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Stanford University 


SOON after Dr. Matzke's untimely death the Stanford Philological 
Association decided to publish a volume dedicated to his memory, 
which should contain his unpublished studies and, besides, papers 
contributed by his Colleagues of the Philological Departments. 

Most of Dr. Matzke's unpublished longer articles are being 
published in scientific journals, as indicated in the accompanying Biblio- 
graphy, but it is our privilege to present here, by permission of Dr. 
Matzke's widow, two of his most important papers. The one on Gaston 
Paris was read by our friend immediately after the death of his great 
master, and will never be forgotten by those who heard it. The second 
paper was given as the President's Address before the Philological 
Association of the Pacific Coast and was to be printed by the author 
himself after revision. 

Among the papers of his colleagues was to be inserted one by Dr. 
Fairclough on "Some Aspects of Roman Slavery," but, unfortunately, ill 
health kept the contributor from completing it in time for insertion in 
this volume. 

' Editorial Committee: 

EwALD Flugel, Chairman, 
Oliver Martin Johnston, 
Augustus Taber Murray, 
George Hempl, 
Jefferson Elmore. 


Portrait Frontispiece 

Preface 3 

John Ernst Matzke 7 

Bibliography 9 

Gaston Paris 13 

John Ernst Matzke 

The Development and Present Status of Romanic Dialect- 
ology 21 

John Ernst Matzke 

PuRGATORio XI The Lord's Prayer 37 

Translated by Melville Best Anderson 

The Doctrine of Verisimilitude in French and English 

Criticism of the Seventeenth Century 38 

Raymond Macdonald Alden 

The Relation of the German "Gregorius Auf Dem Stein'' 

TO THE Old French Poem "La Vie de Saint Gregoire" 49 
Clifford Gilmore Allen 

Spenser's "Faerie Queene," III, 11, and Boccaccio's 

"Fiammetta" 57 

William Dinsmore Briggs 

Some Phases of Martial's Literary Attitude 62 

Jefferson Elmore 



Old French ne se non in Other Romance Languages 76 

AuRELio Macedonio Espinosa 

Benedicitee 94 


Propertiana 100 

Benjamin Oliver Foster 

Early Etruscan Inscriptions (Fabretti 2342-2346) iii 

George Hempl 

Origin of the Legend of Floire and Blancheflor 125 

Oliver Martin Johnston 

Aratus and Theocritus 139 

Augustus Taber Murray 

The Last Words of Shakespeare's Characters 148 

Alphonso Gerald Newcomer 

A Commentary on Verses 36-52 of the "Excuse a Ariste" 156 

Colbert Searles 


JOHN ERNST MATZKE was born in Breslau, 
Germany, October 20, 1862. He came to this 
country when he was fifteen years old, and 
finished his collegiate education at Hope College, 
Holland, Michigan. After receiving the Doctor's degree 
at the Johns Hopkins University in 1888, he was 
professor for one year in Bowdoin College, and one 
year in the University of Indiana, associate for two 
years in the Johns Hopkins faculty, and during the 
remaining seventeen years of his life was professor of 
the Romanic Languages in the Leland Stanford Junior 
University. From 1899 to 1904, the five years following 
the organization of the Philological Association of the 
Pacific Coast, he was secretary and treasurer of the 
Association, and also served as its president during 
1908-09. He died September 18, 1910, in the City of 
Mexico, where he had gone to represent Stanford 
University at the inauguration of the National University 
of Mexico. 



Review of Sachs' Geschlechtswechsel im Franzosischen. MLN. ii 

(1887), 167-168. 
Modern Picard bieu from bellum. MLN. iv (1889), 8-1 1. 
Review of Wolfflin's Ueber die Latinitdt der Perigrinatio ad loca sancta. 

MLN. IV (1889), 218-219. 
Review of Scheie de Vere's edition of Moliere's Bourgeois Gentilhomme. 

MLN. IV (1889), 248-249. 
Review of Haas' Zur Geschichte des I vor folgendem Consonanten. MLN. 

IV (1889), 249-251. 
Review of Waldner's Quellen des parasitischen i, and of Sabersky's 

Parasitische i. MLN. v (1890), 50-53. 
Review of Jespersen's Articulation of Speech Sounds. MLN. v (1890), 

Dialektische EigenthUmlichkeiten in der Entwickelung des mouillierten 

I im Altfranzosischen. PMLA. v (1890), 52-108; also separately, 

Paris, Welter, 1890. 57 pp. (Johns Hopkins dissertation.) 
The Development of cl into /' in the Romance Languages. MLN. v 

(1890), 177-179. 
Edition of Hugo's Hernani. Boston, Heath 1891. xxvii, 201 pp. 
The Historical Hernani. MLN. vi (1891), 37-41. 
A Study of the Versification and Rimes of Hugo's Hernani. MLN. vi 

(1891), 168-171. 
Some Remarks on the Development of ct in the Romance Languages. 

MLN. VI (1891), 136-139. 
/ in French lieu = Latin locum. MLN. vii (1892), 65-69. 
Review of Rousselot's La methode graphique, and of Koschwitz's La 

phonefique experimentale. MLN. vii (1892), 146-149. 
On the Sources of the Italian and English Idioms Meaning To Take Time 

by the Forelock.' PMLA. viii (1893), 303-334- 
Review of Schwan's Grammatik des Alt franzosischen. MLN. ix (1894), 

Diez Memorial. MLN. ix. (1894), 192. 
On the Pronunciation of the French Nasal Vowels, in, ain, ein in the 

XVI and XVII Centuries. PMLA. ix (1894), 451-461. 

1 Compiled by Dr. E. C. Armstrong, and reprinted, with perr.iission, from 
Modern Language Notes, xxv, 232. 


Review of Garner's edition of Hugo's Ruy Bias. MLN. x (1895), 

Ueber die Aussprache des altfranzosischen ue von lateinischem o. ZRPh. 

XX (1896), 1-14. 
Edition of Tamayo y Bans' Un Drama Nuevo. New York, Jenkins, 

1897. iv. 107 pp. 
First Spanish Readings. Boston, Heath, 1897. iv, 219 pp. 
A Primer of French Pronunciation. New York, Holt, 1897. vi, 73 pp. 

3d edition, revised, 1905. xi, 104 pp. 
The Question of Free and Checked Vowels in Gallic Popular Latin. 

PMLA. XIII (1898), 1-41. 
The Unity of Place in the Cid. MLN. xiii (1898), 197-205. 
Spanish Readings. MLN. xiii (1898), 391-392. 
Edition of Lois dc Guillaume le Conquerant. Paris, Picard, 1899. liv, 

32 pp. 
The Sources of Corneille's Tragedy La Mort de Pompee. MLN. xv 

(1900), 142-152. 
The Anglo-Norman Poet Simund de Freine. TAPhA. xxxiii (1902), 

Review of Thomas' Melanges d' etymologic frangaisc. MLN. xvii 

(1902), 187-190. 
Review of Meyer- Liibke's Einfiihrung in das Studium der romanischen 

Sprachwissenschaft. MLN. xvii (1902), 259-262. 
Contributions to the History of the Legend of Saint George. PMLA. 

XVII (1902), 464-535; xviii (1903), 99-171- 
Edition of Corneille's China. Boston, Heath, 1903. xvi, 128 pp. 
Corneille's Cinna. MLN. xviii (1903), 217-218. 
Edition of Corneille's Horace. Boston, Heath, 1904. xx, 144 pp. 
A Neglected Source of Corneille's Horace. MPhi. i (1904), 345-354. 
The Legend of Saint George ; its Development into a Roman d'Aventurc. 

PMLA. XIX (1904) 449-478. 
Some Examples of French as Spoken by Englishmen in Old French 

Literature. MPhi. iii (1905), 47-60. 
The History of ai and ei in French before the Dental, Labial, and 

Palatal Nasals. PMLA. xxi (1906). 637-686. 
Edition of Moliere's Le Tartuife. New York, Holt, 1906. xxvii, 

169 pp. 
The Source and Composition of Ille and Galeron. MPhi. iv (1907), 

The Lay of Eliduc and the Legend of the Husband with Two Wives. 

MPhi. v (1907), 211-239. 


On the History of Palatal n in French with Special Reference to o and 
Open e. PMLA. xxiv (1909), 476-493. 

Edition of Les oeuvres de Simund de Freine. Paris, 1909 {SATF.), 
vi, 187 pp. 

Review of Luquiens' Introduction to Old French Phonology and Morph- 
ology. JEGPh. IX (1910), 107-112; 

The Legend of the E!aten Heart. MLN. xxvi (1911), 1-8. 

The Oldest Form of the Beves Legend, to appear in Modern Philology. 

The Roman du Chatelain de Couci and Fauchet's Chronique. Studies 
in Honor of A. Marshall Elliott, I (1911). 

An edition of Le Roman du Chatelain de Couci, prepared for the Societe 
des anciens textes frangais. (Ms. of the text complete.) 

Gaston Paris. An address. Matske Memorial Volume, 13-20. 

The Development and Present Status of Romanic Dialectology. Matske 
Memorial Volume, 21-25. 


[Paper read before the Stanford Philological Association, April 15, 1903] 

John Ernst Matzke 

ON March 16, 1894, it was my privilege in this very room to read 
a paper before the Philological Association on Dies and the 
Study of Romanic Philology in commemoration of the one hun- 
dredth anniversary of the birth of the founder of our science. I little 
dreamed then that ere a decade had passed away we should be called upon 
to mourn the loss of the greatest of the great master's pupils. In the 
division of tasks which we have assigned, it has fallen to my lot to say a 
few words on the personality of the man. 

The name Paris is a name worthy of reverence by all devoted to the 
study of the language and literature of the Middle Ages. If ever there 
was an instance of the influence of heredity and early environment, it was 
here. Gaston Paris, administrateur of the College de France, became in 
1872 the successor of his father in the chair of Medieval Literature at that 
institution, and the work which the father had made illustrious was 
rendered famous by the greater son. The elder Paris had begun his labors 
in this field in 1824 with a pamphlet entitled Apologie de Vecole roman- 
tique and was appointed incumbent of the newly created chair at the 
College de France in 1853. The son took up the work where his father 
laid it down and continued it to the 5th of March, 1903, with even greater 
vigor and fertility. The name of Paris stands thus for eight decades of 
uninterrupted labor, and the sum total of the result, the additions to 
human knowledge, it is scarcely within the power of a single mind to 

Gaston Paris was born at Avenay in the Champagne on August 9, 
1829. His early studies were carried on in the College Rollin in Paris, 
where he graduated in 1856. By that time the path of his future labor 
was already definitely outlined. In 1857 he went to Germany, first to 
Bonn where he came under the direct influence of Diez, and the following 
year he spent in Gottingen under the teaching of Ernst Curtius. He was 
attracted to him through a love for classical antiquity, and though his 
own later work lay in lines quite apart from this division of philological 
science, yet the rigorous method and the inspiration gained there, have 
left their definite traces. After his return to Paris in 1858, he entered the 
ficole des Chartes, where he received in 1861 the diploma as archiviste- 
paleographe, at the same time presenting as thesis his first important 


publication, the tude sur le role de Vaccent latin dans la langtie fran- 
^aise. In 1863 he translated into French the introduction to Diez' 
Grammatik dcr romanischen Sprachen. In 1865 he passed the exam- 
ination for the doctorat es lettres. His Latin thesis was entitled De 
Pseitdo-Turpino, his French thesis was the epoch making work on the 
Histoire poetique de Charlemagne, a study on the Old French epics on 
Charlemagne and the national poet, which has been the basis of all further 
study on this subject ever since. In 1869 he became instructor in the 
newly founded cole Pratique des Hautes litudes; in 1872, a memorable 
year for the history of our science, he succeeded his father as professor 
of Medieval Literature in the College de France, and soon after, in collabo- 
ration with Paul Meyer, founded the Romania, now in the 32d volume, and 
published the Alexis, the first critical edition of an Old French text. In 
1875 he was one of the founders of the Societe des anciens textes fran- 
gais; in 1876 he was elected member of the Academic des Inscriptions et 
Belles Lettres. His final apotheosis occurred in 1896 with his election to 
the French Academy. 

Formative influences. Among the influences potent in shaping the 
magnificent capabilities with which nature had endowed him, two stand 
out more prominently than others ; these were the teaching of his father 
and that of Diez. 

To the former he has devoted with filial piety a long study in vol. 
XI of the Romania, pp. 1-21. It would be impossible here to cull from 
these pages the passages which indicate so clearly the consciousnesss 
of his indebtedness. To do so it would be necessary to transcribe 
practically the whole article, his opening lecture at the College de 
France in 1881. But the same spirit is shown equally in the dedication 
which accompanied the publication of the Histoire poetique, nearly twenty 
years before. 

"Mon cher pere: 

"Tout enfant je connaissais Roland, Berte aux grands pieds et 
le bon cheval Bayard, aussi bien que la Barbe-Bleu ou Cendrillon. Vous 
nous racontiez parfois quelqu'une de leurs marveilleuses aventures, et 
I'impression de grandeur heroique qu'en recevait notre imagination ne 
s'est point effacee. Plus tard, c'est dans vos entretiens, dans vos legons 
et dans vos livres que ma curiosite pour ces vieux recits, long temps 
vaguement entrevus, a trouve a se satisfaire. Quand j'ai voulu, a mon 
tour, etudier leur origine, leur caractere et les formes diverses qu'ils ont 
revetues, votre bibliotheque, rassemblee avec tant de soin depuis plus de 
trente annees, a mis a ma disposition des materiaux qu'il m' eut ete bien 


difficiles de reunir et souvent, meme de soupgonner. Vos encouragements 
m'ont soutenu dans le cours de mes recherches ; vos conseils en ont rendu 
le resultat moins defectueux. En vous dediant ce livre je ne fais done en 
quelque fagon que vous restituer ce qui vous appartient. Acceptez-Ie 
comme un faible temoignage de ma profonde et respectueuse tendresse." 

When Diez died in 1876,0. Paris wrote as follows, i^o mania V,p.4i2 : 
"Des deux directeurs de la Romania, I'un a ete son eleve il y a vingt ans 
et a tou jours garde pour lui les sentiments du plus affectueux respect . . . 
Nous sommes un peu maintenant comme des orphelins ; nous n'avons 
plus ce doux sentiment du disciple, qui aime a s'incliner devant une 
parole respectee et chere ; et nous nous disons aussi avec regret que nous 
ne pourrons plus lui offrir les quelques epis ramasses sur ses pas dans le 
champ qu'il moissonna si heroiquement, glanes accueillies tou jours par 
lui avec tant de bienveillance, et avec une sorte d'admiration, comme si 
c'eut ete quelque chose en comparaison de sa recolte. Tons les romanistes 
actuels se sont assis au pied de sa chaire ou se sont formes a la lecture de 
ses livres; puisse le sentiment de cette filiation commune les animer 
toujours de son esprit ! Nul homme ne fut plus inaccessible aux rivalites 
mesquines, aux passions etroites, aux prejuges de clocher ou de pays. 
II mettait son patriotisme a faire des oeuvres dont sa nation put etre fiere, 
. . . C'est en nous inspirant de ces sentiments eleves, c'est en continuant, 
avec la methode qu'il nous a enseignee, I'oeuvre qu'il a entreprise, que 
nous rendrons a sa memoire un hommage vraiment digne d'elle." 

Personality. He was tall and stately, and at first sight conveyed 
the impression of superiority. The expression of his face was wonder- 
fully kind, and the sound of his voice was soft and sympathetic. Totally 
blind in his left eye, and during the last years of his life almost equally 
so in the right, he could read only by approaching the page to within a 
painful proximity of the eyes. His nature was kind and sympathetic. 

The general experience of students who came under his influence 
is best illustrated by some personal reminiscences. Difficult of access on 
account of the many arduous duties imposed upon him, the first interview 
took place at his consultation hour on Thursday morning at his home. 
One entered the sanctum with palpitating heart, almost overawed by the 
fact that at last one was to meet the master, whose writings had filled 
the mind with admiration. All the fine speeches and sentences prepared 
for the occasion had disappeared as if by magic and he must often have 
smiled at the stammering and stuttering professors who made bold to 
lay their ignorance bare before him. But the cordial greeting, the sym- 
pathetic questioning, perchance the kind remembrance of some youthful 
publication, soon caused all restraint to disappear, and before the interview 


was over, a bond of union between the pupil and the teacher was estab- 
lished. Then as the days wore on, the relation became closer and the 
admiration grew into love. In my own experience I have never seen a 
teacher who became the idol of his pupils as did Gaston Paris. And yet 
this worship was not blind. 

The keynote of his teaching, the element which impressed us more 
than the riches of facts acquired by his untiring labors, was the pure 
unselfish devotion to truth, which characterized them. This sentiment, 
always present in his attitude, was voiced by him on various occasions. 
Once under particularly trying circumstances in 1870, in the opening 
lecture of the course on the Old French epic which he delivered at the 
College de France as a substitute for his father, he said: "J^ professe 
absolument et sans reserve cette doctrine, que la science n'a d'autre objet 
que la verite, et la verite pour elle-meme, sans aucun souci des conse- 
quences bonnes ou mauvaises, regrettables ou heureuses, que cette 
verite pourrait avoir dans la pratique. Celui qui, par un motif patriot- 
ique, religieux et meme moral, se permet dans les faits qu'il etudie, dans 
les conclusions qu'il tire, la plus petite dissimulation, Talteration la plus 
legere, n'est pas digne d'avoir sa place dans le grand laboratoire ou la 
probite est un titre d'admission plus indispensable que Thabilite." 

Twenty-seven years later, on the occasion of his reception into the 
Academy, he spoke 'as follows: 

"On dit a la jeunesse : II faut aimer, il faut vouloir, il faut croire, il 
faut agir, sans lui dire et sans pouvoir lui dire quel doit etre I'object de 
son amour, le mobile de sa volonte, le symbole de sa croyance, le but de 
son action. II faut avant tout, lui dirais-je, si j'avais Tespoir d'etre 
entendu, aimez la verite, vouloir la connaitre, croire en elle, travailler, si 
on le peut, a la decouvrir. II faut savoir la regarder en face, et se jurer 
de ne jamais la fausser, Tattenuer ou I'exagerer, meme en vue d'un interet 
qui semblerait plus haut qu'elle, car il ne saurait y en avoir de plus haut, 
et du moment, oii on la trahit, fut-ce dans le secret de son coeur, on subit 
une diminution intime qui, si legere qu'elle soit, se fait bientot sentir dans 
toute I'activite morale. II n'est donne qu' a un petit nombre d'hommes 
d'etendre son empire; il est donne a tous de se soumettre a ses lois. 
Soyez surs que la discipline qu'elle imposera a vos esprits se fera sentir 
a vos consciences et a vos coeurs. L'homme qui a, j usque dans les plus 
petites choses, I'horreur de la tromperie et meme de la dissimulation est 
par la-meme eloigne de la plupart des vices et prepare a toutes les 

The result upon the students of this lofty attitude on the part of the 
teacher has been beautifully expressed by Heinrich Morf. "Diesem 


Geiste gait die Hingabe, das schrankenlose Vertrauen seiner Schiiler 
die nicht in verba magistri, aber in animum magistri schworen. Sein 
Unterricht ward dadurch zur Unterweisung in des Wortes vollster 
schonster Bedeutung. Er war ein Erzieher." 

What higher praise could be bestowed upon any man! And the 
best practical illustration of this attitude can be seen in the touching 
dedication which Bedier, one of the most brilliant of his pupils, penned 
when he published his masterly study on the Old French Fabliaux. The 
pupil's conclusions were in several very important particulars at variance 
with the theory of Gaston Paris concerning the transmission of these 
popular stories from the East. In fact in some vital features he denied 
that theory. Yet he presented his contributions to the problem as inspired 
by the master's teaching. 

"II se trouve que ce travail sur les fabliaux, que M. G. Paris a de 
plus ou moins pres dirige, contredit certaines idees qu'il a soutenues. 
Cette theorie orientaliste que j'attaque, il ne I'a pas acceptee dans ses 
pretentions excessives; mais dans la limite oil elle est en effet vraisem- 
blable, il la croit vraie. L'etude des faits m'a conduit a des conclusions 
contraires. Je sens combien elles sont temeraires, se heurtant a une si 
redoubtable autorite. Je ne les exprime pas sans tremblement: je les 
exprime pourtant. 

Par la du moins, M. G. Paris me reconnaitra comme de son ecole. 
Parmi ceux qui la forment, il n'en est pas un qui soit a son egard comme 
le famulus passif du docteur Faust. Tous ont appris de lui la recherche 
scrupuleuse et patiente, mais independante et brave, du vrai; la 
soumission du travailleur, non a un principe exterieur d'autorite, mais 
aux faits, et aux consequences qu'il en voit decouler; la defiance de soi, 
la prudence a conclure, mais aussi, quand il croit que les faits ont parle, 
I'honnetete qui s'applique a redire ce qu'ils ont dit." 

The scene of Gaston Paris' labors lay in the College de France and 
in the ficole des Hautes fitudes. In the former his lectures were open 
to all, and were eagerly followed by large audiences of interested 
listeners. At the ificole des Hautes fitudes the courses were more difficult 
of access and it was always considered an honor and a privilege to be 
admitted to this smaller circle. And here it was particularly the Con- 
ference du Dimanche which has become famous among students of 
Romanic philology throughout the whole world. It was a seminary in 
the strictest sense of the term, which met regularly at 10:30 on Sunday 
morning at the home of Gaston Paris, in his private library. To be 
admitted, it was necessary to obtain his special permission, and only the 
most mature students were accepted. The subjects studied varied from 


year to year, but not a session passed without producing some important' 
contribution to science, which was usually published soon after in the I 

It was in these meetings that the personality of the man showed' 
itself to the best advantage. During the year when it was my great - 
privilege to be a member of this conference, the greater portion of each 
meeting was taken up by him with a discussion of the most important 
contributions to our science that were constantly sent to him from every 
portion of the globe. It seemed the simplest matter in the world to hear 
him characterize the various volumes which he had selected, turning 
from a study on the crusades to another on etymologies or on Dante or 
on the legend of the seven Infantes de Lara. In every subject he was 
perfectly at home and in every case he knew how to characterize the 
merits of the work so aptly and so tersely ; and often even now not only 
his words but even the very shape of the volume as he held it up before us 
come back to my mind. 

It was in these meetings that the bonds of friendship were woven, 
which united teacher and pupils, and which gave to his listeners a feeling 
of solidarity, and made them forget the distant lands whence they had 
come to drink deep at this fountain of inspiration, which flowed so freely 
and so full. It would be impossible to characterize the spirit of these 
meetings better than Morf has done. "In diesem Unterricht kniipften 
die Bande, durch welche die jiingere Romanistenwelt mit Paris person- 
lich verbunden ist. Wie viele grundlegende Arbeiten sind aus diesen 
Uebungen hervorgegangen, die ein wahres Laboratorium der Philologie 
darstellten. Wenn der Chef dieses Laboratoriums einen Ehrentag feierte, 
dann stromten die wissenschaftlichen Gaben aus alien Landern zusammen. 
Aus den Biichern, die dankbare Schiller und Mitforscher Gaston Paris 
gewidmet haben, Hesse sich eine Bibliothek bilden, an der die Fortschritte 
unserer Wissenschaft gemessen werden konnten. Und an dem Ton der 
Widmungen lasst sich die Liebe und Verehrung ermessen, die seine 
wissenschaftliche Familie ihm entgegenbrachte." 

Tu duca, tu signore e tu maestro. 

The fertility of this master mind one can view only with awe. 
During the forty years of his active labors he has worked constantly and 
without interruption. The complete bibliography which is in course of 
preparation, it is estimated, will contain some fifteen hundred titles ; which 
means a new production on an average every two weeks. In contents 
these contributions range over the whole domain of Romanic philology 
in phonology, morphology, syntax, etymology and semasiology, in 


literature and popular tradition. No wonder that the name of Gaston 
Paris is a household word in the courses of our science. No matter 
where the attention is arrested, no matter what theory of language or 
literature is under discussion, whether the facts be finally established, or 
whether they be still wrapped in the mists of uncertainty, the name of the 
master must always be coupled with the discussion. Sometimes he has 
spoken the last word on the question, at others he has brought new light 
into dark corners and opened up new avenues of investigation. And this 
man, so diligent, so faithful, so conscientious, died as he had lived, his pen 
in his hand. Perhaps the most touching word at the sad occasion of his 
funeral in the stately court of the College de France was said by M. 
Thomas. Sick and feeble he left Paris on February 24 to seek in Cannes 
the rest and quiet which it was impossible for him to find at home. On 
March 5th he passed away to rest from his labors, but even after the 
telegraph had already announced the sad news of his death, the mail 
still continued to bring to Paris the proof sheets of a volume for the 
Societc des Anciens Textes, with his annotations and corrections. 

In closing, may I be allowed a few words of quite a personal nature. 
It was not easy to win the friendship of this man, who could read so 
clearly in the hearts of his listeners. All that came near him had to pass 
through a period of apprenticeship, as it were. What Gaston Paris 
looked for was not brilliant acquisition, but honesty and diligence and high 
ideals. Those who were found wanting, disappeared as they had come. 
But, if one had the good fortune to meet his requirements, his friendship 
was won, and he would pour out the best that he had in counsel and 
information, with a generosity that cannot be described. It was this side 
of the man which caused the devotion, shared by all his students. Any 
work, however crude, if done conscientiously, was certain of his help and 
benevolent criticism. 

During my last visit to Paris I submitted to him the edition of 
Simund de Freine, which I had undertaken at his suggestion. The 
work was finished too late to send to him before his departure for 
Cerisy-La-Salle, his country home in Normandy and now his final 
resting place. He invited me then to visit him there and bring the 
manuscript along, so that we might look over it together, as he 
expressed it. In this way I had the very great privilege of passing several 
days at his home, and these days will always live with me as the brightest 
in my career as a student. While I had before seen him only occasionally 
otherwise than in an official relation, I had here the opportunity of seeing 
him as a man, of walking with him through the beautiful surroundings 
of the old chateau dating from the time of Henry IV, and of coming 


closely in touch with his beautiful generous nature. During those days 
he gave himself completely up to me, putting his wide knowledge entirely 
at my disposal. The manuscript of my work, which I had sent him some 
days before, already bore the marks of his pencil. Together we read the 
greater portion of the text that I had prepared ; where I had erred, he saw 
clearly, and lines which I had failed to understand, he grasped in an 
instant. Often I exclaimed that I was imposing upon his kindness, but 
he would hear of no such thing. With my manuscript close to his single 
eye, he would decipher my unfamiliar writing, would answer my questions 
and discuss my difficulties. And all this was done so naturally and with 
such a total absence of constraint that I really almost forgot that I was 
talking to the greatest authority in France on these matters, and for the 
moment almost believed that he said the truth when he persisted in saying 
that it gave him pleasure to read my text. 

When the time for my departure had come, he accompanied me to 
the little station where I was to take the train that would take me to 
Havre. He stood by the door of the compartment until the train pulled 
out, and I can still see the kindly smile on his face as I bade him a last 

The memory of those days has come to me with wonderful strength 
during these weeks since the telegraph brought the unexpected news of 
his sudden death. And it is memories of similar acts of kindness in one 
way or another, which have cast a gloom over the students of Romanic 
philology the wide world over, wherever a pupil of this master is trying 
to arouse enthusiasm for the studies which he loved so well. 

The best of Romanic literature has been drawn upon for passages 
in dedication of books offered to him, to express the true veneration in 
which he was held. I wish to close this imperfect sketch with a few lines 
from the Chanson de Roland, in which Ganelon expresses the national 
feeling with regard to Charlemagne, and which seem to me particularly 
applicable : 

"Tout nel vos sai ne preisier ne loer 

Que plus n'i ad d*onur et de bontet. 

Sa grand valor ki purreit acunter 

De tel barnage Tad Deus enluminet." 



John Ernst Matzke 

{President's Address read before the Philological Association of the Pacific Coast 

on November 26, 1909.] 

THE most appropriate point of departure for my discussion will be 
the meanings of the words language, dialect and patois as they are 
found in our standard dictionaries. Language is defined as the 
speech current among the nation as a whole and in which its national 
literature is written. Thus we have in the Romanic speech territory 
French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and Roumanian, all of which are the 
official languages of political units and serve for the expression of a 
national literature. A dialect is conceived to be a variation of such an 
official language, current in a region or province forming a part of the 
larger national unit. In as much as the national unit is made up of an 
agglomeration of a varying number of smaller political units, related 
thru race and location, any given language will have a varying number 
of dialects, which are modes of speech related to the official language, 
all descending from the same common original. In form and make up 
these dialects differ the one from the other, tho each has traits common 
to all, so that their close affinity can not be doubted. The literary 
language itself was originally only the dialect, in this acceptation of the 
term, of a particular region to which favoring circumstances have given 
vogue and general acceptance. Thus we have the dialect of the He de 
France becoming French, that of the Toscana becoming Italian, and that 
of Castile becoming Spanish, but at the same time the related forms 
continue to live and we may distinguish Norman, Picard, Burgundian 
and other such dialects in France, Andalusian, Aragonese, Leonese in 
Spanish, Lombard, Venetian, Piedmontese, Sardinian in Italian. 

The difficulty brought in by the existence of the Provencal in the 
South of France, the Catalan in Spain and the Rhetian in the Latin 
portion of Switzerland, each a distinct Romanic language, is only 
an apparent one. Here we have forms of speech extending over con- 
siderable areas, whose owners were not successful in their attempts 
to establish political independence. Their territory was absorbed by 
more potent neighbors, but their love of independence and their national 


consciousness found expression in a literature of such importance that 
the form in which it is written may readily be called a language. 

A patois finally is looked upon as a subdivision of a dialect for 
similar reavsons and along similar lines, as the dialect is a subdivision of 
language. It is the speech current in a smaller district or a village. 

The important feature of this classification of speech is its similarity 
to the recognized divisions in natural history. The dialect in the domain 
of language is the species in the animal or vegetable kingdom, while the 
patois resembles the smaller sub-species. Each has definite traits not 
found in any other, by which it is clearly distinguished. 

The correctness or incorrectness of this conception of the problems 
of linguistic history was apparently not questioned in the early decades 
of the existence of Romanic Philology. Diez employed the terms dialect 
and language in the manner just outlined. It was only in 1875, when 
the late Italian scholar Ascoli published an article entitled Schizzi 
Franc o-provenzali in vol. Ill of the Archivio Glottologico, that the 
current definitions of these terms were questioned. In this article 
Ascoli endeavored to set off a dialect group, hitherto not recognized, 
lying between the northernmost Italian dialects and the French 
Bourgogne, to which he gave the name of Franco-provenzale. The 
territory included comprised the departments of Loire and Rhone on the 
right bank of the river Rhone, and Ain, Isere, Savoie and Haute Savoie 
on its left, together with the departments of Doubs, Hte. Saone and 
Vosges lying to the north of this region. The city of Lyons, though 
quite on the western boundary of this district, may be looked upon as 
its most important representative. 

The linguistic traits, upon which this new division and classification 
was based, may be passed over in silence at this time. Its importance 
arises from the fact that Ascoli here tried to outline a definite speech 
boundary, on either side of which different characteristics prevailed, in 
such a way that the language current within these limits clearly 
represented a speech unit. This claim precipitated a discussion 
concerning the nature of speech phenomena, and dialects and the 
existence of speech boundaries. Its argumentation and decisions were 
decidedly negative, and the result was the clearly outlined thesis that 
dialects and patois in .the usual acceptation of these terms do not exist, 
and that speech-boundaries, with the only meaning which this term can 
have, are a figment of the imagination. 

The first to answer was Paul Meyer in Romania IV, pp. 294 ff. 
He said in part as follows: No group of dialects, no matter how this 
group might be constituted, could represent a speech-family, for the 


reason that the dialect (which would represent the species in this 
grouping) itself is a rather arbitrary conception of our minds. Let us 
see how we proceed as a matter of fact in- order to constitute a dialect. 
We select in the speech of any given district a certain number of 
phenomena which we set up as the characteristics of the speech of this 
district. This method of procedure would certainly lead to the establish- 
ment of a distinct species of speech, if the selection of these character- 
istics were not perforce largely arbitrary. The various linguistic 
phenomena which we can observe in any region do not coincide with 
each other in such a way that all cover geographically the same area. 
They cross and overlap each other to such an extent that one would 
never succeed in determining any dialectic area if one were not satisfied 
to determine it arbitrarily. Let us suppose for example that we take 
as a characteristic of the Picard dialect the treatment of c before a. 
This feature would furnish a passable limitation towards the South 
and East, but toward the North it would be mediocre unless the Picard 
is extended to include the Flemish, and on the West it won't do at all, 
since it extends all over Normandy, and the dialect of Normandy is of 
course not to be included in that of Picardy. It will be necessary 
therefore to select some other characteristic, which is present only in 
one of the two dialects that are to be distinguished. This character- 
istic will have to be selected arbitrarily along the line where, according 
to a preconceived idea, the boundary must lie. Let us take the form of 
the imperfects of the first conjunction in -oe. Yet the use to which this 
trait can be put will be as arbitrary as that of c before a. We shall be 
forced to recognize that while it is a characteristic of Eastern Norman, 
it will fail us on the West because there it extends considerably beyond 
the confines of Normandy, and certainly no one would wish to call the 
speech of Anjou and Poitou, Norman. There is no other method of 
procedure, and it must be arbitrary. Our conclusion must be that a 
dialect is an artificial rather than a natural species. Any definition of 
the word is a deiinitio nomdnis and not a definitio rei. Furthermore, if 
a dialect as such can not be determined, it is clear that groups of dialects 
can not be clearly defined. One can imagine various ways of grouping 
them, each of these based upon a certain selection of linguistic phenomena, 
but all these methods will be forced to see limits where in fact they do 
not exist. The traditional classification, followed by Diez in his 
Grammar, has the advantage of coinciding, at least in general outline, 
with the political divisions and to a certain degree also with the various 
literatures. Its evident shortcomings matter little if the terms French, 
Provengal or Italian dialects are taken as geographical expressions. 


From this point of view they are well chosen provided those who make 
use of them do not make them signify more than they permit. ... It is 
very important in this matter, as in many others, not to be misled by the 
terminology that one has created or accepted. 

Ascoli answered (Arch. Glott. II, 385) that the independence of a 
dialect did not consist in the presence or absence of a certain number 
of phenomena absent or present elsewhere, but in their simultaneousness 
and peculiar combination. But P. Meyer replied that no matter how one 
might look at the question, actual divisions between the various forms of 
speech in the Romanic territory do not exist. The speech of one region 
passes imperceptibly into that of the adjoining territory. Lines between 
them can only be drawn by methods that are arbitrary and unscientific. 
When the problem had been thus clearly stated, the discussion soon 
became more general and other scholars participated. Thomas showed 
by an investigation of the patois of the department de la Creuse that 
speech boundaries within this territory do not exist and that all that the 
investigator can do is to determine the limits of individual phenomena, 
which however could not serve to describe distinct patois or dialects. 

A few years later (1882) Joret published a volume entitled Des 
caractbres et de V extension du patois Normand, in which he pointed out 
seven traits characteristic of the speech of this region, with the purpose 
of describing by them the dialect of Normandy. This monograph 
called forth a most lucid and fundamental critique, by Gillieron, now 
undoubtedly the most famous and ablest investigator of the nature of 
speech variations, in which it was clearly shown again that the lines of 
Joret's seven phenomena do not coincide and that consequently Joret's 
results could not be accepted. 

This constructive discussion received its capstone, as it were, in 
1888 in an address delivered by Gaston Paris at the annual meeting of 
the Societes savantes in Paris. Here a general synthesis of the problem 
was given and at the same time the method to be followed in its solution 
was outlined. 

Speech boundaries as such do not exist, except where an insurmount- 
able physical obstacle breaks the continuity of habitation or where peoples 
of a different race come face to face. Of the former category is the 
Channel between England and France, or the North Sea between Ger- 
many and Denmark ; of the latter are the boundaries between France and 
Germany or Russia and China. But where people of the same race or 
descent live in a contiguous area, all divisions and boundaries are arti- 
ficial and are based upon political or literary considerations. 

If we could imagine a line of people touching elbows and extending 



from the Pyrenees to the Channel or from the Eastern frontier of France 
to the ocean on the West, each standing on his native soil and speaking the 
language to which he has been accustomed since his birth, we should find 
that thruout the whole length of this chain each would understand his 
neighbor on the right or left, while he might find strange the speech of an 
individual some distance away. Even the national boundaries would 
become obliterated. The transition from France thru Latin Switzerland 
into Italy or across the Pyrenees into Spain would be gradual, and within 
these countries the phenomena observed in France would be repeated. 
The investigator of speech phenomena must first dismiss all precon- 
ceived definitions of the nature of dialects and patois. He must in the 
next place limit his field of observation. Let him select a hamlet or a 
village, rarely a group of villages, and within these limits observe all 
the facts that may be present. Each community, each form, each sound, 
each word should have its individual investigation, and only when these 
minute and painstaking observations have been finished with all the rigor 
of scientific attitude and method, will the time for synthesis have come. 

Now, there can be no question that these considerations are sound, 
but on the other hand they do not solve all the questions that arise in 
this connection, for they are based solely on the present conditions of the 
languages and they leave out of account their historical development. 

These historical considerations were introduced into the discussion 
of the problem by Grober in his article on Die romanischen Sprachen, 
Ihre Eintheilung and dussere Geschichte in his Grundriss der roman- 
ischen Philologie, I, pp. 415 if. Grober saw correctly that if the opinions 
of Meyer, Paris, Gillieron and others were to be borne out by the facts 
of the history and growth of a language, it would be necessary that this 
language developed or spread gradually from a given center, until it 
covered the whole area now occupied by it. 

Now, this was not the way in which the speech of Latium became 
established in the neo-latin countries. We know that the Folk-latin from 
which the Romanic languages have sprung was carried to its new home 
in the first place by military expeditions. When the new colony was 
conquered, the language was left there, as it were, transplanted into a 
new soil, to live its own life. On this supposition alone can we explain 
why the speech of Sardinia, the oldest of Rome's colonies, shows traits 
of age which distinguish it sharply from the younger colonies of Rhetia 
and Gaul. Then again the conditions of life in those early centuries, 
and the methods of conquest and colonization, make it evident that the 
latinization of the new territory did not extend gradually from the 
frontier inwards, but that it spread from various centers, established 


within the conquered territory and selected for reasons of strategic or 
commerical importance. Gaul was not attacked in its entirety, but in 
its centers and strongholds, around which the existing population was 
grouped. Whenever such a stronghold was captured, a military colony 
was established there which was supplied as soon as possible with 
merchants and mechanics and farmers, who settled there and thus laid 
the foundations of new commonwealths. Now it is from these centers, 
located often at great distances from each other, that the latinization of 
Gaul proceeded. Their number it is easier to imagine than to state, 
their names must be discovered by the science of Historical Geography. 
It has been suggested that names of Celtic origin may represent some 
of these, while the newer names of Germanic or Latin origin and often 
formed in honor of Christian saints must designate younger settlements. 

The population subjected to this influence was not a homogeneous 
one. There were different tribes, clustering about their own established 
centers and having most probably each its own peculiar form of speech. 
Latin had therefore to contend from the beginning with differing 

The tendency toward variation existing here was increased by the 
conditions of civilization. Extensive forests separated centers of popula- 
tion by large and uninhabitated districts. Roads were poor and travel 
limited. An occasional merchant going into a different community was 
not likely to change the habits of his town when he returned. Commerce 
was in its infancy. Rights of citizenship belonged only to actual members 
of a community and strangers were not welcomed. Marriages from one 
community to another were doubtless rare. In Roumania to this day 
in certain districts the individual who leaves his village to marry in 
another loses caste. Each community was a unit by itself and the larger 
cities were walled in and out of touch with the surrounding territory. 
But it was precisely from these larger centers of population that the new 
language had to assert its influence, and before the lines radiating from 
one such nucleus would meet with those emanating from another, cen- 
turies might pass, and dialects in the strictest sense of the term might 
have been developed. 

Gradually in the course of the centuries the whole area of the country 
was colonized and the speech boundaries of the various districts came 
together. But their contact was gradual, and in its process differences 
of one kind or another were worn away. Certain speech phenomena of 
one region found points of least resistance in the language of its neighbor, 
and formed entering wedges through which they spread beyond their 
original territory. As the result the boundaries overlap, all traces of the 


original division are destroyed, and the modern student of dialects can 
see only individual speech phenomena but no dialects in the proper sense 
of the term. 

