"  character.  The  real  satire 
comes  from  the  allusions  by  other  characters  to  the  Rump 
Act  and  the  "gude  Scotch  Kivenant." 

As  in  the  case  of  the  heroic  drama  of  the  Restoration,  which 
can  be  traced  back,  so  far  as  its  principal  elements  are  concerned, 
to  Fletcher  and  Marlowe,  by  way  of  D'Avenant,  so  the  methods 
of  the  dramatic  satirists  of  the  Restoration  go  back  to  Ben 
Jonson  and  his  contemporaries,  by  way  of  John  Tatham,  who 
resembles  D'Avenant  in  connecting  the  old  and  the  new. 
Satire  of  the  Puritans  was  as  old  as  Ben  Jonson  and  Shake- 
speare, but  it  became  bitter  and  personal  just  after  the  close  of 
the  Civil  War,  while  the  Puritan  figures  were  looming  so  large 
in  retrospect.  It  was  only  the  ghosts  of  these  figures,  combined 
with  the  stock  characters  from  the  Jonsonian  tradition,  that 
were  evoked  during  the  stormy  period  of  Shaftesbury's  at- 
tempted domination  of  state  affairs.  This  satire  of  the  Puritans 
was  undoubtedly  used  with  a  political  purpose,  but  it  must 
be  distinguished  from  party  satire.  There  was,  on  the  whole, 
little  that  was  new  about  the  methods  of  the  Restoration 
political  drama,  even  if  no  other  period  has  produced  so  much 
drama  that  "foamed  with  politics." 

VIRGIL  L.  JONES 

University  of  Arkansas 


A  NOTE  ON  KLEIST'S  PRINZ  VON  HOMBURG 

In  Kleist's  Prinz  von  Hamburg  the  hero,  an  impetuous  young 
cavalry  officer,  is  charged  with  disobedience  to  military  orders. 
Though  a  prince,  he  is  court-martialed  for  this  breach  of  dis- 
cipline and,  despite  the  further  fact  that  the  military  action  in 
question  was  crowned  by  victory,  he  is  pronounced  guilty  as 
charged  and  sentenced  to  death.  The  self-centered  nature  and 
defiantly  individualistic  attitude  of  the  young  man  now,  in  the 
hours  of  deepest  humiliation,  undergo  a  profound  change;  his 
former  irresponsible  haughtiness  gives  way  to  a  broader,  social 
view  of  disciplined  patriotism.  It  is  the  chastening  experience 
within  prison  walls  which  effects  his  spiritual  regeneration,  and 
the  absolute  change  thus  wrought  in  his  soul  is  dramatically 
revealed  when  the  elector's  letter  suddenly  throws  upon  him 
the  tremendous  moral  responsibility  of  judging  his  own  case. 
Under  this  unexpected  appeal  to  his  innermost  being  the  young 
officer  superbly  rises  to  the  full  stature  of  his  manliness.  Sin- 
cerely and  profoundly  regretting  his  personal  insubordination 
and  eager  to  atone  for  his  gravely  irresponsible  conduct,  he 
fervently  desires  that  he  be  sacrificed  to  the  larger  principle  of 
eternal  law  and  order  as  he  now  sees  it.  Only  in  view  of  this 
complete  transformation  does  the  elector  then  order,  not  only 
the  revocation  of  the  death  sentence,  but  also  the  pardon  of  the 
prince. 

The  relation  between  Kleist's  much  discussed  motif  and  a 
strikingly  similar  episode  in  Livy  (VIII,  30-35)  has  been  dealt 
with  in  detail  by  Johannes  Niejahr.1  Professor  Nollen,  in  his 
scholarly  edition  of  the  Prinz  von  Hamburg,  epitomizes  Livy's 
account  in  the  following  passage:  "In  the  second  Samnite  war 
the  master  of  the  horse,  Q.  Fabius,  'a  high-spirited  youth,'  con- 
trary to  the  explicit  orders  of  the  dictator,  L.  Papirius,  attacked 
the  enemy  at  a  favorable  moment,  and  with  a  desperate  cavalry 
charge  put  them  to  flight.  Papirius,  enraged  at  such  a  flagrant 
breach  of  discipline,  and  still  more  at  the  young  man's  persis- 
tence in  subborn  defiance  of  his  authority,  summarily  con- 

1  Cf.  his  article  Ein  Livianisches  Motiv  in  Kleist's  Prinz  von  Hamburg  in 
Euphorion  IV,  61. 

670 


Note  on  Kleist's  Prinz  von  Hamburg  671 

demned  him  to  death,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  entreaties  of 
the  whole  army,  and  even  of  the  senate,  when  they  pleaded  for 
mercy.  Only  when  Fabius  himself  fell  at  the  dictator's  feet  with 
a  humble  confession  of  his  guilt,  when  'military  discipline  and 
the  majesty  of  government  had  prevailed'  and  the  defiant  pride 
of  the  young  officer  had  been  broken,  did  Papirius  grant  the  life 
of  Fabius  'as  a  boon  to  the  Roman  people,'  amid  universal 
applause." 

I  have  ventured  to  recall  these  two  parallel  episodes  for  the 
reason  that  they  were  brought  back  vividly  to  my  mind  by  the 
following  brief  historical  account  of  the  stern  working  of  mili- 
tary law  in  Thomas  Fuller's  The  Holy  State  and  the  Prophane 
State,  the  first  edition  of  which  appeared  in  1642.  In  the 
passage  in  question,  Fuller  relates  the  interesting  and  touching 
fate  of  "the  French  soldier  in  Scotland,  some  eighty  years  since,2 
who  first  mounted  the  bulwark  of  a  fort  besieged,  whereupon 
ensued  the  gaining  of  the  fort:  but  Marescal  de  Thermes,  the 
French  general,  first  knighted  him  and  then  hanged  him  within 
an  hour  after,  because  he  had  done  without  commandment." 
I  do  not  recall  having  seen  any  reference  to  this  incident  in 
connection  with  Kleist's  play;  to  forestall  a  possible  misappre- 
hension, however,  I  ought  to  add  that  I  am  taking  this  occasion 
to  draw  attention  to  it  solely  because  of  the  features  which  are 
common  both  to  Kleist's  motif  and  the  historical  episode. 
Whether  there  is  reason  to  suspect  any  influence,  direct  or  in- 
direct, in  the  matter,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say;  in  view  of  the 
very  much  closer  Livian  account,  however,  I  confess  I  am  in- 
clined to  doubt  it. 

I  feel  moved  to  point  out,  in  an  English  work  of  fiction, 
another  scene  whereof  certain  features  naturally  provoke  a 
comparison  with  at  least  one  phase  of  the  painful  experience  of 
Kleist's  hero.  I  have  in  mind  the  scene  in  Scott's  The  Fair 
Maid  of  Perth  in  which  the  young  Highland  chief,  Conachar, 
at  the  mere  thought  of  an  impending  battle,  betrays  an  abject 
cowardice — a  situation  reminding  one  of  the  unconventional 
scene  in  Kleist's  drama  where  we  see  the  young  officer,  the 
undaunted  hero  of  more  than  one  battle,  so  completely  un- 

*  This  would  fix  the  date  of  the  incident  at  about  1560,  at  which  time  there 
were  French  soldiers  in  Scotland.  I  found  no  mention  of  the  particular  episode 
in  the  historical  works  which  were  accessible  to  me. 


672  Ibershojf 

manned  by  the  harrowing  sight  of  his  own  grave  as  to  be  reduced 
to  a  state  of  groveling  helplessness — an  ordeal  which  he  under- 
goes while  still  a  prisoner  and  prior  to  his  regeneration.  Since 
the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth  is  one  of  Scott's  least  popular  novels, 
it  may  be  desirable  to  present  the  arresting  episode  somewhat 
fully. 

In  a  scene  well-nigh  as  bold  as  Kleist's,  Scott  introduces  the 
reader  to  old  Simon  Glover's  hut.  "Two  hours  before  the  black- 
cock crew,"  we  read,  "Simon  Glover  was  awakened  by  a  well- 
known  voice,  which  called  him  by  name."  When  he  raised  his 
eyes  he  saw  standing  before  him  not  "the  mail-clad  Highland 
chief,  with  claymore  [a  heavy  two-handed  broadsword]  in  hand, 
as  he  had  seen  him  the  preceding  night,  but  Conachar  of  Curfew 
Street,  in  his  humble  apprentice's  garb,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
switch  of  oak"  and  carrying  "a  piece  of  lighted  bog- wood 
...  in  a  lantern." 

The  young  chief  who  comes  at  this  unusual  hour  to  press 
old  Simon  to  bestow  upon  him  his  daughter  Catharine,  finally, 
despite  his  ardent  suit,  receives  the  unequivocal  and  dishearten- 
ing answer,  "With  my  consent  my  daughter  shall  never  wed 
save  in  her  own  degree,"  whereupon  he  exclaims  in  despair, 
"Farewell  the  only  hope  which  would  have  lighted  me  to  fame  or 
victory."  And  shortly  after  he  adds,  "I  am  about  to  tell  you  a 
secret  .  .  .  the  deepest  and  dearest  secret  that  man  ever 
confided  to  man."  This  he  does  not  reveal  at  once,  however. 
Instead,  by  way  of  preparing  the  way  for  his  intimate  disclosure, 
he  asks,  "In  this  age  of  battle,  father,  you  have  yourself  been  a 
combatant?"  A  brief  question  indeed,  but  quite  sufficient  to 
induce  old  Simon  to  relate  at  some  length  the  war-like  experi- 
ence of  his  earlier  years.  In  the  course  of  his  narrative  he  frankly 
confesses  that  he  seldom  slept  worse  than  the  night  before  the 
expected  onslaught  which  he  describes.  In  the  morning  the 
warriors  were  summoned  to  their  places  by  the  ringing  of  a 
bell.  Of  the  tolling  of  that  bell  he  says,  "I  never  heard  its  sound 
peal  so  like  a  passing  knell  before  or  since."  Nevertheless  the 
"cold  fit"  and  the  "strange  breathlessness"  which  he  experi- 
enced, together  with  a  "desire  to  go  home  for  a  glass  of  distilled 
waters"  when  he  saw  the  enemy  "marching  forward  to  the 
attack  in  strong  columns,"  soon  gave  way  to  composure  and 


Note  on  Kleist's  Prinz  von  Hamburg  673 

self-control,  and  during  the  actual  conflict,  as  he  declares,  his 
conduct  even  "gained  some  credit." 

At  this  point  of  the  old  man's  recital  the  imagination  of  the 
young  Highland  chief,  stirred  to  feverish  excitement,  conjures 
up  the  horrors  of  an  impending  fray  between  two  powerful  clans 
which  is  to  settle  a  mountain-feud  of  long  standing — a  conflict 
in  which  he  will  be  compelled  to  participate.  And  under  the 
spell  of  his  vivid  mental  picture  he  suddenly  utters  the  startling 
confession,  "Father,  I  am  a  Coward!"  Then  launching  forth 
upon  a  description  of  the  "demoniac  fury"  of  the  bloody  fray 
as  he  conceives  it,  he  speaks  as  follows,  "Blows  clang,  and 
blood  flows,  thicker,  faster,  redder;  they  rush  on  each  other 
like  madmen,  they  tear  each  other  like  wild  beasts;  the  wounded 
trodden  to  death  amid  the  feet  of  their  companions!  Blood 
ebbs,  arms  become  weak;  but  there  must  be  no  parley,  no  truce, 
no  interruption,  while  any  of  the  maimed  wretches  remain 
alive!  Here  is  no  crouching  behind  battlements,  no  fighting 
with  missile  weapons:  all  is  hand  to  hand,  till  hands  can  no 
longer  be  raised  to  maintain  the  ghastly  conflict!  If  such  a 
field  is  so  horrible  in  idea,  what  think  you  it  will  be  in  reality?" 
How  vividly  all  this  reminds  one  of  the  piteous  outburst  of 
Kleist's  unnerved  hero  after  he  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  own 
open  grave.  Constitutionally  weak  of  nerve,  the  young  Scotch 
chief  feels  that  with  one  blow  all  support  has  been  knocked  out 
from  under  him,  for  in  his  ardent  suit  for  Simon  Glover's  daugh- 
ter he  has  failed;  we  now  see  him  in  a  state  of  moral  helplessness 
well-nigh  as  abject  as  that  of  the  young  imprisoned  officer  under 
sentence  of  death  in  the  Prinz  von  Hamburg. 

Scott  did  not  intend  in  his  novel,  any  more  than  did  Kleist 
in  his  drama,  that  his  young  hero  should  by  his  betrayal  of  fear 
forfeit  our  sympathy;  nor,  indeed,  does  he,  and  least  of  all  when 
he  exclaims,  "Were  Catharine  to  look  kindly  on  the  earnest  love 
I  bear  her,  it  would  carry  me  against  the  front  of  the  enemies 
with  the  mettle  of  a  war-horse.  Overwhelming  as  my  sense  of 
weakness  is,  the  feeling  that  Catharine  looked  on  would  give  me 
strength.  Say  yet — oh,  say  yet — she  shall  be  mine  if  we  gain 
the  combat,  and  not  the  Gow  Chrom  himself,  whose  heart  is  of  a 
piece  with  his  anvil,  ever  went  to  battle  so  light  as  I  shall  do! 
One  strong  passion  is  conquered  by  another."3 

1  In  Kleist's  play  it  is  the  hero  who  finally,  in  the  hour  of  supreme  trial, 


674  Ibershof 

Though  the  characters  about  which  Scott  wove  his  novel  are 
admittedly  fictitious,  we  know  from  his  own  statement  that  in 
his  story  he  utilized  features  of  an  episode  which  he  found  ready 
to  hand  in  a  historical  record  dealing  with  a  "barrier-battle" 
and  chronicling  even  "the  flight  of  one  of  the  appointed  cham- 
pions." Perhaps  there  is  no  reason,  therefore,  to  suspect  any 
further  literary  influence  here,  even  in  the  way  of  suggestion, 
despite  the  fact  that  both  in  Kleist's  play  (published  in  1821) 
and  in  Scott's  novel  (1828)  the  particular  feature  under  consider- 
ation is  virtually  the  same,  namely,  an  exhibition  of  cowardice  in 
an  author's  male  character,  and  despite  the  further  fact  that 
Scott  not  only  admired  German  literature  but  even  prepared 
and  published  some  translations  from  German  authors.  Still, 
in  any  case,  we  have  before  us  two  interesting  examples  of  an 
unusual  theme  in  literature  which,  for  purposes  of  comparison, 
it  seemed  desirable  to  bring  together  within  the  same  field  of 
vision. 

C.  H.  IBERSHOFF 

University  of  Iowa 

sustains  the  woman,  and  not  vice  versa — a  situation  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
poet's  characteristic  conception  of  the  ideal  woman. 


DR.  GROSART'S  ROSALIND 

Dr.  Grosart's  well  known  interpretation  of  the  Rosalind 
loci  in  the  Shepheardes  Calender  is  definitely  based  on  his 
whole  conception  of  early  Spenserian  biography.  He  declared 
that  Spenser's  family  originated  in  northeastern  Lancashire, 
and  based  this  opinion  on  Spenser's  spelling  of  his  name  and 
on  his  apparent  use  of  Lancashire  scenery  and  Lancashire 
dialect,  especially  in  the  Shepheardes  Calender.*  Arguing  from 
this  premise,  he  maintained  that  Spenser,  at  the  end  of  his 
University  career,  visited  his  relatives  in  Lancashire,  there 
fell  in  love  with  Rosalind,  and  wrote  the  Calender,2  and  finally, 
as  a  corollary  to  all  this,  he  declared  himself  "satisfied"  that 
Rosalind  was  some  as  yet  "untraced  Rose  or  Eliza  or  Alice 
Dineley  or  Dynley  or  Dinlei"  of  north-eastern  Lancashire.3 

This  theory,  originally  promulgated  in  1882-4,  has  been  much 
attacked  of  recent  years.  In  1897,  Herford  found  the  diction 
and  grammar  of  the  Calender  "highly  composite,"4  but  drew 
no  conclusions  as  to  the  tenability  of  Grosart's  opinions:  in- 
deed, he  appears  to  have  accepted  them.  In  1908,  Long  pointed 
out  that  Elizabethan  spelling  of  proper  names  was  not  fixed, 
that  the  scenery  in  the  Calender  is  not  especially  Lancastrian, 
and  that  the  words  beginning  with  A  and  B  in  Grosart's  list 
were  not  peculiar  to  Lancashire — if  we  may  use  modern  dialects 
as  a  criterion  for  Elizabethan:  in  fact,  Spenser  could  have  found 
most  of  the  words  in  Chaucer  or  in  the  English  and  Scotch 
Chaucerians.6  Long's  work  has  shaken  the  confidence  of  many 
scholars  in  Grosart's  theory.6  In  1919,  the  present  author  re- 

1  Spenser,  Works,  ed.  Grosart,  I,  xlii  et  seq. 

2  Ibid.  I,  43  et  seq.    The  recent  discovery  that  Spenser  was  Secretary  to 
the  Bishop  of  Rochester  in  1578  certainly  does  not  bear  out  this  conjecture, 
Pro.  Brit.  Acad.  1907-8,  103. 

3  Ibid.  I,  50  et  seq. 

4  Spenser,  Shep  Col.,  London,  1914,  xiv,  Ivii,  etc.    Even  this  edition  shows 
no  change  from  Herford's  original  acceptance  of  Grosart. 

tAngliaXKXI,  72  et  seq. 

•  Higginson  in  his  Spenser's  Shepherd's  Calender,  New  York,  1912,  289 
et  seq.,  especially  emphasizes  the  significance  of  Long's  work.  Higginson 
reviews  scholarly  opinion  at  length. 

675 


676  Draper 

viewed  the  entire  list  of  words  glossed  by  E.  K.,  and  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  a  dialectical  provenience  need  be  sought 
for  only  a  very  few  and  that  those  few  were  localized  mainly 
in  Yorkshire  rather  than  Lancashire.7  Tests  of  vocabulary 
and  of  inflectional  forms,  have,  therefore,  seriously  under- 
mined Grosart's  point  of  view,  but,  since  it  is  still  widely 
propagated  by  standard  works  and  occasionally  by  a  current 
volume,8  any  further  evidence  may  still  be  timely. 

Although  the  Calender  has  been  studied  for  diction  and 
grammatical  forms,  questions  of  phonology,  especially  as 
expressed  in  the  rhymes,  have  been  largely  neglected;  and,  in- 
deed, Herford  remarks  that  the  phonetic  characteristics  of  the 
Lancashire  dialect  of  Elizabeth's  day  are  "chiefly  a  matter 
of  inference."9  Since  the  publication  of  his  book,  however, 
further  light  has  been  shed  on  the  matter:  in  1920,  Brown 
edited  the  Stonyhurst  Pageants,10  a  body  of  verse  running  to 
almost  nine  thousand  lines,  which,  as  he  shows  in  his  Intro- 
duction, was  composed  in  Lancashire  shortly  after  1610.  This 
is  a  far  safer  test  of  Grosart's  dialect  theory  than  the  evidence 
of  verbal  peculiarities  of  which  we  have  record  only  in  the 
late  Nineteenth  Century;  and,  although  pronunciation  may 
have  changed  in  Lancashire  between  the  1570's  and  the  early 
Seventeenth  Century,  the  change  was  probably  small,  for 
dialects  are  conservative  and  Lancashire  was  remote  from 
foreign  influence. 

The  significant  fact  is  that  the  Pageants  show  a  peculiarity 
not  usually  to  be  found  in  Elizabethan  literature:  the  rhyming 
of  ee  as  in  seen  with  i  as  in  sign.  Thus,  as  Brown  points  out  in 
his  Introduction,  "bee,  hee,  mee,  see,  thee,  and  tree  are  made  to 
rhyme  with  by,  cry,  dry,  eye,  flye,  I,  lye,  nigh,  thigh,  try,  tye,  and 
why."11  The  natural  inference  is  that  these  words  must  have 

''Jour.  Eng.  Ger.  Phil.  XVIII,  556  et  seq. 

8  Vide  Higginson,  op.  cit.,  290,  note  13.    One  might  add  other  names  to 
this  list. 

9  Herford,  op.  cit.  liii. 

10  Carleton  Brown,  The  Stonyhurst  Pageants,  Gottingen  and  Baltimore,  1920. 

11  Brown,  to  be  sure,  notes  (p.  11*-12*)  that  the  author  had  a  "surprisingly 
weak  feeling  for  rhyme";  for  there  are  twenty-two  non-rhyming  lines,  and  at 
tunes  unstressed  syllables  are  used  in  rhyme.    False  rhymes  in  accented  vowels, 
however,  do  not  constitute  a  typical  license  in  the  Pageants;  and  the  seen-sign 
type  of  rhyme  is  so  common  that  the  author  can  hardly  have  felt  them  imperfect. 


Dr.  Grosart's  Rosalind  677 

been  pronounced  nearly,  if  not  exactly,  alike.  The  association, 
moreover,  of  this  peculiarity  with  the  northern  dialects — if  not 
especially  with  Lancashire — is  borne  out  by  its  appearance 
north  of  the  Tweed:  turning  over  some  forty  pages  of  Drum- 
mond's  Works,12  one  finds  six  cases  of  it.  In  short,  if  one  may 
hazard  a  theory  in  so  difficult  a  field  as  Elizabethan  phonology,  it 
would  appear  that  in  the  North,  and  particularly  in  Lancashire, 
ME  e  shifted  its  sound,  before  or  during  Elizabethan  times,  to 
the  modern  pronunciation,  expressed  in  mattre  phonetique  as  * 
— without  any  corresponding  shift  of  ME  I  to  the  modern  diph- 
thong ai.  At  all  events,  it  is  reasonably  certain  that  i  and  e 
(spelled  ee)  were  pronounced  alike. 

Of  the  London  pronunciation  of  this  period,  much  has  been 
written,  but  there  is  some  uncertainty  among  scholars  as  to  the 
exact  pronunciation  of  e  and  i.13  One  fact,  however,  is  evident: 
the  two  sounds  were  not  pronounced  alike.  Victor  points  out 
that  Shakespeare  never  makes  such  rhymes  as  he  and  die.14 
They  do  not  appear  in  the  832  lines  of  Marlowe's  Hero  and 
Leander,  nor  in  Chapman's  1616  additional  lines,  nor  in  Donne's 
five  satires — although  he  is  much  given  to  doubtful  rhymes.  All 
of  these  poets  come  from  the  South  of  England:  Chapman  and 
Donne  doubtless  spoke  the  London  English  of  the  day;  Marlowe 
may  have  intermixed  some  Kentish;  and  Shakespeare  seems  to 
have  carried  a  few  traces  of  Warwickshire  dialect  into  his  plays. 
It  seems,  therefore,  fair  to  say  that  in  London,  and  probably  in 
most  of  the  southern  dialects,  e  and  i,  however  they  were  pro- 
nounced, were  clearly  differentiated;  whereas  in  Lancashire,  they 
must  have  been  very  similar,  if  not  exactly  the  same,  in  sound. 

Although    the   Shepheardes   Calender   has   many   doubtful 

In  the  1048  lines  of  Joseph,  it  appears  nine  times;  and,  in  the  first  thousand 
lines  of  the  Moses,  it  appears  sixteen  times.  I  count  the  sound  only  when  it 
appears  under  primary  stress. 

11  Ed.  Turnbull,  London,  1856,  5-45. 

"E.g.  Bradley  in  Shakespeare's  England,  II,  542-3.  Cf.  Sweet,  234-5; 
Vie'tor,  I,  13  et  seq.;  Wyld,  71  et  seq.,  et  al. 

"Victor,  Shakespeare's  Pronunciation,  London,  1906,  I,  14.  Rhymes  in 
unstressed  or  secondarily  stressed  -y  or  -ie  are,  of  course,  common;  but  vowels 
in  atonic  syllables  are  regularly  "obscured"  in  English.  It  is  only  of  stressed 
f  and  e  that  this  paper  takes  account. 


678  Draper 

rhymes,15  Spenser  never  rhymes  -ee-  and  -i-  in  syllables  bearing 
a  primary  stress:  in  the  April  Eclogue,  indeed,  he  even  prefers 
to  repeat  green,  rather  than  substitute  such  a  word  as  fine, 
which  would  have  solved  his  technical  difficulty  at  once.18 
The  separate  use  of  the  two  rhyme-sounds,  moreover,  is  very 
common:  in  the  123  couplets  of  February,  for  example,  there 
are  fifteen  rhymes  in  i  and  ten  in  ee17.  If  Spenser  pronounced  the 
two  sounds  similarly,  in  the  fashion  of  Lancashire  dialect,  it 
is  inconceivable  that  he  should  never  once  have  rhymed  them 
together.  Further  positive  evidence,  however,  is  not  lacking: 
even  when  Spenser  rhymes  -y  atonic,  or  with  secondary  stress  as 
in  jollity,  with  such  words  as  me  and  thee,  he  regularly  spells  the 
-y  as  -ee,1*  showing  thereby  that  he  intended  a  slight  change  of 
pronunciation,  even  in  that  "obscured"  vowel,  and  implying 
that  such  a  change  in  pronunciation  was  necessary  in  order  to 
make  the  rhyme  accurate.19  In  February,  moreover,  Spenser 
actually  follows  a  couplet  rhyming  dye  and  enemie  with  one 
rhyming  plea  and  lea.*0  Surely,  if  these  rhymes  were  exactly 
the  same,  he  would  not  have  chosen  to  repeat  them,  thus  giving 
the  effect  of  a  quatrain  in  aaaa. 

uE.g.  foeman  and  came,  February,  21-2;  loord  and  words,  July,  33,  35; 
nyne  and  rhyme,  November,  53-5.  In  the  Pageants,  the  doubtful  rhymes  seem 
to  have  been  caused  by  the  length  of  the  line  and  the  consequently  weakened 
feeling  for  sound-repetition;  but,  in  the  Calender,  the  lines  are  usually  rather 
short;  and  the  reason  for  the  bad  rhymes  must  be  sought  rather  in  the  inex- 
perience of  the  poet  and  the  difficulties  of  the  form.  Vide  Jour.  Eng.  Ger. 
Phil.,  XVIII,  560  el  seq. 

»  April,  1  SSetseq. 

17 1  count  only  cases  where  at  least  one  rhyme  bears  an  undoubted  primary 
stress.  The  uncertainty  of  pronunciation  of  -ea-  and  of  -ie-  makes  an  exact 
count  almost  impossible. 

18  This  change  of  spelling  appears  regularly  in  words  of  Romance  origin 
where  the  -y  stands  for  an  O.  F.  etor  6.    I  find  it  in  February,  11  207-8;  May,  11 
191-2,  221-2,  247-8;  June,  97  el  seq.,  September,  50-51,  64-5,  238-39;  November, 
26  et  seq.,  114  et  seq.    The  one  exception  is,  I  suspect,  a  printer's  error,  May, 
302-3.    In  rhyming  -y  with  -y  or  -ye  or  -ie  under  primary  or  secondary  stress, 
he  regularly  spells  the  former  -y  or  -ye  or  -ie;  and  he  rhymes  these  rather  indis- 
criminately with  one  another. 

19  Cf.  Jour.  Eng.  Ger.  Phil.  XXVIII,  564:  e.g.  behight  and  bynempt.   Spenser 
does  not  hesitate  to  vary  spelling  or  grammar  in  the  Calendar  to  make  his 
rhymes. 

10  February,  1  155  et  seq. 


Dr.  Grosart's  Rosalind  679 

But  one  conclusion  seems  possible:  that  Spenser  did  not 
pronounce  I  and  ee  alike,  in  short,  that  in  this  respect  at  least, 
the  phonology  implied  in  the  rhymes  of  the  Calender  is  not 
Lancastrian,  any  more  than  is  the  grammar  or  the  .diction. 
Spenser,  apparently,  did  not  naturally  speak  Lancastrian;  and, 
moreover,  even  when  he  was  trying  to  imitate  dialect,  and 
largely  Northern  dialect  at  that,  he  did  not  know  or  at  least 
did  not  care  to  use  this  striking  phonological  characteristic. 
The  results  of  the  present  study  reinforce  the  conclusions 
already  apparent,  that  Grosart's  argument  for  his  Lancashire 
theory  is  quite  unsound,  and  that  his  identification  of  Rosalind 
with  a  supposed  Rose  Dinley  of  North-East  Lancashire,  is  an 
unsupported  guess  and  nothing  more. 

JOHN  W.  DRAPER 

University  of  Maine 


REVIEWS  AND  NOTES 

BEOWULF,  AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  STUDY  OF 
THE  POEM  WITH  A  DISCUSSION  OF  THE  STORIES 
OF  OFF  A  AND  FINN.  By  R.  W.  Chambers.  Cambridge 
University  Press,  1921.  xii+417  pp. 

Now  it  can  be  told.  The  war-cloud  has  lifted,  at  least  for 
the  nonce,  from  that  lively  battle-ground  of  clashing  conjectures 
and  calculations,  the  field  of  Beowulf  criticism.  Of  the  contest- 
ants themselves,  some  have  passed  away,  others,  weary  or 
without  ammunition,  have  withdrawn  from  the  strife,  or  else 
have  patched  up  a  truce.  Hence  it  is  possible  not  only  to  con- 
sider the  sources  of  the  war  and  to  analyze  the  causes  of  conten- 
tion, but  to  trace  its  varied  campaigns  and  study  its  strategy, 
and  finally  to  ask  and  answer  the  pertinent  question,  "What 
good  came  of  it  at  last?"  But  the  task  of  the  historian  is  not 
easy,  demanding  all  along  the  wordy  way  the  happiest  com- 
bination of  two  qualities,  seemingly  seldom  mated,  wide 
knowledge  and  balanced  judgment.  These  qualifications,  so 
essential  to  proper  perspective,  are  duly  applauded  by  Mr. 
Chambers  in  the  regretted  Bjorkman,  and  are  found  in  no  less 
measure  in  Mr.  Chambers  himself.  His  Widsith  of  ten  years 
ago,  in  its  exhaustive  study  of  Old  English  heroic  legend,  be- 
spoke a  range  as  wide  as  his  wanderer's.  His  revision  of  Wyatt's 
Beowulf,  two  years  later,  attested  a  conservatism  and  caution, 
a  judicial  habit  of  mind,  that  augured  well  for  the  then  promised 
"Introduction"  to  the  study  of  the  poem.  The  promise  has 
been  well  kept  in  the  book  of  four  hundred  pages  now  before  us. 

Yet  another  and  more  genial  quality,  unusual  in  digests  or 
summaries  of  any  sort — I  had  almost  said,  in  scholarly  produc- 
tions,— humanizes  the  study  of  origins.  Mr.  Chambers  is  not 
only  a  just  judge,  but  so  generous  a  one  that  he  oft  rejects  and 
never  once  offends.  The  breadth  of  his  outlook  is  matched  by 
the  largeness  of  his  tone  and  temper.  His  graceful  dedication 
to  Professor  W.  W.  Lawrence  is  not  merely  personal,  but 
national  in  its  friendly  gesture  of  "hands  across  the  sea." 
Moreover — and  here  good  scholarship  and  good  sportsmanship 
meet — the  differences  of  opinion  which  compose  his  book  are 
always  traced  with  wisdom  and  courtesy  to  an  initial  common 
ground  of  agreement.  Treated  in  this  wise,  competition  becomes 
cooperation.  Like  De  Quincey,  who  was  wont  "to  take  his 
pleasure  in  the  Michelet  woods,"  our  critic,  in  true  English 
wise,  has  "a  rattlin'  day's  sport"  on  GrendeVs  trail  through 
the  shires,  even  when  "this  huntin'  doesn't  pay."  This  zest  of 
the  chase  pervades  the  volume,  like  a  blast  of  fresh  air  from  the 
fields. 

680 


Reviews  and  Notes  681 

The  book  falls  into  four  parts,  not  too  closely  coordinated. 
Indeed,  Mr.  Chambers  himself  would  smilingly  concede  that 
his  arrangement  of  material — divisions  and  subdivisions  alike — 
is  in  no  way  inevitable,  nor,  indeed,  mechanically  plotted. 
Part  I,  a  discussion  of  the  historical  and  non-historical  elements 
in  the  poem,  and  of  theories  as  to  its  origin,  date  and  structure, 
is  copiously  illustrated  by  the  documentation  of  stories  in  Part  II 
and  interestingly  supplemented  by  divers  suggestive  postscripts 
in  Part  IV,  the  Appendix.  In  Part  III,  "The  Fight  at  Finns- 
burg,"  Finn,  unlike  his  companion  in  the  book's  title,  Offa, 
dominates,  with  his  friends  and  his  foes,  an  entire  division. 
Genealogical  tables  of  Danish  and  Geat  royalties  properly  pre- 
face the  Introduction  and  an  extensive  bibliography  of  Beowulf 
and  Finnsburg  and  an  adequate  index  conclude  it  in  workmanlike 
fashion. 

From  the  mass  of  story-matter,  disguised  and  indeed  trans- 
formed by  "the  great  camera-obscura,  tradition,"  Mr.  Cham- 
bers, with  less  credulity  than  either  Professor  Chadwick  or 
Miss  Clarke,  seeks  to  segregate  the  component  of  fact.  Beowulf 
himself  may  be  sheer  fable,  but  his  environment,  his  allies  and 
his  enemies,  are  brought  within  space  and  time.  "The  Geats 
are  the  Gotar  of  Southern  Sweden,"  thinks  our  editor,  like 
everyone  else,  save  those  Danes,  whose  patriotic  identification 
of  the  Geat  land  with  Jutland  is  considered  by  him  with  char- 
acteristic tolerance.  With  knowledge  and  skill,  and  with  such 
conclusiveness  as  is  possible  in  a  world  of  conjecture,  he  arrays 
the  Danish  chieftains  against  their  background  of  Leire. 
Through  the  maze  of  cousinships  and  the  confusion  of  genera- 
tions, he  treads  triumphantly  not  only  here,  but  on  the  insecure 
ground  of  the  Offas  and  their  Angles,  where  pitfalls  menace 
every  step.  The  facile  theory  of  Earle,  which  regards  Thryth 
in  Beow ulf  as  "a  mere  fiction  evolved  from  the  historical  Cyne- 
thryth,  wife  of  Offa  II,  and  by  poetic  license  represented  as  the 
wife  of  his  ancestor  Offa  I,"  is  fairly  stated  and  then  fully 
overthrown.  Indeed  romance  reverses  Earle's  process  and 
converts  an  historical  paragon  of  virtue,  like  Edward  I's 
Eleanor  many  hundred  years  later,  into  a  prodigy  of  vice. 