Systematic utilization of these considerations has not been very 
decided. Before Grober's article appeared, Tourtoulon and Bringuier 
had attempted in 1876 to establish the limit between the French and 
Provengal. Its publication largely prompted the establishment of the 
theory of dialects discussed in the earlier portion of this paper. Other 
lines of demarcation of which an outline has been attempted lie between 
the Wallonian and Lorraine, between Burgundy and Franche Comte, 
between the Catalan and Provengal, and between the Provengal and the 
dialect of Piedmont. None of these have met a favorable reception. 
Two later titles, however, should be singled out, of which the second 
is particularly important because it attacks the problem on the basis of 
the historical conception outlined by Grober. The first of these was 
published by Simon in the Melanges Wallons in 1892 on the subject of the 
boundary between the Picard and Wallonian in Belgium. Here we 
meet with a new conception of the term 'speech boundary.' The limit 
between the two dialects is described not as a sharp and definite line but 
as a zone having a breadth of fifteen kilometers at its widest point, 
within which the boundaries of five speech phenomena absent or present 
in the two dialects in question cross and overlap. Gillieron answered 
that the results are the best proof of the accuracy of the theory which the 
author wished to overthrow, but on the other hand a German scholar, 
by the name of Horning, an undisputed authority in dialect investigations, 
accepted it in an article "Ueber Dialektgrenzen im Romanischen" (publ. 
1893) Z. f. rom. Phil. XVII, pp. 160 ff., and tried to show in an exceeding- 
ly thoughtful and scholarly discussion of the whole problem, that speech 
boundaries in the nature of things must be just such zones, as Simon 
had found in the district which he had studied. 

Since then the theoretical discussion of the problem has rested, and 
the final answer to the question is left to the future. But the investiga- 
tion of the variations of speech in the Romanic territory has gone on 
apace and important contributions to dialectology have been published. 
The investigation has been particularly systematic in France, due to the 
untiring energy of Gillieron, without question one of the keenest of 
modern dialectologists. 

In response to the suggestions contained in the address of Gaston 
Paris, cited in the earlier part of this paper, Gillieron conceived the idea 
of the publication of an atlas, devoted to the forms of speech current 
within the political boundaries of France, and giving an accurate picture 


of present conditions. The plan was gigantic and the difficulties almost 
insuperable, but Gillieron has been able to meet them ; and the Atlas, now 
in course of publication, when completed will form a lasting monument 
of scholarship and patient devotion. In a work of such magnitude it 
is impossible within a single lifetime to achieve completeness in all details. 
But what it was necessary to exclude in quantity and minuteness of 
detail is compensated by the keenness of perception, and the accurate 
knowledge of dialect problems. Gillieron was not a novice in such 
investigations. Beginning with the study of his native speech in Latin 
Switzerland, he had gradually extended his observation to the rest of 
France, and became an undisputed authority in questions of this kind. 

Several things he saw clearly when he outlined the plans for the 
collection of the material for the speech atlas: (i) That it would be 
impossible to visit and investigate the speech of every village or hamlet 
in France. (2) That only salient features of the speech of the localities 
included could be represented in the Atlas. (3) That the gathering of 
the material, if the result is to be uniform, must be undertaken by the 
same individual, who must be trained especially for that particular 

The first problem was to outline the plan of the work geographically. 
Since it was impossible to visit the thirty-seven thousand villages and 
cities in France, it became necessary to select according to a definite plan. 
Concentric circles to the number of ten were therefore drawn on a map 
of France about a point as nearly as possible in the center, and these 
were divided into ten equal sections by drawing five radiating diameters 
at equal distances through the center to the outermost circle. Each of 
the ten equal sections thus obtained was given a definite numbering, 
the first from one to one hundred, the second from one hundred to two 
hundred and so on, so that in all a first choice of one thousand villages 
or hamlets was thus agreed upon. Each of those selected received its 
number, starting from the center. The section holding the numbers from 
one to one hundred contains those from one to ten within the first circle, 
those from ten to twenty in the second, those from ninety to a hundred in 
the tenth circle. When this general outline was complete a further and 
final selection of six hundred and ninety-three out of the possible thousand 
towns and villages was decided upon as the places to which the investiga- 
tion should be limited, and here the judgment of Gillieron was naturally 
the all important element. The places thus selected were in the next 
place entered upon a blank map of France not by their names but by 
their numbers, since the orthography of the name would, or might, 
interfere with the linguistic trait which each map is intended to illustrate. 


The purpose of the Atlas being to furnish speech maps, the more imper- 
sonal the map itself can be made, the more definite will the phenomena in 
question stand out. 

The material to be utilized in the investigation in the next place was 
supplied by Gillieron himself. His previous studies in this line made it 
possible for him to construct a questionary calculated to set off the form 
of language in any one of the six hundred and ninety-three centers to be 
investigated. Three types of questions were included in this list: (i) 
Isolated words, whose pronunciation would establish the laws of phonetic 
development. (2) Words known to vary as to form or suffix in different 
parts of France and capable therefore of showing the variation of the 
popular vocabulary. (3) Simple phrases illustrating morphological and 
syntactical habits. The items included in these various categories are 
by no means complete ; indeed, Gillieron himself was the first to recognize 
this fact (he calls the Atlas une modest e ehauche, "a modest sketch") 
and in the course of the investigation he proceeded to enlarge the scope 
of the questions, particularly with refernce to the second of the three 
categories just enumerated. It is in the nature of such investigations 
that the wisest judgment follows the completion of the work, and if 
Gillieron were to begin anew, no doubt many new points of investigation 
would be added, and the accumulated information would be largely 
increased. However these omissions do not detract in the least from 
the value of what the Atlas actually brings. As it stands it is a veritable 
mine of information for speech variation in France, and the accretions 
to our knowledge of speech already gained from it are merely a promise 
of what we shall obtain in the future. 

While Gillieron planned and directed the work, the actual labor of 
carrying it out was accomplished by his colaborer Edmond, a man 
endowed with remarkable qualities of observation and an ear keen to 
detect the slightest variations in sound. The labor of collecting this 
vast material in the whole of France occupied four years, during which 
M. Edmond travelled with note-book in hand from one place to another, 
singling out the person or persons calculated to furnish the desired 
information most accurately, and as soon as this work was accomplished, 
another was begun. With reference to the method of procedure, several 
features should be especially emphasized, (i) The itinerary of M. Ed- 
mond was carefully planned and arranged so as to neutralize the effects of 
pre-conceived notions or impressions of speech variation. The line of 
travel represents a zig-zag across France, so that often months passed 
before he reappeared in the proximity of a region already examined. 
(2) The material gathered was immediately dispatched to headquarters. 


SO that all temptation to compare the new with the old was made 
impossible. (3) The answers were noted in a uniform phonetic 
transcription, and for any given locality they represent, as it were, a 
snapshot photograph of the condition of the language, and these photo- 
graphs were not worked up or corrected. They represent the 
instantaneous impression of a skilled observer. Their evident cohesion 
when put together to picture the language of the country as a whole 
is the best guarantee of the accuracy of method and observation, but 
Gillieron is emphatic in his statement that the faults which the maps 
may contain (perfection in a work of this nature is doubly impossible) 
are not due to critical revision of the material, nor to the insinuating 
influence which the impressions gained in one locality might have in 
forming those sought in another. 

The work of publishing this tremendous undertaking has proceeded 
without interruption since its beginning. Thirty-three fascicules, each 
containing fifty maps thus aggregating sixteen hundred and fifty in all 
have been published thus far, and the end is in sight. Thirty-five 
fascicules will complete the work as planned. 

Each of these maps gives a picture of a single phenomenon of 
language, in phonology or morphology or syntax, or semasiology, and 
often the latter are the most important and illuminating. The work of 
exploiting the material given in them has already begun, and it will be 
interesting to outline the method followed and the results obtained in 
some of these studies. Their publication has imposed a new task upon 
the editors of linguistic journals, in as much as they are usually accom- 
panied by maps showing by colored areas the extent and relation of the 
phenomena under investigation. 

The problems taken up in these studies are among the most funda- 
mental, and as a matter of fact take up the whole difficult question of 
the transformation of Latin into the modern neo-latin speech forms 
from a new and larger point of view. It is the geography of speech 
phenomena and its relation to the history of neo-latin colonization and 
civilization which has come into the foreground. And the most suggest- 
ive work along this line, because it opens up the largest vistas and 
because it is truly creative, is that of Gillieron himself, published in con- 
nection with Roques, one of the very keenest of the younger Romanic 
scholars in Paris. 

To understand the fundamental nature of this work it is imperative 
to outline briefly what would appear to be the natural conception of the 
growth of Romanic speech forms, and which as a matter of fact has 
determined and largely continues to determine the general attitude of all 



Students of Romanic dialectology. If we think of Latin as a natural 
organism transplanted from its native habitat into a new surrounding 
and there left to develop unhampered along the line prescribed by its 
inherent tendencies and the new influences to which it was subjected, it 
follows that we ought to be able to outline the particular life history of 
any patois from its present form back to the moment when the Latin 
settlers occupied the place, provided we are able to collect the material 
which will allow us to construct this history. In other words, the speech 
of any given locality should represent in uninterrupted and gradual 
alteration the Latin that was brought to it. 

In order to outline the answer which Gillieron and Roques give to 
this assertion, we shall outline briefly two of their studies published 
within recent years. Both appeared in the Revue de phililogie frangaise. 
The first, which may be found in vol. XX, pp. Ii8 flf, bears the suggestive 
title of Mirages phonetiques. The mirage which is studied is the con- 
tinuity of phonetic transmission. The particular will-o-the-wisp which 
is to be captured in the development of Latin cl and // in forty patois 
geographically and socially related, and nine vocables, representing as 
many maps, are studied. Of these words six (clarinette, clarte, cle, 
cloches, clou, clouer) show cl, and three (fleurs, flamme, fleau) contain //. 
In the former group clarinette is, in a way, the pivot of the argument. 
The word must be of recent origin, and its introduction can not antedate 
the construction of the instrument which it describes ; in the latter, fleau 
occupies a similar position of importance. At first sight the word 
should be as old as the object for which it stands and the agricultural 
event of regular occurrence for which the object is needed. However 
thrashing with a flail, i.e., an object consisting of a handle, to the end of 
which a stouter piece of wood is attached so as to swing freely, is not the 
method used everywhere for this purpose. In some districts a simple 
stick is used, in others still other methods are followed ; fleau often means 
not the whole instrument but only the articulated end. In its present 
meaning fleau is therefore not unlike clarinette as far as its history in 
any given locality is concerned. Now it is well known that cl and // in 
their history coincide. They develop into kl fl, ky fy, > ?/ > ?y > sy. 

o o 

If phonetic processes are as consistent as we imagine them to be, and 
if the lines of transmission from the Latin to the modern forms are 
unbroken, we might expect to find variations of sounds as we pass from 
one patois to another, but within the same patois the words of the same 
category should all show the same form, only clarinette and fleau might 
stand apart, since they were accepted at later periods. Now a study of 
the words shows no such regularity in fact the only thing that can be 


observed is absolute confusion. A few patois have uniformity of all the 
words at one stage or another of the phonetic sequence. If clarinette or 
fleau stood aloof, the trust in the absoluteness of phonetic law would be 
conserved, but since uniformity draws along words that should show 
different treatment, it is evident that the result is artificial. If clearly 
recent words may disguise their age, there is no guarantee that the form 
of older words is any more indigenous to the locality where they are 
found. Furthermore this apparent regularity is decidedly the exception 
in the patois studied. Only eight of the forty show it. In the remaining 
thirty-two we meet irregularity of varying degree, sometimes one, 
sometimes two or more words depart from the rest. We may find our 
words falling into two or three groups, or again a single word may exist 
in two forms of which one will be felt to be older than the other. The 
only conclusion to be drawn from this confusion is the one suggested by 
the title. Phonetic regularity and continuity of transmission is a mirage. 
The patois studied have borrowed for the words in question one from the 
other, or rather the words have migrated and spread and not one of them 
can be said to represent for its present form and habitat an unbroken line 
of transmission since the Latin invasion. It follows that if this conclusion 
must be accepted in one category it may be equally true in others, where 
similar crossing and confusion prevails. And since this is the case every- 
where, we have no guarantee that even the simplest vocables or phenom- 
ena in any given village or patois are actually indigenous to that locality. 
The second of the studies referred to {Rev. de phil. fr. XXII 268) 
attacks more particularly the problem of the spread of a single 
phenomenon. It is based upon the forms of the names of the days of the 
week, comprising seven maps. These names are composed of two 
elements, the substantive dies and the name of a planet in the genitive 
depending upon it: dies Lunae, Martis, Mercurii. Taking dies Martis 
as a type, three forms correspond to it within the limits of France : mardi 
in the North, dimars and mars in the South, which pass gradually over 
into Spanish martes, but separate the Italian martedi from its close 
French parallel mardi. The usual explanation has been to posit three 
Latin types, martis dies, dies martis and martis as points of departure for 
the modern forms. However, the study in question shows that this 
position is clearly a begging of the question. Latin knew only one 
formula, Martis dies from which the French and Italian spring directly. 
Dimars is due to a Romanic rearrangement of the two elements in the 
word, due to Romanic principles of syntax, which tends to place the 
principal idea before the one which it governs. This change of position 
could, however, be effected only where di lived independently with the 


meaning of day, which is true of Provengal and Spanish but not in 
French and ItaHan, where this idea is expressed by jour and giorno. For 
the same reason di might also drop out altogether, leaving mars and 
Spanish martes. 

The article then takes up the study of the s, which has disappeared 
in French mardi, but is present in dimars and martes. The O. Fr. knew 
marsdi with s, but its position between consonants gave it little resistance 
and it dropped early. In the South, however, the ^ has lived and even 
spread to those names where it was originally absent, as dies lunae = d% 
lunes. However, this letter is not present everywhere to the same extent. 
While there is a considerable area in the extreme South where it is 
present, there are smaller areas on the northern border of this territory, 
where this ^ is present in some of the names in question, but not in all, and 
these names are not the same in all localities; and there follows a con- 
siderable zone lying still further north where the southern order of 
elements (di-mar) is maintained, but where the .s has uniformly dropped, 
as in the large northern area, where the order of elements is reversed, 
as shown in mardi. The conclusion is that the influence of the northern 
type mardi is gradually spreading and pressing southward. Its present 
extent is larger than it was formerly, for dimars is found in Old French 
and there is at least one remnant of this type preserved to this day in 
a village in the extreme north near Liege. But with this single exception 
this type has given way in the North to the form mardi, which we can 
see crowding toward the South at the present time. The point of least 
resistance is the old genitive s. This has already disappeared in the large 
zone just described and it shows great weakness and vacillation in the 
districts bordering upon that zone on the south. In all probability these 
districts will drop it as the zone on the north has already done, and the 
existence of the southern type will be still further increased. 

It seemed of interest to analyze this study thus in detail, for it 
illustrates the kind of problems which the publication of Gillieron's Atlas 
has called forth and the method which must be applied to their solution. 
These studies are in the first place concerned with linguistic geography, 
and the ultimate result of this new line of investigation can at present 
not be foreseen. This much, however, is evident, that these studies are 
vital in importance and that they are likely to overturn some of the 
theories which at present appear to be fundamental in Romanic Philology. 

The bearing of these investigations upon the question outlined in an 
earlier part of this discussion concerning the nature and definition of 
dialects is not entirely definite. It is perfectly clear that dialects in the 
older sense of the word do not exist at present. We can discern only 



areas of individual phenomena. But this does not prove that speech- 
boundaries in the larger sense have not been obliterated in the course of 
centuries by the gradual spread of individual linguistic phenomena. To 
find the answer to this question another method must be followed and 
evidence of another kind must be gathered. The history of Latin 
colonization must be investigated in detail for the purpose of discovering, 
if possible, the various centers from which the latinizing influence spread 
over the Romanic territory and the lines of least resistance along which 
it moved. The need of this study has already been clearly seen, and its 
possibilities and importance for the furtherance of dialect investigations 
were pointed out by Morf in an address delivered in August of the year 
1908 before the fourth section of the International Congress of the 
Historical Sciences (Bull, de Dialectologie Romane I, 1-17) held in 
Berlin. Time does not permit us to analyze this most suggestive study. 
Suffice it to say that the author clearly sees the new direction which 
Romanic dialectology has taken, and that he makes it evident that the 
study of the future will have to take into account much more than has 
been done in the past the geography of the neo-latin countries, commercial 
and physical and political, of the period during which the conquest took 
place. Without question its spread was gradual and the language found 
its easiest progress along the roads which joined the various centers of 
commercial and political prominence. If it is possible to discover the 
evidences of its gradual growth at all, they should be found along these 
arteries through which the new national life began to flow. 

Thus far in this discussion the attention has been centered upon the 
development of dialect studies in France, but the other Latin countries 
have received similar attention. Under the direction of Ascoli the speech 
forms of Northern Italy have for years been receiving systematic atten- 
tion, and the results of this study have been collected and published in the 
Archivio Glottologico, which has thus become a mine of dialect informa- 
tion. The Latin portions of Switzerland have been similarly worked over, 
and the dialects of Italy, Spain and Roumania have not been neglected. 
But much remains still to be done, and the publication of Gillieron's 
Atlas has made it clear that the essential problems of the growth of speech 
must be studied collectively and that there is grave danger that the 
necessary material for this study will disappear, unless concerted action 
can take steps to preserve it. The uncultured and native forms of speech 
are losing ground every day before the inroads of the schools and the 
literary language. Irretrievable damage has already been wrought, but 
much valuable material still remains accessible, provided an immediate 
effort is made to collect it. Thus the influence of the French school of 


dialectology has been vital and productive, and there is evidence of a 
renewed enthusiasm and great vitality in this fundamentl division of 
linguistic research. 

A dialect atlas has been published for Switzerland by Gauchat, and 
another for Roumania by Weigand, and dialect studies fill the pages 
of our scientific magazines. The most important development, however, 
for the systematic exploitation of this subject is the formation of the 
International Society of Romanic Dialectology accomplished during the 
year 1908, which has just begun to publish its studies in the Revue de 
Dialectologie Roman e (since January, 1909), devoted to longer articles, 
and the Bulletin de Dialectologie Romane, in which society, information, 
bibliography and matters of more general interest are systematically 
collected. The address of Morf already referred to opens the Bulletin, 
and thus lays down, as it were, the method to be followed in the work of 
the new Society. 

Its organization is ambitious and unique. The plan was conceived, 
if I am not mistaken, by two young dialectologists, Schadel, a young 
German scholar, and Saroihandy, a Frenchman, who met in the Pyrenees, 
both intent upon the study of the Patois spoken upon the slopes of this 
mountain chain. Impressed with the fact that the dialects are rapidly 
disappearing, they conceived the idea of organizing a large society, whose 
object it should be to preserve as much of this material as is still available, 
and conscious of the fundamental importance of this study they resolved 
to organize this study wherever Latin in any modern form lives as the 
spoken language. 

The circular which they sent out in 1907 said in part as follows : 

"The popular speech of the neo-latin countries is in many districts 
on the point of disappearing before the overpowering influence of the 
official language, and it is high time to gather and study them on the 
basis of phonetics and the principles of modern linguistic science . . . 
Much work has already been done, but if a great portion of these speech 
forms are to be preserved from absolute oblivion, if the wealth of their 
sounds and forms, their modes of expression and vocabulary are to be 
utilized for the scientific study of language, there is much that still remains 
untouched . . . Here the duty of the new International Society of 
Romanic Dialectology begins . . . But the magnitude of the work 
surpasses the strength of any small group of philologians and dialectolo- 
gists. The interest and support of all friends of art, language and 
civilization must be enlisted, of governments and local authorities and 
of the benefactors of science, and that wherever a Romanic language 
is spoken from Spanish America to Roumania, from the Mediterranean 
to Canada ..." 



The response to this call surpassed all expectations. By January 
1909 two hundred and seven favorable answers had been received, and 
the plan of the Society could be definitely outlined. A general division of 
seventeen sections was made, representing as many countries each under 
the direction of a scholar known for his interest in dialectic investigations. 
Thus Italy is under the supervision of Salvioni, Switzerland under that 
of Gauchat, Roques directs the studies in France, Menendez-Pidal those 
in Spain, Leite de Vasconcellos those in Portugal, Schadel those in 
Germany, and Geddes, well known for his investigations in Canadian 
French, those in America. The list is not yet complete, and additions 
will shortly be announced for Spanish America, which is so far not 
represented at all, and other regions that might offer similar interest. 
The general direction of the society is in the hands of the Secretary, 
Schadel Privat docent at the University of Halle, the publications already 
cited are printed in Brussels, and no restrictions are prescribed as to the 
language in which the contributions must be written. All the Romanic 
languages, together with German and English, will be admitted. 

The new Revue will thus become without question one of the most 
important of our Romanic periodicals. The numbers that have appeared 
so far are dignified and scholarly, and promise well for the future. But 
it is with considerable pride that we can point to the fact that one of the 
first articles in the series was written in America. It is a study of New 
Mexican Spanish by Espinosa, Professor in the University of New 

My outline of the present status of Romanic dialectology may stop 
here. Though undoubtedly the most important division of pure 
linguistics, it is also the most difficult. Situation, attitude and training 
are indispensable elements in the make up of the successful investigator, 
and most of us are destined to sit by and watch the work that is carried 
on by others. But there is no question that a new era has dawned for 
Romanic dialectology, and we may confidently expect important results 
in the future. 



(Translated by Melville B. Anderson) 

' y^"^ UR Father, Thou who dwellest high in Heaven, 

I I Not circumscrib'd, but by the love immense 

V^y That to Thy first creation Thou hast given, 

Prais'd be Thy name and Thy omnipotence 
By all created beings, emulous 
To render thanks to Thy sweet effluence. 

O let Thy Kingdom's peace descend on us, 
For with all reach of soul that in us lies, 
We cannot win it, if it come not thus. 

As Thine own holy angels sacrifice 

Their will to Thee, while they Hosanna sing, 
So let men do with penitential sighs. 

This day to us our daily manna bring, 

For in this desert rough, in utter dearth, 
We backward go when most endeavoring. 

As we forgive to everyone on earth 

The wrongs we bore, so graciously do Thou 
Forgive, and do not look upon our worth. 

Put not to proof before our ancient foe 
Our power of will, so easily undone, 
But liberate from him who spurs it so. 

We make, dear Lord, this final orison 

Not for ourselves, because there is no need. 
But all for dear ones left behind us yon." 

Beseeching for themselves and us good speed, 
Those weary shadows thus pursued their way 
'Neath loads like those which oft from dreams proceed, 

And under divers burdens stagger'd they 

All round that foremost cornice of the hill. 
Purging the soilure of the world away. 

If good for us be spoken yonder still, 

What may be done and said for them down here 
By those who have a good root to their will ? 

Surely we ought to give them aid to clear 

The stains they carried hence, that pure and light 
They issue forth upon the starry sphere. 




Raymond Macdonald Alden 

THE doctrine of poetry in the Renaissance and the succeeding neo- 
classical period might be briefly described as the extension and 
appHcation of Aristotle's doctrine of the imitative and yet ideal 
nature of art. How the poet may at once remain true to the facts of 
experience and to those larger truths by fidelity to which he transcends the 
work of the historian, this was the great problem of the Poetics, and it 
is that which still lives in the most recent contentions respecting the limits 
of realism and of romance. In the neo-classical period one of the most 
influential of the doctrines which was developed in the attempt to solve the 
problem was that of vraisemhlance or verisimilitude. It is the purpose of 
this paper to show something of the origins and applications of this dogma 
in the seventeenth century. It has often been referred to by those who 
have made excursions into the history of criticism, but usually with much 
more of scorn for its unhappy application to particular poets than with 
a sincere effort to understand it from the standpoint of the age of 

The sources of the doctrine are found in three familiar passages in 
Aristotle, in the ninth, fifteenth, and twenty-fifth chapters of the Poetics. 

"It is not the function of the poet to relate what has happened, but 
what may happen, what is possible according to the law of probability 
or necessity. ... By the universal I mean how a person of given 
character will on occasion speak or act, according to the law of probability 
or necessity ; and it is this universality at which poetry aims in the names 
she attached to the personages." 

"In respect of character . . . the second thing to aim at is propriety. 
There is a type of manly valor ; but for a woman to be valiant or terrible 
would be inappropriate. ... As in the structure of the plot, so too in 
the portraiture of character, the poet should always aim either at the 
necessary or the probable. Thus a person of a given character should 
speak or act in a given way, by the rule either of necessity or of 
probability, just as this event should follow that by necessary or probable 

"The impossible must be justified by reference to artistic require- 
ments, or to the higher reality, or to received opinion. With respect to 



the requirements of art, a probable impossibility is to be preferred to a 
thing improbable and yet possible. Again, it may be impossible that there 
should be men such as Zeuxis painted. *Yes,' we say, 'but the impossible 
is the higher thing, for the ideal type must surpass the reality.' To 
justify the irrational, we appeal to what is commonly said to be. 
In addition to which, we urge that the irrational sometimes does not 
violate reason ; just as *it is probable that a thing may happen contrary 
to probability.' "1 

The Italian commentators on Aristotle, Maggi, Castelvetro, and 
Denores, for example^ made much of these passages, emphasizing the 
requirement of the verisimile in the treatment of both plot and character. 
But it is not till we reach the French treatises of the next century that 
we discover the full possibilities of the doctrine. One of the earliest of 
these, V Academic de VArt Poetique, by "le Sieur de Deimier," (i6io) 
introduces us at once to the rationalistic interpretation of Aristotle's 
"probability" which was so long to dominate criticism. The laws of 
poetry, we are told, oblige poets to write not only true things (here the 
probable seems to narrozv the limitation set by the true, it will be 
observed, instead of widening it), but things 'vraisemblables' ; never 
those impossible, exceeding what one can imagine. In this respect even 
Homer errs : he makes the stones thrown by Hector and Diomed 
incredibly big ; and Ariosto also, when he says that the lances of certain 
warriors went so high as to touch the sphere of fire and come down 
ablaze, something quite contrary to "les regies astronomiques."^ 

In 1623 Jean Chapelain, writing his singular eulogistic preface to 
Marino's Adone, took up the matter from the other side of the question, 
representing truth as altogether abandoned by poetry. The ancients, 

"jugeant que la verite des choses (suppose qu'elles despendissent du 
hazard) nuisoit par leurs fortuits et incertains evenemens a leur intention 
si louable, tous d'un accord ont banny la verite de leur Parnasse, les uns 
composans tout de caprice, sans y rien mesler qui fust d'elle, les autre se 
contentans de la changer et alterer en ce qui faisoit contre leur idee." . . . 
"Ainsi done il suffira un poeme qu'il soit vraysemblable pur estre 
approuve, a cause de la facile impression que la vraysemblance fait sur 
I'imagination, laquelle se captive et se laisse mener par ce moyen a I'inten- 
tion du poete." 

'Butcher's translation; Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art, pp. 35, 

53-55, 10S-107. 

'Cf. Liber de Poetica (by Maggi and Bartholomseus the Lombard), 1550, 
pp. 130, 198; La Poetica d' Aristotle (by Castelvetro), ed. 1576. p. 400; the Poetica 
of Denores, 1588, B 14. For these references I am indebted to my colleague. 
Professor Colbert Searles. 

'Chapters xvi, xvii; pp. 500, 504, 537. 


But the great opportunity for applying the doctrine of vraisemblance, 
together with other favorite theories of neo-classicism, came in connection 
with "la querelle du Cid:' The point upon which Corneille's play chiefly 
turned, the conflict of emotions in the heart of a woman who loves the 
slayer of her father, one would think to be a conspicuous example of the 
kind of "probability contrary to probability" which Aristotle had noted, 
as his readers in this period very well knew. But not so Scudery, 
who in his attack on the Cid in his Observations (1637), first laid down 
the law of vraisemblance as the chief of those governing the dramatist, 
quoted Aristotle against "improbable possibilities," and declared that the 
Cid violated the law, since under no circumstances is it probable (even 
though known to have occurred) that a woman should marry her father's 
murderer.* And the Academy sustained the charge. In its Sentimens 
(1638), voiced by Chapelain, it was admitted that Aristotle gave room for 
an "extraordinary" kind of probability, as when (for example) a strong 
man is conquered f but this does not permit us to go too far. It would 
not permit the poet to represent one who had always lived honorably 
as committing a crime ; and it would not permit the Chimene of the drama 

*Gaste: La Querelle du Cid, p. 77, 

'The statement made by Chapelain that Aristotle recognizes two kinds of 
probability, ordinary and extraordinary, is repeated by Mesnardiere (1640; sec 
below), but is of course inaccurate. It appears to have been derived from 
Castelvetro's comment on Aristotle's words in chapter xviii of the Poetics: "... 
when the clever rogue, like Sisyphus, is outwitted, or the brave villain defeated. 
Such an event is, moreover, probable in Agathon's sense of the word: 'it is 
probable,' he says, 'that many things should happen contrary to probability.*" 
(Butcher, p. 69.) Castelvetro's comment is as follows: "Sono duo maniere di 
verisimili, I'una di quelli, che rappresentano le verita, le quali avengono per lo 
piu secondo certo corso, & I'altra di quelli, che rappresentano le verita, che 
alcuna volta traviano dall' usato corso. Come, e verisimile, che uno astuto 
malvagio inganni & non sia ingannato, & che un possente vinca, & non sia 
vinto, perchio che veramente noi veggiamo per lo piu avenire cosi, & e anchora 
verisimile, che uno astuto malvagio, volendo ingannare, sia ingannato alcuna 
volta, & che un possente, volendo vincere, sia vinto alcuna volta. Si che 
I'un verisimile riguarda I'assai volte della verita, & I'altro le poche volte della 
verita, & cosi I'uno, come I'altro e verisimile. Ma il secondo per la rarita, e piu 
maraviglioso, & e detto essere verisimile fuori del verisimile pure per la rarita, & 
perche si torce dalla strada del primo verisimile," (part, xx.) Castelvetro's 
examples of the two sorts of probability seem largely to have suggested those of 
later critics; though (as Professor Searles kindly brings to my attention) Maggi 
had already made a similar variation upon Aristotle's "brave villain defeated": 
"verisimile non esse sapientem decipi nee strenuum superari." (De poetica, part, 



to become reconciled to Roderigo, even though the Chimene of history 
was so reconciled. "Toutes les verites ne sont pas bonnes pour le theatre." 
The poet had better aher history rather than present "verites monstru- 
euses ;" for his art, ''proposant I'idee universelle des choses, . . . espure des 
defaux et des irregularites particulieres que I'histoire par la severite de 
ses loix est contrainte d'y souflfrir."^ Aristotle's veritable doctrine, of 
course, but with an application which would surely have caused any 
Greek to stare. 

In La Poetique of Mesnardiere (1640) we find not only a general 
exposition of Aristotelian vraisemblance (in chapter iii, on Tragedy), 
but a special application to the treatment of character by the poet (chapter 
viii, on Moeurs). This form of the doctrine was the result of a 
coalescence of the second of the passages from the Poetics quoted above 
("thus a person of a given character should speak or act in a given way") 
with an equally familiar passage from Horace De Arte Poetica, the New 
Testament of classical orthodoxy, as Aristotle's treatise was the Old: 

^tatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mores, 
Mobilibusque decor naturis dandus et annis; 

(vv. 156-157) 

with the succeeding verses describing the four ages of man. Professor 
Spingarn has given a brief but sound and suggestive account of the 
inferences drawn by the Renaissance critics from this blended 
Aristotelian-Horatian precept, pointing out how they "led to a hardening 
and crystallization of character in the classic drama."^ Of this tendency 
Mesnardiere's discussion is a remarkable example. The moeurs of 
tradegy may be determined, he tells us, by age, fortune, and station. A 
king should be courageous and prudent, a tyrant cruel and perfidious 
(what if a tyrant, one cannot help inquiring, should be also a king?). 
The element of nationality gives similar generalizations: Frenchmen 
are to be represented as "hardis, courtois, indiscrets, genereux, incon- 
stans, prodigues, peu laborieux, polis, legers dans leurs amours, impatiens 
et temeraires ;" Englishmen as infidelles, parresseux, vaillans, cruels, 

La Querelle du Cid, p. 365 f . 

^Literary Criticism in the Renaissance, page 86. But Spingarn refers only to 
the "tentative distinctions of character formulated by Aristotle in the Rhetoric*' 
and remarks on the misconception which led to "the attempt to transpose them to 
the domain of poetry." The passage above cited from chapter xv of the Poetics 
is evidence that the neo-classicists were not wholly without warrant for their 


amateurs de la proprete, ennemis des etrangers, altiers et interressez." 
Although there are individual exceptions, the poet will do well to stick to 
general truth, and "il ne faut jamais introduire sans necessite absolue, ni 
une fille vaillante, ni une femme s<;avante, ni un valet judicieux. . . . 
C'est chocquer directement la vraisemblance ordinaire." The same 
doctrine is echoed by the abbe d'Aubignac (La Pratique du Theatre, 
1657) : "Quand un roy parle sur la scene, il faut qu'il parle en roy." 
(p. 95.) And Boileau's summary of the matter will be readily recalled: 

"Des siecles, de pays, etudiez les moeurs ; 
Les climats font souvent les diverses humeurs. 
Gardez done de donner, ainsi que dans Clelie, 
L'air ni I'esprit frangois a I'antique Italic." 
{L'Art Poetique, iii, 113-116)" 

Limitations of space make it necessary to mention later critics in a 
still more cursory fashion. In Rapin's Reflexions sur la Poetique d'Aris- 
tote (1674) is a conventional discussion of the relation of the probable 
to the marvelous, both elements being characteristic of poetry ; incidental 
to this is a definition of le vraisemblable : it is ''tout ce qui est conforme 
a I'opinion du public. "^^ Dacier, in the ninth chapter of his commentary 
on the Poetics (1692), treats the same matter, but without originality. 
Perrault, incidental to his attack upon the sacredness of the ancient poets 
(Paralelle des Anciens et des Modernes, 1692), like Deimier, finds Homer 
erring against the law of probability. The poet permits Achilles and 
Agamemnon to revile each other far too impudently; kings and captains 
were surely never so brutal, or, if they were, such things have no place 
in a poem, "oil les choses se mettent, non point comme elles peuvent, mais 
comme elles doivent arriver." (Tome iii, p. 49.) Thus the century ends 
with the devotion to ideal vraisemblance unimpaired.^^ 

"pp. 120-124, 137. 

"Earlier in the canto, too, Boileau summarizes the more general form of the 
doctrine : 

"Jamais au spectateur n'offrez d'incroyable ; 

Le vrai peut quelquefois n'etre pas vraisemblable. 

Une merveille absurde est pour moi sans appas ; 

L'esprit n'est point emu de ce qu'il ne croit pas." (47-50.) 

" It is interesting to note that Vavasseur, who attacked Rapin's work in some 
Remarques (found in his Opera Omnia, Amsterdam, 1709), objects to Rapin's 
admitting la verite as an element having any place in poetry, and cites Aristotle 
as permitting only le vraysemblable. (p. 686.) 

^ Corneille's discussion of the subject has been omitted, since its only 
characteristic feature is a complete misunderstanding of Aristotle, commonly 




A special application of the doctrine, even more influential than that 
having to do with types of character, was that concerned in the law of the 
unities of time and place. This has been more carefully studied than any 
of the other aspects of the subject, and our present purpose will only 
admit of indicating briefly the close connection between the general theory 
of probability and the discussion of the unities. For the early Renais- 
sance critics this has been pointed out by Professor Spingarn (Criticism 
in the Renaissance, pp. 93-96) ; how the notion of the verisimile, in the 
case of the drama, became that of an illusion, by which the spectator was 
to be made to seem to see the very events depicted by the poet." The abbe 
d'Aubignac, greatest of the French authorities on the subject, bases his 
teaching on the same theory. If the action appears in several places "il 
rendra son poeme ridicule par le defaut de la vraysemblance qui doit en 
faire le principal fondement." (p. 122.) And to represent a prince as 
born, married, etc., in a single play, Hke one of Hardy's, is to require us to 
imagine him marrying one "qui vraysemblablement n'estoit nee que depuis 
I'ouverture du theatre." (p. 150.)^"^ 

Turning now to England, it is scarcely necessary to say that we find 
no such wealth of critical discussion. Not a single complete treatise on 
Aristotle and his Poetics vexed the liberties of English poets during the 
period when their brethren on the Continent were so weighted with 
instruction. But these continental treatises were of course read and 

attributed to the dramatist's desire to square his own practice with the authority 
of the critic's law. Corneille takes "necessary" as opposed to "probable," defining 
it as "le besoin du poete pour arriver a son but;" that is, when the poet finds it 
too hard to keep within the law of vroisemblance, he takes refuge in necessity! 
The various remarks of Corneille on our subject will be found in the first and 
second of his Discours (OEuvres, ed. Marty- Laveaux, tome i, pp. 14-15, 36, 81-97). 
It may be worth while to quote his definition of vraisemblance : "une chose mani- 
festement possible dans la bienseance, et qui n'est ni manifestement vraie ni 
manifestement fausse." (p. 88.) 

" See his quotation from Scaliger's Poetics, to the effect that haud verisimile 
est that within a brief space of time (six or eight hours) "a tempest should arise 
and a shipwreck occur," etc. 

"It is the same with Dacier (see his Po'etique d'Aristote, pp. 115-116). On 
the other hand La Motte, in his Discours prefatory to Les Machahies, dared 
to point out that the unities of time and place are more likely to impair 
vraisemblance than to maintain it (CEuvres, ed. 1754, tome iv, p. 38 et seq.) 
(La Motte's argument should be compared with John Dennis's critique on 
Addison's Cato (Remarks on Cato, 171 1) and Dr. Johnson's defence of the Eliza- 
bethan violation of the unities, in his Preface to Shakespeare.) Though this 
interesting rationalist does not fall within our period, I cannot omit to call 
attention to his delightful use of the principle of vraisemblance as an argument 
against the use of verse in the drama (Discours prefatory to (Edipe, ibid. p. 391). 


pondered by the learned in England also, and had their influence upon the 
classical ideal. And when so-called classicism became far more a matter 
of rationalism than of reverence for the past, its representatives found in 
the doctrine of Probability a support for theories the very opposite of 
what Aristotle intended when he set probability over against truth. Thus 
Thomas Hobbes, in his letter to Davenant regarding the latter's Gondibert 
(1650), argued against the romantic excesses of the poets, those who 
exceed "the possibility of nature" in representing "impenetrable armors, 
enchanted castles, invulnerable bodies," and the like; and added: "For 
as truth is the bound of historical, so the resemblance of truth [our old 
friend vraisemblance] is the utmost limit of poetical liberty."^* 

But there was only one English critic who represented the extreme 
formalism of the French school in his attitude toward our subject, and 
he, from his savage and tasteless attacks on the great Elizabethan poets, 
was doomed to be held in lasting contempt. This was Thomas Rymer, 
whose Tragedies of the Last Age (1678)^' exhibits the logical working 
out of the dogma of probability, especially as applied to the types of 
character in the drama, even to a point beyond that attained by any of the 
continental critics. It was Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's Tragedy 
which Rymer found especially significant of the neglect of the study of 
Aristotle's precepts by the Elizabethans.^* "Nothing in nature was ever 
so improbable as we find the whole conduct of this tragedy, so far are 
we from any thing accurate and philosophical as poetry requires." There 
is a king who is utterly unkingly, and a woman who is unwomanly. "I 
question whether in poetry a king can be accessory to a crime;" and 
"tragedy cannot represent a woman without modesty as natural and 
essential to her." These strange utterances will be recognized as 
metamorphoses of Aristotle's "a person of a given character should 
speak or act in a given way."^^ Rymer goes further, and lays down such 

"Spingarn's Critical Essays of the 17th Century, vol. ii, p. 62. 

"Really published 1677. 

" "Aristotle's Treatise of Poetry," he said, "... was perhaps commented upon 
by all the great men in Italy before we well knew, on this side of the Alps, that there 
was such a book in being." (Spingarn's Critical Essays, ii, 207.) 

"Professor Lounsbury, in his account of Rymer (Shakespeare as a Dramatic 
Artist, pp. 227-240), gives an amusing outline of these doctrines, but, unfortunately, 
rather ridicules their external absurdities than seeks to penetrate their real 
character. In particular, he seems to attribute the theory as to the proper character 
of kings in tragedy to a desire on Rymer's part to apply to poetry "the political 
maxim that the king can do no wrong." There is of course no occasion to look 
for any explanation beyond that offered by the historic course of the doctrine we 
have been studying. 


general rules as that "poetical decency will not suffer death to be dealt 
to each other by such persons whom the laws of duel allow not to enter 
the lists together/* and that "poetry will not permit an affront where 
there can be no reparation."^* These conventions remind us of some of 
those practiced on the French stage of the same period, but are set down 
rather more baldly and intolerantly than had been done by any French 
critic.^^ On the other hand, few English dramatists went so far as the 
French in observing any of the neo-classical formalities. But the 
observant student of the drama of the period, in both nations, will not 
fail to see the deadening effect of this conception of probability in the 
treatment of dramatic characters. To this day it impairs the enjoyment 
even of the tragedies of Racine, on the part of those trained to another 
school. If your men and women must move like the men in a game of 
chess, the knight according to one fixed law, the pawn according to 
another there is established a relation to human life quite different from 
that exhibited in the time of Shakespeare on the one hand, and of Victor 
Hugo on the other.^^ Indeed one turns back to Aristotle's treatise, after a 
season with these seventeenth-century disciples of his, and especially to 
that quizzical saying of Agathon's which the master twice quotes with 
approbation (that "it is probable that a thing may happen contrary to 
probability"), as to a stronghold of romanticism. 

In 1679 Dry den published his Preface to Troilus and Cressida, con- 
taining a discussion of "the Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy." He had 
been doing not a little reading in the French critics, notably Rapin, and 
through them had renewed or extended his acquaintance with Aristotle. 
One result of this is found in some remarks on probability. 

"The last quality of the action is, that it ought to be probable, as well 
as admirable and great. 'Tis not necessary that there should be historical 
truth in it, but always necessary that there should be a likeness of truth, 
something that is more than barely possible ; probable being that which 
succeeds, or happens, oftener than it misses. To invent therefore a 
probability, and to make it wonderful, is the most difficult undertaking in 

"Spingarn, ii, 190-195, 199. 

"In 1693 Rymer returned to the subject, introducing into his Short View of 
Tragedy his famous attack on Othello. Nothing is done by Othello "that comports 
with the condition of a general." "But what is most intolerable is lago," a 
villainous soldier. "Horace describes a soldier otherwise: impiger, iracundus, 
inexorabilis, acer." (Spingarn, ii, 273.) Again the complaint has respect to 
vraisemb lance in types of character. 

'In this connection see a significant remark of Spingarn's on the connection 
between the doctrine of versimilitude and the comedy of "humours." (Criticism 
in the Renaissance, p. 88.) 


the art of poetry ; for that which is not wonderful is not great, and that 
which is not probable will not deHght a reasonable audience." (Ker's 
Essays of John Dryden, vol. i, p. 209.) 

This comparison of the probable and the marvelous was doubtless 
suggested by Rapin's discussion of the subject (see on his Reflexions, 
above) ; and it may be that Dryden's rather curious definition of the 
probable is a version of Rapin's "tout ce qui est conforme a I'opinion du 
public." That is to say, instead of Aristotle's probable, that which is 
closely related to the "necessary," which flows from the normal connection 
of things, we have here a merely mathematical probable, which repre- 
sents what people expect because it is the average of experience. It 
would naturally be more difficult to find "the marvelous" in an event 
probable in this latter sense. 

A little later in the essay Dryden takes up the manners of tragedy, 
and with a reference to Horace's Notandi sunt tibi mores makes con- 
ventional observations upon the proprieties of character to be observed 
in the representation of age, sex, and degrees of dignity. 

"Thus, when a poet has given the dignity of a king to one of his 
persons, in all his actions and speeches, that person must discover majesty, 
magnanimity, and jealousy of power, because these are suitable to the 
general manners of a king." (ibid., p. 214.) 

This sounds very Rymer-like, at first reading. But the context 
reveals a diflference. Not only is the principle not applied to the con- 
demnation of characters in dramas "of the last age," but we are presently 
told that a character "cannot be supposed to consist of one particular 
virtue, or vice, or passion only, but 'tis a composition of qualities which 
are not contrary to one another." Falstaflf is instanced as an example 
(and imagine Rymer's opinion of such a soldier!) ; he is at once "a liar 
and a coward, a glutton, and a buflfoon." Still further, the character of 
(Edipus, in Sophocles, shows "the true qualities of a king," but in the 
second of the two plays that bear his name he no longer speaks "in the 
arbitrary tone, but remembers . . . that he is an unfortunate blind old 
man." That it does not occur to Dryden that it is poetically improbable 
that a king should be an unfortunate blind old man, is a striking 
example of the good sense and genuine taste which again and again 
preserved him from blunders through a magnificent inconsistency of 
which the mere theorists were never guilty.^^ 

"The familiarity which may be presumed with Dryden's discussion of the 
unities, in the Essay of Dramatic Poesy and the Defence, makes it doubtful 
whrthcr it need be mentioned here. But I may call attention to the close 


To pass into the eighteenth century is forbidden by our title ; but 
the matter of verisimihtude in types of character runs over the line in 
a way which makes it almost necessary to follow it. John Dennis, in 
his letters On the Genius and Writings of Shakespeare, (1711), shows the 
inheritance of the old doctrine, defending his alteration of the tragedy 
of Coriolanus on this among other grounds. 

"Our author has sometimes made gross mistakes in the characters 
which he has drawn from history, against the equality and conveniency 
of manners of his dramatical persons. Witness Menenius in the following 
tragedy, whom he has made an errant buffoon, which is a great absurdity. 
For he might as well have imagined a grave majestic jack-pudding, as a 
buffoon in a Roman senator. Aufidius, the general of the Volscians, is 
shown a base and a profligate villain." (In Nichol Smith's Eighteenth 
Century Essays on Shakespeare, p. 26.) 

And he expounds with some eloquence the principle on which this 
objection is based, that it is of the very nature of a "fable" (that is, a 
fictitious plot) to satisfy us better than a history, because of the mutual 
dependence of its parts and its exhibition of the true causes of events ; 
this of course being another echo of the Aristotelian discussion of proba- 
bility as a form of ideal truth.^^ 

It is to the everlasting glory of Dr. Samuel Johnson, who as is 

connection beween a famous passage in the reply to Howard, and those which we 
have seen in the French critics applying the doctrine of the vraisemblable to the 
unities. "There is a greater vicinity in nature betwixt two rooms than betwixt two 
houses; betwixt two houses, than betwixt two cities; and so of the rest. Reason, 
therefore, can sooner be led by imagination to step from one room into another, 
than to walk to two distant houses, and yet rather to go thither than to fly like a 
witch through the air. Fancy and Reason go hand in hand ; the first cannot leave the 
last behind ; and though Fancy, when it sees the wide gulf, would venture over, as 
the nimbler, yet it is withheld by Reason, which will refuse to take the leap, when 
the distance over it appears too large. . . . So, then, the less change of place there 
is, the less time is taken up in transporting the persons of the drama, with analogy 
to reason; and in that analogy, or resemblance of fiction to truth, consists the 
excellency of the play." (Defence, Ker, vol. i, p. 128.) In the phrase "resemblance 
of fiction to truth" we see again the development of the idea of illusion in 

"In immediate connection with his objection to Shakespeare's want of 
"conveniency of manners," Dennis sets forth his want of observance of poetic 
justice; and the essay exemplifies very interestingly the connection between 
the latter dogma and that of probability. Indeed from one point of view the demand 
for poetic justice, like that for the unities of time and place, is a special application 
of the doctrine we have been studying. I cannot discuss the matter further here, 
but may venture to refer to an account of it given in an article on "The Decline of 
Poetic Justice," Atlantic Monthly, cv, 260 (1910). 


frequently forgotten represented the "age of common sense" in occa- 
sional vigorous opposition to formal classicism as well as to romantic 
licenses, that he struck a decisive blow at the doctrine of probability as 
applied to types of character by the neo-classical critics, in the same noble 
Preface in which he exposed the fallacy of illusion and the unities. 

"Dennis and Rymer think [Shakespeare's] Romans not sufficiently 
Roman, and Voltaire censures his kings as not completely royal. 
Dennis is offended that Menenius, a senator of Rome, should play the 
buffoon; and Voltaire perhaps thinks decency violated when the Danish 
usurper is represented as a drunkard. But Shakespeare always makes 
nature predominate over accident, and if he preserves the essential char- 
acter, is not very careful of distinctions superinduced and adventitious. 
His story requires Romans or kings, but he thinks only on men. He knew 
that Rome, like every other city, had men of all dispositions ; and wanting 
a buffoon, he went into the senate-house for that which the senate-house 
would certainly have afforded him. He was inclined to show an usurper 
and a murderer not only odious, but despicable ; he therefore added 
drunkenness to his other qualities, knowing that kings love wine like 
other men, and that wine exerts its natural power upon kings. These are 
the petty cavils of petty minds ; a poet overlooks the casual distinction of 
country and condition, as a painter, satisfied with the figure, neglects the 
drapery." (Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare, p. 117 et seq.) 

The doctrine of Versimilitude, then, like other forms of neo- 
classicism, was a distortion sometimes slight, sometimes excessive 
of a cardinal principle of poetry. That mere fact is not enough ; that 
poetic truth transcends historical ; that the events which are of universal 
interest are those which are connected by some form of "necessity" or 
law; and that the characters which are of universal interest are those 
in like manner which are seen to have representative significance and not 
merely individuality; all these things are true, and forever have been 
and shall be. It has been the purpose of this paper to bring together 
some of the facts which indicate how these axioms of art developed 
morbidly; with the resulting belief that not the individual, but the type, 
because of its universality, is the only proper theme of the artist,^* and that 
human passion and circumstance, no matter how moving, cannot be 
presented in poetry unless they conform to categories predetermined 
by average experience. Thus, by a singular paradox, a doctrine which 
arose in defence of idealism and poetic freedom became a bulwark of 
rationalism and formalistic restraint. 

"As, for example, in Sir Joshua's Reynold's theory of the beautiful (see his 
paper in the 87th Idler). 




Clifford Gilmore Allen 

THE intrigue in this German version^ i^b.), in the German version 
of Hartmann von Aue,^ in the French version^ (Ff-), and in 
the Latin version found in the Gesta Romanorum'^ (Gr.) is 
practically identical. It is as follows : 

A child is born w^hose father and mother are brother and sister. The 
father, to expiate his sins, goes on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and 
dies there. The mother puts the child in a barrel, together with certain 
tablets on which it is written that the mother of the child is at the same 
time his aunt, and his father his uncle. The barrel is carried to the shore 
of the sea and set adrift. The infant, however, is rescued. He grows 
up. He learns the circumstances of his birth and wishes to find his 
parents. He undertakes a sea voyage. The wind carries him to the shore 
of the land where his mother is reigning. This land is just now being 
besieged by a wooer for the hand of the mother. The son delivers his 
mother from her enemies. She marries him. When it is too late they 
discover the relationship existing between them, and decide to separate. 
The mother is to expiate her sins where she is, while Gregory goes away, 
miserably dressed. He meets with all sorts of hardships. Finally he 
permits a fisherman to place him on a desert island, where he lives seven- 
teen years. At the end of that time the Holy See^ is vacant, and a voice 
from heaven announces that our penitent is to be the successor of the late 
pope. In this new life Gregory is the consolation of all sinners. His 
mother, hearing people talk of this good man, comes to him to seek 
counsel and consolation. They recognize each other. A nunnery is 
established with Gregory's mother as abbess. They live holy lives until 
both give up their souls to God. 

1 Simrock, Die deutschen Volkshucher, XII, pp. 85-113. 

2 Edition by Hermann Paul, Halle, 1873. 
2 Edition by Luzarche, Tours, 1857. 

* Edition by Keller, Stuggart and Tubinger, 1843, pp. 124-133. 

* In Vh. a bishopric. 


Gr. is closely related to our two versions. It seems safe to assume 
that it is a more or less direct descendant of Fr.^ 

It remains, then, to consider the relation of Vb. to the other versions. 

That version dates from the 15th or i6th century. 

There existed at that time the following versions of our legend : 

1. Fr. This is doubtless a translation from a Latin original, perhaps 
referred to as the ''histoire" (p. 96) or ''estoire" (p. 118). The existing 
manuscripts^ are copies of an original which dates from the nth cen- 

2. The version of Hartmann von Aue. 

3. Gr., found in the collection compiled toward the end of the 14th 

Vb. is more modern than the other versions. It appears in a territory 
where one or another of these versions must have been known. It seems 
probable, then, that it should have come from one of these versions, 
rather than from one of which we know nothing, and of whose very 
existence we are still in doubt. 

In general the commentators have been of this opinion. ^^ Seelisch, 
however, maintains that this version, while in part dependent on Gr., 
has an independent source and represents the oldest form of the legend. ^^ 

According to him the legend in its simplest form appeared in 
Europe during the nth or 12th century. At that time the question of 
marriage between relatives was frequently discussed in the Church, and 
a piece of fiction on this subject would not have been without interest. 

6 See Littre, Journal des Savants, 1858, p. 484, and Constans, Legende d' 
dipe, Paris, 1881, p. 117. Seelisch, Die Gregoriuslegende, in the Zeitschrift filr 
deutsche Philologie, 1887, pp. 385-421 (cf. pp. 401-402) thinks that Gr. is perhaps 
a short reworking of the Latin version which served as a basis for Fr. At the 
same time he implies that Fr. was more faithful to its common origin than Gr., 
which he calls a "kiirzende Bearbeitung." Accordingly, with him, Gr. would be 
equivalent to a short reworking of Fr. 

^ Seelisch, ibid., p. 403. 

8 Seelisch, ibid., p. 392. 

* See Gesta Romanorum, translated by the Rev. Charles Swan and revised 
and corrected by Wynnard Hooper, M. A., London, 1906. Various stories were 
added to the original compilation from time to time. I have no means of knowing 
whether the Gregory legend was in the original collection or was added to it 

10 See D'Ancona, La Leggenda di Vergogna, Bologna, 1869, p. 36, who traces 
it to the poem of Hartmann von Aue, who certainly translated Fr. (Seelisch, ibid., 
p. 404) and Kolbing, Beitrdge zur vergleichenden Geschichte der romantischen 
Poesie und Prosa des Mittelalters, Breslau, 1876, p. 43, who thinks it comes from 

^^ibid., pp. 385-421. 


Seelisch sees five stages in the development of the legend, as follows : 

1. The hero is a bishop. 

2. He receives the name of Gregory. This is the stage found in Vb. 

3. The character of the fisherman who illtreats Gregory is invented, 
also the episode of the key found in the fish's stomach. 

4. The bishop becomes a pope. 

5. Finally from the hand of an Aquitanian the legend received the 
form represented in Fr. 

Seelisch gives us a theory. He sees a development from the simple 
to the complex. This theory has not been disputed ; accordingly it seems 
well worth while to reconsider the matter. 

As for his stages of development: The hero may as well have been 
called Gregory in the prototype. Again, the episode of the key would 
have been more likely to please at an earlier than at a later epoch. As 
to the question of ''bishop or pope," we have here a question of difference 
of religion. France in the 12th century was Catholic. It is natural that 
the hero of a religious legend should be the pope. Germany during the 
15th and 1 6th centuries was more or less Protestant. Then if Vb. was 
derived from a version where the hero was pope, it would be natural to 
replace this title by that of a dignitary recognized by the Protestants. 

One easily finds traces of this inclination of Vb. toward protestant- 
ism, as p. 104, "und beichte Gott als dem hochsten Priester deine vielfal- 
tigen unbekannten Missenthaten," a sentiment which is lacking in Fr., 
or p. no, where the mother thinks of confessing her sins to Saint 
Gregory and says : "Wem will ich meine Sunder sicherer offenbaren und 
von wem werde ich bessern Trost empfangen als eben von diesem 
barmherzigen Bischof?" Here the mother wishes to confess her sins 
in order to relieve her mind. In Fr., p. 112, she wishes to be absolved. 

"... voleit prendre cure 
Que des pechez se descharjast." 

One could also compare Vb. (p. iii) where Gregory says to his 
mother : 'Teh verkundige euch an Gottes Statt, dass er uns unsere Sunden 
verziehcn habe" with Fr. (p. 114) where the mother kisses the feet, 
rather of the pope than of her son, and he, 

"Selonc sa bonne conscience 
Li a enjoint penitence." 

It should also be noted that in the passage where Gregory is made 
pope or bishop Vb. is following Gr. very closely. 


The present study aims to show the relations existing between Fr. 
and Vb. 

Fr., Gr. and Vb. follow each other even in the minute details. A 
few examples will make this plain. 

o. The benediction of Gregory's grandfather is accorded to Gregory's 
father only on the condition that the latter will honour his own sister. 
{Fr., p. 5, Gr., p. 124, Vb., p. 85.) 

b. The knight's wife who protects Gregory's mother is obliged to 
swear to keep secret the facts concerning Gregory's birth. (Fr., p. 19, Gr., 
p. 125, Vb., p. 88.) 

c. The child Gregory was very beautiful. (Fr., p. 20, Gr., p. 126, 
Vb., p. 89.) 

d. The infant Gregory smiles when he is discovered in the barrel. 
(Fr., p. 37, Gr., p. 127, Vb., p. 91.) 

e. As soon as Gregory learns the facts concerning his birth he 
wishes to leave his friend the abbot. The abbot tries to persuade him to 
stay and promises that on his own death Gregory shall be named abbot in 
his stead. (Fr., p. 47, Gr., p. 129, Vb., p. 94.) 

/. The suitor for the hand of Gregory's mother has taken from her 
her entire territory with the exception of one city. (Fr., p. 54, Gr., p. 129, 
Vb., p. 97.) 

g. The mother is advised to marry her benefactor, who is at the 
same time her son. (Fr., p. 66, Gr., p. 130, Vb., p. 99.) 

h. As soon as the land is pacified Gregory asks to be paid and 
dismissed. (Fr., p. 68, Gr., p. 129, Vb., p. 99.) 

i. One of the mother's maids observes Gregory's sadness, and speaks 
of it to her mistress. (Fr., p. 71, Gr., p. 130, Vb., p. loi.) 

y. Gregory, miserably dressed, flees during the night. (Fr., p. 85, 
Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 106.) 

k. The fisherman thinks Gregory is not what he seems to be. (Fr., 
p. 86, Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 106.) 

/. It is because of the prayers of his wife that the fisherman finally 
consents to receive Gregory in his house. (Fr., p. 87, Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 

m. The fisherman mockingly suggests the desert isle as a refuge for 
Gregory. (Fr., p. 93, Gr., p. 131, Vb., p. 107.) 

These and other examples of similarity of detail are very striking. 
They could be explained only by assuming that the three versions in 
question came from a comon original, or that one of these is the original 
from which the others are derived. 

I believe that Vb. is a free translation of Gr. Pointing toward this 


conclusion we have the statement of the author or translator, who (p. 105) 
speaks of an "alte romische Geschichte," doubtless the Gesta Roman- 
orum, where he finds his material. 

There are also oth^r facts which point in the same direction, such 
as the folowing: 

1. Many episodes which occupy considerable space in Fr. are 
dismissed with a few lines in Gr. and Vh. Such are : 

a. The writing on the tablets. {Fr., pp. 22-24, ^^v p- 126, Vh., p. 90.) 
h. The description of the exposure of Gregory in the barrel. {Fr., 
pp. 22-26, Gr., p. 126, Vb., p. 90.) 

c. The description of the battle at the gates of the city. {Fr., pp. 
58-67, Gr., p. 129, Vh., p. 99.) 

d. The story of the voyage in the barrel. {Fr., p. 73, Gr., p. 127, 
Vh., p. 91.) 

e. The conversation of the fisherman who advises Gregory to seek 
an asylum on the desert isle. {Fr., p. 93, Gr., p. 131, Vh., p. 107.) 

The author of Fr. would have a tendency to amplify these details 
in order to give his work such length as compositions of this sort 
demanded. On the other hand a writer translating these episodes from 
poetry to prose would not have this preoccupation, and would try rather 
to be as brief as possible. 

2. Often there is a diflference in the three versions, such as to lead 
one to believe in a successive change from Fr. to Vh. through Gr. 
Examples are: 

a. In Fr. (p. 13) the brother suggests to the sister the idea of asking 
counsel from the knight. In Gr. (p. 125) it is the sister who proposes 
the same thing to her brother. In Vh. (p. 87) the sister sends for the 
knight after the departure of the brother. 

h. In Fr. (p. 17) the brother, before his departure, appoints his 
sister as regent during his absence and commends her to the good 
will of his vassals. The episode is much shorter in Gr. (p. 125), and 
lacking entirely in Vh. 

c. In Fr. (p. 33) the abbot has sent two men out to fish on the sea 
and they find the barrel in which Gregory is floating. In Gr. (p. 127), 
he is with them on the shore when the barrel appears. In Vh. (p. 90) 
all three are out fishing when they first see the barrel. 

d. One could also cite the successive decrease in the importance of 
the role of Gregory's father in passing from Fr. to Vh. through Gr. 

These phenomena are easy to explain if Fr. is the original. If Vh. 
represented the oldest form of the legend Fr. would hardly have created 
such an episode as h. 


3. Very often Fr. agrees with Gr. against Vh. 

a. In Fr. (p. 4) and in Gr. (p. 124) the grandfather calls his children 
and the knights of his kingdom to his death-bed. In Vh. (p. 85), only 
the children. 

h. A picture of the private life of Gregory's father and mother is 
seen in Fr. (p. 7) and Gr. (p. 124). This is lacking in Vb. 

c. In Fr. (p. 15) and Gr. (p. 125) the father and mother confess 
their sins to the knight. In Vh. (p. 88) only the mother. 

d. In Fr. (p. 16) and Gr. (p. 125) the knight advises the father to 
make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. In Vh. (p. 86) it is God. 

e. In Fr. (p. 16) and Gr. (p. 125) Gregory's father confides the 
kingdom to the mother before setting out for the Holy Land. This detail 
is lacking in Vh. 

f. After Gregory is set adrift in the barrel, Fr. (p. 27) and Gr. 
(p. 126) tell of the death of the father and the importunity of the suitors. 
Vh. passes directly to the discovery of the barrel by the monks. 

g. In Fr. (p. 94) and Gr. (p. 132) is found the episode of the irons 
and the key, which is lacking in Vh. 

h. In Fr. (p. 113) and Gr. (p. 133) Gregory does not test his 
mother as in Vb. (p. no) before telling her of their relationship. 

These examples show that Fr. is more closely related to Gr. than to 

4. On the other hand Gr. often agrees with Vb. against Fr. 

a. In Gr. (p. 124) Gregory's grandfather is called Marcus. In Vb. 
{p. 88) he is called Marcus and is the "Herzog" of Ferrara. In Fr. 
(p. 4) he is the "comte d' Aquitaine." 

b. In Gr. (p. 124) and Vh. (p. 86) the brother declares that he will 
die unless he can do as he wills with the sister. The idea is lacking in 

c. In Gr. (pp. 124-125) and Vb. (p. 86) the sister counsels her 
brother wisely and recalls the last admonitions of their father. In Fr. 
she says nothing. 

d. In Gr. (p. 126) and Vb. (p. 87) the knight wishes to have the 
infant Gregory baptized. In Fr. this is not discussed. 

e. In Gr. (p. 126) and Vb. (p. 90) the similarity of the writing on 
the tablets placed in the barrel with Gregory is very striking. In Fr. 
(pp. 22-24) the writing is longer. 

f. In Gr. (p. 126) and Vb. (p. 90) the barrel is placed in the water. 
In Fr. (p. 26) in a boat. 

g. In Gr. (p. 128) and Vb. (p. 91) the child is baptized immediately 
after he is found by the monks. This is wanting in Fr. 


h. In Gr. (p. 127) and Vb. (p. 96) the suitor for the hand of 

Gregory's mother is the duke of Burgundy. In Fr. (p. 32) it is a "due de 

i. In Gr. (p. 129) and Vb. (p. 93) the abbot shows Gregory the 
tablets as soon as the latter suspects the facts concerning his birth. In 
Fr. (pp. 48-51) he does this when Gregory has decided to go away and 
has been knighted. 

y. In Gr. (p. 128) and Vb. (p. 92) Gregory wishes to go on a 
pilgrimage to the Holy Land to expiate the sins of his parents. In Fr. 
(p. 52) he simply goes away on the sea. 

k. In Gr. (p. 129) and Vb. (p. 99) the duke who wages war against 
Gregory's mother is killed. In Fr. (pp. 58-67) he is made prisoner. 

/. In Gr. (p. 131) and F&. (p. 105) the mother wishes to give up 
her kingdom and go to the Holy Land to expiate her sins. Gregory 
departs only after having persuaded his mother to remain. In Fr. (p. 84) 
Gregory departs without saying anything. 

m. In Gr. (p. 132) and Vb. (p. 107) a voice from heaven tells the 
electors to choose Gregory for pope or bishop. In Fr. (p. icx)) it is an 

These examples show clearly that Vb. is more closely related to 
Gr. than to Fr. 

5. The parts of Fr. which are lacking in Gr. are also lacking in Vb. 
Such passages are: 

a. The story of the death of the grandmother (p. 4). This 
character is completely lacking in Gr. and Vb. 

b. The mother will end her days if she is not permitted to do as she 
wills with her child (p. 21). 

c. The deceptive procedure of the abbot, who wishes to conceal the 
truth as to Gregory's origin (pp. 38-40). 

d. The episode of the wife of the fisherman who adopted Gregory. 
She gave her husband no rest until he told her all he knew about 
Gregory's birth (p. 42). 

f. The abbot, to persuade Gregory to remain, promises him not only 
his own place after his death as in the Gesta and Vb., but lands, riches, 
and a marriage in a noble family (p. 49). 

/. The search for a secret place to conceal the tablets (pp. 69-71). 

g. The conversation of Gregory, who wishes to partake only of the 
meanest food, and of the fisherman who mocks him (pp. 88-89). 

12 In ms. B (81-3) a "due qui fud remain." The two mss. should agree. One 
or the other has been corrupted by the copyist. 


h. Gregory will not leave the rock until the tablets are found (p. 

These examples show what is general. Fr. has no tendency to 
agree with Fb. against Gr. 

6. The parts of Vb. which are lacking in Gr. are also lacking in Fr. 
Such are the numerous moralizations, as: 

a. p. 87, on the death of Gregory's father. 

b. p. 95, on fate which brings Gregory to the land of his mother. 
This is God's will. 

c. p. 104, on the idea that one may sin without knowing it, with 
quotations from the Bible. 

d. p. 108, on the goodness of Gregory, who atones for the sins of 
his parents. 

e. pp. 111-112, on the idea that God leads his elect over a narrow and 
rough path, because it is the safest road to heaven. 

These were added by the German translator, who was fond of 

These examples show from another point of view what has been 
indicated in (5). Vb. has no tendency to agree with Fr. against Gr. 

One could multiply the examples under these six heads. They 
show a condition which exists throughout the three versions. 

Our conclusions then are as follows: 

A. The fact that Vb. is simpler than Fr. does not prove that it is 
older. A writer of the 15th or i6th century, reworking in prose an older 
composition, would be tempted to simplify it. The German translator 
deviated from his original in certain cases because of his religion. 

B. I have shown that Fr., Gr., and Vb. are very closely related. 
I have also shown (i) that certain cases where Gr. and Vb. are shorter 
than Fr. are due to the fact that the translators abbreviated intentionally ; 

(2) that where the three versions differ it is often possible to see a 
continuous development of the deviation from Fr. to Vb. through Gr., 

(3) that Fr. often agrees with Gr. against Vb., and (4) that Gr. often 
agrees with Vb. against Fr.; accordingly that Gr. must lie between Fr. 
and Vb.; (5) that where Fr. fails to agree with Gr. it also fails to agree 
with Vb.; and (6) that where Vb. fails to agree with Gr. it also fails to 
agree with Fr. These two facts corroborate the conclusion derived from 
(3) and (4). 

Now as Gr. is a translation of Fr., the only possible conclusion is 
that Vb. is a translation of Gr. Accordingly Vb. if of minor importance 
and Fr. must be regarded as the oldest form of the legend. 



William Dinsmore Briggs 

SPENSER drew from many sources that have been pointed out. I 
do not think that the indebtedness of Faerie Queene, III, ii, to the 
Fiammetta of Boccaccio has yet been noticed. 

The Fiammetta is an interesting and remarkable work that displays 
on the part of its author a power of close psychological observation and 
analysis somewhat akin to that of Henry James, and is in the form of a 
narrative of emotional experiences undergone by the teller of the story, 
Fiammetta herself. Engaged in a liaison with Panfilo, she is, though 
rich, noble, and beautiful, deserted by him under pretence that he must 
for the short space of three or four months attend upon his father, who 
in his old age desires the presence of his only remaining son. Panfilo, 
however, never returns, and Fiammetta, who has loved him passionately, 
relates for the benefit of easily deceived womankind the emotional 
history of the episode, how first she fell in love with Panfilo, how she 
came to sacrifice for him her wifely honor, how she felt deep dejection 
during the early period of his absence, and how, when he did not return 
at the appointed time, bewildered anxiety and finally profound despair 
overcame her. 

Of course Spenser in the canto referred to relates no such harrowing 
story. Britomart has seen the image of Arthegal in the magic mirror 
and is smitten with deep love for him. Perturbed by a series of emotions 
wholly new to her, she displays signs of mental struggle readily percept- 
ible to the eager solicitude of her nurse Glauce. As a result of the ensuing 
conversation, Glauce suggests the visit to Merlin's cavern, there to learn 
what may be the outcome of so strange a situation. 

Fiammetta, it may be observed, has several conversations with her 
foster-mother, and it is in one of these that there occur certain resem- 
blances worth taking note of. Before doing so, however, one might 
consider F. Q. Ill, ii, 27-8 : 

Thenceforth the fether in her lofty crest, 
Ruffed of love, gan lowly to availe, 
And her prowd portaunce and her princely gest, 
With which she earst tryumphed, now did quaile: 


Sad, solemne, sowre, and full of fancies fraile 

She woxe; . . . 

But sleepe full far away from her did fly: 

In stead thereof sad sighes and sorrowes decpe 

Kept watch and ward about her warily, 

That nought she did but wayle, and often steepe 

Her dainty couch with teares, which closely she did wecpe. 

Compare Fiammetta, pp. 28-9 (my only accessible text is that of the 
Biblioteca Classica Economica) : Egli allora in me le fiamme accese facea 
pill vive . . . ma in questo non era si lieto il principio, che la fine no ; 
rimanesse piu trista, qualora della vista di quello rimanea privata: per- 
ciocche li occhi, della loro allegrezza privati, davano al cuore nojosa 
cagione di dolersi, di che i sospiri, in quantita ed in qualita diventavano 
maggiori, ed il disio, quasi ogni mio sentimento occupando, mi toglieva 
di me medesima. ... Ed oltre a questo sovente la notturna quiete ed il 
continovo cibo togliendomi, alcuna volta ad atti piu furiosi che stibiti, ed a 
parole mi moveano inusitate. 


And if that any drop of slombring rest 

Did chaunce to still into her weary spright, 

When feeble nature felt her selfe opprest. 

Streight way with dreames, and with fantastick sight 

Of dreadfuU things, the same was put to flight. 

That oft out of her bed she did astart, 

As one with vew of ghastly feends aflFright: 

Tho gan she to renew her former smart, 

And thinke of that fayre visage, written in her hart. 

Fiammetta has many evil dreams, as on p. 70: Le quali [le notti] sovente, 
o tutte o gran parte di loro, io passava senza dormire, continovamente, 
o piangendo, o pensando consumandole : e qualora pure avveniva che io 
dormissi, diversamente era da' sogni occupata, alcuni lieti vegnenti, ed 
alcuni tristissimi. And again, p. 73 : Non veniva, ancorche il sonno 
venisse, pero in me la disiata pace, anzi, in luogo de' pensieri e delle 
lagrime, mille visioni piene d'infinite paure mi spaventavano. Io credo 
che niuna furia rimanesse nella citta di Dite, che in diversi modi 
e terribili gia piu volte non mi si mostrasse, diversi mali minacciando, 
e spesso, col loro orribile aspetto i miei sonni rompendo, di che io, quasi 
per non vederle, mi contentava. 

It is important that in both stories the nurse detects these signs of 
mental distress. 



*Ah ! my deare daughter, ah ! my dearest dread, 
What uncouth fit,' sayd she, 'what evill pHght, 
Hath thee opprest, and with sad drearyhead 
Chaunged thy Hvely cheare, and Hving made thee dead? 


Tor not of nought these suddein ghastly feares 
All night afflict thy naturall repose.' 

Fiammetta, p. 29: O figliuola a me come me medesima cara, quali 
sollecitudini, da poco tempo in qua ti stimolano? Tu niuna ora trapassi 
senza sospiri, la quale altra volta lieta, e senza alcuna malinconia sempre 
vedere solea. 


*Ay me ! how much I feare least love it bee !' 

Fiammetta, p. 29 : elli non ti e bisogno celarmi quello che io, gia sono piu 
giorni, in te manifestamente conobbi. 


'Not so th' Arabian Myrrhe did sett her mynd, 

Nor so did Biblis spend her pining hart. 

But lov'd their native flesh against al kynd. 

And to their purpose used wicked art: 

Yet playd Pasiphae a more monstrous part. 

That lov'd a bul, and learnd a beast to bee : 

Such shamefull lusts who loaths not, which depart 

From course of nature and of modestee? 

Swete Love such lewdnes bands from his faire companee. 

Fiammetta, p. 35 : Bastiti solamente, o giovane, che di non abominevole 
fuoco, come Mirra, Semiramis, Bibli, Canace, e Cleopatra fece, ti molesti. 
Niuna cosa nuova dal nostro [it is Venus speaking to Fiammetta in a 
vision] figliuolo verso te sara operata: egli ha cosi leggi, come qualunquc 
altro Iddio. A few lines before Venus had mentioned also Pasiphae. 

A still more significant parallel is the following. In the stanza 
just quoted, Glauce was attempting to console Britomart by contrasting 
her love with such unnatural passions as those enumerated. Britomart 
replies in stanza xliii: 


'Beldame, your words doe worke me litle ease ; 

For though my love be not so lewdly bent 

As those ye blame, yet may it nought appease 

My raging smart, ne ought my flame relent. 

But rather doth my helpelesse griefe augment. 

For they, how ever shamefull and unkinde. 

Yet did possesse their horrible intent: 

Short end of sorowes they therby did finde ; 

So was their fortune good, though wicked were their minde. 


'But wicked fortune mine, though minde be good, 
Can have no end, nor hope of my desire, 
But feed on shadowes,' etc. 

In the last part of her narrative, Fiammetta attempts to win sympathy 
from her readers by contrasting her love affair with all the great love 
affairs of antiquity, and showing in how much more pitiable a case she 
is than any of those famous heroines. In the course of this comparison, 
Myrrha, Biblis, and Canace are once more spoken of, and Fiammetta 
(p. 128) goes on: e meco stessa pensando bene all' angoscia di ciascuna, 
senza alcun dubbio grandissime le discerno, avvengache abominevoli 
fossero i loro amori. Ma, se ben considero, io le veggo finite, o per 
finire in corto spazio, perciocche Mirra nell' albero del suo nome, avendo 
gli Dii secondi al suo disio, senza alcuno indugio fuggendo fu permutata, 
ne piti (ancor che egli sempre lagrimi, siccome ella allora che muto forma 
faceva) alcuna delle sue pene senti ; e cosi come la cagione di dolersi 

venne, cosi quella giunse che le tolse la doglia. Biblis similmente 

Che dunque diro, mostrando la mia pena molto maggiore che quella di 
queste donne, se non che la brevita della loro dalla lunghezza della mia 
molto e avanzata? 

In stanza xlvi Glauce advises Britomart to fight against 'the growing 
evill, ere it strength have gott.' 'Against it strongly strive, and yield thee 
nott, Til thou in open fielde adowne be smott.' This advice is perhaps 
a little inconsistent with the earlier tone of Glance's speeches, since she 
had apparently approved Britomart's passion and even encouraged her 
by showing its innocence and suggesting the likelihood that the original 
of the image might be found out with no great difficulty. I am inclined, 
perhaps too sanguinely, to see here an echo of the remonstrance urged 
so often by the nurse of Fiammetta, particularly in such a passage as 
this, p. 30: mi piace di ricordarti e di pregarti, che tu del casto petto 
esturbi e cacci via le cose nefande, e ispegnia le disoneste fiamme, . . . 


e ora e tempo da resistere con forza, pero che chi nel principio bene 
contrastette, caccio il villano amore, etc. 

A resemblance to which I call attention merely for the sake of 
completing the list of those that I have observed is that Glance employs 
without success enchantments for the purpose of expelling love from 
Britomart's breast, while Fiammetta employs them as vainly, p. ii8, in 
order to influence her recreant lover. 

This discussion does not of course prove that Spenser was imitating 
Boccaccio, nor is it in the least intended to do so. Nor can we say as 
a result of it that Spenser was consciously making use of Boccaccio. I 
think, however, it does establish a likelihood not merely that he had, as is 
on a priori grounds quite probable, at some time or other read the 
Fiammetta attentively, but that reminiscences of that reading came quite 
naturally to hand when dealing with the subject of the second canto of 
Book III. It is not surprising that such should have been the case, that 
the Fiammetta should have made some impression upon Spenser. 
Boccaccio's work, if we look aside from certain rhetorical expansions of 
the theme such as chapter viii, and if we consider what obstacles were 
set in the way of close analysis of real passion by the conventional 
conception of the relation of lover to mistress (compare the relatively 
stereotyped Ameto), was the product of a hand as sure and an insight as 
delicately penetrant as were those that created Clarissa Harlowe. 

Jefferson Elmore 

WE MAY first consider^ the grounds of Martial's preference for the 
epigram. He was confined to this type, it is sometimes said, 
by consciousness of intellectual limitations, exercising thereby 
"a wise restraint."- What Martial himself says, however, hardly warrants 
this impression. He but seldom depreciates his literary talents,^ his prev- 
alent mood being rather of an opposite character. Moreover, he more 
than once distinctly asserts his ability to practice the higher literary forms 
such as the epic and tragedy. "What immortal verse I could have 
written," he says, ''what blasts of war I could have blown on Pierian 
trumpet," if only happier conditions of life had been present.* Indeed, 
(though he is here speaking with humorous exaggeration) he began with 
the epic, but was driven from this field and also from tragedy by the in- 
sistent imitation of Tucca.'^ 

It is in contrast to tragedy and the epic that Martial usually 
expresses his preference for the epigram. It is clear, however, that he has 
not in mind the epos in general, not the work of Vergil, who is to him 
the supreme poet,^ nor even that of Lucan and Silius Italicus, for both 
of whom he has apparently the greatest admiration,^ but he thinks rather 
of certain fashionable contemporary forms, such as the long drawn epic 
with its mythological theme. The epigram is superior to these, first, in 
the fact that it makes a much wider appeal. Long epics and bombastic 
tragedies, though greeted with words of praise and read by the pompous 
schoolmaster to his pupils,^ arouse no real interest either in ingenuous 

^ References to the poet's own literary experiences and judgments appear in 
117 of the 1 172 epigrams of books I-XII. These "notices" form the basis of the 
present paper. Though often drawn upon by editors and critics, as far as I am 
aware they have not been brought together with a view to basing statements of 
Martial's attitude in literary matters on all the evidence of this character. Criticism 
thus not seldom rests on a too narrow foundation, as in the statement of Mackail, 
(Latin Literature, p. 194), based apparently on a single epigram, I 16, that "to his 
own work Martial extends the same tolerance with which he views the follies and 
vices of society." Compare the remarks of Nisard (Poetes Latins de la Decadence, 
p. 329 ff.). 

'Stephenson, Introd. XIX Cf. Post, Introd. XXVI. 

Cf. I 16, i; III 100, 4; XIII 2, 9. *XI 3, 7- Cf. V 16, I Seria cum possim . . . 
XII 94. 'XI 52, 18. 'IV 14, VII 21; 22; 23. VIII 3, 15. 

Martial's literary attitude elmore 6Z 

youth or in the general public. Epigrams, on the other hand, as experi- 
ence showed, are taken up and read with eagerness by all classes of 
society. To Martial, to whom literature is a means (among other things) 
of getting on in the world,^*^ a medium through which he can appeal to 
the public, to distinguished men," to the emperor himself,^^ is very much 
to his hand. 

Epigrams are not only more interesting than the usual epics or 
tragedies, but their subject-matter is also more useful. Savage or 
frivolous tales have no profit, whereas short sketches of real life may be 
full of instruction and guidance. This point is emphasized in two notable 
epigrams. In one^^ addressing the reader the poet says, "When you are 
reading of Oedipus and Thyestes and Medea and the Scyllas, are you not 
dealing with the monstrous creations of fable? What profit will there 
be to you in the story of Hylas or Parthenopaeus or Attis, or even in 
that of the sleeping Endymion ? Read rather this book of mine of which 
life itself could say, T am its author.' You will not find centaurs or 
gorgons or harpies, but pages steeped in human nature." 

Again, in the fullness of his fame, the poet had thought with the 
completion of the seventh book to lay down the pen of the epigrammatist, 
but the Muse forbids.^'^ "Continue," she bids him, "to season thy 
charming volumes with Roman wit and let life as she reads recognize 
herself. And though thou mayest seem to play on but a slender pipe, 
this reed of thine may vanquish many a brazen trumpet." 