No  less  unsafe  is  the  footing  when  one  surveys  the  non- 
historical  elements  in  the  poem  (in  the  second  chapter  of  the 
first  part).  Mr.  Chambers  finds  little  to  link  Beowulf  the  Geat 
with  Beow  or  with  the  culture-god's  doppelganger,  Beowulf 
the  Dane — ruling  out  of  court  without,  perhaps,  all  his  wonted 
warrant  the  propinquity  of  Beow  and  Grendel  in  the  English 
place-names  of  the  Charters — and  hence  rejects  the  seductive 
theory  of  Miillenhoff  that  would  make  of  our  hero  a  nature- 
myth,  a  deity  struggling  with  wind  and  flood  of  early  spring, 
and  with  the  wild  weather  of  late  autumn.  The  sundry  striking 
likenesses  between  the  stories  of  Beowulf  and  Grettir,  the  Out- 


682  Tupper 

law  of  Iceland,  are  independently  derived  from  one  common 
original,  presumably  far  back  in  their  joint  Germanic  inheri- 
tance,— thus  argues  with  sweet  reasonableness  our  careful  cal- 
culator of  probabilities.  He  is  not  of  the  same  mind  as  the 
doughty  Danish  champion,  whom  we  all  deplore,  Axel  Olrik, 
who  sturdily  denied  any  parallel  between  the  adventures  and 
personality  of  Beowulf  and  those  of  Bothvar  Bjarki  of  the  Saga 
of  Rolf  Kraki,  and  he  points  with  conviction  to  the  similarity 
of  the  heroic  situations.  Conversely,  Mr.  Chambers  does  not 
agree  with  Sievers,  who  has  argued  at  length  that  the  Danish 
story  of  Frotho's  fight  with  the  dragon  is  a  close  analogue  to  the 
final  battle  with  the  fire-drake  in  our  poem.  Folk-lore,  particu- 
larly in  the  widely  popular  tale  of  the  Bear's  son,  goes,  far  to 
explain  certain  incidents  and  inconsistencies  of  our  story,  as 
Panzer  has  triumphantly  demonstrated;  but  Mr.  Chambers 
rightly  remarks  that  the  Beowulf  and  the  Grettir  story  have 
'many  features  in  common  which  do  not  belong  to  the  folk-tale.' 
With  the  entrance  of  Scef  and  Scyld  the  combat  thickens.  Shall 
we  hold  with  Miillenhoff  that  Scyld  Scefing  means  Scyld,  son 
of  Sceaf,  or  with  Lawrence  that  the  second  name  is  not  a  patro- 
nymic, but  must  be  read  "with  the  sheaf?"  With  some  reserves, 
Chambers  shares  the  older  view.  Sceaf  is  no  late  creation  en- 
tirely due  to  a  misunderstanding  of  Scefing,  but  in  the  ninth 
century  genealogies  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronology  (A°  855) 
his  name  leads  all  the  rest.  The  reviewer  concurs  heartily 
with  Mr.  Chambers'  conclusion  that  Scyld  and  Sceaf  were  both 
ancient  figures  standing  at  the  head  of  famous  dynasties,  and 
were  later  connected,  and  influenced  by  each  other. 

Theories  as  to  the  origin,  date  and  structure  of  the  poem 
fill  the  thirty  pages  of  the  third  chapter.  Few  of  us,  despite 
Sarrazin's  enthusiastic  advocacy  of  the  translation  theory  which 
Sievers  strenuously  combated,  and  Schiicking's  recent  conten- 
tions which  Mr.  Chambers  himself  weighs  in  the  balance  and 
rejects,  will  quarrel  with  the  double  verdict  that  "evidence  to 
prove  Beowulf  a  translation  from  a  Scandinavian  original  is 
wanting,"  and  that  evidence  against  the  theory  is  ample.  The 
reviewer,  himself  an  obstinate  and  blatant  heretic  in  despite  of 
many  of  the  so-called  tests  of  the  time  and  place  of  the  poem 
through  the  criteria  of  grammar,  metre  and  syntax,  is  glad  that 
Mr.  Chambers  seems  to  lay  far  less  weight  upon  these  sup- 
posedly significant  variation  of  usage  than,  ten  years  ago,  in 
his  introduction  to  the  Widsith,  and  to  feel  with  this  enemy  of 
philological  legend,  that  'we  must  be  cautious  in  the  conclusions 
that  we  draw'  from  such  usages.  Present  reaction  against  the 
assumptions  of  the  "dissecting  school"  of  Miillenhoff  and  Ten 
Brink  is  represented  by  Mr.  Chambers,  who  has  large  reasons 
for  his  unbelief  in  the  composition  theory,  even  when  it  receives 
the  backing  of  so  skilful  an  advocate  as  Schiicking  in  his  study 


Reviews  and  Notes  683 

of  Beowulf's  Return.  Such  trustworthy  guides  as  Bradley  and 
Chadwick  have  found  the  Christian  elements  incompatible 
with  the  rest  of  the  poem;  but  our  critic  is  justified  in  his  insis- 
tence that  this  "incongruity"  between  traditional  heathendom 
and  the  new  holiness  is  only  to  be  expected  in  an  English  writer 
of  700  A.D.,  and  need  not  suggest  that  stalking  shadow,  the 
clerical  interpolator.  The  poem,  he  thinks,  is  homogeneous — 
"a  production  of  the  Germanic  world  enlightened  by  the  new 
faith." 

We  are  grateful  for  the  documentation  in  Part  II  of  the 
volume.  It  is  good  to  have  within  the  compass  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty  pages  a  dozen  hitherto  widely  scattered  illustrations 
of  our  story.  Here  are  copious  extracts  from  Saxo  and  Sagas, 
from  the  Lives  of  the  Ojfas  in  the  Cotton  manuscripts.  Mr. 
Chambers'  admirable  renderings  of  Icelandic  prose,  in  their 
Saxon  simplicity  and  directness,  continue  the  best  traditions  of 
English  translations  from  the  Norse  and  are  at  once  a  valuable 
aid  to  the  student  and  a  forceful  commentary  upon  the  texts 
which  they  accompany.  Only  young  doctorandi  would  disdain 
a  like  guide  to  the  Latin  analogues, — which  are  not  all  easy 
reading — but  this  neither  space  nor  convention  permitted. 

In  Part  III,  "The  Fight  at  Finnsburg,"  Mr.  Chambers  seems 
less  the  judge  and  more  the  advocate  than  elsewhere  in  the  book. 
As  a  destructive  debater  he  has  little  difficulty  in  opposing 
strong  objections  to  the  views  of  those,  who,  like  Moller  and 
Chadwick,  deem  the  treacherous  Eotens  Danish  retainers  of 
Hnaef  or  of  those  who,  like  Bugge,  confound  them  with  the  Fri- 
sian followers  of  Finn.  As  a  constructive  pleader,  he  marshals 
weighty  arguments,  both  historical  and  dramatic,  to  show  that 
the  problematic  people  are  Jutes,  adherents  of  Finn,  who  is  not 
responsible  for  their  treachery.  On  the  basis  of  this  theory, 
"which  seems  to  fit  in  best  with  what  we  know  of  the  historic 
conditions  at  the  time  when  the  story  arose,  and  which  fits  in 
best  with  such  details  of  the  story  as  we  have,"  the  tale  is  skil- 
fully reconstructed.  Mr.  Chambers  thus  muzzles  the  dogs  of 
war — but,  one  fancies,  only  for  a  moment. 

Part  IV,  the  "Appendix,"  contains  nearly  a  hundred  pages 
of  interesting  material.  Here  is  a  postscript  on  Mythology, 
something  more  about  the  two  Beowulfs  and  about  Beow,  the 
barley-god,  whom  we  can  connect,  not  with  our  Geat  hero,  but 
with  his  Danish  namesake.  Here  is  an  interesting  discussion  of 
Grendel  place-names,  which  seem  to  point  to  a  water-spirit — 
two  meres,  two  pits,  a  mire  and  a  beck.  Next,  a  detailed  exami- 
nation of  the  West  Saxon  genealogy,  involving  so  careful  a 
survey  of  the  even  more  intricate  relationships  of  Chronicle 
versions,  that  the  pedigree  of  the  manuscripts  divides  interest 
with  the  manuscripts  of  the  pedigree,  and  the  provenance  of 
B  and  C  looms  as  large  as  the  paternity  of  Woden.  Entirely 


684  Gotze 

sound  seems  Mr.  Chambers'  contention  that,  in  the  family 
trees,  "the  names  above  Woden  were  added  in  Christian-times 
to  the  original  list  which,  in  heathen  times,  only  went  back  to 
Woden,  and  which  is  still  extant  in  this  form."  In  a  fourth 
division,  the  author  gives  large  reasons,  linguistic,  literary, 
social,  religious,  for  dating  our  poem  about  700  A.D.  rather  than, 
with  Schiicking,  two  hundred  years  later;  and  somewhat 
cautiously  subscribes  to  a  belief  in  the  classical  schlarship  of  the 
poet.  In  a  fifth  section,  Mr.  Chambers  re-opens  the  "Jute- 
question"  to  refute,  at  the  cost  of  seemingly  needless  labor,  the 
Danish  chauvinism  that  continues  to  defy  the  laws  of  sound- 
change  and  the  evidence  of  geography  and  history  by  identifying 
"Geats"  and  "Jutes."  He  then  presents  and  rejects  the  in- 
ference, derived  by  Stjerna's  translator,  Clark  Hall,  from  Stjer- 
na's  archaeological  material,  that  the  Beowulf  is  Scandinavian. 
"We  must  be  careful  not  to  read  a  Scandinavian  coloring  into 
features  of  Beowulf,  which  are  at  least  as  much  English  as  Scan- 
dinavian, such  as  the  ring-sword  or  the  boar-helmet  or  the 
ring-corslet."  After  a  survey  of  Germanic  weapons  and  ships, 
the  Appendix  passes  in  review  the  recorded  folk-tales  of  the 
Bear's  son,  that  exhibit  a  real  likeness  to  the  Beowulf-Grettir 
story,  and  concludes  with  a  brief  note  on  the  date  of  the  death 
of  Hygelac  (525-530?). 

Very  helpful  to  the  student  is  the  comprehensive  bibli- 
ography, thirty  pages  of  fine  print,  including  all  books  and 
articles  dealing  with  the  Beowulf,  save  the  textual  criticism  or 
interpretation  of  single  passages,  and  popular  paraphrases  and 
summaries,  and  containing  good  and  terse  comment.  An 
adequate  index  closes  this  useful  volume — a  book  essential  not 
only  to  the  specialist,  but  to  every  lover  of  our  early  literature, 
for  it  is  a  library  in  epitome,  at  once  informative  and  judicial, 
a  digest  of  various  writings  not  easily  accessible  to  many  readers, 
and  a  discriminating  commentary  upon  our  present  state  of 
knowledge  of  our  first  epic.  In  make-up  the  Introduction  is 
an  "eye-pasture" — serviceably  bound,  beautifully  printed,  and 
delightfully  illustrated,  chiefly  by  the  vivid  Offa-drawings  of  the 
Cotton  Nero  manuscript. 

FREDERICK  TUPPER 

University  of  Vermont 


ALBERT  HEINTZE:  Die  deutschen  Familiennamen  geschicht- 
lich,  geographisch,  sprachlich.  5.  verbesserte  Auflage  hgg. 
von  Paul  Cascorbi.  Halle  a.  d.  S.,  Verlag  der  Buchhandlung 
des  Waisenhauses  1922.  VIII,  330  Stn.  8° 

In  aufopfernder  Muhe  hat  Prof.  Cascorbi  eine  neue  Auflage 
von  Heintzes  Familiennamen  veranstaltet,  die  das  altbewahrte 
Buch  zum  zuverlassigsten  und  kundigsten  Fiihrer  durch  eine 


Reviews  and  Notes  685 

der  anziehendsten  Provinzen  des  deutschen  Sprachlebens 
erhebt.  In  schwerer  Zeit,  unter  ungiinstigen  Bibliotheksver- 
haltnissen,  neben  der  Last  eines  verantwortlichen  Lehramts  hat 
der  verdiente  Herausgeber  seine  Aufgabe  gelost  und  damit  ein 
Anrecht  auf  den  Dank  aller  Fachgenossen  erworben.  Wir 
meinen  ihn  nicht  besser  abstatten  zu  konnen,  als  indem  wir 
kiinftigen  Auflagen  des  trefflichen  Buchs,  die  gewiss  nicht  aus- 
bleiben  werden,  durch  einige  Beobachtungen  vorzuarbeiten 
suchen,  die  wir  in  der  alphabetischen  Folge  der  behandelten 
Namen  aneinanderreihen. 

A  hn-  wird  durch  die  Verweisung  auf  Agin  nicht  erschopft. 
Ahn  ist  auch  ein  Ortsname  in  Luxemburg,  und  von  da  geht  der 
Familienname  aus:  Nik.  Miiller,  Die  Familiennamen  des 
Grossherzogtums  Luxemburg  (1886)  17;35.  In  meinem  Aufsatz 
"Familiennamen  und  friihneuhochdeutscher  Wortschatz"  (Hun- 
dert  Jahre  Marcus  &  Webers  Verlag)  1919  S.  126  ist  dieser 
Zusammenhang  verkannt,  ebenso  bei  Edw.  Schroder,  Anz.  f.d. 
Alt.  39  (1920)  168,  der  in  Ahn  die  Kurzform  zu  Arnold  sieht,  wie 
in  Behn  die  zu  Bernhard,  in  Wehn  die  zu  Werner. — Schweiz. 
Bartschi  ist  Kurzform  zu  Berthold. — Bartholomaus  ist  entstan- 
den  aus  Bar  Ptolemaeus  "Sohn  des  Ptolemaeus." — Bech  ist 
haufig  in  Luxemburg  nach  einem  dortigen  Ort. — Beck  ist  die  im 
badischen  Oberland  geltende  Form,  im  frankischen  Nordteil 
Badens  gilt  Becker. — Was  hindert,  in  Beringer  den  Mann  aus 
Beringen  (Dorf  in  Lothringen)  zu  sehen,  in  Bohringer  einenaus 
Bohringen  (mehrfach  in  Baden  und  Wiirttemberg) ? — Binz 
ist  ein  Dorf  in  der  Zurcher  Pfarrei  Mauer,  das  den  Namen  von 
den  Binsen  des  Greifensees  tragt.  Deutlich  nach  ihm  heisst 
Uli  von  Binz,  der  im  Zurcher  Steuerbuch  von  1357  erscheint: 
Wh.  Tobler  =  Meyer,  Deutsche  Familiennamen  aus  Zurich 
(1894)  135.  Alem.  z  fur  gemeindeutsches  s  halt  der  bis  heute  im 
gesamten  alemannischen  Gebiet  haufige  Familienname  Binz 
fest:  Schweizerisches  Idiotikon  4,  1412;  H.  Flamm,  Geschicht- 
liche  Ortsbeschreibung  der  Stadt  Freiburg  (1903)  181;Matrikel 
der  Universitat  Freiburg  i.B.l,  554;  Gg.  Stoffel,  Topographi- 
sches  Worterbuch  des  Ober  =  Elsasses  (1876)  47  f .  Als  mundart- 
gerechte  Nebenformen  treten  Biinz  und  Bienz  hinzu:  H. 
Fischer,  Schwabisch.es  Worterbuch  1,  1124  f.;  M.  Lutz,  Bas- 
lerisches  Biirgerbuch  (1819)  53. — Branch,  ein  fur  Lahr  in  Baden 
kennzeichnender  Name,  meint  den,  der  viel  braucht,  den 
Verschwender.  Mit  dem  gleichen  Suffix  -io  wie  das  eben 
genannte  Beck  und  wie  weiter  Schnetz  und  Trosch  neben 
gemeindeutschen  Schnitzer  und  Drescher  wird  zuahd.  bruhhan 
ein  Nomen  agentis  *bruhhio  gebildet,  das  appenzellisch  heute 
noch  in  appellativem  Gebrauch  vorkommt  (Schweiz.  Id.5.364), 
zugleich  aber  auch  die  seit  dem  14.  Jahrhundert  belegten 
Familiennamen  Bruch,  Bruchi,  Bruchli  liefert  (das.  348).  In 
Freiberg  i.B.  begegnet  seit  1460  Bruch  als  Familienname 