The reference here to a longer survival in the future points to a 
third respect in which Martial asserts the superiority of the epigram, 
namely, that it is a higher form of art. In the first place it requires 
greater skill on the part of the author. "He makes a great mistake who 
regards epigrams as mere trifles. The trifler is rather the man who writes 
about the feast of the cruel Tereus, or the banquet of the unnatural 
Thyestes, or of Daedalus fitting waxen wings to his son, or of Polyphe- 
mus pasturing his Sicilian flocks. From my work, however, is banished 
all this swelling bombast. "^^ Martial expresses his conviction on this 
point also in terms of sculpture. Comparing his own work to 
twelve books on the ancient wars of Priam is like comparing the famous 
marble (or bronze) boy of Brutus to a huge giant in clay.^ 

In the practice of this special literary type Martial gives frequent 
expression to the feeling that he is working in the line of a definite 
tradition. He appeals to precedent to defend himself against certain 

XI 24, 6-8. " I 5. "VI I. 

"V I. "X 4- "VTII 3, 19. 

"IV 49. "IX 50, 5- 


criticisms. To one who finds the epigrams too long he cites the example 
of Marsits and Pedo, who often extended single poems over two whole 
pages.^' So also in meeting the more serious charge of licentiousness 
he resorts to the same argument. That this wantonness of speech (which 
is also characteristic of the stage) ^'* is employed in epigrams addressed 
even to persons in the highest position^'' is admitted by the poet, but he 
does not apologize for it, because he did not himself invent the custom.^** 
Then again for the confusion of the prudish reader he quotes the six 
lascivious lines of Augustus himself.^^ Finally he appeals to the 
precedent of Lucan, "the glory of our Helicon," who, though sounding 
savage wars on Pierian trumpet, has not blushed to turn aside and in 
lighter verse to disport himself most wantonly.-- Martial also refers to 
tradition for the purpose of showing that in some respects at least he has 
improved upon the earlier practice. One relates to the structure of his 
verse. He does not tolerate the harshness which is found in the older 
poets like Lucilius, Accius, and Pacuvius, and which does not constitute 
true vigor. 2^ He does not waste time in constructing ingenious verses 
that may be read backwards, nor does he imitate the effeminate Galliambic 
in the Attis of Catullus.-^ In not disregarding through poetic license 
the quantity of syllables he is more careful than the Greeks.^^ He is also 
superior to his predecessors in the consideration he shows for actual 
persons by the use of fictitious names. The older poets were wont to 
employ not only real names in their attacks but also great ones.^^ He 
will not even reveal the identity of Postumus, a name which frequently 
occurs, for fear of giving ofTense.-' His verse, he keeps saying, injures 
no one, though some mentioned by way of praise have been given undying 
fame. Vices, not persons, are the object of his satire. ^^ 

Consideration of Martial's relation to his predecessors raises the 
important question whether with respect to the form of the epigram as a 
whole he was also working in the line of tradition. There has been a 
wide-spread opinion that through the use of the so-called point he created 
a new type of epigram. Lessing^^ maintained that he was the first to 
practice the epigram as a special type, a view which is quoted with 
approval by Friedlander."" "Until he wrote," says Aly,^^ also quoting 

"II -JT, 5. "Ill 86, 3. "Praef. VIII, 10. 

Praef. I, 10. '^ XI 20, 3-8. "" X 64, 3-6. 

XI 90. "II 86, 1-6. =^IX II, 16. 

-Praef. I, 5. "" H 23. '"V 15, 2; VII 12, 3; X 9. 2; 33, 10. 

^ Anmerkungen uber das Epigramm. Samtliche Schriften (ed. Lachmann) XI 
257. Martial . . . war der erste der sich eine deiitliche, feste Idee von dem Epi- 
gramme machte. 

Einleitung, 18. " Geschichte der Romischen Literatur, p. 286. 


Lessing with approval, "there was really no epigrammatist." Bernhardy^^ 
calls him the discoverer and master of the pointed epigram, while Butler 
in his recent work^^ speaks of him as the father of the modern epigram. 
Martial ''was able," says Post,'^* "to fix forever the character of this 
particular literary form." 

Martial himself, however, makes no mention of this originality, 
though it might be expected that he would do so. He was, as we 
know, one of the most self-conscious of authors. He exploits himself 
and his work in the most extensive and unreserved fashion, and yet 
he nowhere gives any intimation that he is the inventor of a new 
literary type. It must also be remembered that there were contemporary 
writers of epigram. Were these imitators of Martial or was his 
work different in kind from theirs? There is no evidence of either 
of these things. To these fellow workers of his Martial hands out 
both praise and blame, the latter, as might be expected, in great pre- 
dominance. One writes on both sides of the paper f^ another cannot 
even compose a distich that is not too long f^ another is uniformly bad f^ 
another (in moral tone) is uniformly good but lacking even a touch of 
biting wit;^^'^ still another has not the courage to publish at all,^^ while 
one has the distinction of being superior to Martial himself, but does not 
publicly enter the field out of courtesy to his friend. ^'^ In all this there is 
no suggestion of imitation on the one hand or of the possession of a 
peculiar form of epigram on the other. 

The argument from silence raises a presumption against the accepted 
view. The crucial question of course is whether the type of epigram 
employed by Martial can be traced in an earHer author. For this purpose 
we require first of all to know what forms of the epigram Martial really 
employed. An analysis will show that in some cases (though they are 
comparatively few) the so-called point is virtually lacking.*^ If such 
pieces as I 113, where Martial informs his readers that his youthful 
poems could be obtained from Q. Pollius Valerianus, or IV 25, in which 
he hopes to spend his old age at Altinum, or V 44, in which he 
chides a fickle dinner guest, should be found elsewhere they would 
hardly be associated with the pointed epigram. Note also IX 11, which is 
a series of hendecasyllabic lines quite "pointless" at the end. 

The bulk of Martial's work, however, is distinguished for its "point," 

'^ Grundriss, p. 658. ^ Post- Augustan Poetry, pp. 258-9. 

'* Introduction, XXV. ^VIII 62, i. ''II 77, 8. "VII 90, 4- 

"'^VII 25, 3. ''I 91, 2; no, 2. '^VIII 18, 4. 

^Cf. I 52; 113; 116; III 6; IV 13; 25; 45; 54; VI 25; 58; 85; VIII 27; IX 
II, 74. 


which may be regarded as essentially a striking method of conclusion and 
which may be related in various ways to what precedes. It may be, for 
example, a comment or judgment of the author on some foregoing 
situation, fact, or event ;*^ it may be an antithesis,^^ a reason or explana- 
tion,*^ a result or consequence,''* an exhortation,** a climax,* a retort,*^ 
the second member of a comparison,*^ a choice of alternatives,* the 
solution of a difficulty,*^*^ an illustration or example,'^^ a specific statement 
or a general principle. "^^ These categories,'^-'^ which are not at all numerous 
considering the large number of the epigrams, give certain definite 
types of structure within the range of which the poet's chief work is 
done. The question is whether any of these types are to be found 
outside of Martial. One turns at once to Catullus. Here the way is 
smoothed by the recent recognition** of the fact that Catullus is himself 
primarily an epigrammatist, the claims of Horace to the primacy of the 
Latin lyric being thus left undisputed. H the hendecasyllabic pieces of 
Catullus be examined they will be found to reveal several types of 
structure which are characteristic of Martial. In c. 26 we have an 
example of a point which consists in the comment of the author on a 
preceding fact. Furius has exposed his house not to the blasts of real 
winds, west, east, or north, but to the drafts of creditors. *'And what 
an awful, fatal draft it is," adds the author by way of comment and 
conclusion. In Martial III 52, TongiHanus has lost his house by fire 
but has received more than the cost in donations. "I suspect," he adds 
by way of point, "that you set the fire with your own hands." Likewise 
when Apicius** commits suicide because he cannot think of sustaining 
life on his remaining ten millions, Martial makes the "point" by remark- 
ing quite after the manner of Catullus how befitting an epicure such an 
action was. In c. 4 Catullus employs the method of antithesis, the 
conclusion contrasting the old age, so to speak, of the yacht with its 
adventures of former times. So in c. 95 (written in elegiacs) where the 
judicious applaud the work of Cinna, but the populace take pleasure 
in the pompous Antimachus. In c. 3 the point is exhibited as result or 
consequence, the lament for the sparrow being concluded by a striking 

V 35. *'VII 9. ''IX 2^- 

**VII 13 "III 16. ^'IX ^3- 

II 58 **IV 14. ^'VI 81. 

-Ill 38. "VII 49. ^=VI 70. 

' The categories given here and based on an analysis of the epigrams in books 
I-IX do not altogether exhaust the list. 

"Cf. Smith, Amer. Jour. Phil. XXXI p. 225; Canter Class Jour. VI 201. For 

the wide range of the epigram in general see U. von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, 
Die Griechische Liieraiur des Altertums, pp. 139 *>1. " HI 22. 


reference to the weeping eyes of Lesbia.^^ As an example of a point 
which is an exhortation to some action in view of the preceding statement 
or fact, we may take c. 5. "Life is short," the poet says to Lesbia, "and 
there is nothing beyond. Let us therefore enjoy our love to the utmost." 
c. 84 illustrates the process of constructing an epigram by means of 
the climax. i\rrius in his fondness for the "h" says not only chommoda, 
and hinsidias, but also Hionios. In c. 10 we find the epigram consisting 
of a pointed incident in which dialogue is also employed in true epigram- 
matic fashion. Finally in c. 70 the point is a general principle including 
and explaining a specific instance. "My beloved," says the poet, "declares 
she will never marry though Jupiter himself seek her hand. So she says, 
but a woman's words to an ardent wooer are written on sand or in 
running water." 

In Catullus then we find certain forms of the epigram which arc 
employed by Martial with great frequency. If this be true, the pointed 
epigram as a literary type did not originate with Martial. In his hands 
with his powerful massing of striking details it becomes something 
distinctive and characteristic, but it is still in the line of tradition. 

That Martial was under great technical obligations to Catullus is 
shown by his imitation of the latter's language and style, a phase of the 
subject which has been set forth by Paukstadt. Martial himself does not 
refer directly to obligations of this sort except possibly in the one case 
where he pleads the example of his predecessor to justify the licentious- 
ness of some of his work.""*^ A question which has not received sufficient 
consideration is the ground of Martial's admiration for Catullus. The 
latter is argutus,^^ doctus,^^ lepidus,^^ tener,^^ tenuis, ^^ and finally vates,^^ 
the inspired bard. His place too in the world of letters is an ideal to which 
Martial constantly aspires. He would be to his own Bilbilis what Catullus 
had been to Verona, and he sends a copy of his book to Silius Italicus in 
the spirit in which he imagined Catullus might have offered his work to 
Vergil.^^ In reading some of his verses to a friend, it annoyed him to 
have the latter reply with a passage from Catullus, making unconsciously 
a comparison which no modern author could sustain with credit.^ He 
wishes to be recommended to the emperor as one who has added to the 
glory of the age, and who is not much inferior to Marsus and Catullus f^ 
it is next to these that he desires his books stand in the Palatine library.*** 

"Cf. c. 105. "Praef. I 11. ^VI 34, 1- 

"I 61, I ; VII 99, 7; VIII n, 8; XIV 100, i; 152, i. *^XII 44, 5- 

"IV 14, 13; VII 14, 3. ""X 103, 5. "'I 61. I. 

'*X 103, 4. ""IV 14, 13. "11 71, 3. 

"VII 99, 7. "V 5, 6. 


He hopes finally to be read among the old poets and to rank second to 
none but Catullus. This admiration rests doubtless in part on Catullus' 
greatness as a poet and on the fact that they were both engaged in the 
same poetic field. There is another reason, I think, to which Martial 
himself gives a clue in the part of Catullus' work which he singles out for 
special mention. Aside from the Attis (mentioned once') this is the 
part which deals with the Lesbia episode.'^^ On the details of Catullus' 
love aflfair Martial dwells with evident gusto and delight. Considering 
this fact and the part which the erotic element plays in his own work, it 
is not difficult to see that he was attracted by a certain kind of subject 
matter. Like Catullus he rejoiced in the pleasures of sense, and this may 
well have been one of the great bonds that linked him to the earlier 

So much intimation has Martial given us of his fondness for subjects 
of a certain kind. He has also made one reference^^ to an important 
phase of his methods in dealing with his subject matter in general. I 
mean the recurrence to the same theme. This reference is apropos of a 
good natured criticism made by his friend Stella, that he was forever 
writing about animals, about the gambols of the hares and the play of the 
lions, and Martial does nothing more than banteringly admit the charge. 
The repetition in this case comes about in connection with the games in 
the arena, and is to be expected. What Martial remains silent about and 
what has indeed been, I think, almost altogether overlooked, is the 
extensive use he makes of this method in the bulk of his work. 
To enter into the precise details would require another study, but 
there is scarcely a theme to which he does not return at least 
three or four times. In Books I-VHI, inclusive, there are 759 
epigrams of which 475 are devoted to about 30 subjects. Some 
of these, together with the number of times they reappear, may 
be mentioned: habits and behavior of animals, 19; peculiarities of 
personal appearance, 27 ; works of art, 11; the dandy, 5 ; Domitian, 25 ; 
the heavy drinker, 7 ; the dole, 5 ; devotion of friends, 1 1 ; the fortune 
hunter, 8; praise of friends, 24; filial and conjugal devotion, 15 ; festivals. 

~X 78, 14. '"n 86, 4- 

"I 7, 3; 109, i; IV 14, 14; VI 34, 8; VII 14, 41 VIII n, 8; IX 6, 14; XII 44, 5; 
59, 3; XIV 11. 

"For another view of this relation cf. Simcox, History of Latin Literature, p. 
116 "More commonly Martial exhibits himself as the rival of a poet with whom he 
has little in comomn but the metre." See also Teuffel-Schwabe, II 124; "He 
repeatedly places himself on a level with Domitius Marsus and Catullus. That he 
could not attain anything higher he attributes with manifest self-deception to his 
indigent circumstances." " I 44- 

Martial's literary attitude elmore 69 

8; gifts, 32; the guest, 15; the host, 25; historical characters, 12; views 
of life, 14; the lover, 5; the lawyer, 8; marriage, 12; ostentation, 12; 
places and buildings, 20 ; the parvenue, 10 ; the pretender, 9 ; the physician, 
4; 7rai8L/cd, II ; the reciter, 8; the spendthrift, 7; villas, 6; wine, 8, etc. 

This method throws into relief the range of Martial's literary 
interests. These are usually supposed to be of the most extensive and 
varied character. "His material," remarks a recent historian of Roman 
literature,^* "is enormous, representing the whole civilization and social 
life of his time." In view of the facts, statements of this character are 
altogether misleading. Martial was interested in certain immediate 
phases of existence, but these were far indeed from comprehending the 
social life of his time. 

Martial has one reference^^ to the fact that subjects were sometimes 
suggested to him by others. In this case the result had evidently not 
been satisfactory. "You ask me," he says, "for lively epigrams, and the 
subjects you prepare are themselves lifeless." There is nothing to indicate 
the character of the suggested themes or the extent of the practice. Nor 
would it seem to be safe to infer that the epigrams were composed for 
others to be used by them as their own. 

In the treatment of his subject matter, whatever it may be. Martial 
puts down as one of his principles that of directness and simplicity. He 
sets out intending to call a spade a spade^ and later^'^ we find him also 
boasting that his work is altogether free from swelling bombast. Another 
achievement is the clearness of his style. A rival poet who had made the 
learned but obscure Cinna his model needs not a reader but an Apollo 
to understand him. As for himself he wishes to satisfy the taste of 
scholars, but not to require their interpretation.'^^ He feels also the need 
of variety. It is good, for example, to be brief, but brevity itself ceases to 
be a virtue if it be unrelieved. A book containing nothing but distichs 
could not be saved from monotony.^^ 

One of the most important of Martial's literary principles is the 
sincerity which consists in coming directly in contact with his subject 
matter. Thus on his return to Spain, cut off as he was from the life he 
had known and described, his inspiration lagged. He could not from a 
distance, in imagination, recreate the theaters, the baths, the libraries, 
the social gatherings. To write of them he must share in them at first 
hand,*" and every book destined to live must reflect a spirit that finds 
enjoyment in life.*^ 

"Aly, Geschichte der Romischen Literatur, p. 287. ^" XI 42. 

"Praef. I 14. "IV 49, 7- "X 21. 

"VIII 29,2, ""Praef. XII 1-15. "VI 60, 10. 


In achieving a final literary form for his work Martial was conscious 
of the requirements of artistic unity and proportion. To a certain 
Cosconius,*^ also a writer of epigrams, who complained that some of his 
pieces were too long, he replied that a composition is not too long from 
which nothing could be taken away. The treatment of a theme should be 
an artistic whole with a balance of parts like that in a fine statue. Whether 
it be long or short will depend largely on the nature of the subject to 
be treated. 

Martial was apparently much interested in the reception of his work 
by the public. In the first place he shows a personal aflfection for his 
books, an author's solicitude and tenderness for the creation of his fancy 
as if it were a favorite slave or even his own child. ^ When it must 
leave the security of the home for the shops of the Argiletum, he warns 
it of a possible hostile reception at the hands of the too critical 
Romans,** and yet he seeks to smooth the way by the assurance of the 
support of some influential friend. One of these is his old and dear friend 
Julius MartiaHs to whose house his book, however begrimed with dust, 
may always go with the certainty of heartfelt embraces.*^ Another is 
Caesius Sabinus, "the glory of mountainous Umbria," Avho, though 
oppressed with manifold cares, has leisure for his friend's book, and 
through whose favor it will be celebrated in temples, colonnades, shops, 
and streets.^ Still another is L. Arruntius Stella.*^ There are also 
those to whose good offices he appeals when he desires his book to make 
headway in particular quarters. Such are Rufus (perhaps the Canius 
Rufus of I 6i, 9), Rufus Instantius,** Faustinus,* and especially 
Euphemus, Sextus,^^ Parthenius,^ and Crispinus,^^ the four last men- 
tioned being connected with the household of Domitian. To the Emperor 
himself in two instances he made direct appeal, asking in the one case^* 
merely for the acceptance of his verses, and in the other^^ favor and 
support for the author. To the emperor Nerva he also presents a selection 
from books X and XI.^^ Through the mere presentation of his work to 
persons of influence Martial also seeks to gain something in personal 
favor and public estimation. There are several epigrams of this kind,"^ 
the most elaborate (which also brought the author a substantial gift of 
money*) being a presentation to Pliny the younger.* 












; VII 







Cf. IV 10, VII 17, VIII 72, X 93; 104. 

^'Cf. I 52, 4; X 104, ] 


"I 3, 3. 

'^VII 97. 

"XII 3, II 

^'VII 80, 3- 

IV 8, 7. 

''^VIII 82, 5- 

''VII 99. 

"V 6, XII T7. 

-XII 5. 

[ 93; 104. "Plin. 




X 19. 

Martial's literary attitude elmore 71 

Martial (like Cicero^^^) seems to have understood the psychological 
value of numbers ; at all events he is at great pains to spread the impres- 
sion that his readers are exceedingly numerous. One of his greatest 
admirers was Urbicus/^^ the lawyer, who could repeat the poems from 
memory without losing a single word. If you dropped in at his chambers 
after the day's work was done, he would invite you to a cozy little dinner 
for two, and while you sipped the wine, would read his beloved Martial 
aloud; and even when you grew tired and said, "Isn't that enough for 
now," his voice would still roll on and on. Even the earliest editions of 
the poet's work, trifles which he had himself forgotten, were collected and 
preserved by the bookseller PolHus Valerianus.^^^ Coming to more 
distinguished persons, Macer is so fond of Martial that he neglects the 
care of the Appian Way.^*^^ The leading men of the city,^*'* like Silius 
and Regulus and Sura, also lend attentive ears. Even Caesar himself, 
with the weight of empire resting upon him, finds time to read these 
sportive verses twice and thrice over^^'^ and to praise and reward their 
author. In fact, they are known to everyone who has not the ear of a 
downright Batavian.^^^ To this popular favor as distinguished from that 
of more cultivated circles Martial refers with obvious pride. "You 
read and repeat my verses," he says to the reader, "all over Rome,"^**^ and 
again, "In Rome I am in every hand, in every pocket. I am praised, 
loved, and recited. "^^^ He is read in Vienna by young and old,^*' in 
Getic forests and in Britain.^^^ Not only so but at the very beginning of 
his first book Martial announces that he is known all over the world, on 
account of his witty epigrams. ^^^ This statement is reiterated; he has a 
name throughout the cities of the world ;^'^^ he is read everywhere in the 
world, and when he passes on the street people say, "It is he" ;^^^ his 
books circulate among all the nations subject to Rome's dominion ;^^* he 
is the famous Martial known by his verses of eleven syllables and by 
his abundant but not savage wit to all the peoples and the nations ;^^^ 
and finally fame can give him nothing more, his book is in every hand.^^* 
This fame by some good fortune and contrary to the usual practice he has 
achieved before his death,^^^ but it is not a temporary thing; the future 
is also secure. He shall be known among the Scythians^^^ and the Celts 
and the Iberians,^^^ and when the stones of Messala's tomb lie broken and 

* Ep. ad. Att. I I, 3. "'VII 51. '"'I 113. 

"'X 17, 5. '""vi 64, 10-15. "^iii 95,5. 

^"VI 82, 5. "'V 16 3. "*VI 61. Cf. IX 97, 2. 

^^VII 88, 1-4. ""XI 3,3-5. '"11 1-3. 

^"III 95, 7. "'V 13, 3- "*VIII 61, 3. 

"'X 9. ""VIII 3, 3. "'1 1, 5. Cf.Vio,i2;VIII69. 

"*VII 84, 3. ""X 78, 9. 


the lofty marble of Licinus is dust his words shall still be on men's lips, 
and his verse shall be carried by many a stranger to his fatherland. ^-^ 

In spite of his great popularity Martial's books were not always 
received in the way he desired. He was troubled with people who 
wanted to borrow them/-^ or receive them as a gift/-^ but did not think 
enough of them to obtain them from the bookseller in a more satisfactory 
fashion. There was also the discouraging person who, after admiring 
the separate pieces and being eager for their publication, yawned over 
the thin volume for three whole days.^^* But all this was not to be com- 
pared with the actual attacks of outspoken critics. 

We learn from Martial himself what it was the critics found fault 
with. One thing he had especially to apologize for was the coarseness 
of a considerable part of his work. In mitigation he appeals, as we have 
already seen, to the practice of his predecessors.^-^ Akin to this is the 
plea^^^ that his verses are not so bad as those heard on the stage. If the 
chaste matron can listen to the worse naughtiness of the actors, his own 
lines need not give her pause. As a matter of fact they do not except in 
the presence of her staid husband; otherwise she reads them with 
delight.^^^ The throwing off of conventional restraint becomes virtually 
universal at the Saturnalia and the festival of Flora, and Martial makes 
the excuse that some of the objectionable verses are written for these 
occasions or in the spirit of those who attend them.^^^ On these occasions 
not even an austere Cato could expect the poet of light verse not to fall in 
with the general spirit. Moreover, the populace of the city for whom he 
writes^^^ is always loose and frivolous, and he frankly panders to their 
taste, shaking the castanet like a girl from Cadiz.^^^ This after all is the 
only road to success, for the only kind of jesting verse that finds favor 
is that dealing with lascivious themes.^^^ In spite of this yielding to the 
demands of the popular taste. Martial assures us in two famous 
passages^^^ that his own life is upright.^^^ 

The other criticisms which Martial feels called on to notice are not 

*^VIII 3, 5-8, X 2, 9-12. '=^'1, 117- '''IV n\ V 72. 

"*II 6. Cf. XI 106; 107. '''For a similar justification Cf. Ter. And. Prol. 18. 
"Ill 86. "^XI 16, 9. "*Praef. I 15; I 35, 8; XI 15, H- 

"" XI 16, 2. Urbanae scripsimus ista togae. "" XI 16, 4. '" I 35, 10. 

"'I, 4, 8 Lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba; XI 15, 13 Mores non habet hie 

meos libellus. 

"'Boissier thinks this is a very poor defence. Perhaps Martial means by his 
probitas nothing more than freedom from certain perversions which he mentions to 
satirize. The ordinary violations of chastity would not in his eyes constitute a 
defect of character. He may, however, be merely echoing Ovid, Trist. II 354 and 
Catull. 16, 5. 

Martial's literary attitude elmore 73 

of great importance. In the eyes of one his work (strange to say) lacks 
pungency, to whom the author replies that for the kind of pungency 
he desires^^* he should seek elsewhere. Nor for the sake of vigor will 
he resort to an archaic harshness of measure ; his verses shall run with 
smooth cadence, and those who find them weak do not know what real 
strength is.^^^ It is true, his work is uneven^^^ some good and some bad 
but evenness is only another name for mediocrity.^^^ Some of the 
epigrams, it was also said with considerable frequency, were too long, 
in which case the critic is invited to read^ only the short ones,^^^ or 
adjured not to be so unreasonable as to pick only the dainties,^^ or is 
taunted with being no judge, having himself written nothing.^**' The 
serious justification of this mechanical objection is of course an appeal to 
precedent, and to the principle of artistic unity. When the sense is not 
clear or the construction unidiomatic, the fault lies with the copyist 
blunders which the author acknowledges and which the critic might be 
expected to correct for himself in silence.^*^ 

Martial also suffered from having his work stolen. The plagiarists 
had various devices. One was so shameless that he did not even buy the 
book which he recited as his own;^^^ another made the purchase of the 
volume the basis of his literary ownership ;^'*^ and still another inserted 
a single page of his own, seeking thus the impression that he was the 
author of the whole book.^** But such crude methods were sure of 
detection. It was not possible to appropriate the work of a well-known 
author without discovery. ''What you really need," says Martial to the 
plagiarists with fine sarcasm, "if you are to acquire fame from another's 
compositions, is to buy not only his work, but also his silence. Remember 
however, that this will not make you a poet ; the applause of the world is 
not to be gained so cheaply. "^*^ In protecting himself against literary 
thieves in general Martial calls on his friend Quinctianus for assistance. 
When the latter sees one of the poet's books in slavery, as it were, he 
should become its champion and if possible put some shame into the 
heart of him who had stolen it.^** 

The epigrams on plagiarists in books I and II raise the question as 
to what previous work of Martial had suffered from their ravages. It 
seems hardly probable that the plagiarist would busy himself with 
the Liber Spectaculorum, the Xenia, the Apophoreta, or the effusions 
of Martial's youth which he had himself forgotten. It is more likely 

"^X 45, 5. 

^^XI 90, 8. 

^'I 16, I. 

^"VII 90,4. 

^"VI 65,4. 

^"X 59,4- 

***I 91, 2; no, 2. 

'" II 8. 

*"I 29; 62; 

XII 72, 7. 

'*" II 20. Cf. XII 46. 

"*I 53. 

'*=I 66; 72. 

*I 52. 


that the reference is to an earHer edition of books I and II, which, as 
Stobbe has made probable,^*^ appeared in a single book. In fact these 
references to plagiarists are an evidence of this earlier publication. 

With the exception of XII 72, Martial makes no references to 
plagiarism in his later work; he does, however, record two protests 
against the opposite practice of attributing to him work of which he was 
not the author. In one case the verses were of an extremely personal 
and vindictive character such as Archilochus might have written for the 
destruction of Lycambes, but which Martial repudiates in no uncertain 
tone. **My jesting," he says, "as you well know, is harmless." He also 
disowns the verses written in a low and filthy jargon which a certain 
nameless poet was attempting to pass off as his. "Far from my books," 
he writes, "be such foul fame."^*^ 

With this keen sense of ownership in his work, he was also anxious 
to profit by it in a material way. He takes pains accordingly to point out 
where his book could be bought. It was for sale in a small parchment 
edition by Secundus, whose shop was behind the temple of Peace,^* by 
Atrectus in the Argiletum, at five denarii a copy,^"^^ to whom he 
recommends a would-be-borrower, by Q. Pollius Valerianus, who makes 
a specialty of the earlier compositions/^^ and by the bookseller Trypho, 
from whom the Xenia could be obtained for four or even two sesterces. ^"- 
Through these shops and doubtless through many others Martial's books 
were sold widely, but whatever the conditions of the book-trade may have 
been, the author in this case seems to have received little or no benefit 
from the extensive circulation of his works. "My verse," he says in one 
of the latest books/^ "is thumbed by the stern centurion amid Getic frosts 
and is said to be read even in distant Britain. And yet what profit is 
there for me? My purse knows naught of all this fame." This direct 
statement, which he makes also with respect to his earlier work,^'* 
chimes in well with what we know otherwise of Martial's straightened 
circumstances. As compensations, however, he had the notice of 
Domitian, from whom he received the ius natorum trium}^^ and the 
country place at Nomentum, the acquaintance (and doubtless often more 
tangible recognition) of the leading men of the state,^^^ and a fame which 
came while he was still living to enjoy it. 

This want of money was in part responsible for the want of leisure 
which Martial deplores as one of the unfavorable conditions of his 
literary activity. The fact that he writes only one book a year is not due 

"^ Philologus, XXVI 62, ff. ^ X 3, 9- '* I 2, 8. 

"*! 117, 10. "^I 113. ""IV 72, 4; XIII 3, 1-4. 

"'XI 3, 1-6. ^'*XIII I, 8. ^11 92. '""X 70, 9- 

Martial's literary attitude elmore 75 

to lack of diligence, he affirms, but to his preoccupation with other affairs 
that fritter away the day.^^^ This want of leisure affects the quality 
as well as the quantity of his work. When one of his friends reproaches 
him with writing nothing really great he replies : "Give me leisure 
such as that which Maecenas gave to Horace and Vergil, and I will 
essay something which shall live through the ages and snatch my name 
from the flames of oblivion. "^''^ To his need of a Maecenas, Martial 
returns in an epigram addressed to his friend Flaccus. "Give me," he 
says, "such gifts as he gave to Vergil, and I shall not be a Vergil but a 
Marsus."^^^ Martial also found that his best work required not only 
leisure but the familiar conditions of the city. He makes this clear in 
the prose preface to book XH, written in Spain. He misses the libraries, 
theatres, and clubs, where one studied human nature at first hand but 
where the labor of observation was lost in the pleasure. In the freedom of 
the Saturnalia he found himself especially productive. "I can do nothing," 
he says, "without wine, but when I am drinking, I have the power of a 
dozen poets, and if to the wine there be added kisses such as Catullus 
loved, I will write something that shall rank with the latter's Sparrow. "^^^ 
Apart from the Saturnalia with its wine and women, Martial looks on 
love as the greatest inspiration. "If it is your wish," he says to 
one of his friends,^^- "to give strength and spirit to my muse, and if 
you desire of me verses which shall live, give me some one to love. 
It was Cynthia that made the naughty Propertius a poet ; the fair Lycoris 
was the soul of Gallus. The beautiful Nemesis gave fame to the wit of 
Tibullus; while Lesbia inspired the accomplished Catullus. As for me 
neither the Pelignians nor the Mantuans will refuse me the name of bard, 
if only I have some Corinna or some Alexis." 

Aside from what relates to his own work Martial has a few 
observations on the poet's calling in general. It is difficult to achieve 
success,^^ and when it comes, it brings virtually no return except empty 
applause;^* indeed poets worthy (in their own estimation at least) to be 
spoken of in the same breath with Ovid and Vergil, shiver in threadbare 
garments. ^^^ Even fame in the real sense, owing to the prevalent 
distrust of contemporary authors, is reserved for the ancients. Thus 
Homer was derided by his own age and rarely was Menander applauded 
and crowned in the theater ; Ennius was read in the life-time of Vergil, 
and Ovid was known only to his own Corinna.^^ Fame thus usually 
comes only with death, a price which no one can afford to pay.^^^ 

"'X 70; XI 24. '''I 107. "*VIII 56, 23. 

^"XI 6, 12-6. ^"VIII 73' '''I ^, 4- 

'"I 76, 10. ''11138,9. "'V 10. ^"VIII 69,4. 


AuRELio Macedonio Espinosa 

LATIN nisi (= only, except, but) was expressed by a great variety 
of forms and constructions in the early Romance languages. 
Among these, the most interesting and perhaps the most important 
one was (non)-si non, a construction which seems to have survived in all 
the Romance languages with the exception of Roumanian. 

A general but very incomplete treatment of all these forms and 
constructions in the Romance languages is found in Meyer-Liibke, Gram. 
HI, 700-703. The French forms have been carefully studied by Tobler, 
Verm. Beitrdge HI, 13, and Ebeling Krit. Jahresb. V, 212-214, gives 
additional, interesting and important information on the question of the 
separation of si non. 

The present study is intended to be a contribution to the history 
of the 'Trennung,' and no attempt has been made to study the semasiology 
of the problem. 

Diez (IH,^ 1065) had already called attention to the separation 
of se non in old French and Provencal, but did not know of the exist- 
ence of the same phenomenon in any other Romance language. Tobler 
has limited himself to the study of the old French forms, and in his 
treatment of se - non he has shown that the 'Trennung' or separation 
of se and non with the object or object phrase between them, is the rule. 
Meyer-Liibke (op. cit.) also calls attention to the existence of this 
phenomenon in Provengal, but gives only one example. I shall soon 
show that the *Trennung' as found in old French is also the regular 
construction in old Provengal and in old Portuguese. 


To the numerous instances of the 'Trennung' which is the rule in 
old French, given by Tobler, I beg to add the following: Roland (Stengel) 
221, 1522, 3681; R. de la Rose (Servois) 539, 1616, 2712, 2866, 3135; 
Les Narbonnais (Suchier) 937, 966, 2858, 3071; Yvain (Foerster) 5379, 
5823; Loois (Langlois) 984; R. de Troie (Constans) 128, 754, 1251, 
1596, 3072, 3692, 3764, 6254, 8739, 1 1978, 30242; Raoul de C. (Meyer- 
Longlon 1882) 7335, 8253; Saxenlied (Menzel-Stengel) 59, 1856, 2374; 


R. de Thebes (Constans) 576, 6654; Aliscans (Hartnacke-Rasch) 352, 
7044; Florence de Rome (Wallenskold) 1272, 3538; Eneas (J. S. de 
Grave) 4217, 7140, 8096; Folque de Candie (Schultz-Gorra) 3040, 
79955 R' d'Escanor (Michelant) 1603, 11771; Ille et Gal. (Foerster) 54, 
4158; L'Escoufle (Michelant-Meyer) 2527, 8455; Marie de France 
Fabeln (Warnke 1898) 7: 36, 19: 26, 29: 15, 46: 73; Gambrai, Dalaham 
und Josaphas (Appel 1907) 924, 1670, 2058, 6974, 7954, 12276. 

The undivided se non, tho rare, also exists in Old French (see 
Ebeling, op. cit., p. 212). Among the curious contaminations of ne se 
non with other constructions I have found the following: 

(i) ne se non -|- ne fors que: 

*Ha! dame, tant belle vous voy 

Et tant sent vostre oignement bon 

Que je n'ay fors que se bien non,' 

[Miracles (Paris-Robert) II, 46] 

(2) ne se non -|- ne mais (que) : 

'Dieus,' dist li quens, 'or n'ai mais se bien non!' 

[Le Mon. Guillaume (Cloetta) 2681] 

(3) ne se non -f" ne que: 

*Mes ij. freres laissai, par devant Tabarie, 
II ne font que bien non.' 

[Bauduin de Sebourc VII, 142-143] 

For ne fors non, see Tobler {op. cit.) 89. 

The 'Trennung' is found in French as late as the XV century : 

'Car je n'y pense se bien non' 

[Chr. de Fisan (Roy) I, 100] 

*Sont maintes fois les dames deceiies, 

Car simples sont, n'y pensent se bien non.' 

[Ibid. II, 4] 

By the XVI century the 'Trennung' no longer existed : 

'Mais ton ame, n'est pas ravie, 
Sinon de justice et bonte.' 

[Poet, du XV I^ siecle (Lemercier) Ronsard 118] 

'Aux anciens la Muse a permis de tout dire. 
Tenement qu'il ne reste a nous autres derniers, 
Sinon le desespoir d'ensuivre les premiers,' 

[Ibid. 185] 


The last construction still exists in modern French poetry and 
sometimes in prose. ^ 


In old Provengal the 'Trennung' is also the rule. Diez {op. cit.) knew 
of the existence of this phenomenon in Provengal and Meyer-Liibke 
{op, cit.) cites one instance. EbeHng {op. cit.) has found a few 
more instances and also gives examples of the undivided se non both for 
old French and Provengal. To the few cases of the Trennung' given by 
Ebeling I desire to add the following, to show that in old Provencal it 
was the rule, just as in old French. The Provencal forms are si no, 
se no, si non, se non: 

'e malvaitz hom dinz sa maiso 
que no fa ditz si mal no.' 

[Appel Chr.^ 43, 80-81] 

'Marcabrun qo no m'es pas bon 
que d'amor digaz si ben non ;' 

[Ibid. 85, lo-ii] 

*e no uoillatz autr'om li do 
Nuill jorn a maniar si uos no.' 

[Monaci Auzels (S F R III) 1344-1345] 

'Al segle ne ere quel plaga 
Que diga re se so'l mal non.' 

[Cans. Prov. Riccardiana (Bertoni G R L 8) 41, 12-13] 

'Don crei morir si no len pren merces, 
Que mon cor es mirails de so faigo. 
Per qel fugir no mes ren se mal no.' 

[Canz. Prov. C. (S F R VII) 80, 14-16] 

'Qades poing en son pro. 
E non fai se mal no.' [Ibid. 83, 14-15] 

*qem pren qan fuich em met ental preiso. 
quissir non puos si mortz o amatz no.'- 

[Canz. Prov. ^ (S F R III) 341, 22-23] 

non agui entensio 

cab antra si ab vos no.' [Ibid. 452, 55-56] 

1 See Matzner, Franz. Gram.^ (Berlin 1885), 165. 

2 In old French only one of two or more objects intervened as a rule: 

'Onques n'i pot antrer vilains 
se dames non et chevalier' [Erec. 6913-14] 

'Onkes n'oi d'els se mal non 

ct felonie et traison.' {Eneas 6221-22] 


Tieca quil nen ot guerre sa paians non 
Tuit sunt conquis par force aquil felon.' 

[Oxford Rossillon (Boehmer Stud. V) 1 542-1 543 ]^ 

'Ains seriez a rome dins prat neiron 
Que luns ne requert lautre se p mort non/ 

[Ibid. 2851-2852] 

'E apreu de ma mort mon fil folcon 
Qui ne dera consel ia se bon non.' 

[Ibid. 3008-3009] 

'Moinges saz utres noues del rei carlon 
Eu non co dist li moinges se males non.' 

[Ibid. 6774-677 s] 

*E coilli les Girarz en sa maison 
Ainc rendre ne les voult se issi non 

[London Rossillon (Boehmer Stud. V) 2039-2040]; 

'Qui domna garda tan s'i pert 
Si non la met en tal preiso, 
Que non la veja s'aquel no 
Que la deu gardar et aver ;' 

[Flamenca (P. Meyer) 1152-1155] 

*Non s'i bainet si rix hom no.' [Ibid. 1493] 

'Car non sai coraus n'i veirai 

se de cor no; ' [Ibid. 2831-2832] 

'Amiga, nom fai si mal no/ [Ibid. 4192] 

*Homz no pot re vezer 
Ad huelz, si color no 
Sobre caique faisso 
Moven o no moven.' 
[N'at de Mons (W. Bernhardt, Altfr. Bib. 11), I, 195-198] 

'Car plazer non a res. 
Si de son semblan no/ [Ibid. 1040-1041] 

'Car sabers ses sen bo 
No fa leu si mal no.' [Ibid. II, 529-530] 

'Que pos elh non an fait envas nos traicio 
No los degratz destruire si per jutjamen no.' 

]^roisade contres les Albig. (Meyer) 5065-5066] 

'E pauso lor amor e las manentias d'aquest segle, et el deleit de la charn 
don ia nol venra nula re se mala no.' 

[Bartsch Chr.'' 28, 2-4] 


Just as in old French there is found also in old Provengal the less 
frequent undivided form: 

'aisso tenc eu per gran error, 

e per mon grat no seria, 

que ges no mou si non de cor caitiu,' 

[Appel Chr.^ 32, 37-39] 

*que degun non podia annar per la ciutat, si non per la gent morta 
ayci que era mot fera causa de vezer ho.' [B. Lesebuch 177, 4-6]' 

By the XV century, however, the Trennung' no longer exists in 
Provencal : 

'Helas ! helas ! la ciutat de Tholosa 
Voldria veser! Mas guardar no la gauza. 
Si no qu' un pauc.' 

[Gay Saber (Gatieu-Arnoult) III, 125] 

*D 'autre gazanh no vos qualha, 
Sino del celestial.' [Ibid. 263] 

'Sola, san par, gentil, flor agradiva, 

Vostre nau pretz tot mon sentimen priva 

D'autra servir, sino vos, bel' e bona;' [Ibid. 252] 


No one has ever called attention to the fact that the 'Trennung' 
as found in old French and old Provengal is also the rule in the old 
Portuguese.'* This is actually the case to the end of the XIV century. 
The regular old Portuguese form is se non: 

'Ca non e outre se en non, 
que mi-o tive de-la sazon.' 

[Cane, da Ajuda (Carolina Michaelis) I, 11] 

'E pesa vus porque non ei 

eu poder no meu coragon 

d'amar, mia senhor, se vos non.' [Ibid. 28] 

'Mais pos i foren dormiran, 
ca non desejan al, nen an 
outra coita se esta non.' [Ibid. 72] 

3 For more cases see Ebeling (op. cit., p. 212). 

* Ebeling, however, cites one case {op. cit., p. 214). 


' por niun ben 

desejar eu de nulha ren 

eno mundo, se de vos non.' [Ibid. 117] 

'Ca tal dona! si Deus a mi perdon! 

non a no mundo, se mia senhor non.' [Ibid. 109] 

*E se m'esto contra vos non valer, 

non me valra logu' i se morte non.' [Ibid. 178] 

*Non me fez Deus tal dona ben querer, 
nen mi-a mostrou, se por aquesto non.' [Ibid. 181] 

'pois Deus non quer que aja se mal non.' [Ibid. 257] 

*Nunca Ihes por en fagan se mal non.' [Ibid. 268] 

*E amigos, non me soub' en guardar 

per outra ren se per aquesta non :' [Ibid. 294] 

'Mia senhor, nunca despois vi, 

per boa fe, se mui gran pesar non ;' [Ibid. 343] 

*Non jaz i al se morte non,' [Ibid. 571] 

'nen mi-o sab' outren, se Deus non!' [Ibid. 682] 

*Ca nunca de vos ei d' aver 

I Mal pecado ! se coita non.' [Ibid. 713] 

'Non tenh' eu se morte non.' [Ibid. 713] 

'que nunca devedes fazer 
en nulha cousa se ben non !' [Ibid. 719] 

'non mi valrra se Deus non!' [Ibid. 904] 

Just as in Provengal there are also found in old Portuguese rare examples 
of the undivided se non: 

'nunca me pose tolher al 

mal nen gran coita, se non mal.' 

[Cane, da Ajuda I, 216] 

By the XV century the regular undivided form had become the rule : 

* ca elle nom ffezeera aquelo, senom pelo 
toruar de se non ir lancar sobre elle.' 

[Vasconcellos Text. Arch. 65, 23-24] 

' que OS libros nunca forom feitos senom 
pera aquelles que non sabem e querem aprender.' 
[Ibid. 55, 12-13] 


From the XVI century the usual form has been senao r'^ 

*Nao tens aqui senao apparelhado 
O hospicio que o cru Doimedes dava.' 
[Camoens Lusiddas II, 62] 

*Em nenhuma outra cousa confiado, 
Senao no summo Deos que o ceo regia,' 
[Ibid. Ill, 43] 

'Agora conhego com certeza que nao ha outro 
Deos em toda terra, senao o Deos de Israel.' 
[Roquete Hist. Sagr. II, 45] 


A regular use of the Trennung,' as found in old French, old 
Provengal and old Portuguese, does not seem to exist in Italian and 

A. In Italian the usual forms are se non, se no, senon : 

*La sete natural che mai non sazia 
Se non con I'acqua onde la femminetta 
Samaritana dimando la grazia' 

[Dante, Purg. XXI, 1-3] 

Other cases are: Inferno X, 21, XVII, 117, XIX, 114, XXV, 37; 
Purgatorio XII, 129, XIII, 6; Paradiso I, 137, X, 90, 148, XVII, 41, 
XXII, 54. 

'Omai, care compagne, niuna cosa resta piu a fare al mio 
reggimento per la presente giornata se non darvi reina 

[Bocc. Decam. I, 10] 

' m'ha trovato in prigione, della quale mai se non morto 
uscire non spero!' 
[Ibid. II, 6] 

'^ In Camoens, mas (cf. Spanish mas) is usually equivalent to senao, even after 
a negation, and by far more frequent. In the Spanish of the XVI-XVII centuries 
the line between mas, sino, pero, was not clearly drawn, and salvo, excepto, mas 
que added to this confusion. See also Bello-Cuervo, Gram,^o 1275- 1278. For the 
curious forms nego, nega = senao found in Gil Vicente, see Cornu in Rom. XI, 89. 
In Sa de Miranda and other Portuguese poets sinon > son, and in the Alexandre 
sino > sin, see Carolina Michaelis, ZRPh. IV, 603. 

6 In Spanish, however, a few isolated and curious cases are found, see C. 
For Italian, I know only the case cited by Raynouard, Lexique Roman IV (1842) 


A niun altro s'ha da attribuire la causa se alle donne no.' 

[Castiglione, Corteg. lib. Ill] 


'Digli : un che non ti vide da ancor presso, 
Se non come per fama uom s'innamora ;' 
[Petrarca Rime I Cans VI] 

'Vera Donna, ed a cui di nulla cala, 
Se non d'onor, che sovr' ogni altra mieti ;' 
[Ibid. Son. CCXXV] 

*Non sa che far la timida donzella, 
Se non tenersi ferma in sii la sella.' 

[Ariosto Orl. Fur. VIII, 25] 

'Questo cuore che amor mai non richiesse 

Se non forse a le idee 
E che ferito tra le sue contese 
Ora morir si dee.' 

[Carducci, Intermezzo IX, 9]^ 

B. (i) In old Spanish the usual forms are si non, sy non, sinon, sino, 
si no : 

'Que non yfincas ninguno, mugier nin varon. 
Si non amas sus mugieres dofia Eluira e dofia Sol:' 
[Cid 2709-2710] 

*non lo sabrian dezir los que leen sermones, 
sy non los que suffrieron tales tribulagiones.' 
[St. Do. de Silos, 74 be] 

'Plus pavoroso dia nunqua amanegio, 
Sinon el viernes sancto quando Christo murio.' 
[San Mil! an 379 cd] 

'Asmo que lo non podrie en otra guisa matar 
sy non por aventura por aquel lugar.' 

[Alexandre (Morel Fatio) 708 ab] 

'Non puede a nuyll omne la cosa mas durar. 
Si non quanto el fado le quiso otorgar;' 
[Appollonio 341 ab] 

'e Julio Cesar en estos V annos non pudo ganar sino fasta 

[Pr. Cronica Gen. (Pidal) 9a, 4-5] 

'Non queria cassar con una sola mente, 
Sy non con tres mugeres, tal era su talente.' 
[J. Ruiz 189 be] 

'Ca non ha pobre honbre 
Sy non el cobdigioso;' 

[Sem. Tob. Prov. 214 ab] 

' For more cases see Tommaseo-Bellini, Dizionario IV, 795-796. In Italian 
there is also used se non se = se no (T-B). 


'Et el dean le prometio et le aseguro que de qualquier bien que el 
oviese, que nunca faria sinon lo que el mandase. 

[Juan Manuel Lucanor, 47, 45] 

Other old Spanish instances of this regular use of si non, sino, are 
the following: 

Pr. Cronica Gen. HaiQ, 2ib2, 4ia45, 57b30, 76b3T, 94ai8, i03b4T, 
iiibio, Ii9a42, I22bii; San Milldn 42d, 21 id, 379d; SacriHgio gd, i6c, 
202b; Milagros 4od, 4id, 761c; Alixandre (M. Fatio) 7d, i96d, i6o9d; 
Ferndn Gonz. (Harden) 53d, ii9d, 23od, 348c; Cavallero Cifar 
(Michelant 1872) 19:23, 25:6, 51:18, 65:6, 77:6; Lucanor 6:11, 54:24, 
56:3, 58:17, 64:22, 75:6, 80:3, 92:15, 110:17, 121:12; Juan Ruiz 6o2d, 
703c, 86od, 1423d. 

(2) Since the Classic period the regular form is sino : 

'Mire vuestra merced, respondio Sancho, que aquellos que 
alii se parecen no son gigantes, sino molinos de 
viento, [Don Quixote VII] 

'Tu nuestro principe eres; 
Ni admitimos ni queremos 
Sino al senor natural 
y no a principe extranjero.' 

[Calderon, La Vida es Sueho III, 2] 

*Ni en su vida conocio otro mal, sino una especie de alferecia que le 
amagaba de cuando en cuando.' 

[Moratin, El Si de las ninas I, 4] 

C. The 'Trennung' in Spanish. 

Hanssen (Spanische Gram. 66) says: 'Im Altspanischen konnen 
si und non getrennt werden,' giving as an example the well known case 
from the Egipciaqua. Ebeling {op. cit.) has already called attention to 
the fact that this may be a French construction. It should be added that 
in the Egipciaqua, sino is regularly used, and the 'Trennung' occurs only 
in the first case, evidently a French construction. To see how closely 
the Spanish poem follows the probable French original, it is sufficient to 
compare the two in the opening lines as given by Mussafia (Sitzungs- 
berichfe der Phil. -Hist. Kl. der Kais. Acad, der Wissenschaften, Wien, 
V, XLIII, 157). With the exception of this very doubtful case, there 
does not exist, to my knowledge, a single case of the 'Trennung' for the 


old Spanish period. Hanssen's statement, therefore, if based only on 
the example given, is a very bold one. 

Neither Hanssen nor Ebeling seem to know, however, that a few 
isolated cases of the 'Trennung' are found in the Spanish of the XV and 
XVI centuries. The total number of cases known to me is the following : 

(a) The two examples from the Amadis, given by Bello (Bello- 
Cuervo, Gram}^ 1282 note). 

(b) The proverb used by Cervantes, 'en ayunas si de pecar no.* 
(Bello-Cuervo, Ibid.). 

(c) ^iK. quien contare mis quexas si a ti no? ' 

(El Marques d'Astorga, Cancionero, cf. Raynouard, op. cit.) 

(d) The cases found in the verses (some Spanish, some Portuguese) 
addressed to D. Joao III by Gil Vicente (Obras, Lisboa 1852, Vol. Ill) : 

*<iAquien contare mis quejas, 
Si a vos no?' 

3-4, 1 1- 1 2, 27-28 

'Que no contare mis quejas 
Si a vos no.' 19-20 

Torque no cuento mis quejas 
Si a vos no.' 35-36 

The cases from the Amadis are very interesting and curious, in view 
of the fact that the regular undivided sino is the rule and it is very 
frequent. Examples: 'porque el rey su marido nunca la consintio cubrir 
sus hermosos cabellos sino de una muy rica guirlanda,' la 9; 'Si me vos 
prometeis, dijo el Rey, como leal doncella, de lo no descubrir sino alii 
donde es razon, yo os lo dire,' 2b 31, etc., iib36, i6b54, 22a40, 24b29, 
26b39, 28b2, 35a7, 37bi3, 42b, 34, 5oa28, etc., etc. 

The cases from Astorga and Gil Vicente seem to be fixed formulas 
but I have not found any other cases. Gil Vicente uses the regular 
sino in all other places, and in his Portuguese writings he uses sendo, 
just as Camoens, and not the old Portuguese se non: 

'Eu nao quero de ti nada 
Senao abragar como amiga.' 

[Ohras, op. cit. I, 131] 

'Eu nao vejo aqui maneira, 
Senao emfim concrudir.' [Ihid. 229] 

D. It is probable that in Catalan (XIII-XIV centuries) the 


Trennung' may occur as in Provencal. I have had at my disposal only 
XV century texts, and there it is not found, e. g. : 

' corrents atzebres, 

ludries, vebres, 
hon bo ni bell 
sino la pell 
als no si troba:' 

[Jacme Roig (Chabas, 1905) 130a 75-76] 


No se non; no, sino; si non; se non, are often strengthened by the 
additional use of such adverbs as solemcnt, solo or similar adjectives 
placed before or after non, sino : 

(a) Old French: 

'Car il ne mena home o sei, 
Ne escuier ne compagnon, 
Se solement son cheval non.' 
[Thehes 574-576] 

'Done amez vos je le vos prius, 
Car doucor an nul mal ne truis 
S' an amor non tan solemant.' 
[Cliges 31 15-31 17] 

*Ne nus ne puet aparcevoir 
Qu'il i aut por nul acheison, 
Se por I'astor solemant non.' 
[Ibid. 6324-26]^ 

(b) Old Spanish: 

Todos yscamos fuera, que nadi non raste, 
Si non dos peones solos por la puerta guardar.' 
[Cid. 686-687] 

' porque la onra de Roma ficasse por todauia e la de Carthago fuesse 
destroyda por siempre, que non fincasse si no el nombre solo;' 

[Pr. Cronica Gen. 51a 34-37] 

^ For old Provencal cases, see Ebeling, op. cit, 213. 


' et de guisa los sopo traer et reboluer en sus torneos que todos los 
mato, sinon uno solo que finco y canssado, et a aquel non le quiso ya 
matar Roy Diaz mio Cid.' 

[Ibid. 503a 18-22] 

' pero al cabo non le quiso ninguno tomar la yura, maguer que la el rey 
quisiese dar, sinon Roy Diaz el Cid solo.' 

[Ibid. 519a 6-8] 

* porque el rey don Alffonsso non dexara heredero fijo nin fija sinon a 
la reyna donna Vrraca sola.' 

[Ibid. 645b 41-43] 

'esto non lo penssedes njn coydedes njn creades 
que sinon la muerte sola non parte las voluntades.' 

[Juan Ruiz 860 cd.] 

I have found in old Spanish one case of sinon solo solamientre : 

' ca de quantos alii son llegados non pudo ninguno 
ferir en somo del tablado sinon el solo tan solamientre;' 
[Pr. Cronica Gen. 432a 1-3] 

(c) Middle Spanish: 

' por aquella que en su tiempo par de sabiduria no tuvo en todas artes, 
sino solamente en la del engafioso amor de aquel que mas que a si mesnia 
amaba.' [Amadis 400 a- 14- 16] 

'l Que mas mala ventura quiere vuesa merced, que de once polios que 
me saco la gallina, no me han quedado sino solos cinco?' 

[Lope de Rueda (Acad.) II, 29] 

' Yo no vivo 
Sino solo de mi hacienda, 
Ni paje en mi vida fui.' 

[Tellez Don Gil I, 2, 245] 

'Nunca, dixo a este punto Sancho Panza, he oido llamar con don 
a mi senora Dulcinea, sino solamente la senora Dulcinea del Toboso,' 

[Don Quixote II, 3] 

'Y aunque nunca vi ni hable 
Sino a un hombre solamente, 
Que aqui mis desdichas siente, ' 

[Calderon La Vida es sueho I, 204] 


(d) Italian: 

'Noli calea niitna cosa 
Se non de morte solamente, 
Quando uedea suo fillio gente.' 

[Poesie Relig. 54, 11]* 

(e) Catalan (XV century) : 

'No vull del mon 
sino sols vos, 
puys som abdos, 
ha jam plaer 
ab bon voler 
e fin amor.' 

[Jacme Roig 98, 59-63] 


When a new verb is introduced, sino que, se no che, sino che, senao 
que are used in Spanish/*^ Italian, Catalan and Portuguese : 

(a) Spanish: 

'ca numqua fiz otro yerro contra ti sino que te quiero bien ' 
[Pr. Cronica Gen. 43a 29-30] 

*ca si el consejo que da recude a bien, non ha otras gracias 
sinon que dizen que fizo su debdo en dar buen consejo, ' 
[Lucanor 52, 20-23] 

'y no parecia sino que el diablo le traia a la memoria los 
cuentos acomodados a sus sucesos,' 
[Don Quixote I, 5] 

*For more cases see Tommaseo-Bellini, op. cit., 796a. 
^^ In old Spanish sino tanto que was also used : 

' no fallamos escriptas ningunas cosas que de contar sean, si no 
tanto que en el dozeno anno murio Cleto el papa,' 

[Pr. Cronica Gen. 140a 28-30] 

* no fallamos escripta ninguna cosa que de contar sea, si no tanto 
que en el dezeno, segund cuentan las estorias, quexo el senado de Roma mucho a 
Traiano ell emperador ' [Ibid., 144b 13-16] 

Cf. also 152a, 155a, i6ib, i68b, 176b, 177b, 183b, etc., etc. An emphatic tant 
is also used in the old French construction, fors tant que, [Tobler, 89.] 


(b) Italian: 

*E non so qui trovare altro compenso 

Se non che '1 tempo e breve, e i di son ratti ;' 
[Petrarca Rime II, 441] 

*ma io non so clii egli si fu, se non che uno, avendomi recati danari 
che egli mi dovea dare di panno, etc' 

[Boccaccio Dec. 1, i] 

*0 tranne tutti gli altri, e piii non chero, 
Se non che tu mi lasci il mio Ruggiero.' 
[Ariosto Orl. Fur. IV, 33] 

'Egli non fece al suo disio piu schermi, 
Se non che cerco via di seco avermi/ 
[Ibid. XIII, 9] 

(c) Catalan: 

*En bona fe, pare, dix micer Sipelleto, tal cosa jo no se que may fes, 
sino, que es ver que una vegada un home me havia comprats draps ' 

[Boccaccio Dec. I, i, Trad. Cat. ed. Torrents] 

(d) Portuguese: 

*E ainda, Nymphas minhas, nao bastava 
Que tamanhas miserias me cercassem ; 
Senao que aquelles que eu cantando andava, 
Tal premio de mens versos me tornassem:' 
[Os Liisiadas VII, 81] 

*e nao so se farao senhores dos mesmos thesouros, 
sem d'elles deixar cousa alguma, senao, que ate 
a vossos proprios filhos captivarao, ' 

[Roquete Hist. Sagr. II, 94] 


The use of se non, senon in positive questions without the preceding 
negation, but apparently, also with the negative idea, as found in old 
French : 

'Sire, pour coi plores ? aves vos se bien non ?' Ch. lyon 4605 (Tobler, 
op. cit., p. 70) and which is also frequent later, 


*Qu' ai-je depuis men enfance, 
Sinon tout injuste offense 
Senti de mes plus prochains ?' 

[Poet, du XVI e siecle du Bellay p. 234] 

Tourquoi leur faisons nous du genou tant d'honneurs, 
Sinon pour leur richesse? ' 

[Ibid. Ronsard 181] 

is also a regular construction in old and modern Spanish : 

*Cosa tan con recabdo qui la ordenaria, 
Si non tu fijo, madre, por qui todo venia?* 
[Berceo Loores I53cd] 

'Quando daqui saldremos i que vestido leuaremos 
Si non el conuiuio de Dios de aquell en que creyemos ?' 
[Appollonio 655 cd] 

'Sus infinitos tesoros, 
Sus villas y sus lugares, 
Su mandar, , 

I Que le fueron sino lloros? 
I Que fueron sino pesares 
Al dexar?' 

[Ant. poet. Uric. cast. Manrique III, 108] 

'i A Quien debo yo llamar 
Vida mia, 
Sino a ti, Virgen Maria? ' 

[Ibid., Juan del Encina IV, 192]" 

The above construction is also found in Portuguese: 

'Com quern foram contino sopeados 
Estes, de quem o estais agora vos, 
Por Diniz, e su filho, sublimados, 
Senao co'os vossos fortes pais, e avos ?' 
[Camoens Lusiddas IV, 17] 

11 When a new verb is introduced sino que is used (cf. VII) : 
'i Que quiso significar- Esto, sino que Castilla 
Devia' con gran mancilla- La tal perdida llorar ?* 

[Anl. Poet. Lir. Guzman, I, 240] 

*l Que me ha de parecer, sino que almorcemos?' [Thehayda 158] 

in Italian 


'Com que melhor podemos, hum dizia, 
Este tempo passar, que he tao pesado, 
Senao com algum conto de alegria. 
Com que nos deixe o somno carregado?' 
[Ibid. VI, 40] 

'Che poss' io far, temendo il mio signore,^' 
Se non star seco infin' all' ora estrema?' 
[Petrarca Rime I Son. CIX] 

and in Catalan: 

'i que als divisa 
sino gran fum?' 

[Jacme Roig 45a 4-5] 


The independent use of se non, sino, etc. (= except, only) without 
the preceding negation, as found in old French : 

*Seur mer uint il en un sablon, 
Mes par tens li fera si mau non 
Vn gran serpens qui descendi.' 

[Octavian (Vollmoller 1883) 585-587] 

'Et courtois, ou vosist ou non, 
Car amours a si courtois non.' 

[Antecrist (Wimmer) 70] 

(see also Tobler (op. cit. 70), has a much wider extension of use and 
meaning in Spanish, and is found also in other Romance languages. 
In Spanish and Italian sino que, se non che are used in the same manner 
when a new verb is introduced (see VII). 

'^- Se non che is used when a new verb is introduced (VII) : 
'E che altro e da voi all' idolatre, 
Se non ch' egli uno, e voi n'orate cento?' 

[Dante Inf. XIX, 113- 114] 


(a) Spanish: 

'Si yo yogues con ellos auria gran placimientd, 
Sino quando viene el dia del pasamientc' 
[Appollonio 131 cd] 

'Los ssantos nionges ya sse partien 
Ssino los que romanegien.' 

[Egip. (1907) 846-847] 

'tremio la tierra en Antiochia tan fuerte, que se 
destruyo toda la cibdat, sino fue muy poca cosa.' 
[Pr. Cronica Gen. 144b 33] 

' e orauan me todos todo bien et toda salud, si non uno 
solo^^ que estaua y, que nin se alegraua comigo nin riye 
como los otros.' 

[Ibid. 271a 32] 

'Et el infante dixole que bien le parescia, sinon 
quel' fazian muy grand rroydo aquellos estrumentos/ 
[Lucanor 97] 

'mas ruegovos por Dios que vos membreis del doncel 
que es desamparado de todos sino de mi/ 
[Amadis 7, b34] 

'mas creo que lo faceis por no haber razon de os 
combatir, que a esta hora fallareis sino los diablos/ 
[Ibid, 31a 23] 

' Dorotea (que era discreta y de gran donayre) como 
quien ya sabia el menguado humor de don Quixote, y que 
todos hazian burla del, sino Sancho Panga, no quiso ser 
para menos,' 

[Don Quixote I, XXX] 

(b) Italian: 

'Che piangon dentro, ov' ogni orecchia e sorda, 
Se non la mia;' 

[Petrarca Rime II Son. XXVI] 

'Che 'n tutto quel mio passo er' io piu lieta 
Che qual d'esilio al dolce albergo riede; 
Se non che mi stringea sol di te pieta.' 
[Ibid. II Tr. de Morte 2] 

13 See VI b. 


'Ivi cosi una cornice lega 
Dintorno il poggio, come la primaia, 
Se non che Tarco suo piu tosto piega.' 
[Dante Purg. XIII, 4-6] 

(c) Catalan: 

* totes vixqueren, 
sino 1 damnat 

Judes pen j at;' 

[Jacme Roig 209b 2-4] 



BENEDICITEE, inter j.* Latin phrase taken from the song of praise of 
the three children protected in the fiery oven (Dan. 3, 57: Bene- 
dicite omnia opera Domini Domino laudate et superexaltate eum 
in saecula, cf. Ps. 102, 22 Benedicite Domino omnia opera eius;^ occur- 
ring also at the end of the Mass,^ cf. Missale Romanum Gratiarum actio 
post missam; sung also on the Dom. ad Laudes, cf. Brev. Rom. Horae 
Diurnae 3), used from early times. /. as interjection: (i) as a blessing, 
especially in greeting and at meals; {2) at the beginning of the confes- 
sion; (5) superstitiously, and accompanied by the sign of the cross, as a 
formula of imprecation, to protect against evil influences,* evil spirits, 
ghosts, the Devil.^ 

In this latter use it is possibly connected less with Dan. 3, 57 than 
with Dan. 3, 86: Benedicite spiritus et animae iustorum Domino, laudate 
etc., Ps. 133, 2 Benedicite Dominum omnes servi Domini etc., although 
Wycliffe^ says expressly in his interpretation of Dan. 3, 57: pus alle 
)?ingis blessen god but oonli yuele men and feendis. In English literature 
the phrase is first found bef. 1060 Cott. MS Cal. A. VII in the Charm 
against bewitched land:^ Wende )?e )?onne iii sunganges, astrece }?e 
)7onne on andlang and arim )?aer let aias and cweS l^onne: Sanctus 
sanctus sanctus oj? ende. Sing J^onne Benedicite a)?enedon earmon and 

1 From the Chaucer Dictionary. For an explanation of the abbreviations see 
Anglia XXXIV, 191 1: "Prolegomena and Side-Notes to the Chaucer Dictionary." 
^Myrroure of oure Layde 124: god of hys specyall mercy . . . shall kepe hys 
chosen in that fyre of trybulacyon vnhurte . . . And in token thereof ys thys 
fyfte psalme Benedicite songe at laudes. 

3G. Durandus Rationale Divin. Off. 4, 59 De benedictione novissima, ed. 
Koberger 1481 fol. 83. 

* The fear of evil influences is behind the words in Li Romans de Carite i, 
75, quoted by Godefroy s. v. and explained as 'priere en general': Bons cloistriers 
sans grande griete / Onkes silenche ne navra : Ne doit nis en necessite / Parler 
sans 'Benedicite' ; for the sense of 'exclamation comme : Grand Dieu' Godefroy 
has only one qu. from G. Chastellain + 1474. 

5 A formula necessary in the times of Antichrist, see Myrrour of oure Ladye 

Cf. the German phrase : alle guten geister loben gott den herrn. 

7 Works ed. Arnold 3, 62. 

Grein-Wiilker Bibl. i, 314. 


MagniUcat and Paternoster iii and bebeod hit Criste = used as a blessing 
to the field, as prayer and imprecation against evil influences ; later quota- 
tions : c I20j Layamon A 2, 12^ Heo {viz. the Monks) comen to heore 
abbede? & hine gretten ]7urh gode. Lauerd benedicite? we beo8 icumen 
biuoren J?e = used as a greeting addressed by an inferior to a superior f 
c 122^ Ancren Rizvle 64 hwon 3e schulen to owre parlures j?urle . . . go^' 
forS mid godes drede [ : ] to preoste on erest siggeS coniiteor ? & 
J7erefter benedicite ]pcet he ouh to siggen? herkneS his wordes = as a 
greeting (possibly connected with the confession) ; ib. 44 bitweone mete 
hwo se drinken wule sigge benedicite potum nostrum Ulius Dei henedicat 
= as a grace at table ;^^ c 1300 Interliidium de Cleric et Puella 63 (ed. 
Heuser, Anglia 30, 308) Mome Ellwis: A son vat saystu? benedicite! 
Lift hup yi hand and blis ye! = as a strong remonstrance against the 
wishes of the Clericus, with the additional thought that the word might 
avert evil influences; c 1300 Dame Siriz igs (Maetzn. Spr. Pr. i, 446 
with excellent note) Benedicite! be herinne! = exclamation of remon- 
strance;^^ /J77 Piers Plozvman B 5. 397 (Accidia confessing) He bygan 
benedicite with a bolke and his brest knocked / And roxed and rored and 
rutte atte laste = at the beginning of the confession, used by the penitent ; 
T^po Gozver C. A. i, 48 The selue prest . . . Was redy there ... To 
hiere my confessioun. This worthi Prest ... To me spekende thus 
began / And seide Benedicite / My sone . . . Thou schalt thee schrive 
= the confessor's blessing; c 1400 Tale of Beryn 40 Benedicite quod the 
Pardonere = exclamation of horror at the behavior of the woman ; 
ib. 314 = excl. of the girl frightened in her sleep ; ib. I2yi = imprecation 
against evil words; ib. iyi8 = excl. of surprize; ib. 322^ = excl. of 
disgust and surprize; f 1403 Lydoafe Ass. Gods 1594 A benedycyte 
noofi ere cowde I aduert / To thynke on Andrew the ApostyU = excl. 
of astonishment on becoming aware of his omission ; c 1430 York Plays 
449 f 33 (Petrus) : On goddis name benedicite! What may l^is mene? 
(Jacobus) : Itt is a sperite . . . that dose vse tene = excl. of fear at the 
apparition of Jesus; c 14^0 Tozvn. Plays 24 (Processus Noe) A bene- 
dicite what art thou that thus / Tellys afore that shalle be? Thou art 
fulle marvellus = excl. of fear addressed by the frightened Noe to the 

^ It must have been the request of the inferior to the superior to pronounce 
the blessing: 'quia minor maiore praesente benedicere non debet . . . regulariter 
autem maior minori benedicat,' G. Durand, 1. c. fol. 83^. 

10 Cf. Furnivall E. E. Meals 366 ff. 

11 Maetzner takes it as "halb substantiviert" ; I take it as interj. and 'be 
herinne' as an exclamation (cf. also the Town. PI. 85), a phrase lacking the subject, 
which is 'God,' cf. German 'Gott sei bei uns I Gott steh uns bei ! viz., against the 
Evil one, who, later, receives the name of the exclamation euphemistically. 


voice of God; ib. 85 Benste! Benste! be us among / And save alle that 
I se here in this thrang = excl. of horror ; ib. pp Benste and Dominus !^- 
What may this bemeyne ? = excl. of fear ; ib. loy Benste ! be here in ! 
So my hart qwakys! = excl. of the shepherd who awakes from a bad 
dream; i^th c. Edinb. MS Trent. Greg. 81 (Anglia 13, 305) \>t goste com 
}?e }?yrde nyght . . . )?e pope . . . hade negh lost hys wytt / Bot at ]?e 
laste vp he breyde / And ru fully ]?is wordis he sayde / Bene dicite in 
God/.j name / Wo is ]?er ? 1= excl. of horror at the apparition of the 
ghost, as in 15th c. Childe of Bristowe 239 qu. by Kaufmann Trentalle 

NB as a formula of mere greeting, "vox salutationis apud monachos 
praesertim qua inferior superiorem salutat et adit" (Du Cange s. v.), 
the word is not quoted between Layamon, the Ancren Riwle and Shake- 
speare Meas. 2, 3, 39 where the Duke (disguised as a friar) blesses 
Juliet with the words 'Grace be with you! Benedicite!' (Exit) ; in Romeo 
2, 3, 31 the word has been explained as a formula of greeting (see Alex. 
Schmidt), but it is rather an exclamation of surprize, and, originally, of 
fear at being called upon so early in the dawn of the day.^* 

//. Used like a stibstantive : (i) c 1^25 Auchinl. MS Guy ^744 
(Murray) Gij . . . 3af him swiche b^nf dicite / )?at he brak his nek ato 
= such a blessing on his back; (2) in Elizabethan writers transf. = con- 
fession; cf. Tho Nashe Have with you &c (Works ed. McKerrow 3, 74) 
vnder benedicite here in private be it spoken = in absolute secrecy, as 
at confession; Kemp Nine Daies Wonder 17 (qu. ib.) such Waytes 
(under Benedicite be it spoken) fewe Citties . . . have the like, none 
better = as at a confession of the absolute truth. 

Prosody. In ME the word is generally used trisyllabic with two 
accents, riming with words in . . . ee : ben' distee' ; occ. quadrisyllabic : 
Ben'edis'te (D Siriz?); also dissyllabic, as the spelHng 'Benste' shows 
(Town. PI.) or the metre (Freir. Berw.) ; rarely quinquesyllabic with 
three accents, as in the Childe of Bristowe ("The child seid benedicite"; 
or is it here, too, rather trisyllabic: The childe seide ben'distee?). In 
Chaucer the spelling of MSS. II, III, IV, V 3 proves that the word in its 

12 This 'dominus' was originally the necessary answer to the 'benedicite,' cf. 
Caesarius v. Heisterbach qu. by Kaufmann Trentalle 55; see also Durand. 1. c. 
maior incipiens dicat Benedicite et ceteri respondent Dominus. 

13 Cf. also Gal. & Melib. ZZ (Dodsley Coll. O. PI. i, 54) What amiss 
woman, Christ benedicite! and c 1540 Freir. Berw, (Schipper's Dunbar 421) Ha 
benedicitee! Quat may this mene? (Bannat. MS; 'Haly benedicite' in Maitl. MS) 
= exclamation of horror. 

^^ Romeo to Friar: Good morrow, father! Friar to Romeo: Benedicite? 
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? 


fuller form had two accents and was pronounced Ben'distee; a form 
which was still further contracted to * Bendstee Benste; the contrac- 
tion "^ Bendcite * Bencite suggested by Ten Brink 263 was first 
given by Child Observations 1862, p. 492, 96, and accepted also by 
Skeat 5, 166 ('we must say ben'cite'), does not rest on any MS proof; 
cf. also Kittredge Obs. 381. 

Prosody of the zvord in Chaucer. ( i ) Trisyllabic with two accents : 
Ben'distee Tr 3X CT iix; (2) quadrisyllabic with two accents: 
benedic'itee CT B 1974 (? D 1584); (3) dissyllabic: ben'ste CT D 
1456, benstee' D 2170; (4) quinquesyllabic, with three accents: CT A 

Rimes. (Tr) : he pron. : be inf. (CT) : dignete s. : meynee s. : tree 
s. : see pres. subj. 3 sg. : flee inf. : be inf. : see inf. : me pron. 2x : thee 
pron. : he pron. : ye pron. 

Spelling, benedicitee i 8x 2 5x 11; b^n^dicitee 2; benedicite 6 13X 
7 8x II 8x 5 7x 2 6x 4 6x i 5X I 3X VI 3X 3 3X II 2x V 
2x 8 9 10 14 16 17 19 27; b^n^dicite 4 8x 5 6x 3 5x 7 4X III 2x VIII 2x 
I 6 II ; b^n^dicyte 3; b^n^dicice 3 ( ?) ; bendicite 7; bendiste IV 3X Vy 
bendistee II ; benediste III ; benedyste 3 ; b^n^diste 3. 

Bless you! Bless me! Bless us! 

(i) exclamation of astonishment, surprize mixed with fear at suddenly 
seeing someone (originally used as an imprecation against evil spirits) : 

His nece a-wook and asked who goth J?ere . . . 
My dere Nece quod he it am I . . . 
What which weye be ye comen benedicite 
Quod she and how [}?us]vnwyst of vs alle 
Here at ]?is secre trappe dore quod he 

[bendiste IV] 

Tr 3, 757 
I am a feend / my dwellyng^ is in helle . . . 
A quod this Somonowr / benedicite what sey ye? 
I wende / ye were a yeman trewely 
Ye han a mannes shap^ / as wel as I 

[b^n^diste 3] 

Frere 192 D 1456 

This Somonowr / clappeth at the wydwes gate . . . 
Who clappeth seyde this wyf^ benedicitee 
God saue you sire / what is youre sweete wille 

Frere 286 D 1584 


This frere cam / as he were in a rage 
Wher^ as this lord / sat etyng^ at his bord^ 
Vnnethes / myghte the frere / speke a word^ 
Til atte laste / he seyde / god yow see 
This lord bigan to looke / and seide benedicitee 
What frere John ... Ye looken / as the wode / were 
fill of theuys 

Som 506 D 2170 

(2) exclamation like modern 'Bless you!' used as a formula in which 
the superstitious desire to ward off some unknown evil, some danger, is 
uppermost : 

Quod Pandarus alias what may I?is be 
That J70W desespered art )?us causeles 
What lyueth not }?i lady benedicite 

[bendistee II benediste III bendiste IV, V] 

Tr I, 780 

whan a chaumber a-fyr is or an halle 
More nede is it sodeynly to rescowe 
Than to dispute and axe . . . 
A benedicite for al among )7at fare 
The harm is don and fare wel feld[e]fare 
[bendiste IV] 

Tr 3. 860 

whan his Ire / is thus agoon 

He gan to looken vp / with eyen lighte 

And spak thise same wordes / al on highte 

The god of loue / A benedicite 

How myghty / and how greet a lord is he 

Ayeyns his myghte ther gayneth none obstacles 

Kn 927 A 1785 

I hadde almoost goon / to the clerkes bed 
Ey benedicite / thanne hadde I foule y-sped 
[benedyste 3] 

Reue 366 A 4220 

the parson him answerde benedicite 
What eyle)? {?e man so synfully to swere 

Shipm. Prol. 8 B 1170 



O seinte Marie benedicite 
What eyleth / this loue at me 
To bynde me so soore 

Thopas 94 B 1974 

Out of the hyue / cam the swarm of bees 
So hydous was the noyse / a benedicitee 
Certes / he lakke Straw . . . 
Ne made / neu^re / shoutes half so shille 

N Freest 627 B 4583 

What dostow / at my neighebores hous 
Is she so fair / artow so amorous 
What rowne ye with our mayde benedicite 
Sir^ olde lecchour / lat thy lapes be 

Wyf. Prol. D 241 

chidyng^ wyues / maken men to flee 
Out of hir owene house [] / a benedicitee 
What eyleth / swich an old man for to chide 
[house with benedicite 8] 

Wyf Prol. D 280 

His olde wyf / lay smylynge eu^remo 

And seyde / o deere housbonde benedicitee 

ffareth eu^ry knyght / thus zvith his wyf / as ye? 

Wyf Tale 231 D 1087 

And whan this yeman / hadde this tale ytold 
Vn-to oure boost / he seyde benedicitee 
This thyng^ is wonder m^rueillous to me 

Chan. Yem. 75 G 629 

(3) exclamation (entirely?) of joy: 

euery lusty knyghte . . . 
They wolde hir thankes / wilnen to be there 
To fighte for a lady / benedicitee 
It were a lusty sighte / for to see 

[O benedicite 5] 

Kn 1257 A 2115 


B. O. Foster 
//. 15. I sq. 

O me felicem! o nox mihi candidal et o tii 
lectule deliciis facte beate meis! 

All the editors, beginning with Passerat, who comment on deliciis 
understand it to mean the poet's voluptas, but it is much more probable 
that Propertius meant it to signify his mistress. Elsewhere he has the 
word but twice, and in both places it is employed of a person 

deliciaeque meae Latris, cui nomen ab usu est, 
ne speculum dominae porrigat ilia novae. 

iv. 7. 75 sq. 

felix intactum Corydon qui temptat Alexin 
agricolae domini carpere delicias! 

ii. 34. 73 sq. 

Beate with an ablative of the person Will then be used precisely as in the 
following passage 

nee quae deletas potuit componere Thebas, 
Phryne tam multis facta beata viris. 

ii. 6. 5 sq. 

A parallel to this use of deliciae may be seen in the gaudia of i. 19. 9, 
sed cupidus falsis attingere gaudia palmis. The sentiment is similar to 
that in the epigram of Meleager 

To <TKv<l>o^ rjSif yeyrjde Xeyet, S' 6ti Td<; <j>L\p(OT0^ 
Z7]vo(l>lXa<; s^avei rov \a\Lov arofiaTOt;. 

oX^iov etd' vtt' eftot? vvv ;)^et\ecrt %etXea delaa 
cnrvevarl '^vx^'V rav iv ifiol TrpoTrioi. 

A. P. V. 171. 

and in these closing lines of one by Agathias 

iropOfievet yap efioiye kvXl^ irapa aov to (ffiXrjfia, 
KttL fjLOi airayyeXXet, rrjv x^P''^ ^^ eXafiev. 
A. P. V. 261, 5 sq. 


Or, for a modern instance, take Sir Philip Sidney's 

O happy Thames that didst my Stella bear ! 

Sonnet ciii 

or the sonnet addressed to the Highway, which concludes 

I wish you so much bliss 

Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss. 

Sonnet Ixxxiv 
//. 27. 

At vos incertam, mortales, funeris horam 

quaeritis, et qua sit mors aditura via; 
quaeritis et caelo, Phoenicum inventa, sereno, 

quae sit stella homini commoda quaeque mala; 
sen pedibus Parthos sequimur seu classe Britannos, 5 

et maris et terrae caeca pericla viae, 
rursus et obiectum flemus caput esse tumultu 

cum Mavors dubias miscet utrimque manus; 
praeterea domibus flammam domibusque ruinas, 

neu subeant labris pocula nigra tuis. 10 

solus amans novit quando periturus et a qua 

morte, neque hie Boreae flabra neque arma timet, 
iam licet et Stygia sedeat sub harundine remex, 

cernat et infernae tristia vela ratis : 
si modo clamantis revocaverit aura puellae, 15 

concessum nulla lege redibit iter. 

7. flemus F L D V, fletus N, fletis Itali. 

The theme of this elegy is the contrast between the generality of 
mankind, who are made anxious by a thousand dangers, and the lover, 
who alone knows when and by what death he shall die. Propertius 
identifies himself with the lover, and addresses his poem to the profane 
majority vos . . . mortales . . . quaeritis . . . quaeritis. The shift 
to first plural in verse 5 (sequimur) is not due to carelessness or vague- 
ness. As Rothstein says, here "der Romer spricht," and the line means 
merely "whether Rome is warring on the Parthians or on the Britons." 
There is to be sure a slight inconcinnnity of thought involved here, for 
the comprehensive mortales of verse i has now been narrowed, in effect, 
to Romani, if, as seems most natural, verses 5 sq. be taken as qualifying 
what has preceded. But this is a very venial sin against logic, and no one 
would be so prosaic as to object to it in Propertius. 