686  Gotze 

(Flamm  206.  250.  258.  261),  seit  1775  die  patronymische  Ableit- 
ung  Briichig,  Brichig  (das.  142.  278),  heute  Brauch,  Brauchle, 
Bruch,  Briichig. — Unter  Braunabend  ware  zu  sagen,  dass  braun 
in  dieser  Floskel  der  zweiten  schlesischen  Dichterschule  'violett' 
bedeutet:  Zs.f.d.  Wortf.  12,  200  f. — Im  Grossherzogtum Luxem- 
burg gab  es  bei  der  Volkzahlung  von  1880  79  Clemen,  181  Cle- 
mens, 294  Clement:  Nik.  Miiller  46.  Clemen  als  deutscher  Fami- 
lienname  ist,  wie  hier  sichtbar  wird,  derart  entstanden,  dass  sich 
ein  deutscher  Clemens  romanisierte  zu  Clement  und  dann 
deutsch  aussprach. — Die  aus  friiheren  Auflagen  ubernommene 
Erklarung  von  Dreizehner  muss  wohl  der  besseren  weichen,  die 
von  der  Behordenorganisation  mittelalterlicher  Stadte  ausgeht: 
Elfer,  Zwolfer,  Dreizehner,  Fiinfzehner,  Zwanziger  sind  ur- 
spriinglich  Mitglieder  eines  Ausschusses  von  11,  12,  13,  15,  20 
Kopfen. — Bei  Fliedner  lasst  sich  ausser  an  den  Ort  Flieden  in 
Hessen  auch  an  mhd.  diu  flite  "Lasseisen"  denken. — Zu  den 
Ableitungen  von  Fliihe  "Felsen"  tritt  der  im  badischen  Lahr 
haufige  Familienname  Fliige,  vermittelt  durch  oberelsassische 
Flurnamen  wie  Flieg  und  Fliigen:  Stoffel  165  f. — Zu  Abraham 
gehort  im  alten  Frankfurt  a.  M.  Afrom  als  jiidischer  Vorname: 
Adelheid  Schiff,  Namen  der  Frankfurter  Juden  (1917)  18. 
Mit  Kurzung  des  unbetonten  Anlauts  ist  daraus  From  gewor- 
den:  O.  Meisinger,  Worterbuch  der  Rappenauer  Mundart 
(1906)  33.  Damit  ist  Fromm  als  jiidischer  Familienname  er- 
klart. — Gervasius  mit  seiner  Kurzform  Fasi  verdiente  Auf- 
nahme.  Die  Verweisung  von  Vaes — auf  Servatius  ist  wohl  auf 
Gervasius  umzulenken. — Grieb  ist  aus  altem  Uebernamen  zum 
Familiennamen  geworden  und  stellt  sich  zu  ahd.  griobo  "aus- 
geschmorter  Fettwiirfel":  Socin,  Mittelhochdeutsches  Namen- 
buch  (1903)  143;  Fischer  3,  829;  Flamm  191;  230;  260  f— Die 
Auffassung  von  Halbrehder  als  "Halbritter"  wird  gestiitzt  durch 
den  Familiennamen  Halbedel,  der  in  Thiir,  Kreis  Mayen  an  der 
Mosel,  heimisch  ist. —  Heineck  mit  seinen  Nebenformen  und 
Latinisierungen  wie  Hayneccius  ist  bohmische  Koseform  zu 
Ignaz. —  Himstedt  ist  in  Freiburg  als  Familienname  aus  Nord- 
deutschland  zugewandert.  Ein  Dorf  gleichen  Namens  liegt 
zwischen  Hildesheim  und  Braunschweig,  es  ist  nach  E.  Forste- 
mann,  Deutsche  Ortsnamen,  3.  Aufl.  1,  1191  alt  bezeugt  in  den 
Formen  Hemstide,  Heemstede,  bedeutet  also  urspriinglich 
"domicilium,"  wie  ags.  hamstede,  fries,  hamsted. — Mit  der 
anziiglichen  Deutung  von  Uindelang  ist  leider  ein  Irrtum  aus 
meinen  Familiennamen  im  badischen  Oberland  (1918)  61  in 
Cascorbis  neue  Auflage  iibergegangen.  Hindel  (w)ang(en)  und 
Hindelbank  sind  Ortsnamen  in  den  gleichen  Landschaften,  die 
Hinde(n)lang  als  Familiennamen  kennen. — Neben  Hirsch- 
sprung  begegnet  der  gleichbedeutende  Name  Hertzsprung. — 
Zu  den  Namen  mit  Apfel  im  zweiten  Teil  tritt  Eochapfel  in 
Strassburg. — Deutlich  von  der  Tracht  genommen  ist  der  am 


Reviews  and  Notes  687 

Niederrhein  heimische  Fn.  Hochgurtel,  eine  wundervoll  sinn- 
kraftige  Bildung. —  Holzadel  ist  mit  dem  Pradikat  "halbnieder- 
deutsch"  aus  der  4.  Auflage  iibernommen,  aber  wie  soil  ein  hd. 
Holzsattel  im  Nd.  anders  heissen  als  Holt-sadel  (ts  =  z)?  Einge- 
ordnet  ist  die  Form  allerdings,  als  hiesse  sie  Holz-sadel. — Jehle 
habe  ich  Familiennamen  im  badischen  Oberland  6  liber  tlelin 
aus  Ulrich  entwickelt.  Ich  zweifle,  ob  es  sich  je  als  einstammige 
Kiirzung  zu  Geilhard  wird  erweisen  lassen. — Johl  ist  in  Rust  bei 
Ettenheim  jiidischer  Fn.  und  wird  von  Socin  561  f.  mit  iiberzeu- 
genden  Belegen  auf  hebr.  Joel  zuruckgefuhrt. — Dem  deutschen 
Stein  entspricht  poln.  Kamin  auch  in  Orts  =  und  Familien- 
namen. Stein  von  Kaminski  wandelt  den  Begriff  in  beiden 
Sprachen  ab,  die  Kamecke  auf  Usedom  stammen  aus  dem  nd. 
verkleinerten  Slavenort  Camminke. — Zu  den  mannichfachen 
Endformen  des  kirchlichen  Taufnamens  Kyriakus  tritt  Kiliusl 
in  Lahr  und  Freiburg,  hier  schon  1460  als  Cilius  bezeugt  (Flamm 
19). —  Kleineibst  als  Fn.  geht  aus  vom  Namen  des  Dorfs  Klein- 
Eibstadt  bei  Konigshofen  im  Grabfeld. — Die  lange  umstrittene 
Bedeutung  von  Lahr  ist  endgiiltig  zu  gunsten  von  "Weide" 
entschieden  durch  Joseph  Schnetz,  Das  Lar  =  Problem.  Schul- 
programm  Lohr  a.M.  1913. — Bei  Mangold  springt  die  innere 
Verwandtschaft  mit  griech.  Ro\vKp&njs  in  die  Augen. — Mor- 
stadt,  haufig  im  badischen  Lahr,  ist  der  Mann  aus  dem  Weiler 
Marstatt  bei  Messelhausen,  Amtsbezirk  Tauberbischofsheim, 
der  alt  stets  Morstat  heisst:  Albert  Krieger,  Topographisches 
Worterbuch  des  Grossherzogtums  Baden,  2.  Aufl.  2,  152. — 
Mozart  ist  in  Luxemburg  heute  noch  ein  gelaufiger  Fn.:  Nik. 
Miiller  32;  87. —  Nirrnheim  und  Nirrheim  deuten  sich  als 
"Nirgends  daheim." — Nissl  diirfte  bei  den  einstammigen  Kiirz- 
ungen  zu  Nid-  zu  streichen  und  allein  bei  Dionysius  zu  belassen 
sein. — Bapst  ist  in  Zurich  seit  1386  Fn.:  Schweiz.  Id.  4,  1427  f. 
Dass  er  alter  Uebername  ist,  nicht  etwa  vom  Hausnamen 
ausgeht,  zeigen  die  Belege  dort,  z.  B.  ein  aargauisches  Briider- 
paar  von  1470:  Hensly  und  Ruedy,  die  bapst.  Die  obd. 
Formen  setzen  mhd.  babest  voraus,  in  Schwaben  ist  heute 
bgbscht  gangbar:  Fischer  1,  550.  In  Lahr  hat  sich  der  damit 
gedeutete  Fn.  Posth  entwickelt. — Primus  als  kirchlicher  Tauf- 
name  hat  den  Freiburger  Fn.  Briem  geliefert.  Er  beginnt  hier 
1460  mit  Peter  Brim,  Murer  (Flamm  277),  1494  folgt  Ludwig 
Brim  (das.  115),  1540  wird  Udalricus  Brim  ex  Fryburgo  im- 
matrikuliert  (Freib.  Matrikel  1,  324). — Ptittrieh  ist  friih  miss- 
deutet  worden:  der  bekannte  Piiterich  von  Reichertshausen 
(+1470)  fiihrt  einen  Bottich  im  Wappen. — Die  Haufigkeit  des 
Namens  Richter  gilt  nicht  fiir  den  deutschen  Siidwesten.  Das 
Freiburger  Adressbuch  fiir  1921  kennt  nur  16  Richter,  die  Vogt, 
Vogtle(r)  und  Vogtlin  sind  weit  haufiger. — Rothmund  und 
Rotermund  sind  wohl  unter  Rothe  zu  streichen  und  nur  bei 
Hr6}ris  zu  belassen. — Der  Artikel  Russwurm  ist  in  gliicklicher 


688  Gotze 

Weise  berichtigt.  Die  Bedeutungen  "Schmied,  Schlosser" 
lassen  sich  stutzen  aus  Fischer  5,  499,  Hnr.  Klenz  Scheltenwb. 
(1910)  126  und  den  dort  angefiihrten  Stellen.  Auch  als  Adels- 
name  wurzelt  Russworm  in  mitteldeutscher  Mundart,  die 
ihrerzeits  das  Wort  aus  dem  Rotwelschen  bezogen  haben  kann. 
Bei  Salzer  fiigt  die  neue  Auflage  zu  dem  friiher  einzigen 
Ansatz  "Einsalzer"  fragweise  den  andern:  "Salzhandler." 
Er  lasst  sich  stutzen  aus  K.  Biicher,  Die  Berufe  der  Stadt 
Frankfurt  a.M.  im  Mittelalter  (1914)  112,  wo  selzer  seit  1300 
regelmassig  in  der  Bedeutung  "Salzverkaufer"  nachgewiesen 
ist. — Schellkopf  bedeutet  schwerlich  "Kopf  des  Schelchs," 
vielmehr  einen,  der  im  Kopf  schellig,  d.i.  aufgeregt  ist:  Deut- 
sches  Worterbuch  8,  2501. — Bei  Schleinzer  bleibt  auch  Herkunft 
aus  Schleinitz  zu  erwagen:  Huhn,  Topogr.  Lexikon  5  (1849)  860 
nennt  7  Dorfer  und  Weiler  dieses  Namens  in  Osterreich, 
Preussen  und  Sachsen. — Der  gewerbsmassige  Veranstalter  von 
Gliicksspielen  und  Aufseher  iiber  solche  heisst  mhd.  scholderer: 
Lexer  3,  766  f.,  nachmals  oft  verkiirzt  zu  Scholder:  Deutsches 
Worterbuch  9,  1450.  Daraus  ist  z.B.  in  Lahr  der  Fn.  Scholder 
entstanden,  Karlsruhe  (mit  Angleichung  von  Id  zu  11)  Scholler, 
im  alten  Reutlingen  Schblderli(ng),  Schelderlin:  Freiburger 
Matrikel  108  ff.,  im  heutigen  Wiirttemberg  Scholter:  Fischer 
5,  1098. — Stolterfoth  ist  nicht  "stolzer,  stattlicher  Fuss,"  sondern 
gehort  mit  Stuhfath, — farth, — fauth  zu  Stollfuss  (Deutsches 
Worterbuch  10  III  215)  und  bezeichnet  den  Schleppfiissigen. — 
Neben  Stretcher  ist  auch  Strick(t)er  aus  alterem  Gewerbenamen 
zum  Fn.  geworden.  Zur  Verbreitung  der  verschiedenen  Seiler- 
namen  s.Leo  Ricker,  Zs.f.d.  Mundarten  15  (1920)  99  8—Tilk 
in  Lahr,  Dilger  in  Freiburg,  Tilger  in  Augsburg  stellen  sich  zum 
Ortsnamen  Ottilien.  Tilg  ist  die  alte  Kurzform  zum  Frauen- 
namen  Ottilie,  die  sich  auch  im  schwabischen  Flurnamen 
Tilghauslein  erhalten  hat:  Fischer  2,  208. — Warneyer  ist  der 
Mann  aus  Warnau  an  der  unteren  Havel. — Weibezahn  mochte 
man  den  Schweifwedlern  anschliessen,  die  sonst  Weibezahl 
heissen,  und  die  Deutung  "Wackelzahn"  streichen. — Zu 
Wursthorn  als  Ubernamen  des  Metzgers  ist  auf  Schweiz.  Id.  2, 
1617  und  1625  zu  verweisen,  wo  das  Gerat  und  seine  Verwend- 
ung  geschildert  werden. 

Neu  aufgenommen  zu  werden  verdienten  die  Namen  Batt 
(alemannische  Entwicklung  zu  dem  gleichfalls  fehlenden  Tauf- 
namen  Beatus);  Bolza  (in  Freiburg  1874  eingewandert,  haufiger 
italienischer  Fn.);  Consensus;  Dees  (zu  den  im  Anlaut  verkiirz- 
ten  Formen  von  Matthaus);  Dehio;  Enneccerus;  Erbschloh 
(in  und  um  Koln,  zum  Weiler  Erbschloe  siidlich  von  Barmen); 
Gesenius;  Gluck;  Judeich,  nd.  Judick;  Kurs  (neben  Cohrs, 
Kohrs,  Goers) ;  Leander  (Ubersetzung  von  Volkmann) ;  Leiden- 
roth  (in  Leipzig,  dahin  wohl  aus  Schweden  gelangt,  wo  die  Fn. 
gern  auf  -rot  "Wurzel"  enden);  Lessing;  Leverkinck  (kleine 


Reviews  and  Notes  689 

Lerche?);  Liefmann  (zu  Livland  oder  Levi?);  Mollenbott; 
Natorp;  Nernst;  Petschke  (nd.  Verkleinerung  zu  Patsch); 
Peckruhn  (in  Dresden,  wohl  zu  den  littauischen  Fn.  auf  -uhn) ; 
Pernice;  Piloty;  Rosenlacher, -lecher  (wohl  eins  mit  Rosenlehner) ; 
Sckapiro;  Silbergleit;  Spirgatis  (wieder  littauisch);  Tholuck; 
Treibs  (zu  den  im  Anlaut  gekiirzten  Formen  von  Andreas); 
Triibner;  Uchthojff;  Umbreit;  Unwerth;  Vigener  (Nachkomme 
eines  Friedrich) ;  Windelband;  Zenker. 

Verweisungen  sind  erwunscht  von  A(e)ngenheister  auf  An; 
von  Eisentraut  auf  S.  38;  von  Lepsius  auf  Philipp;  von  Liebig 
auf  Leubhas;  von  Pross  auf  Ambrosius;  von  Teuchers  auf 
penhan;  von  Thorbecke  auf  Bach;  von  Weber  auf  Textor.  Die 
westgermanischen  Ansatze  sind  in  der  5.  Auflage  vielfach 
geandert,  z.B.  Autlaj,  in  Audhas,  Hadug*  in  Hadhus.  Die  neuen 
Schreibungen  sind  nun  auch  in  den  Verweisungen  durchzu- 
fuhren,  wahrend  es  jetzt  noch  heisst:  Aubel  s.  Audag,  Hebbel 
s.Haduj,  und  so  sehr  oft.  Im  Quellenverzeichnis  fehlt  das  z.B. 
S.61  benutzte  Karlsruher  Namenbuch  von  C.  Wilh.  Frohner, 
Karlsruhe  1856,  manche  andere  Erweiterung  ergibt  sich  aus 
den  oben  beigezogenen  Werken.  Druckfehler  sind  selten: 
107b34  lies  Auslaut,  36  Anlaut;  118a26  Schultze;  123*13 
Pertsch;  135 a!3  da?,  statt  das;  215b24  niederdeutsch;  231b25 
ahd.  statt  mhd.;  272 a45  Rotzel  statt  Rotzel;  296*31  Stichling; 
329b5  Zum  Hofe;  330b18  Stalder  statt  Stadler. 