On the other hand flemus in verse 7 is not so easily explained. It is 


clear from rursus et that we return in this line to the thought of verses 
I to 4. Again we have the worries and anxieties of the vulgar throng, and 
in verse 7, as in verses i to 4, we expect a second plural, not a first. With- 
out looking any farther than 7 sq. one would accept as unquestionably right 
the fletis of some unknown Renaissance corrector.^ It is precisely what 
the context leads us to expect, and N's fletus, meaningless, but close to 
the true reading in the ductus litterarum, may well have been the link 
between fletis and flemus (F L D V). Probably no scholar would have 
sought farther for the original text, had it not been for the disconcerting 
tuis of verse 10. If then it can be shown that tuis is very likely a false 
reading, and that the second plural holds throughout verses 7 to 10, it 
will not be necessary to doctor up line 9, by substituting metuis (L. 
Miiller) for the second domibusr 

1 There is, of course, a chance that Professor Housman's palaeographically 
neat fles tu, deduced from N and supported by tuis in vs. 10, is right. But the shift 
from second plural to second singular is uncalled for and painfully obscure. Its 
only warrant, so far as I know, is the somewhat analogous transition in ii. 25. 
39 sqq. : 

at vos qui officia in multos revocatis amores, 

quantum sic cruciat lumina nostra dolor! 40 

vidistis pleno teneram candore puellam, 

vidistis fusco, ducit uterque color ; 
vidistis quandum Argiva prodire figura, 

vidistis nostras, utraque forma rapit; 
illaque plebeio vel sit sandycis amictu: 45 

haec atque ilia mali vulneris una via est. 
cum satis una tuis insomnia portet ocellis, 
una sit et cuivis femina multa mala. 

But the shift from plural to singular is here intolerable, and I think Propertius 
wrote not tuis (dat.) but suis (abl). cf. i. i. i. 

Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis. 

The expression would still, I admit, be open to criticism, inasmuch as mention of 
sleeplessness prepares the reader to take ocellis as dative with insomnia. But, on 
the other hand, the tendency to do so would readily account for the alteration of 
suis to tuis, in order to fit that interpretation of the line, and Propertius may well 
have felt that the public's familiarity with the opening line of the popular Monoo- 
biblos was an ample guarantee that suis ocellis here would cause no difficulty 
or misunderstanding. 

^Flere frequently implies fear, cf. Tib. i. 3- I3 sq. 

tamen est deterrita numquam 
quin fleret nostras respiceretque vias. 

It is not, therefore, difficult to supply timetis, from fletis, as governing domibus 
flammam, etc., and there is not the slightest excuse for emending domihusque 


I believe that Propertiiis wrote, in verse lo, 

neu subeant vestris pocula nigra labris 

and that vestris, coming to be contracted uris, was mis-copied utis,^ a 
vox nihili which was then emended to tuis, a change which made necessary 
the transposition with labris, to mend the metre, and gave us the verse 
as it stands in our MSS.* 

///. p. 1-20 

Maecenas, eques Etrusco de sanguine regum, 

intra fortunam qui cupis esse tuam, 
quid me scribendi tarn vastum mittis in aequor? 

non sunt apta meae grandia vela rati, 
turpe est quod nequeas capiti committere pondus 5 

et pressum inflexo mox dare terga genu, 
omnia non pariter rerum sunt omnibus apta, 

palma nee ex aequo ducitur uUa iugo. 
gloria Lysippo est animosa eff ingere signa ; 

exactis Calamis se mihi iactat equis; 10 

in Veneris tabula summam sibi poscit Apelles; 

Parrhasius parva vindicat arte locum ; 
argumenta magis sunt Mentoris addita formae ; 

at Myos exiguum flectit acanthus iter ; 
Phidiacus signo se luppiter ornat eburno ; 15 

Praxitelen propria vindicat urbe lapis, 
est quibus Eleae concurrit palma quadrigae, 

est quibus in celeres gloria nata pedes ; 
hie satus ad pacem, hie castrensibus utilis armis : 

naturae sequitur semina quisque suae. 20 

Verse 8. palma Itali; fama *in aliis codicibus legitur' Beroaldus; 
flamma N F V (f lamina L D). 

in order to eliminate the repetition. Lachmann did so (substituting dominisque) , 
but Lachmann had forgotten i. 2. 30 quaeque - quaeque, i. 7. 17 longe - longe, i. 8. 
27 quamvis magna - quamvis maiora, i. 20. 26 hunc super - hunc super, i. 20. 32 
that - ibat, ii. 6. 41 numquam, numquam, iii. 9. 45 haec urant - haec urant, iii. 11. 65 
haec di - haec di, iii. 13. 49 auro - auro, and many other places. 

8 For confusion of t and r in MSS. of Propertius, see Professor Housman in 
Journ. of Phil. xvi. p. 32, where he cites i, i. 35 vitate ] vitare F, i. i. 29 ferte ] 
ferre A, i. i. 31 remanetel remanere A. cf. Friedrich Cat. p. 62, who cites 11. 15 
nuntiate ] nuntiare O, 12. i Marrucine ] Matrucine O G, 14. 18 curram ] cur tarn G. 

* Propertius has labris again to close the pentameter - ponit vix siccis tristia 
iura labris (iv. 9. 64). 


The elegy of which the first third is printed above is the poet's reply 
to Maecenas, who has asked him to undertake an epic theme.'' After the 
address (i sq.) verses 3 to 6 plead strength inadequate to the burden which 
Maecenas would lay upon his shoulders. Verses 7 to 20 develop the 
dogma that to win renown a man must make some one kind of endeavor 
peculiarly his own. Not all things are fit for all men (7) : Lysippus's 
glory comes from the spirit he succeeded in giving his statues, that of 
Calamis from his finished horses, etc. Even Mys was reckoned 
among the masters, though for so slight a thing as skill in carving 
acanthus. "Each follows the seed that his nature has planted." 

My note is concerned with verse 8, a line which has provoked 
several ingenious interpretations, only to be pronounced "obscure" by 
Propertius's latest editor. 

The Roman poets have a deal to say about their originality. That 
they copied Greek masters they were themselves the first to point out, and 
they claimed the discipleship as a virtue, but their scramble for precedence 
in the introduction of the various branches of Greek poetry to Latin 
readers is amusingly naive It is almost as though they felt that priority 
in a given kind implied a sort of monopoly. That a man should write well 
was not enough : he must, if possible, make good his claim to exclusive 
ownership of some corner, no matter how small, of the field of poetry. 
It is in this spirit that Ennius attacks the presumption of certain uncouth 
versifiers who might be thought to have anticipated him 

scripsere alii rem 
versibus quos olim Faunei vatesque canebant; 
cum neque musarum scopulos < quisquam superarat > 
nee dicti studiosus erat 

Ennius, Ann. 221 sqq. 

He seems to have eflfectually ousted these precarious tenants mere 
squatters, as it were, upon his claim for Lucretius gives him a clear title 
to the premises 

Ennius ut noster cecinit qui primus amoeno, 
detulit ex Helicone perenni fronde coronam 
per gentes Italos hominum quae clara clueret. 

Lucr. i. 117 sqq. 

5 This is clear from the latter part of the poem, vv. 47 sqq. 
Postgate, Selections ad loc. 


and Propertius recognizes in him the (Latin) originator of epic 

Visits eram molH recubans Heliconis in umbra, 

Bellerophontei qua fluit umor equi, 
reges, Alba, tuos et regum fata tuorum, 

tantum operis, nervis hiscere posse meis; 
parvaque tam magnis admoram fontibus ora, 5 

unde pater sitiens Ennius ante bibit; 
et cecinit Curios fratres et Horatia pila, 

regiaque AemiHa vecta tropaea rate, etc. 

Prop. iii. 3. I sqq. 

In another department Lucretius makes the same assertion of priority 
in his own behalf 

avia Pieridum peragro loca nullius ante 
trita solo, iuvat integros accedere fontis 
atque haurire, iuvatque novos decerpere flores 
insignemque meo capiti petere inde coronam 
unde prius nulli velarint tempora Musae; 

Lucr. i. 926 sqq. 

In a like strain Vergil 

primus ego in patriam mecum, modo vita supersit, 
Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas ; 

Verg. Geor. iii. 10 sq. 

and in another place 

iuvat ire iugis qua nulla priorum 
Castaliam molli devertitur orbita clivo. 

Geor. iii. 292 sq. 

Horace too boasts himself 

princeps Aeolium carmen ad Italos 
deduxisse modos. 

Hon Carm. iii. 30. 13 sq. 

and again- 

libera per vacuum posui vestigia princeps, 
non aliena meo pressi pede. qui sibi fidet 


dux reget examen. Parios ego primus iambos 
ostendi Latio, numeros animosque secutus 
Archilochi, non res et agentia verba Lycamben. 

Ep. i. 19. 21 sqq. 

and a few lines below 

hunc [Alcaeum] ego, non alio dictum prius ore, Latinus 
vulgavi fidicen. iuvat immemorata ferentem 
ingenuis oculisque legi manibusque teneri. 

Ibid. 32 sqq/ 

Propertius, too, sets up a like claim in the beginning of his third 

Callimachi manes et Coi sacra Philetae, 

in vestrum, quaeso, me sinite ire nemus. 

primus ego ingredior puro de fonte sacerdos 
Itala per Graios orgia ferre choros. 

Prop. iii. I. I sqq. 

and, a few lines further on 

sed, quod pace legas, opus hoc de monte Sororum 

detulit intacta pagina nostra via. 
mollia, Pegasides, date vestro serta poetae : 

non faciet capiti dura corona meo. 

Ibid. 17 sqq. 

and again, 

dixerat, et plectro sedem mihi monstrat eburno, 
qua nova muscoso semita facta solo est. 

iii. 3. 25 sq. 

and, in the fourth book, the Babylonian says to the poet: 

at tu finge elegos, f allax opus : haec tua castra ! 
scribat ut exemplo cetera turba tuo. 

iv. I. 135 sq. 

In these and other places originality with the limitation already 
noted is claimed for their work by the several poets. Their achievement 

^Contrast Serm. i. 10. 48, where Horace accounts himself in satire inventore 


is likened to scaling the mount whereon the Muses dwell (Ennius, 
Lucretius, Vergil, Propertius), whence they bring down (detulit 
Lucretius, Propertius; deducam Vergil; deduxisse, Horace) the Muses 
(Vergil), or a garland (Lucretius, Propertius), or fresh draughts of 
water (Lucretius, Propertius), or simply their poetry itself (Horace, 

In the light of these passages must be interpreted Prop. iv. lo. i sqq. 

Nunc lovis incipiam causas aperire Feretri 
armaque de ducibus trina recepta tribus. 

magnum iter ascendo, sed dat mihi gloria vires : 
non iuvat e facili lecta corona iugo. 

There can be no doubt that this last distich belongs with the places cited 
above. The 'easy ridge' is here that of erotic elegy, which the poet is 
quitting for a more arduous ascent, of the peak where heroic elegy 
flourishes. Observe that the metaphor in iugo is essentially the same 
metaphor that we have found already in such passages as Lucretius i. 
117 sqq., where Helicon means the source of poetry. In Propertius iv. 
10 the iugum is specialized ; no longer the hill of the Muses, the source 
of all poetry, it is become the particular hill set apart for a single kind 
of poetry. Corona is, of course, the emblem of supremacy in whatever 
department happens to be concerned. 

We are now ready to explain iugo in iii. 9. If we may not say that it 
is precisely Helicon, the home of the Sisters Nine, it is, at least, used in 
a figurative sense closely akin to the metaphorical Helicon, and derived 
from it, just as iugo was found to be used in iv. 10. We must not then 
with Professor Postgate (Selections) take it as a yoke, comparing the 
i^Lcdaaavre ^vyd of Soph. El. 738; nor need we consider seriously 
Passerat's notion (adopted by Schulze, Rom. Eleg.) : ducere famam ex 
IUGO, translatum ah aquis quae ducuntur et derivantur in locis inferioribus; 
nor the equally fanciful interpretation of Rothstein, who, reading flamma 
(with N F V), would have the line mean 'nor is any fire-signal given 
from a level ridge.' But I feel sure that Rothstein is right in his 
(implied) interpretation of aequo iugo as a * level' or 'even ridge.' 
Certainly aequo can not here mean facili ascensu, as Lachmann thought, 
and Hertzberg correctly pointed out the difference between the idea 
underlying our verse and that at iv. 10. 4. In the latter case there is no 

^ Besides the overwhelming evidence of the parallel passages cited above there 
are further difficulties in the way of Rothstein's view. Flamma and ducitur must 
each be taken in a forced and unnatural way, nor is the metaphor to be paralleled, 
so far as I know. 


thought of rivalry. It is a question of forsaking an easy path for a 
steeper one. In our passage, on the other hand, it is a matter of being 
highest among one's competitors, whether the peak in question be epic 
(a lofty mountain), or erotic verse (a hillock). The distich will then 
mean "All things are not equally fit for all men, nor is any palm fetched 
down from a level ridge." That is to say "One man is good at one thing, 
another man at another thing, nor does anybody win a prize of victory 
for achieving just what his neighbor achieves." If our mountain were 
an even, level ridge, so that it might be climbed by several, let us say 
parallel, paths, all of which reached the same altitude, no climber could 
outclimb any other. It must be a ridge of many peaks, some higher, some 
lower, each of which when appropriated by some one poet confers upon 
him a peculiar distinction of his own. It is the familiar notion of 
exclusive rights to some one kind of endeavor. Propertius means that 
another has already preempted the epic peak, and that his own prize 
must be sought on the hill of elegy where no predecessor has anticipated 

As to the textual question, if we reject flamma, which is read by the 
good MSS., but will not suit the context, we must agree with Mr. Butler 
that palma is preferable to fama, on palaeographical grounds, since it 
might more easily give rise to the corruption flamma. (Perhaps 
palma > plama > flama > flamma > f lamina) . Moreover palma 'palm- 
branch' is more concrete than /ama, and corona at iv. lo. 4 is to be 
reckoned in its favor.^^ Finally, if my view of aequo iugo be right, palma 
(implying supremacy) is more logical than fama (implying merely 
excellence). It is not true that one must outstrip all competitors to win 
fame, but certainly one can not otherwise gain the prise. 

8 It would be interesting to know how Propertius would have disposed of the 
claims of Catullus and Callus, not to speak of Tibullus. 
10 With Propertius's use of the figure of. also 

mollia Pegasides date vestro serta poetae : 
non faciet capiti dura corona meo. 

iii. I. 19 sq. 

The word palma is similarly used as symbolical of supremacy, in the speech of 
the soothsayer : 

ilia parit: libris est data palma meis. 

iv. I. 102. 

and again, 

nam tibi victrices quascumque labore par asti 
eludit palmas una puella tuas V - 

Ibid. 139 sq. 


Hertzberg's interpretation approximates that set forth above. He 
saw that the idea in our verse was somewhat different from that at iv. 
ID. 4, and showed the flaw in Lachmann's note, as I have said. But he 
failed to see that aequo meant 'level,' and tried to explain it as 'equal,' 
i. e., with another. This was overworking aequo, nor is there any need 
of it, if iugo be understood as a 'ridge' or 'range' rather than as a single 
'peak.' That Propertius himself so used it at i. 12. 10, where he has the 
phrase Prometheis iugis, is the opinion of Schulze, who cites in support 
of this interpretation a passage in Caesar where it unquestionably bears 
the meaning 'ridge,' or 'range,' viz., B. G. vii. 36. 2 omnibus eius 
iugi collihus occupatis; and I may add Liv. xxxiii. 6. 9 quia colles 
perpetuo iugo inter er ant. The word aequus is used in the sense which I 
assign it here, e. g., at Caesar B. G. vii. 44. 3 constabat inter omnes 
dorsum esse eius iugi prope aequum. 

III. I'j. 2Q sqq. 

Candida laxatis onerato colla corymbis 

cinget Bassaricas Lydia mitra comas, 30 

levis odorato cervix manabit olivo, 

et feries nudos veste fluente pedes, 
mollia Dircaeae pulsabunt tympana Thebae, 

capripedes calamo Panes hiante canent, 
vertice turrigero iuxta dea magna Cybelle 35 

tundet ad Idaeos cymbala rauca choros. 
ante fores templi crater antistitis auro 

libatum fundens in tua sacra merum. 

The context shows that we must have a future verb in the last 
distich to complete the series cinget manabit feries pulsabunt canent 
tundet. To supply est, or even erit, with the editors, would perhaps 
satisfy the demands of grammar, but the passage would be absurdly 
feeble, with such a conclusion. I suspect that Propertius wrote libabit 
in verse 38 "Before the doors of the temple the bowl of the priest shall 
offer sacrifice of wine, pouring it from golden cup in honor of thy rites." 
The personification of the crater needs no justification here, as it is 
rightly understood by the editors, who compare, inter alia, 

pax aluit vites et sucos condidit uvae, 

funderet ut nato testa paterna merum: 

Tib. i. 10. 47 sq. 


Propertius himself has something very similar in 

sit mensae ratio, noxque inter pocula currat, 
et crocino naris murreus ungat onyx. 

Prop. iii. 10. 21 sq. 

And it is worth noting that he twice elsewhere uses libare with an 
im])ersonal subject 

dum vernat sanguis, dum rugis integer annus, 
utere, ne quid eras libet ab ore dies ! 

iv. 5. 59 sq. 

spargite me lymphis, carmenque recentibus aris 
tibia Mygdoniis libet eburna cadis, 

iv. 6. 7 sq. 

The corruption was perhaps owing to confusion of the contraction 
for libabit (viz., libab with a cross stroke through b) with that for 
libatum (libat with an apostrophe over t). See Professor Lindsay's Con- 
tractions in Early Latin Minuscule MSS., p. 49 sq. 

fabretti 2342-2346 

George Hempl 

How I, a Germanic scholar, came to be interested in Venetic and Etrus- 
can, I have told in my report on the results of my Italic studies. 
This report has been delayed, chiefly by the difficulties inherent in 
such an undertaking, but it will now be published in a very short time. The 
present paper is an abstract from it. A few weeks before his death, Professor 
Matzke urged me to hasten the publication of my report. He said that my 
silence was being misinterpreted, and that I owed it not only to myself but 
also to my friends to publish something at once if only a fragment. I 
was touched by what he said and the way in which he said it. It was 
almost exactly what another friend. Otto Jespersen, had written me from 
Copenhagen not long before, and what still others, as if by concert, now 
began to urge upon me. I saw the force of their arguments and decided to 
drop everything else and complete my report. And now that Fate has sud- 
denly cut short the life of one of them, I can find no more appropriate 
tribute to lay on his grave than the fragment he so recently urged me to 
publish. If it seems abrupt or takes things for granted that I have given in 
the report but could not well incorporate here, scholars will, I trust, con- 
sider the circumstances of publication. There are, however, a few matters 
of a general character that must be briefly touched upon before I proceed 
with the interpretation of the inscriptions. 

Etruscan is a sister of Latin. In their earlier stages the two languages 
can hardly be distinguished. But Etruscan matured far more rapidly and 
had already passed into old age when Latin was only attaining her majority. 
To put it otherwise, Etruscan is an Italic dialect that became a modern 
Romanic language in ancient times. Many of the forms, phonological 
changes, and other linguistic phenomena that we are wont to regard as char- 
acteristic of modern languages, are to be found in Etruscan long before the 
days of Julius Caesar. The development of the language, from the early 
stage when it was almost identical with Latin, down to the time when it was 
so different that the Romans regarded it as a totally aHen tongue, can be 
traced step by step on the chiseled monuments that stand in our museums. 
In attempting to read Etruscan, scholars have, however, largely confined 
themselves to a study of late inscriptions, and have permitted the relatively 



modern forms that they there found to blind them to the original character 
of the language much as Old-English scholars once did with West Saxon. 
The situation in which the philological world at present finds itself with ref- 
erence to Etruscan is as regrettable as it is extraordinary. The kinship of 
Etruscan and Latin lies open for all men to observe, and yet this fact is 
denied by practically all Indo-European philologists. Moreover, the study 
of this important Italic language has been permitted to fall into the hands of 
a school, which has made of this denial a cardinal dogma and has prescribed 
for its disciples a rule of conduct, or only-legitimate method of study. 
Here, carefully screened from the light of Indo-European philology, "Etrus- 
cologists " spin airy webs, while without, in the busy world of learning, 
scholars concern themselves with other things. It would be impossible for 
me here to discuss the situation in detail. I must, in this paper, restrict 
myself to the presentation of three very early inscriptions, and I shall be 
satisfied if I succeed in making it clear that early Etruscan can scarcely be 
distinguished from Old Latin. 

The inscriptions will be found in Fabretti's Corpus ^ Tab. xlii, 2343- 
2346. All I know about their origin is what Fabretti quotes* on page cciv, 
namely, that they are from various friezes or paintings found in ancient 
Etruscan tombs near Corneto-Tarquinii. So far as I can learn, their gen- 
uineness has never been questioned, nor their Etruscan character. A study 
of the forms of the letters shows that we have three, not four, inscriptions ; 
for 2345 and 2346 are parts of one and the same. The first two give the 
names etc. of the dead ; the last (2346-2345) pertains to the formalities of 
cremation. I can not detect any material difference in age, either epi- 
graphic or linguistic. Perhaps the forms of the letter for a prove 2344 to be 
the oldest, and 2346-2345 to be the youngest. According to Etruscan cus- 
tom, the writing runs from right to left, but I have reproduced it in our 
way. I have also substituted for the Etruscan characters the conventional 
transcription, in Italics, and have added the phonetic transcription in Roman. 

In the grammatical discussion, a prefixed asterisk (*) marks a recon- 
structed word or form ; a prefixed period (. ) indicates phonetic spelling. 
An apostrophe (') before an .1 .m .n or .r signifies that the consonant is 
syllabic. The letters .y and .w represent the voiced fricative consonants 
heard in English ye and woo. The macron (~) is added to a long vowel, 
rather than placed over it. The pitch accents of Greek and Sanskrit 
are indicated by the usual signs. The sign for stress, in accordance with 
the best modern usage, precedes the stressed syllable ; but, to avoid misun- 
derstanding, I use the grave (^), in order that it may point toward the syl- 

'^"essais des differentes frises ou peintures qui se trouvent dans les souterrains 
des anciens trusques pres de Corneto (Piranesi De Rom. magniUcentia et archi- 
tectural Romae 1761)." 


lable to be stressed, not away from it. I have indicated the stress only when 
it has shifted from the initial syllable. The phonetic characters employed 
are the usual ones, the vowels having their German values, and the consonants 
their English. The turned e (.9) stands for an obscure vowel, for example, 
that beginning the word ago and that ending the name Anna. Small capital 
K and .G represent the velar stops in cook (.kuk) 2xv6i good (.Gud), as dis- 
tinguished from the more palatal sounds in kick (.kik) and give (.giv). A 
curl over a velar consonant indicates labialization. Thus we hear quick 
sometimes as .icik, sometimes as .Kwik. Compare also alive (.a'laiv), 
devout (.diVaut), eatable (.i'tab'l), Wednesday (.wenzdi), purely 
(.pyu~rli), etc. s' is a conventional way of representing a distinct j-sound 
usually due to contraction ; it has nothing to do with accent, r' represents 
an Umbrian variety of r. 

It should be noted that, as in most other early scripts, no graphic distinc- 
tion is made between voiced, voiceless, and aspirated stop consonants. Thus 
/ may stand for pure .t, for aspirated .t, or for .d, and p for .p, aspirated .p, 
or .b, etc. ; just as we use s for .s (as in j<?) and for .z (as in rose). Fur- 
thermore, (f) X are employed with exactly the same values 3iS tp k (or c). 
Thus, while k stands for .k or .G , x too may stand for .K or .G . Simi- 
larly in English, while k stands for .K (for example, in /wok), so too, c 
may stand for .k (as in cool), while it may also stand for .s (for example, in 
city etc.). Moreover, in Etruscan a u may stand for .u or .o , or for an 
obscure vowel (like that in Latin optumus or optimtis), while v too may 
stand for .u or .o , or for a similar consonant (.w .f etc.). 

I should state that in Etruscan, as in primitive Italic generally, the 
stress originally fell on the first syllable. From this it shifted in Latin to a 
long penult or to the syllable preceding a short penult. In Etruscan a dif- 
ferent principle prevailed. The stress regularly stayed on the first syllable if 
that contained a long vowel or a diphthong. If it contained a short vowel, 
the stress shifted to the nearest long vowel or diphthong ; see yierntupi, 
(^ericaru, stani, etc. , below. This shift is often betrayed by the reduction of 
the vowel of the initial syllable (for example, na^ods' -= . n9^po~ts' < 
.nepo~ts, Latin nepo~s, * grandson, ' Lemnos Stone ; also .3(n)na^ke", vari- 
ously spelled annice (F. iii, 391), eneke (F. 2614), uneke (F. i, 234), 
unuke (Gamurrini, 607 and 608) 'granted, gave,' Latin annuit 'assented, 
granted,' see also raned below) ; or by its total disappearance (see fravvmv 
page 122 ; One < to/at}, page 116 ; and eca s'uQis (.e^Ka~ s'uttis < .Ksup-ti-s 
' the down below ' ) 'this tomb,' F. Tab. XLi. 2183, later ca su6i, F. 1933, 
CIE. 4539) ; sometimes by other phonological changes. Compare also 
Mliduns = .mli'to~ns < MiXtrwi/, Plunice =^ .plu^ni'ka < IIoXuz/et/CTy?, 
etc., which caused Skutsch and others trouble. The shift took place at a 
very early date, after the shortening of final -o~ (see Veca6 below) but 
before the change of medial -d- to -1- (see Ori(f>tenty page 121). 



This inscription was cut on the beveled edges of the octagonal capital of 
a column. Unable to read the text, scholars did not know where it began, 
and guessed wrong. 

Vecad yiermupi <t>ericarti :n stani puru hem: 

(.weKat kerma'bi" peri^Ka~ro n[a~to] stan^ni" pu~ro hem) 
'Vecath, the beloved son of Chermupu, a man free of alloy.' 

It will be observed that there are two puncts at the end of the legend, 
and also before the abbreviation n = natu. 

Except for the loss of final -o~ in Vecad and hem, the inscription might 
be Old Latin as well as Etruscan. 

Vecad (.weKat) < .weKato", Greek *Fe/caT(i/, 'E/carwz/, whence Latin 
Hecato. The true Latin form would be * Vecato, but I find no trace of 
such a name in Italy, see Yiermupi below. In Etruscan a final long -o 
regularly shortened after a short syllable (compare iambic shortening in 
Latin*) and early fell away. The shortening obviously took place earlier 
than the shift of stress spoken of above. With VecaO from .weKato", com- 
pare hem from .hemo" below. Also Uni (.u~ni < .u~nio < .u~nio~ 
< .yu~no") 'Juno,' and %upl6a, page 115. With these, contrast names like 
Laru (.la"ro~), spelled Laaro in Latin, and Maru (.marVo"), page 116; 
and such a verb as niceBu (. nik(3)'to~) 'pledge,' Latin necto 'bind, oblige, 
pledge,' F. 2404. 

Yiermupi (.kerma'bi") is the genitive of the name Kepa/jL^o^;. Such 
changes as -am- > -am- > -ma- are common, cf. Greek Her-ac-les > Latin 
Her-cu-les. From the names VecaO and Yermupi, it is clear that we have to 
do with members of a Greek family. There evidently were not a few 
Greeks among the Etruscans, even in the earliest times (observe the F-, not 
H-y of the name VecaO), who acquired wealth and standing. A notable 
case is that recorded on the grande sepolcro (Gamurrino, 799) of Laris 
Pulena, who is stated to be * the great-grand-son of Laris Pule the Greek' 
prumts Pules Larisal Creices. Compare also the story of Demaratus, the 
reputed Greek progenitor of the Tarquin family. 

*In Etruscan we fortunately are not, as in Latin, dependent upon the evidence 
furnished by metrical texts and upon the conflicting interpretations that modern 
scholars have put upon ancient metrical usage. The loss of -o~ after a short 
syllable and its preservation after a long syllable are facts that can not be argued 
away. At another time I shall show that the Old-English loss of a final short 
-u after a long syllable and its retention after a short syllable, instead of offering 
(as argued by Sweet and Sonnenschein, Classical Philology, January, 191 1, page 3) 
evidence against the doctrine of iambic shortening, offers evidence for it. 



<f>ericaru (.peri'Ka"ro) 'very dear,' Latin percoTrus. In all but the 
very oldest Etruscan (for example, apastvs eO palamneus tupanktvs, F. 
2341), final -s disappeared, as in Old Latin, after a short vowel, provided 
no vowel followed. At an early date, the j-less forms prevailed in Etruscan, 
the j-forms in Latin. Observe puru, sdvnimv, Titv, xsimeu, icamus, 
fravvmv below; also e luri und^r 6rz(t>Unt, page 121. Later the -o became 
-9, written -e, see Titv, page 117. peri- is, of course, older than the per- of 
Latin per-ca~rus. 

:n is an abbreviation for natu (.na~to) 'son,* Latin (g)na~tus. (For 
n- < Gn-, see stani below.) Compare the use of/" in Latin inscriptions as 
an abbreviation iox firlius. 

stani (.stan^ni") *of alloy,' genitive of the word seen in Latin stannum 
'alloy.' ItaHan stagno and the other Romanic forms point to a Latin ^stag- 
num ' alloy. ' Compare Latin stagnoTre * plate with alloy. ' As medial -Gn- 
becomes -nn- in Etruscan but not in Latin, it is evident that the Romans 
adopted the Etruscan form with its -nn-. This suggests Etruscan influence 
on Rome in the matter of the working of the metals, which is just what we 
have reason to expect. But differentiation from stagnum * water that has 
flooded land,' 'standing water,' 'swamp,' doubtless contributed towards 
fixing the Etruscan form in Roman speech. Historically, stagnum ' a piece 
of shallow standing water, a fen ' is one and the same word as stagnum j 
stannum 'a metal wash, the alloy used in plating.' English wash too has 
both meanings. Initial Gn- became (n)n- in both Etruscan and Latin, see 
n\atu'] above. 

puru (.pu~ro), lu3.\m pu~rus 'pure,' 'free of,' compare Horace's sceleris 
purus. For the loss of -s see ^ericaru above. 

hem is from .hemo < .hemo". Old Latin ^hemo~, hemo~nem, Latin 
homo 'man.' For the loss of -o~, see Vecad, page 1 14. 

Note on Janus 

The ^;/ 2* 'Janus' that is often cited (Korte, Etrusker, in the Pauly- 
Wissowa Real-encyclopadie, 767), as a sort of mate to Uni 'Juno,' is a 
ghost-word. The idea is based upon the erroneous supposition that the 
Bronze Liver has Ani One, in section 6. Close scrutiny reveals the fact that 
the text reads Tins One, corresponding to the Tins One- 6 ^ufldas in the 
inner sections 18-20. It is remarkable, however, how near Janus was all the 
time. For Qiiflda^ or Ouplda (F. 1054, CIE. 445) is .dupTta" < .dupiPta" 
< .du^pla"ti < .du^pla~tio < .du'pla~tio~ ' doubleness. ' (For the shorten- 
ing and loss of -o" after -i , see Vecad, page 114.) That is, we have before 
us no other than Janus Bifrons, who so often appears in the form of a lamp- 
statuette, called alpan (.aPpa'n < .lam^pa", Greek Xd^iirrj). This Etruscan 


word for * lamp ' has been deified and been used to add formidableness to 
the list of Etruscan divinities whose names are supposed to be incapable of 
reconciliation with Indo-European. The Tins One (e)6 %ufldas on the 
Bronze Liver is Jovis te^nplum et Ja~ni~ * The section ( ' temple ' in the 
technical sense) of Jupiter and Janus.' One is .tne~ < .ta'me" < Greek 
Toyi.7) 'section' (compare the tern- in Latin templiim). The Etruscan -e" < 
Greek -t] betrays non- Doric Greek influence on Etruscan divination. While 
on some of the lamp-statuettes the old Italic god is called %uplda {%uplBas 
alpan 'lamp-statuette of Thipltha,' F. 1054, C IE. 445), on others he is given 
a name corresponding to Y^-dXxn Jamis Clusius. Thus on F. 105 1, CIE. 437, 
we find Culs'ans'i alpan, and on F. 1052, CIE. 438, S' elans' I alpan. CuL 
san-s'i (.K9rs'a"ns'i) and S' elans' I (.sVla~ns"l) are genitives of one and the 
same name, that is 'Janus CoUus,' or 'Turn-neck Janus,' compare our slang 
term rubber neck 'person who has the habit of looking back to watch 
others, while he tries to keep on walking ahead.' This collus is from 
.Kolsos, .icelsos, |/Kel 'turn, twist,' cf. Latin collum, collus, etc. The 
Etruscan Oils'- is for icols- ; S'el- is from .sKel < icels-. The initial i- or y- 
before the long a" of .ia"no- regularly assimilated to the preceding conso- 
nant (see xsimeu below), whence the syllable -a~n- . But we do not find 
Colsos or Collus in Latin ; for through popular etymology and association 
with clu~do, clu'sus, the name assumed the form Clu~sius. The use of an 
effigy of Janus to hold a light is, of course, due to his being the old Italic 
god of light. ' 


Maru : sdvnimv-m Titv: ^j/V^^?/ letive : lapzi smalvi : SanrzOer 
(.marVo~ stu~nimo-m tito Ksimeo le~ti~ve~ i^a~ptsi" smaPwi' tanriter) 
'Maru the sturdy and Titv the distinguished, dead (or who died) of the 
lapygian disease at Tarentum.' 

It will be observed that the only punctuation consists of double puncts 
to mark proper names. Such punctuation stands after the two personal 
names and before the two geographical names. 

Maru (.marVo") is to Latin Maro as Marro'nius is to Maro'nitis 
(Schulze, Zur Geschichte lateinischer Eigennamen, page 189). Maro 
would appear in Etruscan as ^Mar (see VecaO above), while Marius 
would be ^Mariu, later Marie (F. 654, CIE. 2451), still later ^Mari. 

sdvnimv (.stu~nimo) 'very sturdy' or 'very steadfast,' a superlative in 
-imo-s, cf. Sanskrit sthu~rds or sthu~lds 'thick, large, strong,' and Sanskrit 
sthirna', Greek crrOXo? 'post, column,' originally 'phallus.' The change of 
medial -1- to -n- is common to a large part of the Etruscan territory. Still, 
the Etruscan adjective may have the -n- of Sanskrit sthu~na~ rather than 
the -1- of Greek arvXo^. For the loss of -s, see ^ericaru, page 115. 


-m 'and,' here = .m, as on the Lemnos Stone and often elsewhere. 
In F. 2345 below, it is syllabic ( = .'m) ; but we also find -em {lesc-em, 
Magliano) and -um (axf-um F. 2598) = .am. This is the same word 
as Old-Latin em, im 'then,' seen also in Latin (inter)im, formed like inter- 
dum. Compare Umbrian enom ' then ' = Palignian mom ' and ' = Latin 
enim 'for.' Also Umbrian pun-um 'quando-que' (Buck's Oscan and 
Umbrian Grammar, 201, 5). For the relation of idea between 'and' and 

* then, ' compare the Hke use of ' ' then , then , then , ' ' and 

"and , and , and ," in narration. The Etruscan word is 

almost always enclitic ; in F. 2345 (page 122), it introduces a new clause. 
When so used, it seems to have retained the old sense 'then.' 

Titv (.tito) < .titos, Latin Titus. This .tito later became .tita, written 
Tite^ see ^ericaru, page 115. 

Xsimeu (.Ksimeo), Latin eximius 'distinguished.' An initial short 
vowel was often lost in forms having the stress on a succeeding long 
vowel, compare e^ca~, later ca~, page 113. Before a long vowel, i was 
consonantal (that is, .y) and assimilated to a preceding consonant, doub- 
ling it if immediately preceded by a short vowel. Thus .aksim^a's 
> .Ksim^ma~s. (This gemination of the preceding consonant after a 
short vowel is proved by Latin spellings like Spiirinna, Porsenna^ etc.; 
see also raned, page 123.) Observe the masculine family names Tavx^na's 
and Tardna~ < * Tarcni^a's and * Tarcni^a~ ( originally respectively 
genitive and ablative of the -ia feminine name of the family, which was 
added to the first name just as the tribal name in -ia was in Latin), 
also the derived feminine Tarx'nai ; and compare these with the original 
feminine nominative ^Tarx^ia. As e- is lost in xsimeu too, it is clear 
that the comparatively few forms of the adjective that did not end in a 
long vowel adopted the shortened form of those that did ; but it is not cer- 
tain whether they also shifted their stress to the final syllable or simply had 
it on the first syllable of the shortened form. The medial i or e certainly did 
not disappear before the short -o. Moreover, it is clear that the initial stress 
of the nominative, accusative, and vocative (the most commonly used cases 
of a name) held its own in masculine names like Tavarsio (.taursio, Greek 
Tavpe(<T)LO(;y Latin Taurius) on the Lemnos Stone, and the later Askamie 
(.asKamia < .asKanios, Greek *A(TKdvio^j Latin Ascanius), F. 2614 quat., 
and the still younger Fulni (.folni < .folnia < .folnio(s) < .folwios. Lat- 
inized as FolniuSy but in real Latin, Fulvius) F. 251 and 11. p. 28 Tab., 
CIE. 428. xsimeu and sBvnimv may be common adjectives or cognomens, 
I am not sure which. 

letive (.le~ti~we"), the nominative plural masculine of .le"ti~wo, Latin 
^le~ti~vus 'killed,' 'dead,' is to le'tum 'death,' as furti'vus 'stolen' 
is to furtum 'theft,' and as capti'vus 'captured' is to captus 'capture,' etc. 


The ending -e~ (compare Old-Latin ploirume' for the later plu~rimi~) is 
the intermediate stage between older (-oi -ei and later -i~. Compare 
(F. 314, Tab. XXV, CIE. ^2) fvimv pace (.fu~imo paK^Ke", for kk < Kt, 
cf. OuxtiO, page 122), \jd!ivs\ fuimus pacti~ ; "with, fv if nv, compsir e frawmv^ 
page 122. 

lapzi (A^a.~ptsi~)y genitive of ^lapzii (.i^a~ptso) 'lapygian,' 'pertaining 
to the *Ia7rt;7e9' (the natives of ^lam-vyLa, whence Latin lapygia, the terri- 
tory about Tarentum, and thus northwest of Greece), of which ^Idirv^ 'the 
northwest wind' is really the singular. For the origin of the name, see 
page 119. 

smalvi (.smarwi"), the genitive singular of ^smalvu < .smalwom 
'evil, disease,' Latin malum 'evil, misfortune, injury.' The Etruscan form 
finally determines the etymology of the Latin word and establishes its 
connection with English small, the development of the idea 'small' into that 
of 'bad' being common the world over. For the -v- (.w) seen in the 
Etruscan form and in French mauvais, see also Venetic mdilua 'evils,' 
PauH, AIF. III. No. 201. With the use of malum in the sense of 'disease,' 
compare the like use of evil in early English, still more or less familiar in 
king' s evil ' scroMa..' Also malady (from Late-Latin male habitus), and 
illness (which formerly meant 'badness' ), and He' s very bad to-day ' He's 
very sick to-day.' My colleague Professor Elmore calls my attention to the 
following from Horace (Sat. L 5, 62) : 

Campanum in morbum, in faciem permulta jocatus^ 

as to which Morris says : * ' Some disease, not understood even by the scho- 
liasts." This naming of a disease from the place where it is found is not 
uncommon. We, too, speak of the Roman fever, Texas fever, Gambian 
disease, Syrian plague, Aden ague, englische Krankheit, etc. 

Oanrider^ (.tanriter) 'at Tarentum.' Etruscan SanriOer, Latin Ta- 
rento- , and Greek Tapavr- (in Ta/oa?, -ai/ro?) are all corruptions of Greek 
.tarthen-, which is a doublet of .parthen-, seen in irapOevof; 'maid.' The 
Indo-European form was .cherohe'r > .cherche'n , genitive ch'r^chenos. 
According as the stress permitted, the first syllable was .cher- or .oh'r- , 
and this variety was regularly reflected in Greek by forms with rep- and 
forms with irap- . Thus, while the nominative was ^repOrfv^ there were 
oblique forms like the genitive irapBevo^. A competition set in, whereby 
one of the rival forms (.ter- or .par-) won the day, or a compromise form 
(.tar-) resulted. In Greek we find the old genitive irapOivo^ employed, but 
regarded as the nominative of an ^-stem. This passed into North-Eastern 
Etruscan ; but with it the old nominative ^repOrjv also came in, becoming 

*The identity of the initial letter is partly concealed by an accidental mark, 
slighter and different from the strokes of the letters. 


by metathesis tre'te~n. Thus at the beginning of the very old .Novilara 
inscription we find : 

Partenus polem is'airon tet 
'A maid presented this pedestal, ' 

and at the close, in more elaborate form : 

Treten telet aunefn poleftt tis'u s'otris eus 

*A maid presented this (same) pedestal in accordance with the 

testament of her benefactor.' 

tet (.de"d) is from tetet (deMe~d), while telet (.Meled) is from /deded, see 
under raneO, page 123. polem < .podem = iro^a. is'airon < .isto- + 
.aiso-m, cf. Latin iste and Oscan eisu-d . aunem = Latin eundem, with reg- 
ular change of medial -nd- to -nn- . For other details see my report. 