Die  deutsche  Namenkunde  ist  so  reich  gegliedert  und  so 
mannichfach  entwickelt  wie  die  deutsche  Landschaft.  Bisher 
sind  vorweigend  norddeutsche  Forscher  am  Werk  gewesen,  auch 
bei  dem  vorliegenden  Werk.  So  ist  es  nicht  schwer,  vom 
slid  =  und  westdeutschen  Standpunkt  allerhand  Nachtrage  zu 
geben,  die  das  Gesamtbild  bereichern  und  manche  Auffassung 
verschieben  konnen.  Die  Absicht  ist  dabei  nicht,  das  Geleistete 
irgend  wie  herabzusetzen,  sondern  einzig,  dem  Buch  voranzu- 
helfen  und  ihm  neue  Freunde  zu  werben.  Dazu  aber  ist  im 
Grund  jeder  berufen,  der  einen  germanischen  Namen  fiihrt, 
gleichviel  wie  er  lautet,  wann  oder  wo  er  ihn  erworben  hat  und 
unter  welchem  Himmel  er  ihn  tragt. 

ALFRED  GOTZE 
Freiburg  (Baden) 


JOSEF  WIEHR:  KNUT  HAMSUN:  His  Personality  and 
his  Outlook  upon  Life.  Smith  College  Monographs  in  Modern 
Languages,  III,  Nos.  1-2.  Northampton,  1922.  Pp.  130 

In  1888  Knut  Hamsun  published  his  first  book.  Fra  del 
moderne  Amerikas  Aandsliv.  The  thesis  of  this  brilliant  and 
sardonic  performance  is  delightfully  simple:  There  is  no  culture 
in  America.  That  was  before  out  literary  awakening  of  course, 
before  Mencken  and  Sandburg  and  Sherwood  Anderson  and 


690  Ruud 

Van  Wyck  Brooks.  Hamsun  said  then  of  these  states  pretty 
much  what  these  men  are  saying,  only  he  said  it  with  an  elemen- 
tal energy  of  which  they  are  incapable — perhaps  they  are  Ameri- 
cans all  in  spite  of  themselves.  For  in  Hamsun  there  is  no  hint  of 
literary  smartness,  of  sophisticated  preciosity  shot  through  with 
commonplace.  There  is  insight,  and  a  comprehension  which 
even  his  fierce  contempt  cannot  dim.  One  wonders  just  a  little 
what  these  critics  of  American  life  would  say  of  Hamsun's 
contribution  to  their  symposium:  there  can  be  little  doubt  what 
Hamsun  would  say  of  them  if  he  were  to  bring  Amerikas 
Aandsliv  down  to  date. 

Still,  even  if  he  were  to  annihilate  them  as  he  annihilated 
Whitman,  he  could  not  fail  to  see  that  the  intellectual  life  of 
America  has  changed  since  the  eighties,  changed  perhaps  even 
more  than  the  American  scene.  Can  anyone  imagine  Pan  and 
Hunger  commercially  successful  in  this  country  a  generation 
ago?  Or,  for  the  matter  of  that,  even  Growth  of  the  Soil?  No 
doubt  much  of  Hamsun's  success  is  adventitious.  We  read  him, 
many  of  us,  because  he  was  once  a  streetcar  conductor  in 
Chicago  and  a  "wobbly" — if  such  beings  were  then — in  North 
Dakota,  or  because  some  academy  or  other,  or  was  it  a  Mr. 
Nobel? — has  awarded  him  a  prize  of  forty  thousand  dollars. 
The  piquant  and  the  spectacular  are  mighty  yet  in  the  land  of 
Barnum.  None  the  less  there  is  a  genuine  public  for  Hamsun 
here,  with  eyes  to  read  and  brains  to  understand.  Thirty  years 
ago  he  would  have  gone  the  way  of  Ibsen,  become  the  icon  of  a 
cult — if  he  had  been  read  at  all. 

Professor  Wiehr  therefore  has  done  a  great  service  in  giving 
us  this  thorough  and  painstaking  monograph.  It  surveys 
Hamsun's  works  in  chronological  order  from  the  juvenilia  of 
his  Bod0  days  (1878)  to  Konerne  tied  Vandposten  (1920).  And 
the  survey  includes  not  merely  a  summary  of  contents,  for  the 
most  part  excellent,  but  an  analysis  of  the  work,  a  study  of 
characters,  style,  and  setting,  and  an  attempt  at  least  to  fit 
each  succeeding  book  into  a  synthesis  of  Hamsun's  outlook  upon 
life.  Certainly  such  a  task  well  done  is  most  useful,  and  on  the 
whole  Professor  Wiehr  has  done  it  well.  The  reader  will  gain 
much  useful  information  and  a  sense  too  of  what  it  is  that  Ham- 
sun in  novel  after  novel  is  trying  to  do.  But  one  is  compelled  to 
say  that  in  this  more  difficult  task  of  revealing  the  substance  of 
Knut  Hamsun,  the  critic  only  imperfectly  succeeds. 

To  begin  with,  the  chronological  order  is  most  unfortunate. 
It  is  at  once  monotonous  and  confusing.  Each  novel,  for 
instance,  becomes  an  isolated  phenomenon,  to  be  analyzed  by 
itself,  so  that  when  one  has  read  to  the  end  one  cannot  see  the 
woods  for  the  trees.  The  author  has  no  doubt  been  conscious 
of  this  defect  in  his  method,  for  he  tries  constantly  to  link  one 
work  with  another  and  with  some  basic  idea,  and  at  the  end  he 


Reviews  and  Notes  691 

attempts  a  synthesis,  which,  I  must  confess,  seems  to  me  too 
dispersed  and  loose  to  be  very  illuminating.  One  thinks  of 
John  Landquist's  brief  study,  in  which  in  a  little  more  than  a 
hundred  pages  that  fine  critic  makes  one  see  the  guiding  prin- 
ciple of  all  that  Hamsun  has  written — an  intense  insistence  on 
the  sovereignty  of  the  soul.  Professor  Wiehr  sees  it  too;  but  the 
reader  is  very  likely  to  miss  it. 

And  he  will  miss  in  these  solid  pages  the  magic  that  is 
Hamsun — the  lyric  intoxication  of  the  early  novels,  the  less 
obvious,  no  less  pervasive  poetry  of  his  later  style.  In  great 
part  that  is  inevitable,  for  the  witchery  of  one  language  cannot 
be  rendered  in  another;  but  he  will  miss  it  no  less  because  of  a 
certain  stodginess  in  the  critic's  own  style  and  treatment. 
Landquist  speaks  at  the  close  of  his  essay  of  the  golden  pillar  of 
youth  that  shines  through  Hamsun's  work  like  a  sun-glade 
upon  dark  and  troubled  waters.  Has  Professor  Wiehr  ever 
caught  a  glimpse  of  it?  And  has  he  journeyed  "out  upon  the 
sunglade  into  the  infinite"?  One  is  tempted  to  doubt  it.  He 
knows  his  Hamsun  well,  no  doubt,  but  he  has  never  been  pos- 
sessed by  him,  moved  to  the  depths  of  being  by  that  luminous, 
haunting  prose.  Or  if  he  has,  his  monograph  never  once  betrays 
him.  Perhaps  style  and  the  glow  of  imagination  are  not  to  be 
sought  in  an  academic  publication.  But  criticism  that  lacks 
them  must  needs  fall  short  of  what  it  might  have  been,  and  ought 
to  be. 

Professor  Wiehr's  account  of  Hamsun's  life  builds  upon  the 
usual  materials,  among  others,  on  a  little  article  of  mine  that 
appeared  some  years  ago  in  Scandinavian  Studies.  In  that  arti- 
cle I  gave  an  account,  taken  from  the  Autobiogtaphy  of  Professor 
R.  B.  Anderson  of  an  encounter  between  Hamsun  and  him  on  a 
Thingvalla  liner  in  the  summer  of  1888.  Some  months  after  the 
article  appeared  I  received  through  a  friend  of  Hamsun's  in 
California  a  letter  in  which  Hamsun  vehemently  denies  the 
truth  of  Mr.  Anderson's  narrative  of  the  relations  between  them, 
and,  presumably,  though  he  dees  not  expressly  mention  it,  of 
the  episode  I  used.  Of  course  I  had  no  means  of  appraising  its 
accuracy,  I  used  it  in  good  faith  because  it  seemed  striking  and 
apposite.  But  it  is  simple  justice  to  Hamsun  to  publish  his 
disavowal  of  it. 

After  all,  as  Hamsun  himself  says  in  his  letter,  it  matters 
very  little  what  tales  may  pass  current  about  him.  He  lives, 
not  in  these,  but  in  his  work,  and  it  is  there  that  we  have  to  seek 
him.  It  is  Professor  Wiehr's  distinction  to  have  given  the  first 
comprehensive  study  of  that  work  in  English.  And  for  that  we 
are  grateful. 

MARTIN  B.  RUUD 
The  University  of  Minnesota 


692  Young 

THE  SEPULCHRE  OF  CHRIST  IN  ART  AND  LITURGY, 
by  Neil  C.  Brooks,  University  of  Illinois  Studies  in  Language 
and  Literature,  Volume  VII,  Number  2,  Urbana,  1921. 

The  basis  for  this  admirable  monograph  is  the  familiar  fact 
that  during  a  long  period  an  important  center  of  dramatic 
activity  in  the  mediaeval  church  was  the  structure,  or  locus, 
known  as  the  Easter  sepulchrum.  At  this  Easter  sepulchre  were 
performed  three  liturgico-dramatic  offices:  "the  Depositio 
(Crucis,  or  Host-iae,  or  Crucis  et  Hostiae)  of  Good  Friday, 
symbolizing  and  commemorating  the  Entombment,  the  Elevatio, 
in  which  the  buried  symbol  or  symbols  were  raised  early  on 
Easter  morning  in  commemoration  of  the  Resurrection,  and  the 
Visitatio  Sepulchri,  later  on  Easter  morning,  representing  the 
visit  of  the  Maries  to  the  tomb  after  the  Resurrection."1  The 
precise  aim  of  the  author  may  be  clearly  known  from  his  own 
words  at  the  outset:2 

The  purpose  of  this  study  is  to  bring  together  and  interpret,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  essential  facts  about  the  sepulchre  as  known  from  art,  architecture, 
and  archives,  and  from  liturgical  rubrics.  The  study  is  an  outgrowth  of  interest 
in  the  liturgic  drama  and  is  to  be  viewed  primarily  as  an  attempt  to  enlarge 
our  knowledge  of  the  mise  en  scene  of  the  liturgical  Easter  plays,  i.e.,  the 
dramatico-liturgical  versions  of  the  Visitatio  and  Elevatio. 

For  explaining  the  nature  of  the  Easter  sepulchre  as  mise  en 
scene  for  the  dramatic  offices  there  are,  then,  four  principal 
kinds  of  evidence:  representations  in  art,  archaeological 
remains,  archival  records,  and  the  rubrics  of  the  dramatic 
pieces  themselves.  Of  these  several  sources  of  information  a  cer- 
tain number  of  previous  writers  have  fairly  mastered,  let  us  say, 
one  or  two;  and  a  few  writers  have  shown  some  general  acquain- 
tance with  all  four.  Professor  Brooks,  however,  is  the  first 
scholar  known  to  me  who  has  effectually  grasped  all  four  sorts  of 
evidence,  with  the  result  of  producing  a  treatise  which  was  great- 
ly needed,  and  which  almost  no  one  else  could  have  accom- 
plished. It  was  to  be  expected  that  preceding  archaeologists  and 
historians  of  art  should  expound  the  sepulchrum  in  its  structure 
and  appearance;  and  this  task  one  scholar  or  another  has  per- 
formed for  certain  periods  and  localities.  But  a  survey  of  this 
matter  for  both  East  and  West,  covering  the  whole  period  from 
the  first  century  to  the  sixteenth,  is  provided  for  the  first  time  in 
the  work  before  us.  On  the  other  hand,  whereas  one  could  not 
expect  archaeologists  and  historians  of  art  to  possess  the  minute 
literary  and  liturgical  information  necessary  for  interpreting 
the  dramatic  offices  performed  at  the  sepulchrum,  Professor 
Brooks  fully  possesses  just  this  information,  gained  through 
some  two  decades  of  notable  success  in  editing  and  explain- 
ing unpublished  texts  of  the  liturgico-dramatic  offices  of  Easter. 

1  Brooks,  p.  30. 
1  Brooks,  p.  8. 


Reviews  and  Notes  693 

For  the  precise  task  under  consideration,  then,  Professor 
Brooks  is  most  happily  competent.3 

From  this  competence  derives,  naturally  enough,  the 
lucidity  of  the  treatise  in  its  several  parts,  and  that  organiza- 
tion of  the  whole  which  allows  a  reviewer  to  comment  upon  the 
chapters  in  the  simple  order  of  the  text. 

After  a  brief  introductory  statement  in  Chapter  One,  the 
exposition  proper  begins  in  Chapter  Two  ("The  Holy  Sepulchre 
in  Jerusalem").  In  this  section,  using  the  ample  evidences  of 
Heisenberg  and  others,  Professor  Brooks  concisely  reviews  the 
architectural  arrangements  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem, 
and  traces  the  vicissitudes  of  these  structures  from  the  period 
when  Constantine  (probably)  erected  the  circular  Anastasis 
over  the  Sepulchre,  down  through  the  period  of  the  Crusaders, 
when  the  buildings  took  substantially  their  present  complex 
form.  The  subject  of  this  short  chapter  is  presented  with  a 
clarity  that  is  fortunate  in  view  of  the  inevitable  references  to 
it  in  later  parts  of  the  treatise.  Particularly  clear  to  the  reader 
are  the  disposition  of  the  tomb  itself,  and  the  persistence  of  the 
rotunda  (Anastasis)  over  it.  One  is  mildly  surprised,  perhaps, 
at  the  author's  somewhat  casual  tone  in  referring  to  the  Pere- 
grinatio  Etheriae,4  which  must  always  rank  among  the  most 
authoritative  and  illuminating  expositions  of  ecclesiological 
and  liturgical  matters  in  Jerusalem  in  the  fourth  century  and 
thereabouts.  Possibly  appropriate  quotations  from  this 
document  might  have  enriched  the  exposition. 

In  Chapter  Three  ("The  Sepulchre  of  Christ  in  Art") 
Professor  Brooks  surveys  the  representations  of  the  Sepulchre 
in  art  throughout  the  mediaeval  period.  The  earliest  examples 
are  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries.  From  this  period  until  the 
twelfth  century  the  scene  in  which  the  Sepulchre  appears  is 
that  of  the  Maries  encountering  the  angel  at  the  empty  tomb. 
After  the  twelfth  century  the  Maries  give  way  before  a  represen- 
tation of  the  Resurrection  itself.  The  present  chapter,  then, 
treats  especially  the  representations  of  the  Holy  Women  at  the 
tomb.  Of  these  representations  there  are  two  broad  classes: 
the  Eastern  and  the  Western.  The  eastern  examples  may  be 
divided  into  the  Syro-Palestinian  type  and  the  Byzantine. 
The  Syro-Palestinian  type  seems  to  have  arisen  in  the  sixth 
century,  in  close  association  with  the  cult  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
at  Jerusalem.  The  scene  centers  in  the  tomb  itself,  which 
represents,  more  or  less  faithfully,  the  actual  Holy  Sepulchre 
of  the  period  of  Constantine.  The  Byzantine  type  shows  the 
angel  as  the  center  of  the  composition,  with  a  subordinated 

8  See,  for  example,  Zeitschrifl  fur  deutsches  Altertum,  Vol.  L  (1908),  pp.  297- 
312;  id.,  Vol.  LV  (1914),  pp.  52-61;  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology, 
Vol.  VIII  (1909),  pp.  464-488;  id.,  Vol.  X  (1911),  pp.  191-196. 

4  See  Brooks,  p.  11,  note  7. 


694  Young 

sepulchre  in  the  form  of  a  rock-hewn  tomb,  of  a  sarcophagus 
before  an  opening  into  the  rock,  or  of  a  simple  sarcophagus 
surmounted  by  a  ciborium,  or  canopy.  In  the  Western  represen- 
tations the  sepulchre  takes  the  form  of  a  cylindrical  tower,  or 
of  a  tower-temple  in  two  or  more  stories,  or  of  a  coffer-tomb. 
The  tower-like  forms, — notably  dissimilar  both  to  the  rock 
tomb  of  the  Gospels  and  to  the  actual  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem, — 
show  a  possible  influence  from  the  circular  Anastasis  over  the 
Holy  Sepulchre  itself,  and  a  more  probable  influence  from  the 
tower-like  tombs  used  generally  in  antiquity  and  in  early 
Christian  times. 

Although  I  cannot  speak  as  an  expert  in  iconography,  I 
venture  to  commend  unreservedly  the  comprehensive  scope  of 
this  chapter,  the  lucidity  of  the  exposition,  and  the  generous 
illustration  of  the  text  through  photographic  plates. 

Chapter  Four  ("The  Relation  of  the  Sepulchre  in  Art  to  the 
Architecture  of  the  Altar")  "is  in  the  nature  of  an  excursus  to 
consider  a  theory  advanced  by  Dr.  J.  K.  Bonnell."5  Dr. 
Bonnell  contended  that  the  Christian  altar  had  a  potent  in- 
fluence upon  the  form  of  the  Sepulchre  of  Christ  as  it  appears 
both  in  art  and  in  the  mise  en  seine  of  the  dramatic  offices, 
Depositio,  Elevatio,  and  Visitatio.  In  the  present  chapter 
Professor  Brooks  addresses  himself  to  the  alleged  relations  of 
the  altar  and  the  representation  of  the  sepulchre  in  art. 