The compromise form .tar- is found in Ta/oa?, -ai/T09, and in Latin 
Tarentunt and Etruscan ^anrider. All the forms show metathesis of 
one kind or another. The Greek and the Latin forms betray the influ- 
ence of nt- and nto-st^vas, the name thus falling in with such names as 
Uzentum, Hydruntum, Sipontum, etc. (Kretschmer, Einleitung, page 260). 
The Etruscan form retains the dental stop in its original position (.tarthen-, 
anri6er)y but it suffers a peculiar metathesis of the surrounding sonorants : 
thus the r and the n exchange places, but under the influence of the original 
form, the r is restored next to the n that had taken its place. The form 
%anri6er is a locative without suffix (Brugmann, 11. 256 and 257), the 
word being a consonant stem in Etruscan, as originally in Greek. 

This makes it clear that the name of the city is no other than tre'te'n, 
or irapOevo^ 'the maid,' that is, ' AOtjvt} YlapOevo^;. This Treten stands to 
the locative BanriOer exactly as ' kBr^vr] does to the locative ' Adrjvat. The 
naming of Tarentum for Athene probably goes back to the early Cretans 
that are reported to have been instrurnental in building the city, and whose 
speech, as revealed by the writing on the seals etc. found by Evans and oth- 
ers, I shall soon show to be pure Attic. The association of the name of the 
town with the Spartan Parthenians was doubtless secondary, and probably 
due only to popular etymology. As is well known, the various ancient 
accounts are contradictory. 

Note on lapzi 

In lapsi we have an important name that has been much discussed but 
still sadly needs elucidation. We may best begin by comparing the form 
*Ia7ri;79 with TctTroSe?, the name of an allied branch living in Illyria. 
Kretschmer (Einleitung, p. 266) says: ''DerWechsel der Stammform in 


'laTToSe? : 'Ia7ru79 hat eine Parallele an /cXd/rtS- ' Schlussel' : dor. kXcLlk- 
(Theokrit) und opvthof; : opvixo^-" This is certainly beside the mark. I 
cannot see how we can proportion B : y :: B : k :: B : x- Moreover, -oBe- 
by the side of -U7e- appears to tell a very plain story. In *ld7rvy<; ridiroBe^; 
we have a Greek compound name, meaning * men who fight with vigor,' 
or 'fierce fighters.' The first element is the stem .isa" 'vigor, viriHty,' 
compare .eisa" in Latin eira, i~ra, 'impetuosity, passion, rage, etc.,' 
.is9Vo-s in Greek te/309 / lap6<;, Sanskrit isrd-s, ' strong, vigorous, active, etc. ' 
The second is the stem .puG seen in Greek 7rvKTr}<; 'boxer,' Latin pugil 
'boxer,' pugna 'fight' The form TaTruYe? is clear. But .puG involves 
the labial .p , the labiovelar .u , and the velar .G . Such a grouping is more 
or less unstable, especially in the unstressed member of a compound. By 
the shift of tense labialization from the .u to the .G , there arose the stem 
.pOG , with labial .p and labiovelar .6 . Before e, this .poo regularly devel- 
oped into TToS, hence the form TaTroSe?. The form 'laTrvSe? is clearly a 
contamination of Ta7rv769 and ' laTroSer, and may be purely literary. 

The Umbrian forms laptisco, labuscom, etc. in Latin script, and 
lapuzkum in Umbrian script, are interesting. The ending -(i)sko' is an 
adjective ending used with the names of peoples, cf. Latin Opsd~, Osci~, 
Falisct', etc. (Buck 256), and particularly Germanic names like Old- 
English Wylisc 'Welsh,' Scyttisc 'Scotch,' Englisc 'English,' etc. (Kluge, 
Stammbildungslehre^ 210); for which we usually find in Latin and Greek 
the related -iko- : 'IvBlk6<;^ Germa~nicus, etc. The spelling ti in the Latin 
script proves that the Umbrian word had .u , not .0 . After this .u , we 
expect .G , hence the early form for the Umbrian word was ^Ia~pug(i)sko- , 
which by contraction would become ^la'puksko- , but the lost voice of .G 
was usually transferred to the . p, so that we get ^Ia~buksko- . The *Ia~pu- 
d(i)skO' that is usually assumed as the basis of the Umbrian forms (Planta, 
I. p. 70 etc.; Kretschmer, p. 259; Buck, 256) is impossible; for such a 
form would have given us in Umbrian, not lapuzkum^ but an lapurskunty 
corresponding to etur'stamu, as Planta realizes (i. p. 407). By partial 
assimilation of K. to .s , .Ia~puKsKo- became .Ia~putsKO- (reflected in the 
Umbrian spelling lapuzkum), and later, by complete assimilation, .Ia~- 
pu(s)sKo- (reflected in the Latin script lapuscd). 

It is impossible to tell whether the Etruscan lapzi (.i^a~ptsi~) arose out 
of .ia"podisKo- or out of .ia~puGisKO- . That the z still spelled .ts (<.ds 
or < .Ks < .G-s) there can be no doubt ; for z is the usual Etruscan (as also 
the Venetic) spelling for .ts or .st . Of the many illustrations of this I 
need cite but two : (i) .ts : zal (.tsa~l) 'three,' see p. 18; (2) .st : heczri 
(.(h)eK^stri"), \j^\m exteri~ 'of the stranger,' F. 191 5, CIE. 41 16. Further 
details, as also the evidence that the lapygians were Greeks, will be found 
in my report. 



FABRETTI 2346 AND 2345 

2346 : Icamus ia 6ri(j)tenl-.xit . pi 

2345 : m-OuxtiO . nvhunt . aisaru . ustvn . fravvmv pici . fust . raneO 
.i~Ka~mos ya~ tripMe~nt-K9 pi~ 

'm-duKtit no~o"nt aisaro" us^to~n fra"w9mo piki bust ran'ne'd. 
' Now let us strike [the lyre], and let the devout ones dance the sacred 
dance. Then lead thou forth, O Messenger of the Gods, the burner of the 
dead ; we have brought the pitch, he will sprinkle the place of burning.' 

The punct is missing in several places, probably simply because no 
longer distinguishable. 

icamus (.i~Ka"mos) 'let us strike up,' Latin i~ca~muSy volitive sub- 
junctive of i~co 'strike.' 

ia (.ya~) < ^iain, Latin jam 'now.' Final -m disappeared in Etruscan 
long before final -s did, and a preceding short stressed mid vowel (.e or .o) 
early became silent, see fust but aisaru and pici, page 122. 

dri(\)tent (. trip^de~nt) ' let them dance the tripodatio, ' Latin tripodent, 
volitive subjunctive of tripodo, -a~re, 'to dance (as a religious perform- 
ance).' In Etruscan a really medial -d- regularly becomes -1- : mlax eluri 
zeri-c (.mla~G elori tseVi"k) = iidXa'yiJLa adoris seri'que 'a batter of 
spelt and whey ' (Mummy Ms. 5-22) ; see also -a"deK- >-a~l9K- , page 124. 
But in .tripoMe~nt, the -d- began the stressed syllable and was, therefore, 
virtually initial. Etruscan eluri corresponds to the Old- Latin variant edoris. 
Latin edo~ris would be .eMo~ri in Etruscan and would have been written 
^eturi] cf tetet under raneO, page 123. 

-X^ (-Ka), Latin -que 'and.' The Capuan Tablet still has xue (.k9), 
but Etruscan .ic early became .K,* hence we usually find -ce (F. 2598), -x^ 
(F. 2327 ter b and very frequently elsewhere), or -xci (as here), all = .K9, 
or we find -c (see under 6ri(\>tent above), with the obscure vowel lost. But 
unstressed -k9 at times became -Kb, thus we find -de, -x/^and -xl^ '-que,' 
which persisted after . k had become . K in other words : Lautnes'-cle caresri 
Aules 'of Lautne and dearest Aule' (F. 191 5, CIE. 41 16). With the 

*Where .kw is found in later texts, it is foreign {Cvinte < Latin Quintus) or of 
secondary development {-%va < -trains) in the Mummy Ms., 8-3 etc.: celi huBis' 
zadrumis' fler--jcva NeOunsl 'walk thirty-four times past the statue of Neptune'). 
celi is .Ke~le- < .Ke~de~, 'walk, stride.' From Latin ce~de we should expect eel, 
with loss of the short -e, certainly in so late a text, celi ( < .Ke-de~) makes more 
probable Brugmann's derivation from ce + y/sed (see Walde). It would seem actu- 
ally to be from ce-sedeo * sit here,' 'come on over here and sit with me,' 'come along, 
don't stand there,' 'come on,' ' march,' etc. As in Umbrian etc., the .e- in Etruscan 
was very close and was often written i, especially when unstressed. 


more usual Etruscan -x^, -X^, etc., compare Venetic -ka (No. 22), -kg (No. 
9), -X^ (No. 291). The genitive ending -es (in northern spelling, -es), 
seen in Pules and Creices, page 1 14, and in Lautnes and Aules\ is .e~s < 
.eis, Oscan -m, Umbrian -^j / -^r (Buck, 171), which arose in the /"-stems. 

//(.pi~), LB.tin pit' orpr, 'the devout ones,* here probably the hired 

m- (.'m) 'then,' see -m, page 117. 

OuxtiO (.duKtit, Latin ductitar, imperative of ductito 'lead, lead along, 
lead forth.* In Etruscan this verb is of the third conjugation, with final 
short -e regularly lost. The -Kt- is a sign of great age, for .Kt early became 
.k(k) in Etruscan, cf. pace under letive^ page 117. 

nvhunt (.no~o~nt) 'messenger.' The word originally meant 'new- 
comer,' being due to the conglomeration of ^neu(i)os ^uentos, nov(i)us 
ventus. The Etruscan word is the same as Latin nu'ntius ' messenger ' ; 
but the peculiar phonology led to changes that were not identical in the two 
languages. In considering these, it should not be forgotten that the Italic 
stress rested on the initial syllable. In Latin we find the development : 
^neuios uentoSy which by metathesis of -ios and -os and regular change of 
-sw- to -w- (Sommers, p. 231^) became *neuouentios > (Sommers, p. 97) 
*neuentios > (Sommers p. 74, 2) nouentios > (Sommers, 86) *nountios > 
(Sommers, p. 175) nu~ntius. Etruscan, on the other hand, developed as 
follows (in Latin spelling) *neuos uentos > *neuouentos > *nououentos 
> *nouountos ^ no~o~ntos, the vocative of which (with regular loss of final 
-e) is our .no~o~nt, speld nvhunt. 

aisaru (.ais9ro~) < .aisaro~m, genitive plural, 'of the gods.' The 
' messenger of the gods ' was Mercury, who also conducted the souls of the 
dead to the lower world. The invocation is, therefore, to him. aisar 
{aesar Etrusca lingua ^ deusl Suetonius) is a variant of aisos (alaol 
^ OeoV vTTo Tvpprjvcov, Hesychius), see Buck, page 12 etc. Contrast the 
retention of -^, which represents -o~ < -o~m, with the complete loss of 
short -om in fust below. 

ustvn (.usHo~n) < .usHoT'm, Latin usto~rem, accusative of ustor 
' cremator.' 

fravvmv (.fra~wamo), Latin ^fera'vimus 'tulimus.' This form, by 
its loss of -e-, betrays the shift of stress spoken of above ; compare also One^ 
p. 116. ^\\}c\. fravvmv y compSLve fvimv under letive^ page 117. 

pid (.piki) < . piKim, Latin picem, accusative of pzx, Lithuanian pikts 
' pitch. ' For the loss of -m, see za above. 

fust (.bust) < .bustom, Latin bustum 'place of cremation.' I reg- 
ularly represent the Etruscan letter 8 by the conventional transcription /, 
but it is obvious that it here still has its original function of representing the 
labial stop .b . Pauli was mistaken in deriving the Etruscan 8 from the old 


three-barred h. It is nothing but a cursive form of B , and got the value .f 
as old .bh became the labial fricative. In the inscription Gamurrini 804, the 
first two /'s are written 8 , the following three have the form B . For the 
loss of -om, see ia, page 15. 

raneO (.ran'ne~d < .ranYe~d < .ranie~t) is the third singular future 
of Latin ^ranio, Greek paCvoi ' (be)sprinkle. ' The change of -t to -d is the 
same as in Oscan, Umbrian, and Latin ; compare Old-Latin sied, fhefhaked, 
etc. But this -d is found only in very old Etruscan, for it early became 
silent (temie, F, 2033 bis, E a) and in time a preceding short -e disappeared 
{tenu, F. 2070, III. 329). The ending of Latin tenuit is a reconstruc- 
tion on the basis of the present, which has -t < -ti, cf. Etruscan s'udit 
(.s'u(d)dit), Latin subdit, F. 2335. Corresponding to Latin -it -ed) and 
-i~t -eid), Sommers, page 618, Etruscan had -ed and -e~d\ the former 
in tenue(d) (F. 20^3, bis, E a), later temi (F. 2070, in. 329), and in many 
other verbs, for example, (F. 2100) : eisne~v-c eprQne~v-c niacstre~v-c, 
Latin aestumoTvit-que iinperita~vit-que magistrarvit-que ; the latter in 
.3nn9'ke~ 'gave' (see page 113), and in tetet (.deMe~d, cf. 6ri(f>tent, page 
121), with which contrast telet (.deled), page 1 19. The form tetet is found in 
F. 2753, an inscription that is usually classed as "mixed Oscan and Etrus- 
can," but which is in reality pure Etruscan from beginning to end.* The 
only consideration that has led scholars to suppose that this inscription is 
not pure Etruscan is the fact that several words in it are obviously Indo- 
European, which was not compatible with the current doctrine that Etruscan 
is not Indo-European. 

It will be observed that that part of our inscription that is numbered 
2346 forms a sense-unit. What is numbered 2345 falls into two sense-units. 
If we write the text in this way, we get three metrical lines : 

^i~Ka~mos ^a" tripMe~nt-K9 ^pi~. 

^'m-duKtit, ^no~o~nt ^aisar(o~) usHo~n; 

^fra~w9mo ^piki, ^bust ran^ne~d. 
* Let us strike up now, and let the devout ones dance the sacred dance. 
Then lead forth, O Messenger of the Gods, the burner of the dead ; 
We have brought the pitch, he will sprinkle the place of burning. ' 

Each verse is a trochaic dimeter catalectic, with the substitution of a 
dactyl for the trochee in the first foot of the first dipody, less often of the 
second dipody. The meter is, of course, dynamic, that is, based on stress, 
not time. 

*Fabretti made a strange blunder in reading the perfectly distinct per aciam 
as aeraciam, and others carelessly followed him. 


Note on the Numerals 

As there has been occasion to refer to the numerals, I may say that the 
correct order is that of Campanari : 

max ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^ sem<t> cezp- muv- mealxls 
12345678 9 10 

Every form is a regular derivative from primitive Indo-European. The 
puzzling 2"^/ (. tsa""l) is from older '^zar (.tsa~r), which arose by metathesis 
(cf. English three but third) from .tsra" < .tis(9)Va", Avestan tis'aro', 
Sanskrit tisrds, Old-Irish teoir, etc., 'three.' The Etruscan numerals were 
often feminine abstracts like Greek oXvr] ' the number one ' and German die 
Eins. The older ^zar (.tsa"r) is reflected in zaSrm (.tsa~tr'm) < ^zarOm 
(.tsa-rt'm) * thirty' < (.tis(3)Va- * three,' + .dex'm ' ten '). As in this word 
the .-ra~ became .-a~r by metathesis, the .d of .dex'm came to stand next to 
the .r, and thus .tsa~rdeK'm became .tsa~rdK*m > .tsa~rt'm > .tsa"tr'm, 
spelled zaOrm, zaBrum^ etc. In other numerals, the final -a" remained 
in position, and thus .-a~deK- became .-a~l9K (seepage 121) > .-(a)lK- , 
spelled -(a)lx-, etc. : celc, cialx-us', cealx-ls, etc., all forms of the word for 
* fifty' ; sialx-v(e)is * sixty ' (the analogy of the preceding ci- of the word 
for * fifty ' caused the substitution of si- for s'a- * six, ' which is from ^zecsa 
(.tseK^sa"), compare, with initial stress, zecsans'l (.tseKsans'l) *of a six-year- 
old,' Latin sexennis) ; etc. The tens usually appear in the adjective form, 
with the Indo-European adjective suffix -we~s, -wents, seen in Avestan 
vi~saiti-vant- 'twenty-fold 'and in Greek rerpa^^ -avro^y etc. (Brugmann, 11. 
182, 2, 11'. 356). This -we's appears as -veis and -vis (ei and i = close 
e~) on the Lemnos Stone (Jialx-'veis^ -vis) ; as -us (.os < .wes < .we"s, 
cf. Latin soror < .sweso~r) in the Mummy Ms. {cealx-us etc.) ; and as -Is 
(a dull syllabic 1 + s) in Itahan Etruscan {cealx-ls etc.). In Southern 
Etruria the final -s of this adjective suffix passed by analogy to the numbers 
below mealxls * ten ' when these were used as adjectives : thus maxs, huOsy 
etc. , by the side of the max^ huO^ etc. , found on the dice. This -s has been 
mistaken by some scholars for an inflectional ending, and has been used as 
shot to fire at the ' ' Indo-Germanites ' ' (Skutsch, Pauly- Wissowa, 805-47). 

Oliver Martin Johnston 

FELix^ king of Spain, while invading a Christian land, attacks 
some pilgrims going to Saint James of Compostella. Among 
the pilgrims are a knight and his daughter who, after the death 
of her husband, had consecrated herself to the apostle Saint James. 
In the battle that follows the knight perishes and the daughter is taken 
captive to Naples, where she becomes the confidant and friend of the 
queen. Some months later a son is born to the queen and a daughter 
to the Christian captive. The children are born le jor de la Pasque-florie 
and in honor of this festival they are called Floire and Blancheflor. They 
grow up together and love each other tenderly. However, the king 
seeing that his son loves the Christian slave resolves to have her slain as 
soon as possible. The queen opposes this plan and they finally decide 
to send Floire to Mantoire, promising him that Blancheflor will join him 
soon. Floire goes away sad and at the end of a week begins to grieve 
and refuses to eat. As soon as the king learns the result of the separation 
of the two lovers he proposes again to have the young girl slain. How- 
ever, the queen still refuses to give her consent and suggests that it 
would be better to sell her to some merchants going to Babylon and then 
build a tomb in order to make Floire believe she was dead. When Floire 
sees the tomb^ he is so filled with sorrow and despair that he decides to 
kill himself with a grafe d'argent which Blancheflor had given him. His 
mother prevents him from doing so, however, and informs the king of 
this new danger. Floire then learns that Blancheflor has been sold as a 
slave and sets out in search of her. By chance, he always stops at the 
hotels where Blancheflor had been and the innkeepers noticing the 
resemblance between him and Blancheflor give him the necessary informa- 
tion. He finally reaches Babylon, where the pontonnier Daires suggests 
the means by which he is able to enter the sultan's castle. After gaining 
the good-will of the guardian by playing chess with him Floire makes 
known to him the aim of his journey. Then with the aid of the gate- 
keeper he is concealed in a basket of flowers and carried into the castle 

^ The following is an abstract of the first of the two Old French poems on 
Floire and Blancheflor published by Du Meril and will be referred to in this study 
as French I. 


where he finds Blancheflor. When the sultan discovers him, both he and 
Blancheflor are condemned to death. However, they are later pardoned 
and, after their marriage, return to Spain. 

I. Theories Regarding the Origin of the Legend. 

1. The theory that our legend originated in southern France^ seems 
to have nothing to support it except the fact that there are seventeen^ 
references to Floire and Blancheflor in Provengal literature. 

2. Sommer* saw in our legend a Germanic myth. The love of 
Floire and Blancheflor who are still children reminded him of the stories 
of the elves who always remain children (small beings). 

3. Paulin Paris^ and Wehrle^ suggested that the legend of Floire 
and Blancheflor was of Spanish origin. Against this theory Gaston 
Paris offered the following objections.^ In the first place, he says that 
when we consider the condition of Spanish poetry about the middle 
of the twelfth century, the date of the first references to Floire and 
Blancheflor in French and Provengal, we cannot believe that our legend 
passed from Spanish to the other literatures of Europe. The fact that a 
part of the story is represented as taking place in Spain does not mean 
anything. A pilgrimage to Saint James and the invasion of a Saracen 
king are motifs that are found elsewhere. Furthermore, the name 
Flores in the Spanish version must come from a French nominative. 

4. In 1856 Du Meril published both of the Old French versions of 
the legend of Floire and Blancheflor and in an introduction of 258 pages 
discussed at length the origin of the story. He called attention to the 
large number of Greek elements in the Old French versions and came 
to the conclusion that the legend is of Byzantian origin. Although he 
was unable to find any Greek story from which our poem could have been 
derived, his theory was accepted by scholars for almost fifty years after 
the appearance of his edition. 

5. Professor Italo Pizzi,^ in an article published in 1892, expressed 
he opinion that Persia is the home of our legend. His theory is based 

2 See Crescini, // Cantare di Fiorio e Biancifiore, I, p. 3 ff ; Joachim Reinhold, 
Floire et Blancheflor, Paris, 1906, p. 120. 

3 See Reinhold, op. cit., p. 9 ; Fauriel, Histoire de la Poesie Provengale, Paris, 
1846, pp. 459-60. 

* See Reinhold, op. cit., pp. 120-1. 

^ See Blume und Weisshlume, Freiburg, 1856, p. xlii ff. 
See Romancer o frangais, Paris, 1833, p. 55. 
"^ See Romania, XXVIII, 445-6. 

See Memorie della reole academia deUe scienze di Torino. Serie seconda, 
vol. XLII, pp. 265-6. 


on the following points of resemblance between the legend of Floire 
and Blancheflor and the Persian stories compared: (i) The story of 
two children brought up together, loving each other passionately, and 
finally separated because of the resistance of the father, in Assar's Mihr 
and Mouchter and in Dj ami's Seldndn and Absadl; (2) the fictitious 
funeral of a young girl in Houmdy and Houmdyoun; (3) in a poem of 
Firdusi the daughter of the Persian king allows her lover to be brought 
to her asleep and concealed in a chest (or on a litter). 

With reference to the first of the three points of resemblance 
mentioned by Pizzi it may be said that the love of two children brought 
up together, their separation, and the journey of one in search of the 
other are motifs that are well known in Greek and Arabic literature. 
These motifs would, therefore, hardly be sufficient to prove that our 
legend is of Persian origin. 

Regarding the fictitious funeral of the young girl Reinhold says :^ 
'*Pourtant dans le roman perse ce ne sont pas les parents qui veulent 
tromper leur fils pour I'empecher d'aimer la jeune fiUe, mais le pere de 
sa bien-aimee, empereur de Chine, ''celebre" les funerailles de sa fille. 
II n'y a pas question d'um tombeau eleve pour tromper le jeune homme." 
The fictitious tomb is also found in Apollonius of Tyre.^ 

The third analogy suggested by Pizzi is also weakened by the fact 
that this motif^^ is found elsewhere. With reference to the basket of 
flowers in which Floire is concealed Reinhold says^^:'Tl existe un conte 
arabe ou Tamant se fait cacher dans une caisse remplie de marchandise^ 
pour arriver au meme but. Je crois que la ressemblance entre ces deus 
motifs n'est pas plus grande que celle qui existe entre cette corbeille et 
les tonneaus dans lesquels se cachent les compagnons de Guillaume.^^ Ce 
qui est surtout tres probable, c'est que le prototype de tous ces trois 
motifs se trouve etre le cheval de Troie. On sait qu'a cette epoque les 
usages, les rapports, les expressions de la vie feodale sont appliquees 
aus relations entre le chevalier dont il se reconnait fidele vassal; rien 
d'etonnant alors que les ruses de guerre elles aussi, deviennent chez 
les romanciers des ruses d'amour, grace ausquelles le heros penetre sinon 
dans la ville ennemie, au moins dans la chambre de son amie. L' neide 
ou nous trouvons le cheval de bois, fut traduite vers 1160, Fl. et BL est 
compose vers le meme temps puisqu'il est celebre en Allemagne deja vers 

See op. cit., p. 126, note 3. 

10 See Revue de philologie frangaise, XIX, pp. 158-9. 

11 See Romania, XXVIII, 355- 

12 See Revue de philologie frangaise, XIX, pp. 169-170. 
12 See Charroi de Nimes, p. 98, v. 940 ff. 


^^73- Q'-^e le poete ait puise ce motif dans V Eneas ou dans le Charroi 
de Nimes pen importe, toujours est-il que notre auteur Tembellit et que 
sous rinfluencc, peut-etre des noms de Floire et Blanchcfleur dont les 
racines evoquent des fleurs il le rent si poetique." 

6. In 1897 Ten Brink^* compared the legend of Floire and Elan* 
cheflor with three Arabic stories and two years later Huet set forth 
more fully the Arabic theory in an article published in the Romania}^ 
The Arabic origin of our legend was accepted by Gaston Paris," Suchier 
and Basset. As it is my purpose to discuss this theory at length later on 
it will not be necessary to examine the Arabic stories in detail here. 

7. The latest attempt to trace the sources of our poem was by 
Joachim Reinhold. In his thesis on Floire et Blancheflor, published at 
Paris in 1906, he tried to prove that the legend of Floire and Blancheflor 
is based on the story of Cupid and Psyche by Apuleius^^ and that the idea 
of the harem was suggested to our poet by the book of Esther. 

Concerning this theory Hnet says :^^ ''Je crois qu'il faut faire les 
plus expresses reserves sur les rapprochements avec la Psyche d'Apulee; 
il est fort pen probable qu'on ait connu, en France, au XI P siecle le 
roman de metamorphoses dont Psyche fait partie." In his review of 
Reinhold's thesis Lucien Lecureux also says:^^ "M. Huet a raison de 
douter que le roman d'Aupulee ait ete connu en France au XIP siecle. 
D'ailleurs, la ressemblance entre les deux textes consisterait simplement 
en ceci que, dans Tun et I'autre cas, Tamante (Blancheflor, Psyche), de 
condition inferieure a celle de Tamant (le prince Floire, le dieu Cupidon), 
est persecutee par les parents de I'amant (le roi Felis et sa femme, la 
deesse Venus) qui veulent empecher une union disproportionnee. On 
pourrait souhaiter ume ressemblance plus evidente." 

Another argument against Reinhold's theory is the fact that the 
French folk traditions that are related to the story of Cupid and Psyche 
show none of the motifs of Floire et Blancheflor. In any imitation of 
Cupid and Psyche we should expect to find motifs Hke (i) the story of 
the young girl in the palace of the mysterious being to whom she has 
been delivered, (2) the prohibition with reference to the secret of her new 
life, (3) her disobedience, and (4) the sudden disappearance of her lover. 
The fact that traces of the motifs just mentioned are found in three 

^*See Reinhold, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 127. 
15 Vol. XXVIII, 348-359. 

i See Reinhold, Floire et Blancheflor, p. 128. 
1^ See Metam. IV, 28. VI, 24. 

18 See Romania, XXXV, p. 99, note 3. 

19 See Romania, XXXVII, 313. 


groups of stories (altered versions of Cupid and Psyche) collected in 
Lorraine ^ and not found in Floire et Blancheflor naturally leads one to 
believe that the story of Cupid and Psyche was not the source of our 
poem as Reinhold supposes. 

A reworking of this subject has led me to the conclusion that in the 
composition of the Old French poem on Floire and Blancheflor two 
legends have been combined. The first part of the poem was probably 
based on the story used by the author of Aucassin et Nicolette. The 
relation of Aucassin et Nicolette to Floire et Blancheflor has been the 
subject of considerable discussion. According to Brunner,^^ Paris,^* and 
Suchier,^^ the legend of Floire and Blancheflor was the source of 
Aucassin et Nicolette. On the other hand, Crescini^* and Reinhold^* 
think the two stories are independent. 

The story of Aucassin and Nicolette is in brief as follows. Aucassin 
is the son of Count Garin of Beaucaire and Nicolette is a slave girl 
brought from a foreign land. The two children grow up together and 
love each other passionately. The father of Aucassin is opposed to the 
marriage, however, on the ground that Nicolette is not of noble birth: 
"De ce (Nicolette) n'as que faire, et se tu femme vix avoir, je te donrai 
le file a un roi u a un conte" (2. 32). "Puisqu'a moullier te vix traire, 
pren feme de haut parage!" (3, 11). The opposition of the father leads 
to the imprisonment of the two lovers: 

"Nicole est en prison mise, 
en une canbre vautie (5, i). 
Quant or voit li quens Garins 
de son enfant Aucassin 
qu'il ne porra departir 
de Nicolete au cler vis, 
en une prison I'a mis, 
en un celier sosterin" (11, i). 

20 See E. Cosquin, Romania, X, 117-126. 

^^Vber Aucassin und Nicolete, Halle A. S. 1880, pp. 6-18. 

^^ Romania, VIII, 291. 

^^ Aucassin und Nicolete. Dritte Auflage. Parderborn, 1889, p. VII. In 
this connection compare Reinhold, op. cit., p. 50: "il (Herzog) adopte I'opinion de 
Kolbing et celle de Brunner que la Reinalds rimur et Aucassin et Nicolete 
remontent chacun de son cote, a des versions perdues de notre legende." 

^^Giornale storico della letteratura italiana, 1884, p. 257, note 2. 

25 See op. cit., p. 94. With reference to the relation of Aucassin et Nicolette 
to Floire et Blancheflor Du Meril {op. cit., p. CXCIV) says : "Cc n'est pas cependant, 
ainsi qu'on pourrait le croire d'apres ces ressemblances, ume seconde version du 
meme sujet, mais une histoire reellement differente." 


As soon as they are out of prison Aucassin goes in search of his love, 
whom he finds in a bovi^er that she had made and which she had Hned 
within and without with flowers and leaves. After this adventure they 
remain together until the castle of Torlore (where they had taken refuge) 
was captured by the Saracens, whereupon he was cast into one ship and 
she into another. The ships being separated by a storm, Aucassin finally 
reaches Beaucaire and Nicolette returns to Carthage where she had been 
stolen when a child. Disguised as a harper she then goes to seek 
Aucassin. ''Et Nicolete issi fors si prist se viele si ala vielant par le pais, 
tant qu'ele vint au castel de Biaucaire la u Aucassins estoit" (38, 22). 
This charming story of love ends with the marriage of the lovers. 

"Or a sa joie Aucasins 
Et Nicholete autresi." 

The resemblances between Floire et Blancheflor and Aucassin et 
Nicolette may be stated as follows: 

1. Two children grow up together. 

2. They love each other passionately. 

3. Floire and Aucassin are of noble birth, while Blancheflor and 
Nicolette are slaves. 

4. This difference in social rank causes the father of Floire and 
Aucassin to oppose the marriage. 

5. The opposition of the father leads to the separation of the two 

The author of Floire et Blancheflor and the author of Aucassin et 
Nicolette probably worked from a common source up to this point. 
In Floire et Blancheflor, however, the original story has been expanded 
and new traditions have been added. For instance, in Aucassin et 
Nicolette, which seems to represent an older and simpler form of the 
legend, the two children are born at different places and live in different 
houses, even after Nicolette was taken to Beaucaire, the home of Aucassin. 
On the other hand, Floire and Blancheflor are not only born at the same 
time and place and live in the same home, but they also resemble each 
other : 

"Car en un biau jor furent ne 

Et en une nuit engendre (I, 21-2). 

El vous resamble en moie f oi : 

Bien poez estre d'un eage; 

Si vous ressamble du visage" (I, 1084-6). 

This resemblance motif is doubtless a folk tradition growing out of the 


resemblance between the names of the hero and the heroine. Their 
names being similar it was easy for the popular mind to imagine a 
corresponding resemblance in age, personal appearance, and in other 
matters pertaining to their lives. With reference to a similar idea in 
Amis et Amiles Lucien Lecureux says:^^ "II existe certainement une 
ressemblance entre Floire et Blanchefleur d' une part et Amis et Amiles 
d'autre part. Les deux amants comme les deux amis sont nes 'en un 
jor' et 'en une nuit engendres.' lis ont presque le meme nom, ils se 
ressemblent, et, quand Floire cherche Blanchefleur a travers le monde, 
comme Amis cherchait Amiles, c'est cette ressemblance qui permet aux 
divers hoteliers chez qui il descend, de lui indiquer la personne qu'il 
cherche, comme une ressemblance analogue permettait a un pelerin, 
puis a un berger de renseigner successivement Amis et Amiles." 

The description of the social condition of Nicolette is also very brief. 
The author merely states that she was stolen when a child from her 
home in Carthage and sold as a slave to the Viscount of Beaucaire. On 
the other hand, the author of Floire et Blancheflor gives an elaborate 
description of a pilgrimage during which the mother of Blancheflor is 
captured by the Saracens and taken to Naples: 

''Es-vos le roi en la cite; 
Son barnage a tres-tout mande: 
Son eschec lor depart li rois, 
Bien largement, comme cortois, 
Et por sa part, a la reine 
Done de gaaing la meschine" (I, 127-132). 

With reference to the pilgrimage and the invasion here described 
Gaston Paris says:^^ "Un pelerinage a Saint- Jacques etait un cadre 
naturel pour une aventure du genre de celle, qui arrive a la mere de 
Blanchefleur et I'invasion d'un roi sarrasin d'Espagne en Galice etait aussi 
un motif connu."^* 

In the account of the father's resistance and the separation of the 
two lovers the author of Floire et Blancheflor, while following in the 
main the original story, describes the scene more in detail and also 
introduces another tradition. 

26 See Romania, XXXVII, 313. 

27 "Nous retrouvons ce motif par exemple dans le beau Dit des annelets 
(Jubinal, Nouv. Rec, t. I, p. i), et avec moins d'importance, dans divers romans 
d'aventure" (Paris, Romania, XXVIII, 446). 

28 "Cest le sujet d'un des derniers chapitres du faux Turpin, souvent traduit 
en frangais" (Paris, Romania, XXVIII, 446). 



Aucassin et Nicolette 

1. The father tells Aucassin that 
if he will take arms and defend the 
castle of Beaucaire, he will permit 
him to see Nicolette. The promise 
is broken. 

2. The father of Aucassin threat- 
ens to burn Nicolette: "Et sacies 
bien que, se je le puis avoir, que je 
I'arderai en un fu" (4, 8). 

3. When the Viscount finds that 
Aucassin's father is opposed to. the 
marriage he proposes to send 
Nicolette to a foreign land: "Je 
I'envoierai en tel tere et en tel pais, 
que ja mais ne le verra de ses ex" 

(4, 15). 

4. Aucassin and Nicolette are 

5. "Et puis que vos ariies jut 
en lit a home s'el mien non, or 
ne quidies mie que j'atendisse tant 
que je trovasse coutel dont je me 
peiisge ferir el cuer et ocirre. Naie 
voir, tant n'atenderoie je mie, ains 
m'esquelderoie de si lone, que je 
verroie une maisiere u une bisse 
pierre, s'i hurteroie si durement me 
teste, que j'en feroie les ex volcr, 
et que je m'escerveleroie tos" (14, 

In I, 2, 3, and 5 the author of Floire et Blancheflor has preserved 
something of the original legend, while 4 is entirely different. Reinhold 
thinks that the idea of the false tomb may have been suggested to our 
poet by a similar device in ApoUonius of Tyre.*" After citing several 
parallel passages^" he says :*^ "II y a d'autant plus d'analogie entre notre 
recit et celui de "Fl. et Bl." que, dans les deus poemes, c'est la femme qui 
conseille a son mari de batir un tombeau." 

We have seen that the motifs of Aucassin et Nicolette and those of 

Floire et Blancheflor 

1. The father sends Floire to 
Montoire with the promise that 
Blancheflor will soon follow. The 
promise is broken. 

2. The father of Floire threatens 
to slay Blancheflor: "Faites la moi 
tost demander, Ja li ferai le chief 
couper" (I, 398-9). 

3. Blar^cheflor is sold to some 
merchants who take her to Baby- 

4. In order to make Floire 
believe that Blancheflor is dead a 
tomb is erected to her. 

5. Floire decides to kill himself 
with a grafe d' argent that Blanche- 
flor had given him (I, 785-848). 

20 See Historia Apolloni regis Tyri, pub. by A. Riese, 2nd edition, p. 63 ff. 
and 75 ff. (Teubner.) 

* Revue de philologie frangaise, XIX, pp. 158-159- 
i See op. cit., p. 159. 


Floire et Blancheflor are similar up to the time that the two lovers are 
separated. The search and reunion of the lovers are, however, 
entirely different in the two poems. Aucassin and Nicolette meet first in 
a bower and after various adventures are separated again. Disguised 
as a harper Nicolette then searches until she finds Aucassin at Beaucaire. 
On the other hand Floire travels over land and sea until he finds 
Blancheflor in a harem at Babylon., The difference in the search motif 
in these two legends is doubtless due to the fact that the author of Floire 
et B lac he f lor used two stories in the composition of his poem. He knew 
the legend contained in Aucassin et Nicolette, where one lover goes in 
search of the other, and he also knew an Arabic tale according to which 
a young man goes to seek his love and. finally finds her in a harem. 
Whether these two tales were combined by the author of Floire et 
Blancheflor or by the one from whom he received the story, it makes 
little difference. In any case, the fusion of the two legends is a natural 
development, since it merely involves the substitution of the search motif 
found in the Arabic story for the one contained in the source of Aucassin 
et Nicolette. 

The purpose of the foregoing comparison is twofold. In the first 
place, it shows beyond any reasonable doubt that the legend contained 
in Aucassin et Nicolette is the same as that found in the first part of 
Floire et Blancheflor. The principal motifs are certainly similar in both 
versions and the slight differences can be easily explained as additions 
to the original story. In my opinion, Gaston Paris was right when he 
said:^^ "En effet, Floire et Blancheflor d'un cote, Aucassin et Nicolette 
de Tautre, sont sans doute les representants du meme couple amoureux." 

In the second place, this comparison leads one to believe that Floire 
et Blancheflor was not the source of Aucassin et Nicolette as Brunner, 
Suchier, and Paris supposed, but that both have a common source for the 
part of the legend preceding and including the separation of the two 
lovers. If we should accept the theory of the scholars just mentioned, 
it would be difficult to explain why the author of Aucassin et Nicolette 
rejected so many things found in his source. One can hardly understand 
why he should have omitted entirely important points like the pilgrimage 
to Saint James, the invasion of a Saracen king, the fictitious tomb, the 
long journey to Babylon, and the harem episode. We should at least 
expect to find some trace of these motifs in any direct imitation of 
Floire et Blancheflor. Even in the portion of the two poems where the 
agreement is evident the differences are too important to permit us to 

2 Sec Beda, op. cit., p. xx. 


suppose a direct borrowing. Moreover, at least two thirds of Floire et 
Blancheflor seems to have been entirely unknown to the author of 
Aucassin et Nicolette. The denouement of Aucassin et Nicolette as well 
as that of Florent et Clarisse*^ a later version of the same legend, point 
to the fact that in the source of Aucassin et Nicolette the young man does 
not go to a distant land to seek his love as in the case of Floire and 
Blancheflor. Florent finds Clarisse in a forest, a short distance from the 
place where they had been imprisoned, and it will be remembered that 
the first meeting of Aucassin and Nicolette after their separation was in 
a bower u aforkent set cemin. With reference to the episode where 
Nicolette disguised as a harper goes in search of Aucassin, Gaston Paris 
says i^^*^ "II est emprunte au beau poeme de Beuve d'Hanstone, ou Josiane 
s'habille en jongleresse et retrouve aussi son amant en lui chantant ses 
propres aventures." It is very probable, therefore, that in the source of 
Aucassin et Nicolette the young man finds his love in a forest, not far 
from the place where they had been imprisoned and for this search 
motif the author of Floire et Blancheflor substituted the journey to an 
Arabic harem. 

Let us now examine some of the traditions connected with Arabic 
harems and see if they furnish the motifs for the second part of Floire et 
Blancheflor. The Arabic stories analyzed in this study have already been 
cited by Huet^^ and the resemblances between them and our legend have 
been pointed out by him. 