Professor  Bonnell  emphasizes  his  observation  that,  among 
the  representations  of  the  sepulchre,  those  that  show  a  marked 
resemblance  to  the  altar  surmounted  by  a  ciborium,  or  canopy, 
outnumber  those  in  the  other  groups  of  his  classification.8 
This  observation  Professor  Brooks  combats  by  showing,  for 
example,  that  of  a  hundred  or  more  accessible  pictures  of  all 
types  of  sepulchre,  Professor  Bonnell  used  only  some  sixteen, 
and,  further,  that  of  the  ten  representations  that  seem  to 
Professor  Bonnell  to  show  a  resemblance  between  altar  and 
sepulchre,  at  least  one-half  are  interpreted  erroneously.7  In 
these  particular  contentions  Professor  Brooks  easily  wins 
one's  assent.  The  incompleteness  of  Professor  Bonnell's 
evidence  is  now  obvious;  and  his  interpretation  of  the  painting 
in  Hartker's  Liber  Responsalis  as  a  direct  imitation  of  the 
altar,8  for  example,  is  scarcely  admissible  after  one  has  com- 
pared it  with  the  representations  of  temple-sepulchres  (parti- 
cularly that  shown  in  Figure  14), 9  the  history  of  which  Professor 
Brooks  has  amply  outlined. 

*  The  study  of  the  late  Professor  Bonnell  referred  to  is  entitled  The  Easter 
Sepulchrum  in  its  Relation  to  the  Architecture  of  the  High  Altar,  and  it  is  found  in 
Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  Vol.  XXXI,  pp.  664-712. 

•  See  Bonnell,  pp.  700-712. 

7  See  Brooks,  pp.  27-29. 

8  See  Bonnell,  pp.  704-706. 

9  This  ivory  in  the  South  Kensington  Museum  was  not  used  by  Professor 
Bonnell. 


Reviews  and  Notes  695 

But  although  Professor  BonnelFs  demonstration  cannot 
stand  upon  the  evidence  that  he  himself  adduces,  my  impression 
is  that  the  possibility  of  influence  from  the  altar  upon  the  sepul- 
chre in  art  has  not  been  definitively  removed, — an  impression 
that  receives  some  support  from  the  generous  materials  pro- 
vided by  Professor  Brooks  himself.  I  cannot  argue  the  matter 
in  detail  here,  and  I  am  far  from  pretending  to  proficiency  in 
this  branch  of  the  general  subject;  but  I  venture  to  mention  a 
few  relevant  facts  and  to  utter  one  or  two  queries.  Professor 
Brooks  candidly  refers  to  a  certain  number  of  representations 
of  the  sepulchre  with  ciboria  over  them;  but  since  these  examples 
are  almost  all  Eastern,  he  assigns  them  to  the  Syro-Palestinian 
type,  which  "is  doubtless  in  imitation  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  of 
Jerusalem,  and  hence  is  not  reminiscent,  or  in  imitation  of  the 
altar  ciborium."10  Has  any  one  yet  proved,  however,  that  the 
form  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  itself  was  not  influenced  by  the 
forms  of  early  Christian  altars?  And  is  it  finally  certain  that 
the  Syro-Palestinian  type  was  free  from  the  influence  of  the 
altar,  either  through  the  Holy  Sepulchre  or  independently 
of  it?  Professor  Brooks  observes  also  that  a  ciborium  such  as 
that  seen  in  the  mural  paintings  of  S.  Angelo  in  Formis  (Fig.  6) 
"may  possibly  stand  in  close  relation  to  Eastern  altar  ciboria."11 
But  since  ciboria  of  this  particular  type  seem  not  to  have  oc- 
curred in  the  church  architecture  of  the  West,  Professor  Brooks 
implies  that  Western  representations  of  the  sepulchre  with 
canopy  could  scarcely  show  the  influence  of  an  altar  canopy.12 
Is  it  certain,  however,  that  Eastern  altar  canopies  could  not 
have  influenced  the  form  of  Western  sepulchre  canopies? 
If  such  questions  are  not  captious,  they  may  serve  as  an  indica- 
tion that  the  possible  relations  of  sepulchre  in  art  and  the 
Christian  altar  have  not  yet  been  definitively  expounded.  Con- 
troversy aside,  I  myself  frankly  desire  more  information  con- 
cerning early  Christian  altars  in  relation  to  the  sepulchre  in 
art  and  to  the  Easter  sepulchre  as  a  structure,  and  I  surmise  that 
in  such  works  as  Rohault  de  Fleury's  La  Messe13  can  be  found 
useful  data  not  brought  forward  by  Professor  Brooks  or  Pro- 
fessor Bonnell.  Professor  Brooks  would  greatly  please  us  all  if 
he  would  apply  his  remarkable  special  learning  to  an  article 
on  this  particular  subject. 

The  interest  of  students  of  literature  will  center  inevitably 
in  Chapter  V  ("Liturgical  Ceremonies  at  the  Sepulchre"), 
for  here  the  author  treats  those  dramatic  or  quasi-dramatic  li- 
turgical offices  that  have  long  been  recognized  as  being  among 

10  See  Brooks,  p.  29. 
u  See  Brooks,  p.  29. 

12  See  Brooks,  p.  29. 

13  C.  Rohault  de  Fleury,  La  Messe:  Etudes  archeologiques  sur  ses  Monu- 
ments, 8  vols.,  Paris,  1883-1889. 


696  Young 

the  origins  of  modern  drama.  These  are  the  Depositio,  Elevatio, 
and  Visitatio,  referred  to  above.  In  this  special  branch  of 
the  subject  Professor  Brooks  has  long  been  an  acknowledged 
authority;  and  in  view  of  the  importance  of  this  particular 
matter,  and  in  view  of  the  author's  superior  equipment  for 
elucidating  it,  I  am  glad  to  report  that  this  chapter  is  the 
longest  and  most  exhaustive  in  the  volume. 

Professor  Brooks  begins  with  a  discussion  of  the  origin 
of  the  Depositio  and  Elevatio.  Referring  most  generously  to 
a  study  of  my  own,14  he  carefully  reviews  my  positions  in  this 
special  matter.  As  possible  influences  toward  the  formation 
of  the  Depositio  and  Elevatio  I  have  advanced  these  four:15 
(1)  the  processional  reservation  of  the  Host  for  the  Missa 
Praesanctificatorum  of  Good  Friday,  (2)  the  symbolism  as- 
sociated with  the  altar  and  vessels  used  in  various  reservations  of 
the  Host,  (3)  the  Adoratio  Crucis  of  Good  Friday,  inevitably 
concluding  with  a  ceremonial  suggesting  the  Depositio,  and  (4) 
a  certain  papal  ceremonial  on  Easter  morning  which  shows  re- 
semblances to  the  Elevatio.  Of  these  alleged  influences,  the 
only  one  in  which  Professor  Brooks  finds  substantial  force  is 
the  third:  the  ceremonial  of  the  Adoratio  Crucis.  In  choosing 
this  ceremonial  for  emphasis  he  discriminates,  I  think,  correct- 
ly. In  any  case  he  selects  the  influence  that  is  most  readily 
demonstrable,  since  in  certain  versions  the  Depositio  is  attached 
directly  to  the  Adoratio,  as  a  sequel. 

Although  Professor  Brooks  is  inclined  to  dismiss  my  other 
proposals,  I  should  scarcely  be  human,  I  suppose,  were  I 
not  to  linger  over  them  wistfully  for  an  instant.  My  sugges- 
tion of  influence  from  the  papal  ceremonial  of  Easter  morning 
seems  to  him  "unnecessary  and  rather  improbable,  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  Depositio  and  Elevatio  doubtless  originated  north 
of  the  Alps."16  To  me  this  disposition  of  the  matter  seems 
fair  enough.  Although  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  Profes- 
sor Brooks  mention  the  undeniable  resemblances  between  the 

14  This  study  is  The  Dramatic  Associations  of  the  Easter  Sepulchre  (Uni- 
versity of  Wisconsin  Studies  in  Language  and  Literature,  No.  10,  Madison, 
1920).  In  apologizing  for  referring  to  myself  in  the  course  of  this  review  I 
must  lay  the  responsibility  upon  Professor  Brooks,  who  has  graciously  drawn 
attention  to  my  study,  by  ample  commendation  and  notable  corrections.  In 
order  both  to  explain  Professor  Brook's  procedure  in  this  chapter,  and  to 
acknowledge  a  valued  compliment  from  him,  I  venture  to  quote  his  words 
(p.  30) :  "At  the  time  that  this  chapter  was  planned  and  the  material  for  it 
brought  together,  there  was  no  satisfactory  study  of  the  Depositio  and  Elevatio. 
Since  then  there  has  appeared  an  excellent  study  of  their  development  by 
Professor  Karl  Young,  with  a  goodly  number  of  new  texts.  It  becomes  my 
purpose  therefore  to  add  some  new  data  to  his  and  to  discuss  upon  the  basis 
of  the  combined  material,  certain  aspects  of  the  development  of  these  two 
ceremonies." 

16  See  Young,  pp.  9-29. 

16  See  Brooks,  p.  32,  note  8. 


Reviews  and  Notes  697 

papal  ceremonial  and  the  Elevatio,  and  although  I  see  no  im- 
possibility in  an  influence  from  papal  Rome  upon  ceremonials 
north  of  the  Alps,  I  agree  with  him  in  viewing  this  possible  in- 
fluence as  relatively  unimportant. 

As  to  the  influence  of  the  Thursday-Friday  reservation 
and  of  the  symbolism  attached  to  altar,  chalice,  and  pyx  I 
cannot  yield  so  readily.  Although  I  grant  at  once  that  for  this 
influence  I  can  offer  no  direct  demonstration,  I  cannot  ignore 
the  clear  parallelism  between  the  ceremonial  of  the  Depositio- 
Elevatio  and  the  older  ceremonial  of  carrying  the  Host  to  an 
altar,  or  other  "place  of  repose,"  on  Holy  Thursday,  and  taking 
the  Host  up  from  this  revered  locus  on  Good  Friday;  nor  can  I 
ignore  the  symbolism  that  undeniably  marked  the  altar  and 
vessels  as  sepulchra.17  All  I  can  do  at  present  is  to  confess  that  I 
have  no  document  asserting  that  the  creators  of  the  Depositio 
and  Elevatio  were  consciously  influenced  by  the  reservation  and 
the  symbolism;  but  I  must  also  declare  that  I  see  no  likelihood 
of  their  escape  from  a  model  so  conspicuous  and  a  symbolic  sug- 
gestion so  pervasive. 

Having  discussed  the  origins  of  the  dramatic  ceremonials 
under  consideration,  Professor  Brooks  provides  a  classified 
list  of  "all  the  texts  available  for  the  study  of  the  Depositio 
and  Elevatio"  Particularly  acceptable  in  this  list  are  the 
extensions  and  corrections  of  the  data  found  in  my  own  publica- 
tion already  referred  to.  The  careful  inclusiveness  of  the  new 
list  is  such  that  for  many  years  students  of  this  subject  must  use 
it  as  a  point  of  departure.  This  or  that  reviewer  will  inevitably 
add  a  stray  text  or  two  from  recondite  printed  sources;  but  I 
surmise  that  such  additions  will  not  be  numerous  or  weighty. 
The  value  of  the  list  is  further  increased  through  the  arranging 
of  texts  according  to  countries  and  according  to  the  object,  or 
objects,  used  for  the  "burial"  (Cross,  Host,  or  Cross  and  Host). 
The  list  provides  information  also  concerning  the  position  of 
each  text  in  the  liturgy.  From  this  able  compilation  the  author 
effectually  draws  fresh  conclusions  as  to  geographical  distribu- 
tion, and  as  to  prevailing  local  types. 

Professor  Brook's  acute  attention  to  the  texts  themselves 
is  seen,  for  example,  in  his  useful  elucidation  of  the  occasional 
expression  Imago  Crucifixi  for  the  object  placed  in  the  sepul- 
chrum.  This  expression, — puzzling  to  me  in  my  study  of  the 
matter,18 — is  shown  to  mean,  in  all  probability,  "an  image  of 
Christ  not  attached  to  a  cross."19  With  similar  acumen  the 
author  points  to  the  interesting  fact  that  the  Host  seems  to  have 
been  considered  inappropriate  for  the  Depositio,  and  that  at 
times  the  Host  was  not  put  into  the  sepulchrum  with  the  cross 

17  Professor  Brooks  (pp.  21,  61)  recognizes  the  existence  of  this  symbolism. 

18  See  Young,  p.  109. 

19  See  Brooks,  pp.  37-40. 


698  Young 

on  Friday,  but  was  placed  there  on  Easter  morning,  immediately 
before  the  Elevatio,  for  use  only  in  this  latter  observance.20 

The  closing  pages  of  this  valuable  chapter21  deal  vigo- 
rously with  two  modern  developments  connected  with  the 
sepulchrum:  the  "heilige  Graber"  and  the  "false"  sepulchre.  In 
churches  in  which  the  ceremonials  of  the  sepulchre  continued 
into  the  Renaissance  there  developed  in  connection  with  the 
Depositio  and  Elevatio  a  special  exposition  of  the  Host.  In 
modern  Germany  the  sepulchre  of  Holy  Week  seems  to  be  used 
primarily  as  a  base  for  the  monstrance  of  the  exposition.  Since 
the  Host  is  a  symbol  of  rejoicing,  the  use  of  "heilige  Graber" 
for  the  exposition  is  distinctly  uncanonical. 

Another  violation  of  strict  liturgical  tradition  is  the  use 
of  the  term  "sepulchre"  for  the  "place  of  respose"  in  which 
the  Host  for  the  Missa  Praesanctificatorum  is  kept  from  Holy 
Thursday  to  Good  Friday.  Professor  Brooks  discriminates  ably 
between  this  "false"  sepulchre  and  the  "true"  sepulchrum  of  the 
liturgico-dramatic  offices.22 

Chapter  Six  ("The  Location  of  the  Sepulchre  in  the  Church") 
is  brief,  and  may  be  briefly  reviewed.  Professor  Brooks  finds 
that  in  England  the  sepulchrum  "seems  to  have  been  always  in 
the  north  side  of  the  chancel,"  and  in  France,  "usually  in  the 
choir,  or  chancel,  either  at  a  specially  prepared  Sepulchre  or 
about  the  altar  serving  as  a  sepulchre."23  In  Germany  and  in 
Italy,  on  the  other  hand,  the  sepulchrum  was  commonly  placed 
outside  the  choir.  These  conclusions  the  author  supports  by  an 
adequate  citation  of  documents. 

With  Chapter  Seven  ("The  Nature  of  the  Sepulchre  in  Con- 
tinental Churches")  Professor  Brooks  begins  his  thorough- 
going description  of  the  actual  physical  structures  used  as 
mise  en  scene  for  the  dramatic  ceremonials  that  have  been 
completely  considered  in  Chapter  Five.  The  present  chapter 
considers  the  sepulchres  used  on  the  Continent,  the  evidence 
being  found  chiefly  in  the  rubrics  of  the  dramatic  ceremonials 
themselves. 

The  author  finds  evidence  for  the  following  types:24 

"1.  The   high   altar,   either   merely   suggestive   of   the 

sepulchre,   where,   as  in  the  Resurrexi  tropes,   there  was 

no  real  action,  or  actually  representing  it  in  the  Visitatio. 
"2.  Some  vessel  or  small  structure  on  the  high  altar, 

generally  or  always  with  a  veil  or  cloth  either  covering  it 

or  hanging  down  around  it. 

10  See  Brooks,  p.  40. 

«  Pp.  44-52. 

12  Additional  references  are  found  in  my  Dramatic  Association,  p.  16. 

"  See  Brooks,  p.  53. 

24  See  Brooks,  p.  59. 


Reviews  and  Notes  699 

"3.  Coffer-shaped  sepulchre,  generally  or  always  with 

a  cloth  or  cloths  over  it. 

"4.  Coffer  or  altar  surrounded  by  curtains. 

"5.  Temporary  wooden  structure  that  could  be  entered. 

"6.  Chapel  with  receptacle  for  cross  or  Host  on  or  before 

its  altar. 

"7.  The  sepulchre  of  the  present-day  exposition  rite, 

usually  a  tomb-like  structure  with  a  recumbent  image  of 

Christ,  surmounted  by  a  veiled  monstrance  in  which  the 

Host  is  exposed." 

Although  Professor  Brooks  modestly  remarks  that  such 
a  classification  "cannot  be  very  definite,"  I  venture  my  own 
opinion  that  this  one  is  highly  adequate.  That  it  should  en- 
tirely supersede  that  of  Professor  Bonnell25  is  inevitable  from  the 
wider  range  of  evidence  upon  which  it  rests.  Professor  Brooks 
had  at  his  disposal,  for  example,  large  numbers  of  texts  of  the 
Depositio  and  Elevatio  that  were  unknown  to  Professor  Bonnell. 

After  announcing  his  new  classification,  Professor  Brooks, 
in  separate  sections,  fully  describes  each  of  the  seven  types 
of  sepulchre,  summoning  substantial  textual  evidences,  and 
furnishing  three  useful  photographs.  Through  the  author's 
generosity,  I  am  able  to  add  a  detail  to  his  discussion  of  the 
decoration  of  the  sepulchre.  From  the  Regnum  Papisticum  of 
Thomas  Naogeorgus26  Professor  Brooks  quotes  a  passage  shpw- 
ing  that  the  sepulchrum  was  sometimes  decorated  with  flowers.27 
He  now  very  kindly  sends  me  privately  the  following  earlier 
passage  from  Das  Weltbuch  (1534)  of  Sebastian  Frank,  showing 
the  use  of  flowers  and  describing  interesting  details  of  the 
Depositio  and  Elevatio: 

Am  Karfreitag  vor  Ostern  tregt  man  aber  eyn  creiit- 
herumb  in  eyner  procession/leget  eyn  grosz  gestorben  menschenz 
bild  in  eyn  grab/darbei  kniet  man/brent  ser  vil  liechter/vnd 
singt  darbei  tag  vn  nacht  den  Psalter  mit  abgewechseltem 
Chor/besteckt  das  grab  mit  feihel  vnnd  allerley  blumen/opff ert 
darein  gelt/eyerfladen  etc.  bisz  disz  bild  erstehet.  .  .  .Harnach 
inn  der  Osternacht  bald  nach  mitnacht/stehet  yeder  mann 
vff  gen  metten/da  nimpt  man  den  hiiltzin  bloch  oder  bild  Christi 
ausz  dem  grab/erhebet  jn  vnd  tregt  in  vor  yederman  her/vnd 
singen  all  einhellig/Christ  ist  erstanden/als  dann  ist  der  fasten 
gen  himmel  geleiittet.  Da  isset  yeder  man  was  er  hat/ 
(fol.  132'). 

In  taking  leave  of  this  valuable  chapter  I  venture  to 
emphasize  the  intimate  association  between  certain  types  of 

»  See  Bonnell,  pp.  667-682. 

»  Edition  of  1553. 

27  See  Brooks,  p.  69.  It  may  be  well  to  mention  Barnabe  Googe's  English 
rendering  of  Naogeorgus's  Latin,  quoted  by  H.  J.  Feasey,  Ancient  English  Holy 
Week  Ceremonial,  London,  1897,  pp.  136-137. 


700  Young 

sepulchrum  and  the  altar.  In  view  of  this  association,  one  may 
reasonably  expect  an  influence  of  the  altar  upon  the  form  of  the 
sepulchrum, — more  influence  perhaps,  than  Professor  Brooks 
specifically  mentions. 

For  Chapter  Eight  ("Easter  Sepulchres  in  England")  the 
evidences  from  liturgico-dramatic  sources  are  slight,  since 
texts  of  the  Depositio,  Elevatio,  and  Visitatio  from  England 
are  very  few.  Fortunately,  however,  generous  information  is 
available  from  such  documents  as  church  warden's  accounts, 
>.  church  inventories,  and  mediaeval  wills. 

Justly  pointing  to  the  inaccuracy  of  the  classifications  of 
Wolcott,  Feasey,  and  Bonnell,  Professor  Brooks  proposes  a 
more  scholarly  division  of  the  Easter  sepulchres  of  England  into 
"two  large  classes,  one  the  wholly  temporary  sepulchre  and 
the  other  the  largely  temporary  one  with  a  permanent  archi- 
tectural base."28  This  classification  recognizes  the  fact  that 
the  architectural  structures  (discussed  in  Chapter  IX)  were 
only  part  of  the  sepulchrum  as  actually  fitted  out  for  use 
in  the  dramatic  ceremonials.  In  the  present  chapter  are  con- 
sidered only  the  temporary  sepulchres,  and  the  temporary  fea- 
tures associated  with  the  permanent  architectural  designs. 
Into  the  details  of  the  description  I  cannot  enter;  but  I  pause 
to  quote  a  passage  in  which  Professor  Brooks  expresses  his 
opinion  as  to  the  special  model  upon  which  the  English  Easter 
sepulchre  was  formed:29 

There  remain,  however,  the  facts  that  altar  and  sepulchre  had  occasionally 
a  canopy  of  the  same  type  and  each  had  lights  and  cloths  upon  or  about  it; 
but  these  are  common  means  of  adornment  and  of  showing  honor  and  do  not 
seem  to  me  to  be  convincing  evidence  that  the  sepulchre  developed  in  imitation 
of  the  high  altar.  Certainly  the  resemblances  between  sepulchre  and  altar 
are  not  so  close  and  specific  as  those  between  sepulchre  and  hearse,  which  are 
pointed  out  at  various  places  in  the  course  of  this  chapter.  It  seems  to  me  that 
the  English  Easter  sepulchre  developed  very  largely  in  imitation  of  the  church 
burial  of  persons  of  rank. 

This  may  be  accepted  as  a  reasonable  conclusion  con- 
cerning the  temporary,  or  portable,  sepulchre.  The  central 
and  essential  part  was  a  coffer  of  wood,  and  the  frame  about 
the  coffer  resembled  a  hearse  in  form,  and  was  sometimes  act- 
ually called  "hearse."30  Although  Professor  Brooks  may  be 
slightly  recalcitrant  in  his  unwillingness  to  admit  influence 
from  the  altar,31  he  has,  in  my  opinion,  placed  the  emphasis 
in  the  right  place. 

Chapter  Nine  ("Permanent  Architectural  or  Sculptural 
Sepulchres  of  the  Continent  and  England")  closes  the  mono- 

»  See  Brooks,  pp.  72-73. 
"  See  Brooks,  p.  85. 
M  See  Brooks,  pp.  75-77. 

31  For  further  indications  that  the  altar  may  have  influenced  the  form  of 
the  Easter  sepulchre  see  Brooks,  p.  89,  and  Fig.  21. 


Reviews  and  Notes  701 

graph  proper  with  a  description  of  the  permanent  Easter  sepul- 
chres of  Europe.  There  are,  in  the  first  place,  the  churches, 
side  chapels,  and  small  independent  chapels  built  in  direct 
imitation  of  the  rotunda  over  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem. 
A  second  group  are  the  sculptural  representations  in  Germany 
from  the  late  middle  ages,  describable  thus:32 

The  moment  usually  represented  is  after  the  Entombment;  the  body  of 
Christ  lies  stretched  out  on  top  of  a  sarcophagus,  like  the  effigy  on  ordinary 
chest  tombs  of  that  time;  behind  are  the  Maries,  at  each  end  usually  an  angel, 
and  in  front,  generally  in  relief  on  the  front  side  of  the  sarcophagus,  the  sleeping 
guards. 

The  group  of  Easter  sepulchres  in  England  differ  from 
those  of  Germany  in  having  no  image  of  Christ.  The  English 
sepulchre  is  sometimes  a  structure  solely  for  dramatic  use 
in  Holy  Week  and  on  Easter,  and  sometimes  the  tomb  of  a 
founder,  so  constructed  as  to  serve  also  as  a  mise  en  scene  for  the 
dramatic  ceremonials. 

Though  this  chapter  is  short,  it  treats  the  subject  com- 
prehensively and  lucidly,  and  generously  supplies  three  ex- 
cellent photographic  illustrations  (Figures  20,  21,  and  22.) 

In  taking  leave  of  the  particulars  of  this  study33  I  wish 
once  more  to  express  my  pleasure  in  Professor  Brooks's  whole 
accomplishment.  Rarely  does  a  scholar's  product  so  ade- 
quately satisfy  a  recognized  need.  I  venture  to  say  that  virtually 
all  students  of  the  church  drama  have  felt  themselves  impeded, 
at  times,  through  the  absence  of  a  thorough  treatise  upon  the 
Easter  sepulchre.  These  students  will  hasten  to  applaud  the 
monograph  that  Professor  Brooks  has  now  completed  with 
distinction. 

Finally,  as  a  former  editor  of  a  series  conducted  in  friendly 
rivalry  with  the  University  of  Illinois  Studies  in  Language  and 
Literature,  I  wish  to  congratulate  Professor  Brooks  upon  his 
editorial  auspices.  One  of  my  substantial  pleasures  in  review- 
ing the  present  monograph  has  arisen  from  its  handsome 
format,  its  adequate  letter-press,  and  its  generous  and  success- 
ful illustrations  in  photograph. 

KARL  YOUNG 

University  of  Wisconsin 

12  Brooks,  p.  88. 

K I  regret  that  I  cannot  linger  over  the  new  texts  of  the  Depositio,  Elevatio, 
and  Visitatio  in  the  Appendix.  This  rich  collection  of  fresh  material  from  manu- 
scripts and  incunabula  deserves  much  more  than  this  casual  mention  at  the  end 
of  a  review. 


702  Jones 

A  SUBJECT-INDEX  TO  TEE  POEMS  OF  EDMUND 
SPENSER  by  Charles  Huntington  Whitman,  Professor  of 
English  in  Rutgers  College.  Yale  University  Press,  1918. 

In  his  Subject-Index  to  the  Poems  of  Edmund  Spenser,  Pro- 
fessor Charles  H.  Whitman  has  brought  within  the  limits  of  "a 
handbook  a  very  large  amount  of  useful  information  con- 
veniently arranged  for  ready  reference.  The  book  is  a  good  deal 
of  a  concordance,  something  of  a  dictionary,  and  a  bit  of  an 
encyclopaedia;  for  one  finds  among  its  alphabetically  listed  items 
not  only  words  that  Spenser  uses  but  such  general  topical 
headings  as  Sports  and  Pastimes,  Agriculture,  Church  Offices, 
Astronomy,  etc.,  with  cross-references  to  more  specific  entries. 
As  Professor  Whitman  has  recognized,  it  is  hard  to  name  a 
book  so  variously  useful;  Subject-Index  is  certainly  not  satis- 
factory. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Professor  Whitman,  having  gone  so 
far,  did  not  go  a  step  farther  and  give  to  his  book  something  of 
the  character  of  a  variorum.  Where  opinions  vary  so  widely 
as  they  do  in  interpreting  Spenser's  allegory,  the  more  or  less 
confident  interpretations  of  the  better  known  commentators 
would  have  had  considerable  interest,  if  only  in  emphasizing 
the  tot  sententiae.  In  his  reading  of  the  riddles  of  the  Fairy 
Queen  Professor  Whitman  is  usually  conservative;  but  his  con- 
servatism has  here  and  there  perhaps  made  him  ignore  inter- 
esting identifications.  He  retains,  for  example,  the  old  equation 
of  Satyrane  with  Sir  John  Perrot  but  finds  no  place  for  Padel- 
ford's  opinion  that  Cranmer,  or  possibly  Latimer,  is  here 
figured.  On  the  other  hand,  while  accepting  the  customary 
view  that  Duessa  is  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  he  says  nothing  of  the 
time-honored  identification  of  Orgoglio  with  Philip  II.  A  good 
many  other  cases  of  omissions  might  of  course  be  cited  to  show 
that  the  compiler  made  a  loose  application  of  his  principle  that 
allegorical  interpretations  should  be  admitted  whenever  he 
found  "sufficient  evidence  to  support  them."  Where,  as  in  the 
case  of  Sir  Calidore  and  Mirabella,  two  identifications  are 
given,  it  would  have  been  well  to  cite  authorities. 

If  it  is  not  captious  to  criticise  further  so  useful  a  book  as  the 
Subject-Index,  one  might  express  a  regret  that  Professor  Whit- 
man takes  no  account  of  the  small  body  of  Spenser's  prose. 
Accordingly,  the  Index  contains  no  mention  of  the  Areopagus, 
and  under  Rosalind  there  are  no  references  to  the  Harvey- 
Spenser  correspondence.  The  limitation  that  the  compiler  has 
set  upon  his  book  justifies  him  in  omitting  references  to  the 
View  under  the  heading  Lord  Grey,  but  there  can  be  no  excuse 
for  failing  to  refer  to  the  dedicatory  sonnet  to  Virgil's  Gnat 
under  the  Earl  of  Leicester. 

H.  S.  V.  JONES 


Reviews  and  Notes  703 

THE  SATIRE  OF  JOHN  MARSTON.    By  Morse  S.  Allen. 
Princeton  Ph.D.  Dissertation.    Columbus,  Ohio.    1920. 

Dr.  Allen's  dissertation  is  a  careful  summary  and  revalua- 
tion of  all  the  problems  which  concern  Marston  as  a  satirist. 
It  begins  with  the  two  quarrels  with  Hall  and  Jonson,  passes  on 
to  an  analysis  of  the  verse  satires,  Pygmalion's  Image  and 
Scourge  of  Villainy,  and  concludes  with  a  summary  of  the 
satiric  elements  in  the  plays.  The  principle  of  Dr.  Allen's 
work  is  prudence;  he  has  no  radical  theories  to  present,  and 
gives  short  shrift  to  the  guesses  of  previous  scholars.  The  result 
is  a  study  of  Marston  that  is  eminently  safe. 

In  crossing  swords  with  Hall,  Dr.  Allen  believes  that  Marston 
was  moved  not  by  any  contemptuous  references  to  himself, 
but  by  Hall's  strictures  on  contemporary  poets.  He  does  not 
think  that  Hall  ever  replied  to  Marston,  or  took  any  notice  of 
him,  except  possibly  in  the  epigram  which  Hall  is  credited  with 
having  had  pasted  in  every  copy  of  Pygmalion  which  came  to 
Cambridge. 

Accepting  Jonson's  statement  to  Drummond  that  his  quarrel 
with  Marston  arose  out  of  Marston's  representing  him  on  the 
stage,  Dr.  Allen  finds  that  origin  in  the  character  of  Chrisoganus 
in  Histriomastix.  This  he  feels  convinced  was  a  satire  on  Jon- 
son,  and  he  is  equally  sure  of  Lampatho  in  What  You  Will. 
His  reasons  in  both  cases  have  a  good  deal  of  force;  not  so 
strongly  supported  is  his  argument  that  in  Brabant  Senior,  the 
unsympathetic  railler  of  Jack  Drum,  Marston  was  again  aiming 
at  Jonson,  not  so  much  at  his  person  as  at  his  habits  of  mind. 
To  quote  Dr.  Allen's  o"wn  words:  "What  he  did  was  to  rebuke 
Jonson  for  a  characteristic  of  his  dramas,  and  incidentally 
satirize  his  arrogance,  and  his  disdain  for  contemporary  liter- 
ature."1 As  to  Jonson's  representations  of  Marston,  Dr.  Allen 
will  accept  only  Crispinus  of  the  Poetaster  as  certain.  Other- 
wise he  detects  only  occasional  fleers  at  Marston's  style. 
Thus  he  will  not  agree  that  either  Hedon  or  Anaides  of  Cyn- 
thia's Revels  is  a  portrait  of  Marston.  And  he  protests  against 
the  habit  of  reading  personal  satire  into  the  plays  involved, 
or  supposed  to  be  involved,  in  the  controversy.  His  basic 
premise  is  that  "it  was  only  the  exceptional  Elizabethan 
play  which  contained  any  personal  satire."2  Accordingly 
it  is  in  this  light  that  he  interprets  Jonson,  a  man  by  the  way 
who  saw  everything  in  a  very  personal  light.  "His  Brisks 
and  Hedons  represent  a  general  type  much  more  than  they 
do  any  particular  individual."3  This  is  as  near  to  a  bias  as 
Dr.  Allen  comes,  and  surely  he  could  not  have  a  safer  bias. 

1  P.  37. 
*P.39. 
3  P.  21. 


704  Hillebrand 

His  treatment  of  the  stage  quarrel,  therefore,  is  much  simpler 
than  most  others,  as  is  gauged  by  the  fact  that  he  will  admit 
of  only  seven  plays  as  having  been  in  any  way  concerned. 
These  are  Histriomastix,  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  Jack 
Drum's  Entertainment,  Cynthia's  Revels,  What  You  Will,  Poet- 
aster, and  Satiromastix. 

Dr.  Allen's  treatment  of  the  literary  aspects  of  Marston's 
satire  is  in  the  nature  of  analysis  rather  than  argument,  and  calls 
for  little  comment.  He  finds  a  dualism  in  Marston's  personality 
comprised  of  a  genuine  distaste  for  corruption  and  desire  to 
reform,  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  a  strong  curiosity  as 
to  vice.  "At  the  bottom  Marston  was  indignant  at  the  world, 
and  contemptuous  of  it;  he  had  something  of  what  Swinburne 
apostrophized  as  his  'noble  heart  of  hatred.'  .  .  .  Taking  this 
wider  outlook,  I  feel  sure  that  Marston  regarded  himself  as 
being  like  his  own  Malcontent  or  Fawn,  in  the  world  but  not 
of  it."4  At  the  same  time,  "when  lust  is  so  carefully  and  linger- 
ingly  dwelt  upon,  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  the  suspicion  that  its 
consideration  was  pleasing  to  the  author."6  Dr.  Allen  finds  a 
parallel  in  Dean  Swift,  who  in  other  respects  seems  to  him  to 
echo  Marston's  personality,  especially  in  the  intellectual, 
non-emotional  character  of  his  filth. 

The  satire  of  Marston  disintegrates,  we  are  told,  in  the  later 
plays.  At  first,  "Marston  had  possessed  the  younger,  more 
hopeful  mood  where  satire  is  administered  to  reform  vice. 
Now  it  sours  into  something  very  close  to  hatred  for  the  world 
as  a  whole.  He  certainly  despises  man."6  This  disintegration, 
begun  in  What  You  Will,  culminates  in  the  Fawn,  where  the 
satire  is  base  and  nauseous.  The  Fawn  also  represents  the 
breaking  up  of  the  Malcontent  type,  with  which  Marston  himself 
was  becoming  disgusted.  The  last  plays,  Sophonisba  and  the 
Insatiate  Countess,  are  crude  attempts  to  recapture  the  doubtful 
glories  of  the  Antonio  plays.  Dr.  Allen  concludes  his  survey  by 
wondering  whether  Marston  would  not  have  been  happier  in 
the  age  of  the  novel;  "had  his  gifts  for  satire,  depiction  of  real 
life,  and  vivid  characterization,  been  employed  in  the  looser 
form  of  the  novel,  it  is  possible  that  his  name  would  bulk  much 
larger  than  it  does  in  literary  history."7  To  which  one  might 
reply  that  inasmuch  as  Marston's  genius  was  of  the  stage  stagey, 
it  is  doubtful  if  it  would  have  thriven  better  elsewhere. 

HAROLD  N.  HILLEBRAND 
University  of  Illinois 

4  P.  119. 
•  P.  97. 
«  P.  159. 
7  P.  161. 


Reviews  and  Notes  705 

THE  FORMATION  OF  TENNYSON'S  STYLE:  A  Study, 
Primarily,  of  the  Versification  of  the  Early  Poems,  by  J.  F.  A. 
Pyre  (University  of  Wisconsin  Studies  in  Language  and 
Literature,  Number  12).  Madison,  1921. 

Professor  Pyre  has  undertaken  the  sort  of  evaluation  of 
Tennyson's  works  which  is  suggested  by  the  sub- title  of  his  mono- 
graph. He  has  adjudicated  the  relative  importance  of  Tenny- 
son's poems  by  examining  their  prosody.  This  metrical 
examination  has  enabled  him  to  arrange  Tennyson's  work  in  three 
chronological  groups.  There  is  in  his  youth  the  period  of  exuber- 
ant experimentation  with  a  variety  of  complex  stanza  forms. 
Out  of  this  groping  for  the  forms  best  adapted  to  express  his 
personality,  developed  the  mature  work  of  the  1842  volume. 
In  this  volume  the  prevailing  forms  were  blank  verse  and  the 
four  stress  or  the  four  and  three  stress  iambic  quatrain,  both  of 
which  were  employed  with  skilful  but  limited  modulations. 
The  final  period,  if  we  except  In  Memoriam,  was  one  of  deca- 
dence, in  which  the  security  of  the  laureateship  or  of  popular 
applause  insidiously  promoted  a  revolt  from  the  standard  that 
had  been  attained  and  a  return  to  the  freedom  and  the  experi- 
mentation of  his  early  years.  This  general  view  is  not  new.  So 
far  as  prosody  is  concerned,  it  is  implied  in  Saintsbury's  chapter 
on  Tennyson  in  his  History  of  Nineteenth  Century  Literature.  It  is 
the  view  of  those  men,  like  Fitzgerald,  who  in  his  own  day  or 
since  have  been  attracted  chiefly  by  the  melody  of  Tennyson's 
verse. 

Professor  Pyre's  method  of  substantiating  his  thesis  is  as 
familiar  as  the  thesis  itself.  This  method,  which  was  first  given 
its  scholarly  basis  in  Robert  Bridge's  treatise  on  Milton's 
Prosody,  assumes  that  English  verse  is  primarily  accentual 
rather  than  quantitive  or  syllabic  in  its  nature.  Once  this 
position  is  taken,  if  English  metrics  are  to  be  properly  under- 
stood, an  inquiry  must  follow  into  the  relation  between  stresses. 
This  inquiry  implies  a  more  thoro  investigation  than  would  be 
necessary  in  French  or  Latin  into  the  nature  and  frequency  of 
the  mediums  that  may  be  used  to  break  or  modify  the  regularity 
of  stress  recurrence.  In  the  hands  of  most  commentators, 
including  the  present  one,  the  inquiry  becomes  an  intricate 
statistical  analysis  of  inversions,  cesuras,  final  feet,  extra  syllabic 
lines,  and  so  on. 

Applied  to  Tennyson,  this  prosodic  method  reveals  the  poet's 
attainment  at  his  maturity  to  a  comparatively  simple  norm  in 
line  and  stanza,  as  the  following  summary  shows. 

In  the  1830  volume  there  are  scarcely  two  poems  in  the  same 
meter.  The  irregularity  of  the  stanza  forms  is  shown  most 
apparently  by  the  fact  that  even  in  the  few  sonnets  included  the 
normal  structure  is  violated.  The  best  poems  according  to 


706  Burgum 

Professor  Pyre  are  those  that  are  most  regular;  and  of  these 
Mariana  is  noteworthy,  for  the  last  four  lines  of  this  stanza, 
when  detached,  become  the  form  later  used  for  In  Memoriam' 
The  1833  volume  is  marked  by  similar  variety,  but  shows  a 
tendency  to  retain  the  same  stanza  form  without  modification 
during  a  whole  poem.  In  the  1842  volume  the  norm  has  been 
attained.  Many  of  the  poems  of  this  volume  are  thoro  rewritings 
of  poems  in  the  1833  issue.  Professor  Pyre  gives  us  once  more 
the  familar  analysis  of  the  differences  in  the  structure  of  A 
Dream  of  Fair  Women  and  The  Palace  of  Art  (p.  50)  in  the  two 
editions.  There  are  thirty-six  new  poems,  besides,  in  this 
volume.  Of  these,  two  are  ballads,  two  anapestic,  two  trochaic, 
two  iambic  in  meter;  but  nine  are  in  blank  verse  and  eighteen 
in  four  stress  or  four  and  three  stress  quatrains.  Herein  then 
lies  the  norm,  which  Professor  Pyre  believes  Tennyson  worked 
out  for  himself  without  external  aid.  This  normal  poem  is 
short,  slow  of  movement,  regular  of  stress.  The  foot  is  pre- 
vailingly iambic,  seldom  trochaic.  The  diction  is  simplified  and 
chary  of  polysyllables.  There  is  a  moderate  use  of  beginning 
and  cesural  inversions.  There  is  an  avoidance  of  weak  syllables 
at  the  stress  and  at  the  verse  end.  There  are  few  double  endings 
and  few  cesuras;  in  other  words,  there  are  few  extra  syllables 
and  predominantly  masculine  pauses  within  the  line.  A  mod- 
erate use  of  spondees  aids  in  the  production  of  a  slow  line  by 
strengthening  the  unstressed  syllables  (p.  115).  Professor 
Pyre  gives  accurate  statistical  verification  for  these  generaliza- 
tions. This  norm  is  somewhat  relaxed  in  the  Morte  d' Arthur, 
which  Professor  Pyre  agrees  with  Fitzgerald  in  believing 
Tennyson's  finest  poem  (p.  139).  But  here  there  is  a  compensa- 
tion. "Freedom  of  syllabing  and  stress  modulation,  then,  are 
skilfully  balanced  by  careful  maintenance  of  the  verse  unit  and 
regularity  in  the  disposition  of  pause"  (p.  147). 

After  the  1842  volume,  with  the  exception  of  In  Memoriam, 
Tennyson  issued  nothing  of  comparable  merit.  In  Memoriam 
meets  with  Professor  Pyre's  approval  because,  being  a  series  of 
short  poems  in  a  simple  meter,  it  affords  adequate  opportunity 
for  Tennyson's  prevailingly  lyric  gift  to  express  itself.  Its  verse 
form,  tho  used  by  certain  previous  poets  (Jonson,  Sidney,  etc.), 
was  evolved  independently,  and  is  skilfully  modulated.  The 
pauses  come  generally  at  the  end  of  the  first  line  and  towards  the 
end  of  the  third,  so  that  the  central  couplet  is  not  over-empha- 
sized and  is  connected  in  sense  with  the  concluding  line  (p.  186). 
In  the  rest  of  the  later  poems,  degeneracy  is  evidenced  as  a 
result  of  the  demand  for  fluency  in  the  long  narrative  poems 
which  enticed  Tennyson  at  this  period.  This  fluency,  which 
the  dramatic  character  of  the  later  work  demanded,  Professor 
Pyre  does  not  justify,  for  he  has  little  respect  for  Tennyson 
as  a  narrative  poet.  The  Princess  is  a  tour  de  force  of  uncertain 


Reviews  and  Notes  707 

interpretation  in  which  only  the  songs  are  good.  The  proof  rests 
on  the  fact  that  out  of  each  one  hundred  lines  20.16  per  cent  have 
extra  syllables;  whereas  in  the  1842  volume  the  percentage  was 
5.8.  In  the  Idylls,  except  for  those  written  in  the  earlier  period, 
there  are  many  licenses  taken  to  secure  a  dramatic  realism  and 
an  ease  of  flow.  The  list  is  impressive,  and  includes  counter 
cesural  inversions,  weak  measures,  epic  cesuras,  double  endings, 
final  tribrachs,  weak  feminine  endings  (p.  205).  Indeed  Tenny- 
son himself  is  censured  for  saying  that  he  wrote  the  poems  with 
ease  and  little  correction,  and  for  admitting  that  he  varied  the 
verse  to  suit  the  changing  character  of  the  theme.  Finally  in 
his  last  work,  Tennyson  shows  a  tendency  to  revert  to  his  youth- 
ful practice  of  experimentation;  only  now  the  experimentation 
is  not  in  historical  English  forms  but  in  classical  meters. 
When  he  is  not  writing  these  interesting  studies,  which  are 
nevertheless  not  poems,  he  betrays  his  histrionic  tendency  by 
writing  dramas.  This  unnatural  absorption  in  the  dramatic, 
which  Professor  Pyre  suggests  may  have  been  partly  due  to  the 
influence  of  Browning  (p.  153,  163,  190),  is  seen  most  conspicu- 
ously in  the  morbid  impetuosity  of  Maud.  If  a  norm  is  to  be 
looked  for  in  this  period,  it  is  to  be  found  in  a  delight  in  three 
stress  and  six  stress  verse  units  and  irregular  and  trochaic  or 
dactylic  rhythms  (p.  222:  note  p.  209). 

Professor  Pyre's  monograph  concludes  with  two  interesting 
appendices.  The  second  establishes  a  probability  that  Tenny- 
son, and  not  Browning,  originated  the  Locksley  Hall  meter. 
The  first  consists  of  an  analysis  of  the  diction  of  the  early  poems. 
The  result  of  this  analysis  is  a  correction  of  the  views  of  J.  C. 
Collins  (Tennyson's  Early  Poems,  London,  1900),  who  had 
emphasized  the  influence  upon  Tennyson  of  his  immediate 
predecessors.  After  a  comparative  study  of  his  diction,  Pro- 
fessor Pyre  concludes  that  Tennyson  was  under  greater  influence 
from  Milton  and  Shakespeare  in  his  formative  years  than  from 
Shelley,  Keats,  and  Coleridge.  The  influence  of  Coleridge  is 
negligible.  That  of  Shelley  is  found  in  those  passages  in  which 
Shelley  himself  has  been  indebted  to  Milton.  The  early  and 
very  transient  influence  of  Byron  is  similar  to  that  of  Shelley 
in  character  (p. 74). 

The  above  outline  is  sufficient  to  show  that  Professor  Pyre 
has  done  a  service  in  proving  by  a  painstaking  statistical  analy- 
sis what  has  often  been  said  of  Tennyson:  that  by  a  careful 
apprenticeship  and  a  constant  rewriting,  Tennyson  had  suc- 
ceeded by  1842  in  bringing  his  exuberance  of  descriptive  powers 
under  control  and  in  establishing  comparatively  simple  verse 
forms  which  he  modulated  in  less  obvious  ways  than  previously. 
But  unfortunately  Professor  Pyre  has  not  limited  himself  to  this 
service  alone.  He  has  allowed  much  purely  literary  material  to 
creep  into  a  monograph  that  begins  as  a  technical  treatise.  When 


708  Burgum 

he  gets  to  the  period  after  1842,  which  he  calls  decadent  because 
the  normal  verse  forms  he  has  set  up  for  Tennyson  are  being 
discarded  or  loosely  used,  he  gives  only  cursory  summaries  of  his 
technical  material  and  supplements  such  statements  with  literary 
speculations  which  he  does  not  support  with  any  detailed  reason- 
ing. The  critic  would  not  feel  forced  to  object  to  this  broadening 
of  the  scope  of  the  work  simply  because  it  leads  to  a  superficiality 
of  treatment.  He  must  object  also  to  the  critical  point  of  view 
which  Professor  Pyre  assumes  to  justify  it.  Professor  Pyre  is  still 
a  Pre-Raphaelite,  and  believes  a  poem  to  consist  of  a  pattern  of 
musical  words  built  out  of  some  inconspicuous  abstraction. 
Even  in  this  present  day,  when  there  are  many  iconoclasts  who 
find  Tennyson  insipid  and  effeminate,  Professor  Pyre  may  be 
pardoned  for  his  several  references  to  the  finality  and  perfection 
of  Tennyson's  poetry  at  its  best  (pp.  50, 148, 156-60).  But  there 
are  few  to-day  who  will  not  find  objectionable  the  almost  com- 
plete disregard  of  sense  in  favor  of  sound  which  is  inevitable  in 
a  treatise  that  attempts  a  half  esthetic,  half  technical  analysis  of 
metrics. 

The  reader  does  not  have  to  hunt  in  the  dark  for  proof  of 
Professor  Pyre's  preference  for  form  instead  of  content.  In  his 
criticism  of  The  Princess  Professor  Pyre  states  by  inference  his 
critical  canon:  "It  is  quite  plain  that  the  theme  and  the  stuff 
of  his  poetry  came  to  occupy  him  somewhat  to  the  exclusion  of 
its  architectonics,  its  technical  detail,  and  its  atmosphere.  By 
1869,  he  who  once  bade  fair  to  be  a  very  king  among  the  Pre- 
Raphaelites  was  in  a  mood  to  hail  'Art  for  Art's  sake'  as  'truest 
Lord  of  Hell.'  "  (p.  164).  Professor  Pyre,  who  admires  Tenny- 
son only  when  he  is  a  lyric  poet,  finds  no  compensation  for  what 
he  considers  faulty  meter  in  the  philosophy  of  such  works  as 
Vastness,  De  Profundis,  and  The  Higher  Pantheism,  or  in  such 
characterizations  as  those  of  Launtfelot  and  Guinevere,  of 
Lucretius  and  Virgil.  Blind  to  these  aspects  of  the  poet,  the 
author  of  the  treatise  before  us  is  not  unwilling  to  pluck  from 
The  Ancient  Sage  such  lyrical  insipidities  as  the  following  stanza 
to  illustrate  a  surviving  beauty  in  a  period  of  decay  (p.  220) : — 

The  years  that  when  my  youth  began 

Had  set  the  lily  and  rose 
By  all  my  ways,  where'er  they  ran, 

Have  ended  mortal  foes; 
My  rose  of  love  forever  gone, 

My  lily  of  truth  and  trust, 
They  made  her  lily  and  rose  in  one 

And  changed  her  into  dust. 

Such  a  critical  method,  arising  from  a  supposedly  scholarly 
treatment  of  metrics,  the  reviewer  would  find  himself  inclined 
to  decry,  if  it  were  not  so  palpably  a  mid- Victorian  survival. 
Shorn  of  its  esthetic  criticism,  Professor  Pyre's  work  retains  a 


Reviews  and  Notes  709 

certain  value  for  students  of  English  prosody.  But  those 
readers  who  desire  a  sound  critical  survey  of  Tennyson's 
earlier  years,  of  which  a  study  of  verse  structure  forms  a  subor- 
dinate element,  had  best  confine  themselves  to  Lounsbury's  Life 
and  Times  of  Tennyson  (1809-1850). 

EDWIN  BERRY  BURGUM 
University  of  Illinois 


European  Agent  of  the  Journal  of  English  and  Germanic  Philology 

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V.     Das  Chronikendrama  von  Konig  Leir 
VI.     Sidneys  Arkadia 

Preis  fur  das  Attsland  auf  der  Grundlage  von  2  Goldmark 


PJ)    The  Journal  of  English  and 
1        Germanic  philology 
J7 

v.21 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 
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