The historian Ibn-al-Djauzi'^ relates the story of a young merchant 
of Bagdad who falls in love with a young girl who comes to make 
purchases of him and later finds that she is the favorite slave of the 
mother of the Caliph al-Moqtadir, who had sent her to buy some cloth. 
The young slave also loves the merchant and informs him that her 
mistress would be willing to emancipate her and marry her to the man of 
her choice provided she could see him and be convinced that he was 
well-bred. The young merchant is concealed in a chest which is supposed 
to contain the cloth that the slave had just purchased and carried into 
the harem, where he is presented to the mother of the Caliph, who then 
gives her consent to the marriage. 

In another story a young money changer of Bagdad is in love with 
a slave sent to make purchases for the harem of Caliph Motawakkil. 
The young man remains near the door of the harem and gives presents 

s In Ausgahen und Ahhandlungen aus dent Gebiete der romanischen 
Philologie. Veroffentlicht von E. Stengel. Vol. LXXXIII. 

33a Preface to Bida's translation of Aucassin et Nicolette, p. xxi. 
34 See Romania, XXVIII, 348-359 ; XXXV, 95-ioo. 
6 See Romania, XXVIII, 355- 


to different persons of the court, among others to a porter and a eunuch. 
The latter makes it possible for him to enter the harem each night 
wearing a costume similar to that of the Caliph. Suddenly, however, 
he sees the real Caliph coming, loses his head, and goes to the wrong 
door. Fortunately the young girl who lives in the room where he enters 
is the sister of the one he loves and is informed regarding the matter. 
She conceals him and goes in search of her sister who arrives after 
appearing somewhat obstinate as in the case of Blancheflor. The young 
man enters the room and later when he wishes to leave the palace, dis- 
guised as a woman, he is recognized. However, the Caliph pardons him 
and permits him to marry the beautiful slave.'* 
^ According to another Arabic story a merchant of Coufa purchases at 
the slave market a woman who has a daughter the same age as his son. 
The two children grow up together and love each other passionately, 
to the great satisfaction of the merchant, who proposes to marry his son 
to the companion of his childhood. The evening before the marriage, 
however, the governor Haddjadj passing along the street hears the slave 
singing beautifully in a garden belonging to the merchant. Haddjadj 
has her kidnapped and offers her to the Caliph of Damas for his harem. 
The young man is inconsolable and at once becomes seriously ill. A 
physician discovers the cause of his sickness and proposes to go with him 
in search of the slave. They set out and arrive first at Alep, then at 
Damas, where the young man disguised as a woman succeeds in entering 
the harem. As in the preceding story, however, he goes to the wrong 
door and enters the apartment of the Caliph's sister, who informs her 
brother. Moved by the story of his sister the Caliph then allows the two 
lovers to depart.'*^ / 

In order to prove that the harem in Floire et Blancheflor is of Arabic 
origin it is not enough to show that the French description agrees in 
all important points with the Arabic stories given above, but they must 
also agree in minor points and details. We have already seen that the 
theme of a young man entering a harem in search of a slave that he loves 
is found in both cases. Now let us see if the details are of such a charac- 
ter as to convince us that the French description is beyond doubt of 
Arabic origin. If the Arabic theory is correct, the material on which 
it is based should not only furnish the principal motifs of our legend, 
but it should also explain customs and geographical references that would 
otherwise remain obscure. With this point in mind let us see what 
light the Arabic stories already given shed upon the following problems in 
Floire et Blancheflor: 

38 See Romania, XXVIII, 355-6. 
" See Romania, XXVIII, i%6. 


1. The tor as puceles shows the characteristics of an Arabic harem. 
In this connection Huet says:^* "La tour contient 140 chambres, chaque 
chambre renfermant une jeune fille (I, v. 1644, 1660). Ces jeunes filles, 
exclues de toute communication avec le dehors, peuvent cependant se voir 
entre elles, puisque Blanchefleur a pu Her connaissance avec Claris et que 
Claris va I'appeler. Chaque matin, a tour de role, deux jeunes filles vont 
servir I'amirant a son lever (I, v. 1678 s.) : 

Trestoutes celes qui i sont 
Dous a dous son service font, 
Iceles dous que il eslit, 
A son lever et a son lit; 
L'une sert de I'eve doner 
Et la touaille tient son per. 

Ces details, degages du fantastique auquel ils sont meles, sont 
simplement la description d'un harem de khalife ou de sultan arabe; 
on les retrouve dans les Mille et une Nuits. Les eunuques armes, comme 
gardiens de harem, se retrouvent dans le conte du Cheval de hois d'ebene 
(traduction de Burton, edition de 1885, V, 8) et dans le conte de 
Schemselnihar (looi Nuits, trad. Galland, edit. Pantheon litter., p. 245, 
Burton, III, 171). Les odalisques qui assistent au lever du khalife se 
retrouvent dans le conte du Dormeur eveille (ibid., p. 444). Je ferai 
remarquer que ce detail est essentiel, puisqu'il amene la catastrophe. 
Un autre detail, encore plus essentiel pour la marche du recit, est que 
chaque jeune fille a sa propre chambre: Burton qui connaissait si bien 
les moeurs orientales, signale ce trait comme une chose habituelle dans 
une note de sa traduction des Mille et une Nuits : nota the different rooms, 
each "odalisque" or concubine having her own" (I, 286, note i). 

2. When Floire is found in the sultan's castle, he is thought to be a 
woman : 

"Mes cambrelens por li ala; 
Un jovencel o li trova 
Dormant, cuida que fust pucele." 

(Cf. Immanuel Bekker's edit. vv. 2733-5).'* 

** Romania, XXVIII, 35a 

See also Du Meril's edition, I, vv. 2587-92 : 

Au ehambrelenc dist: "Les poitrines 

Me descoevre des deus meschines: 

Lof mameles primes verfons, 

Et puis si les esveillerons." 

Cil les descoevre; s'aparut 

Que cil est horn qui illuec jut. 


This is doubtless a survival of the Arabic tradition according to which 
the lover enters the harem disguised as a woman. It will be remembered 
that in two of the Arabic stories given above the young man is dressed 
like a woman. 

3. In French I and in the versions depending on it Gloris* is the 
companion and equal of Blancheflor. This idea of equality in the oriental 
harem*^ was, however, unknown in the west and hence the Greek and 
Spanish versions and the Cantare di Fiorio e BianciHore make Gloris 
a servant of Blancheflor.** 

4. How are we to explain the fact that in all the versions of Floire 
et Blancheflor the basket of flowers containing Floire is always carried 
to Gloris' door by mistake? Does this incident not find its explanation 
in the two Arabic stories already cited, where the young man in search of 
the beautiful slave goes to the door of the Caliph's sister by mistake ? It 
will be remembered also that the slave shows the same obstinancy as 
Blancheflor when informed that her lover is in the harem. 

5. Geographical references in our poem also support the Arabic 
theory. The harem in French I is connected with the Babylon of Asia : 

"De I'autre part, coum'est a vis. 
Court uns flueves de paradis. 
Qui !ufrates est apeles." 

(vv. 1747-49.) 

The substitution of the Babylon of Egypt in the later versions of 
the legend shows that the inhabitants of Europe in the twelfth century 
were not familiar with the Babylon of Asia. Hence the description of 
the Babylon of Asia in French I doubtless came from the East. In this 
connection Gaston Paris says :*^ "La description de Babylone, telle qu'elle 
est dans I, c'est-a-dire de Babylone d'Asie, parait remonter a des sources 
anciennes, tandis que la substitution de Babylon d'figypte, seule connue au 
moyen age, est sans doute un trait plus moderne." 

Our poem also contains a reference to Baudas, situated a short 
distance from Babylon. The name Baudas, however, is probably derived 
from Bagdad. 

My objection to the Arabic theory as set forth by Huet is that it 
claims too much. While the stories cited by him explain the second part 
of Floire et Blancheflor, they do not seem to shed any light on the source 

*o See vv. 2099-2104. 

*i See Romania, XXVIII, 350. 

*2 See Huet, Romania, XXVIII, 352-3- 

*^ Romania, XXVIII, 443-4- 


of the first part of the poem. Reinhold called attention to the weak 
point in the oriental theory when he said :** "Done la premiere moitie du 
poeme frangais, notamment I'expedition du roi Felis pour piller les 
pelcrins, la naissance de deus enfants et leur sejour commun a Tecole, 
Tamour du heros pour la jeune fille si gracieusement decrit, la resistance 
du pere, laquelle a pour suite la vente de Theroine et toutes les aventures 
posterieures, tous ces traits ne peuvent que contredire la theorie orientale. 
II est difficile d'imaginer notre roman sans cela. Si Ton ecarte les motifs 
que je viens d'enumerer, nous aurons un autre recit, mais ce ne sera plus 
Floire et Blanche f leur." 

If my conclusions be correct, the kernel of the legend of Floire and 
Blancheflor is the story of two children (the son of a king and a slave girl) 
who grow up together and love each other tenderly. The father of the 
hero opposes the marriage because of the inferior rank of the heroine and 
the opposition of the father leads to the separation of the two lovers. 
This widely known theme is the basis of both Floire et Blancheflor and 
Aucassm et Nicolette and the differences between the two poems are 
doubtless due to the difference in the temperament and purpose of the 
authors and also to the fact that one was famiUar with traditions that 
were unknown to the other. In addition to the legend contained in the 
source of Aucassin et Nicolette, the author of Floire et Blancheflor knew 
and used an Arabic tradition according to which a young man enters a 
harem in search of his love. 

** See Revue de philologie frangaise, XIX, 162. 

Augustus Taber Murray 

IT IS the purpose of the present paper to open once more the question 
of the identity of the Aratus mentioned in Theocritus VI and VII, 
and to give the reasons why, despite its rejection by almost all 
Theocritean scholars, the old view that we have here to do with the 
poet, Aratus of Soli, seems to me, after all correct. 

That the two men were one and the same is stated, though tentatively, 
by the writer of the hypothesis to Idyl VI (Svvarai ovto^ elvai 6 tmv 
^acvofjievcov iroi'qTr}^) and by the scholiasts on Idyl VI. 2, although 
no argument is advanced, save the fact that this Aratus was a 
contemporary of Theocritus ; and the possibility is hinted at that we may 
perhaps have to do with another individual bearing the same name. Such 
statements in scholia and hypotheses of course prove no more than this : 
that to the unknown writer, as to us, the identification with the well- 
known Aratus seems at first sight at least plausible. It is surely natural 
that any one having no bias in favor of a different view, finding an Aratus 
mentioned by Theocritus as his friend, and knowing that the author of 
the Phaenomena was a contemporary of Theocritus, should assume that he 
was the Aratus in question. The plausibleness of this view led to its 
tacit or expressed adoption by all scholars without, so far as I know, a 
single dissenting voice, until von Wilamowitz published his paper, Arafos 
von Kos (Nachrichten von der konigl. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften 
zu Gottingen, Philologisch-historische Klasse, 1894, No. 2). In this he 
denied that any grounds exist for the acceptance of the older view, and 
maintained that the Aratus mentioned by Theocritus is some, otherwise 
unknown, Coan, who had entertained Theocritus during his stay in 
Cos, and had become his close friend. 

Since the appearance of that paper practically all Theocritean 
scholars have, with singular unanimity, given up their previous opinions, 
and accepted the conclusions of von Wilamowitz as completely established. 
Susemihl, for example, who in his Griechische Litteratur in der Alexan- 
drinerzeit had based many deductions upon the assumed presence of 
Aratus in Cos at the time of the (hypothetical) bucolic school gathered 
round Philetas, relinquishes this position absolutely in an article in the 
Jahrbiicher for 1896, entitled, Zur Alexandrinischen Litteratur geschichte. 
He there writes of the demolishing of the older view as follows (p. 392} : 


"Das hat wenigstens fiir mich iiberzeugend W. nachgewiesen, und wir 
miissen es ihm danken, dasz er uns von einem folgenschweren irrtum 
befreit hat, so schmerzlich es auch ist wiederum einen der wenigen 
stiitzpunkte fiir die herstellung des chronologischen knochengeriistes 
der alexandrinischen litteraturgeschichte zu verlieren." Again he writes 
(ibid. p. 393) : "In Kos kann er (i. e., Aratus) seine ^aivofieva nicht 
gedichtet haben, wenn er eben nie dort war." (Note that one great 
difficulty in accepting the identification of the Aratus of Theocritus with 
the poet of Soli, was that it was assumed to bring with it the necessity 
of accepting also the belief in a stay in Cos on the part of Aratus in the 
years preceding the death of Philetas. That this, however, is not the case 
will appear in the course of this paper.) 

Geffcken, again (Leonidas von Tarent, p. 134, n. 2) writes: "Mit 
dem groszen Dichterbund ist die Sache doch etwas zweifelhaft geworden, 
seit wir wissen, dasz Arat mit Theokrit nicht auf Kos zusammen war." 
Note the emphatic statement, "wir wissen." Similarly Cholmeley 
(Theocritus, Introd. p. 16 f.) : "The identification is in the highest degree 
improbable, and beyond the coincidence of name has nothing to support 
it." Again Wendel (De Nominibus Bucolicis, p. 11), after supporting the 
common view that the Sicelidas of Theocritus VII is to be identified with 
Asclepiades, continues: "Contra Aratum Thalysiorum diversum esse a 
poeta Solensi Wilamowitzius optimis argumentis demonstravit." Knaack 
also, in his article on Aratos in the Pauly-Wissowa ReaUencyclopddie, 
takes a similar position, and devotes a separate article to the hypothetical 
Aratos von Kos ; and the same position is vigorously defended by Rannow 
in his review of Christ's Ueberlieferte Auswahl Theokritischer Gedichte 
in the Berl. Phil. Woch. 1894, col. 968f. Legrand (Theocrite, p. 43) is 
less ready to relinquish the identification, but makes the following 
admission : "Dans un article encore plus recent M. de Wilamowitz a fait 
voir combien il est peu sur que TAratus de la septieme idylle soit le poete 
auteur des Phenomenes." 

It may seem somewhat rash, in the face of this all but universal 
agreement among scholars, to maintain that the older view is nevertheless 
correct; but, while demonstration is out of the question, I think the 
probabilities are strongly in its favor. This position has been taken by 
Christ (Ueberlieferte Auswahl, p. 20)^ but he relies upon intrinsic 
probabilities rather than upon detailed proofs, and such proofs as he does 
advance are met by Rannow in his review, and quite demolished by von 
Wilamowitz himself (Hermes 1905, p. I39f.)- Nevertheless the matter 
seems to me deserving of a new consideration. 

We start with this fact: Aratus' ^oem, whether written at the' 


Macedonian court, or at Athens, before the poet went to Macedonia, 
was certainly published before the literary circle, which the king, 
Antigonus Gonatas, had gathered around him, was broken up by the 
return of Pyrrhus from Italy in 274. This is incontestable. By 274 the 
Phaenomena had been published, and Aratus' fame was immediately 
established. Therefore by the time Theocritus wrote as he does of a 
friend of his named Aratus (he calls him feW in VII 119, and in vs. 
98 has, "Xi/3aT09 B* 6 ra iravra <f>L\aCTaTO^ avept, rrjvtp), Aratus, the 
poet, was already famous, so that the general reader would inevitably 
think of him. This is to be borne in mind, although it may of course be 
said that Theocritus wrote for his own circle of friends, rather than for 
the general public. Moreover the name, Aratus, appears to have been a 
common one in Cos (Hicks-Paton, Inscriptions of Cos). As to the fact 
that Idyl VI is addressed to a certain Aratus, we can only say that the 
Aratus in question was certainly a personal friend of Theocritus ; if this 
fact can be established for the poet of Soli, then we should more naturally 
think of him than of some unknown Coan, although we must regard 
it as established that there were presumably many worthy individuals 
in Cos who bore that name, and to whom- Theocritus might with perfect 
propriety and naturalness have dedicated a poem. As to the date of 
Idyl VI nothing certain can be said, though it is generally put relatively 
late; Idyl VII is unquestionably one of the later ones. 

Our second fact is this: the seventeenth Idyl of Theocritus opens 
with the opening words of Aratus' Phaenomena 'E/c Ato? apx^y^^^o,. 
This is important, despite the parallel passages which can be adduced 
from earlier writers, and the fact that the words form what may 
be called a commonplace of hieratic poetry. If a poet publishes 
a work whereby he becomes famous, and which opens with a certain 
phrase, and in the years immediately following another poet (and a poet 
who had, as we know from other sources, a friend named Aratus) 
chooses precisely that phrase for the opening of a poem of his, the 
coincidence is not due to chance. 'A/Jorcta hk Kexpv'^ai' clafioXrjy says 
the writer of the hypothesis; and with this all must agree, even if it 
be denied that any inference is to be drawn from this regarding a 
friendship between the two poets. So Susemihl writes (loc. cit. p. 391 ) : 
"An eine solche recht kleine (sc. Huldigung) konnte hochstens noch 
allenfalls gedacht werden, wenn andere anklange an die poesie des 
Aratos bei Theokritos nachweislich waren ; dasz dies aber nicht der fall 
ist, hat W. dargelegt." v. Wilamowitz, after reviewing certain apparent 
parallels between Aratus and Theocritus (loc. cit., p. 196) does indeed 
state categorically : "Apollonius hat die Phainomena studirt, aber Theokrit 


hat, SO viel wir sehen konnen, keine Notiz von ihnen genommen. 
Machen wir einen Strich durch alles was wir iiber die Beziehungen 
dieser beiden Dichter bisher geglaubt haben." This is echoed by Legrand 
p. 43 : "J'^dhere sans restriction au jugement de M. de Wilamowitz : il n'y 
a dans les Idylles aucune imitation d'Aratus ; la complaisance avec laquelle 
notre poete detaille a plusieurs reprises des aspects des constellations 
(Id. VII, V. 53-54; Id. XXII, V. 21-22; Id. XXIV, V. 11-12) se rattache 
a un gout de Tepoque, qu' Aratus a flatte, mais qu'il n'a pas cree." 

To this matter we may justly devote a few moments' consideration. 
I may say at the start that I attach little weight to verbal coincidences, 
and have no desire to bolster up a theory by phrase-hunting. I will point 
to but a single fact, which seems to me significant, the manner in which 
the stars are mentioned in certain of the poems of Theocritus. I have 
just quoted the verdict of Legrand; but he alludes merely to three 
passages, and in my opinion gives the question no serious thought. Let 
us again look at the matter without bias, and with a willingness to 
recognize probabilities. Between 277 and 274 Aratus published an 
elaborate astronomical poem, in which particular attention was paid to 
the practical questions which concern the mariner, rather than to the 
poetical expression of the awe and wonder born of a contemplation of 
the stars. In other words, his poem is a sort of "Nautical Almanac" in 
verse. Now in the poems of Theocritus which may with strong proba- 
bility be put earlier than this period the stars play no part ; but in some of 
the later poems, VII e. g., XIII, XXII, and XXIV, several passages occur 
which are strikingly different in this regard, and which suggest Aratus' 
manner, and, I will add, Aratus' influence. 

VII. 52ff. eaaerai *Ayedva/CTL Ka\o^ ttXoo? eh MtrvXt^vav, 
X^Tav e<f> ecT'TreploL'i ipL<f>OL^ v6to<; vypa Blco/ctj 
KV/JLura, x'^pLcov 6t eir wKeavcp 7r68a<; cax^t kt\. 

The positions indicated both for the Kids and for Orion mark the 
stormy season. We have to do then, not with the poetry of the stars, 
but with references drawn from them with reference to the weather, 
an illustration of the practical side of astronomy, in other words. 

XIII. 25ff. 

a/109 S* avreWovTL IleXetaSe?, iaxarLal Se 
apva veov ^oa/covTi, rerpa/jifiepov eXapo^ tJBt}, 
ra/xo? vavTL\{a<i fiL/xvofiKeTO 6lo<i acaro'^i 
Tjpoioav ktK, 



The rising of the Pleiades at day-break (heUacal rising) falls in spring 
at the end of April. It was the sig^ of the opening of navigation. Note 
here how the season is designated both by astronomic and "bucolic" 

XIII. 49ff. KaTripitri h* i^ fieXav vBcop 

a6p6o<:, 0)9 0T irvpao^ air* ovpavov rjpivev aarrrjp 
adp6o<! iv rroprq), vavrai^ Se rt? cIttci/ kralpoi^ 
'Kov(t>6Tp* (S TralBe^ TrotelaO* oTrXa. irXevaTiKo^ ovpo<;.* 

Shooting stars betokened a fresh wind according to the ancient view 
(Aratus 926flF.). Here again, therefore, we have to do with th practical 
side of the science of the stars; and it is interesting to contrast the 
reference to the shooting star as a piece of purely poetic imagery (Homer 
A. 75fif.)- (I^ ^^ the present passage the reading of K and Call, be 
accepted, the meaning of the phrase K0v<f)6rpa iromaO* oirXa must 
be "shorten sail"; in that case the correct interpretation is made 
clear by a passage in Aratus 419) . 

XXII. 8if. In this passage, which tells how the Dioscuri save mariners 
from peril, and for which an interesting parallel may be cited from the 
Homeric Hymn to the Dioscuri (XXXI 11. 6ff.), we are concerned only 
with the phrase, aarpa l3ia^6fiPai^ the ships sail in defiance of the stars ; 
hence the mariners' distress. 

XXII. 2lf., 

ix 5* dpKTOt t' i<f>dvr)a'ap ovcov r avk fiiaaov dfiavprj 
ifxiTVi) arjfiaLVOvcra rd irpb^ irXoov evSia irdpra. 

These lines describe the clear weather following the storm. The mention 
of the Crib is of interest ; it is visible only in the clearest weather. 

XXIV. I If., 

dfio^ Be <rTp^<f>Tai fieaopvKTiop <? Bvaip apKTO^ 
*flp{a)pa Kar avT6p, t S' afA<f>a{pei fx^ap &fjLOP kt\. 

Here, too, a somewhat exact knowledge of the positions of the con- 
stellations is revealed, a very different thing from mere poetic imagery, 
or the conventional epic use. This is seen e. g. in XXV. 85 f., 

ri^XiOfi fih hreira ttotI ^6<f>op (^rpairtp Xinrov^i 
BeUXop rjfiap ay tap ktX. 

It is clear that the two things are utterly different. 

Now I am not prepared to maintain that a single one of these 
passages is a reminiscence of any passage in Aratus. These poems come 
to us from a learned age in which any one might write learnedly. But 
when we weigh the fact that the passages cited from Theocritus are 


one and all from poems later than the publication of Aratus' work; that 
Aratus devoted his attention primarily to astronomy as bearing upon 
practical navigation ; that it is precisely this feature that strikes us in 
these Theocritean passages; that in the poems of Theocritus which date 
from a time before Aratus' work could have come to his notice (XVI. 
XI, and presumably others of the bucolic pieces) we see nothing of this 
sort; and finally that on other grounds we have seen reason to assume 
a connection between the two men, the conclusion appears irresistible 
that this assumption is well grounded. 

There remains one other passage in which some have seen a reference 
to Aratus, VII. 103 ff. Here Theocritus-Simichidas prays that Pan may 
grant Aratus the fulfilment of his desires. 

Tov fioi Hdv, '0/x6\a<: iparov w^Sov oare \^\oyx^^ ^''"^ 

Hauler (De Vita Theocriti, p. 13) was the first to assume that the 
mention of Pan in this connection is due to the fact that Aratus (of Soli, 
of course) had composed a hymn to Pan. This hymn dates from 278 
circa, and celebrated the victory of Antigonus over the Celts, a victory 
due, it was thought, to the help of Pan. This view has been energetically 
combatted by v. Wilamowitz (loc. cit.) and seems gratuitous. It should 
be noted, however, that Homole is a mountain in Thessaly, and that we. 
have no hint of any connection between it and Pan in any other ancient- 
writer. Hiller suggests that there may have been some mention of the 
mountain in Aratus' poem ; but unless we can bring Homole into connec- 
tion with Antigonus' campaign against the Celts, this must remain a mere 
assumption. Such a connection I have sought; but I confess that in the 
meagre accounts which have come down to us of this period, I have not 
found it. 

Finally the Syrinx, which has come down to us among the Theocri- 
tean poems, and which, while not of indisputed authenticity, is yet 
commonly accepted as genuine, is concerned largely with Pan, and a 
passage in it has seemed to Haberlin (Carm. Fig, Graec. p. 55) to 
contain an allusion to Antigonus. I quote his words: "Pan enim qui ni 
Fistula tantis laudibus celebratur, qui barbaros ex Europa pepulisse 
dicitur, nemo est nisi Antigonus Gonatas, qui Gallos ad Lysimachiam 
tanta caede devicit, ut reliqui in Asiam se convertere cogerentur." This 
may be taken for whatever it may be worth. The tendency on the part 
of some modern scholars to seek for these hidden allusions in Theocritus 
is strong; but Haberlin has convinced few, if any. (He holds that 
Theocritus spent some time at the court of Antigonus before he sought 
to win the favor of Hiero (275/4). At the same time the assumption 


that the Syrinx of Theocritus like the hymn of Aratus, may have cele- 
brated the victory of Antigonus, would square well with a supposed 
allusion to Aratus' hymn in the passage of Idyl VII which we have 
just been considering. 

Another argument which strongly favors the belief that the Aratus 
of Theocritus was the famous poet may perhaps be based upon the 
assumed identifications of the personages mentioned in Idyl VII. If the 
pseudonym Lycidas designates Leonidas of Tarentum (so Legrand, 
though he has convinced but few, and the identification is most uncertain j 
and Tityrus designates Alexander of Aetolia (so most scholars after 
Meineke; but great scepticism now prevails regarding the whole matter) ; 
or if on other grounds a connection between Theocritus and these two 
men is to be assumed; then we may note the following interesting fact: 
both Leonidas and Alexander stand in close relation to Aratus. Leonidas 
addressed an epigram to him in praise of his Phaenomena (Anth. Pal. 
IX. 25; No. XLIV Geffcken), and Alexander went with him to the 
court of Antigonus, and must there have been intimately associated with 
him. We may go further; Callimachus, too, addressed an epigram to 
Aratus, and, more than that, was his fellow student at Athens. The 
friendship between these two men is undeniable, and does not rest upon 
insecure combinations. Now Callimachus and Theocritus were friends, 
and friends at a date preceding the composition of Idyl VII. We 
therefore naturally think of the group, Alexander, Leonidas, Aratus, 
Theocritus and Callimachus as bound together both by ties of literary 
association and by personal friendship. 

It is important now to lay stress upon the fact that the literary 
friendships that have just been spoken of are to be accepted or rejected 
quite independently of the theory that there was a bucolic school at Cos 
under Philetas (circa 295-290), at which time it is difficult to believe 
that Aratus can have been in Cos. The belief in the existence of this 
bucolic school, once so wide-spread (see Susemihl's vigorous defence of 
it in the article in the Jahrbucher for 1896, above alluded to), has of late 
been steadily losing ground, and I myself do not accept it. But a belief 
in the friendship of the literary men above mentioned, or, to be specific, a 
belief that Aratus and Theocritus were friends, is in no sense contingent 
upon a belief in the existence of this (hypothetical) bucolic school. 
Theocritus is known to have been the friend of Callimachus, Callimachus 
to have been the friend of Aratus, Leonidas and Alexander to have been 
friends of Aratus, and very probably friends of Theocritus. 

Now as to the time when Theocritus and Aratus may with the highest 
degree of probability be assumed to have been intimately associated. 


Theocritus we know addressed his Xapire^ to Hiero in 275-4. The 
date has been disputed, but is now accepted by practically all scholars. 
That he was at that time in Sicily is an assumption so natural as to need 
no proof. He failed in his attempt to win Hiero's favor, and three or 
four years later we find him in Alexandria seeking the favor of Ptolemy. 
We may safely assume then that he turned eastward in 274, resolved to 
seek another patron, since Hiero had rejected his suit. Now what is more 
natural than that on his way eastward he should pay a visit to Cos, one 
of the great literary centres of the day? The statement made in the 
hypothesis to Idyl VH may be a mere guess, but it is to say the least 
extremely plausible : eTnhr)yirj(Ta^ yap rrj vrjcrcp ^eoKpiro^ ore ek 'AXe- 
^avSpeiav tt/jo? TlroXefMalov airrjeL kt\. (See the present writer's paper in 
the Transactions of the American Philological Association, Vol. XXXVH, 
p. I35ff.). Of the events of the life of Aratus we know all too little 
that can be considered certain, but one of the incontestable facts is that 
he left Macedonia, when the literary circle at Pella was broken up by the 
return of Pyrrhus from Italy, and that he went thence to Syria. Is it 
not quite within the range of probabihty that he, too, paid a visit to Cos 
at this time? We do not know that he did, but the facts which we can 
be said to know about the movements of the men of letters of this period 
are few indeed, and we have, as a rule to be content with probabilities. 
But note that in a poem, written at a later date, but referring, it seems 
clear, to this time, Theocritus speaks of a dear friend of his named Aratus, 
and three years after this begins his XlroXe/iato? with a quotation from the 
Phaenomena of the poet Aratus. Do not these facts naturally belong 
together ? 

We must now ask ourselves whether there are valid counter- 
arguments, to weaken the force of the facts and inferences with which 
we have been occupied. Not many concrete arguments against the view 
that Theocritus' Aratus was the poet have been advanced ; it has seemed 
enough to deny that we have any real proof that he was the poet. Four 
points may, however, be noticed. 

(i) The Aratus of Idyl VII is not spoken of as a poet, though even 
the insignificant (?) Aristis is characterized by the words, 

ov ovBe KV avTo<; aeiheiv 
^ol^o^ avv <l)6pfiiyyi, irapa rpLTroBeo-o-L fieyaipoi. 

But apart from the fact that one who sings of the love aflfairs of a 
poet does not necessarily have to mention his poetry, is it not a little 
absurd to assume that at a date subsequent to the publication of the 


Phaenomena it was necessary for Theocritus to assure his readers that 
Aratus really was a poet? 

(2) The name Aratus frequently appears in Coan inscriptions, so 
that we need not think of the astronomer-poet. True, but does this 
fact prove that we may not think of him, especially if there are valid 
grounds for assuming that he and Theocritus were friends ? 

(3) In Idyl VII Aratus is called the |eVo? of Simichidas (Theocri- 
tus), and is therefore assumed to be a Coan resident. But the word 
f eVo9 by no means necessarily means "host" ; what if it were Theocritus 
who entertained Aratus? 

(4) Lastly the word "Aparo? has the initial vowel short in 
Theocritus, but long in Leonidas and Callimachus (where it refers with 
certainty to the poet). But the name of the poet has the initial vowel 
short in Meleager (Anth. Pal. IV. i. 49) and in Strato (ibid. XII. i. i). 
Cholmeley is wholly wrong in saying "the name in Theocritus has a: in 
all Greek mention of the poet a-" 

But from Homer's *A/)69, "A/oe? to Horace's Orion by the side of 
the normal Orion a shift of quantity in verse in the case of proper names 
is so common that this mere fact has but little weight. 

It should be said in justice to the eminent scholar whose view 
this paper seeks to combat, that his argument is based not upon these 
slight matters alone, but upon a thorough-going and subtle analysis of 
Idyls VI and VII, which has seemed to many scholars quite convincing. 
At the same time I must express my own conviction that valid grounds 
for denying that Theocritus' friend Aratus was the well-known poet 
have not been advanced, while the grounds advanced in this paper seem 
to me to give at least a strong presumption that he was the poet. 

[Note : I have in this paper retained the conventional spelling of the 
name Philetas. In Hermes, 1902, p. 212, Cronert argues for the spelling 

Alphonso Gerald Newcomer 

EVIDENCE, in literature, of the interest attaching to the last words 
of the dying is very old. Andromache {Iliad, xxiv. 744) mourns 
that Hector could not have died upon a bed, speaking to her "some 
wise word" which she might have cherished in memory. The parting 
injunction of Socrates, as reported by Plato (Phaedo, 118), was, "Crito, 
I owe a cock to Asclepius ; will you remember to pay the debt ?" Though 
the import of these words is doubtful, it is hard to resist the inference that 
Socrates wished to signify, by this tribute to the Great Healer, that he 
was about to be healed of his wound of living. 

Shakespeare has left some direct testimony on this subject in 
Richard II (H, i, 5) : 

Gaunt. O, but they say the tongues of dying men 
Enforce attention like deep harmony. 

As a dramatist, moreover, dealing ideally with tragic death death, 
that is to say, as an end of action or character, and not simply of life 
Shakespeare had a peculiar opportunity for making effective the 
novissima verba. Yet not the least interesting result of a study of 
Shakespeare's practice in this respect is the realization that he is seldom 
so false to life or his art as to seek effectiveness for its own sake. The 
man who could write, for humorous or satirical purposes, the ridiculous 
mock-heroics of Pyramus and Thisbe (''O Fates, come, come," etc., 
M. N. D., V, i, 290) was fairly safe from descending to the theatrical in 
serious situations. He allows John of Gaunt, who has been quoted just 
above, to dally at some length with figures of setting suns and withered 
flowers, and to quibble grimly on his name; but this is in a very early 
play, when the poet in Shakespeare was still contending with the 
dramatist. Richard the Second's theatrical end (V, v, 112) is so much 
in keeping with that king's character that it is not to be wholly ascribed 
to the dramatist's earlier manner: 

Rich. Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. 


Nevertheless, the manner was soon discarded. Rhyme, for instance, at 
the end of speeches, was a thoroughly established convention the 
artificiality of which was hardly felt, yet from nearly all the greatest 
death-scenes rhyme is absent. Outside of the English chronicle plays 
and Timon of Athens, all either early or doubtfully Shakespeare's, there 
are but four instances. Two are in Julius Caesar (Titinius, Brutus), 
which is the earliest of the Roman plays. Macbeth's last words are 
rhymed, but they are not dying words at all. In the fourth case, 
Othello's, there is the ecstasy of love seeking reunion in death, and the 
lyric note quite justifies itself (V, ii, 358) : 

Othello. I kiss'd thee ere I kill'd thee: no way but this, 
Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. 

In this, as in some other respects, the chronicle plays evince a less 
perfect freedom on the part of the dramatist, a consciousness as of 
something being staged rather than of life determining its own issues. 

In the plays altogether, some seventy characters die. About one 
fifth of these are unimportant servants, it may be, or soldiers, who, 
like Salisbury and Gargrave in i Henry VI, utter nothing more signifi- 
cant than "O Lord, have mercy on us!" A few others are taken by 
surprise and allowed short shrift. Polonius, whose reflections would 
scarcely have been edifying anyway, says merely, "O, I am slain!" 
Even Hamlet's mother is granted but the one cry of natural aflFection 
which shows where her loyalty lay at the last: "O my dear Hamlet, 
The drink, the drink! I am poisoned." Several of the most touching 
deaths are reported, not exhibited. Such is that of Ophelia, who died 
swan-like, floating down the stream and chanting "snatches of old tunes" ; 
her last words on the stage had been, very fittingly, a prayer for mercy 
on "all Christian souls, . . . God buy ye." FalstaflF returned to the 
innocence of childhood, and, if Theobald's emendation is unassailable, 
"babbled of green fields." Cordelia's body is brought lifeless on the 
stage; perhaps she and her father had beguiled the hours in prison with 
singing, and telling "old tales." Lady Macbeth's last appearance is in 
delirium. Again, several of the characters who meet death unexpectedly 
do not speak after the mortal stroke. Their last words have, of course, no 
significance as such, unless the dramatist chooses to give them an un- 
conscious significance, after the familiar eironeia of Greek tragedy. 
There may be an example of this in Troilus and Cressida (V, viii, 3) 
where Hector, weary of slaughter, puts oflF his helmet, saying, "Now is 
my day's work done ; I'll take good breath." Or Macbeth may be ironi- 


cally made to pronounce his own eternal doom, when he cries (V, viii, 


Macbeth. Lay on, Macduff, 

And damn'd be him that first cries, "Hold, enough !" 

Yet it is not likely. It is not easy to imagine Shakespeare breaking his 
reserve in a situation like this and giving such a palpable wink to the 
audience. What may have been Macbeth's consciously final thoughts, 
we are not told ; and there is the same silence in the case of three other 
arch-criminals, Richard Third, Claudius, and lago. 

These cases aside, there remain about forty characters of varying 
importance whose last words are more or less consciously shaped by the 
knowledge of approaching dissolution. The words run through pretty 
much the whole gamut of what might be expected in actual conditions, 
from prayer to prophecy, from curses to blessings, from rebellious 
outcries to resignation or even rapturous joy. No one knew better than 
Shakespeare the incalculable ways of the human spirit, or has portrayed 
them with greater daring. This may be illustrated by the strong contrast 
in his treatment of two not very dissimilar deaths Hotspur's in i 
Henry IV, and Mercutio's in Romeo and Juliet. Courageous men both, 
full of the lust of life, proud, chivalrous, they are suddenly confronted 
with the great arrest. Hotspur falls to moralizing in a lofty strain 
(V, iv, 77) : 

Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth! 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me. 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh. 
But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
Must have a stop. 

Though a little declamatory in tone, the words are dramatically true. To 
the impetuous soldier, checked thus in mid career, one of the sorest 
pangs of death lay in its arrest of action. Yet, with the wisdom to 
universalize that arrest, he reconciles himself, and us, to the pang. In 
a very different tone and to a very different effect, though apparently 
with no less dramatic truth, the wounded Mercutio rails {R. and J., Ill, 

Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. . . . 
No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door ; but 
'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall 
find me a grave man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world. 
A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, 
a cat, to scratch a man to death ! 


Mercutio will not be reconciled, and he pours out the bitterness of his 
soul. Yet through it shines the contempt of a noble spirit for the pettiness 
of the toils in which Fate stoops to entrap us, a fine scorn for the order 
of things in which so slight a cause can bring such seemingly dispropor- 
tionate results. Bitter as the words are, there is a banter in the tone 
that saves them from any suspicion of a whine, and he dies the gallant 
Mercutio still. 

Dramatic truth is of course not necessarily opposed to self- 
expression, and it is scarcely to be denied that Shakespeare often reveals 
himself in his work, were we only discerning enough to know when. 
In the words of Mercutio above, one may very well read something of the 
dramatist's own intellectual bewilderment over the mysteries of existence, 
along with an emotional poise that can make light of the puzzle. Again, 
one may suspect a more than ordinary sensitiveness to the sadness of the 
unfulfilled promises of life, from the frequency with which this note is 
sounded. Observe Hotspur's "O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my 
youth !" Oswald exclaims, "O, untimely death !" And there are a dozen 
such mourners' comments as "How sweet a plant have you untimely 
cropp'd," and "Death lies on her like an untimely frost." One is 
tempted, too, to see something more than mere historical or dramatic 
truth in the fact that suicide, which is approved in the Roman plays, is 
elsewhere a very doubtful virtue. To Titinius it is "the Roman's part,'' 
to Cleopatra "the high Roman fashion." But Horatio, when he con- 
templates it, must half deny his race: "I am more an antique Roman 
than a Dane." Hamlet is convinced that the Almighty has "fixed his 
canon" against it. Macbeth flatly pronounces it cowardice or folly: 
"Why should I play the Roman fool?" And Gloucester protests that 
only intolerable suifering could make him "fall to quarrel" with the gods' 
"great opposeless wills." But to attempt to draw conclusions about 
Shakespeare's personal character or beliefs is a delicate task; we are 
much more safe in keeping to observations upon his art. 

There are limits to Shakespeare's variety. The chronicle plays 
disclose, in the death scenes, some similarities that may almost be felt to 
constitute a mannerism. Compare with the words of King Richard 
("Mount, mount, my soul," see above) these of young Arthur (K. John 
IV, iii, 19) : 

Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ; 

and these of the Duke of York (j Henry VI, I, iv, i68) : 

My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads ! 



There are three separate declarations that death is not the worst of evils : 

Hotspur. I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me. 

I King Henry IV, V, iv, 78. 

Clifford, O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow 
More than my body's parting with my soul ! 

J K. Henry VI, II, vi, 3. 

K. Henry. My breast can better brook thy dagger's point 
Than can my ears that tragic history. 

Idem, V, vi, 27. 

It is to be remembered, of course, that in some of the chronicle plays 
we cannot always be sure that we have Shakespeare's untrammeled hand ; 
he may be the reviser only, or sometimes not even that. The interesting 
thing, however, to note is that when we come to the tragedies proper, 
which are all later, we do not find anything approaching these simi- 
larities. Laertes and Antony both say "I can no more," but this is 
altogether too slight a thing to attach any importance to. It is clear that 
the maturing of the dramatist's powers brought with it no tendency to 
fix or harden, but always a wider outlook, a more perfect freedom. 

Note another fact. In the chronicle plays the sufferers remark 
rather minutely upon their bodily symptoms. Clifford says (j Henry VI, 
II, vi, 27) : "The air hath got into my deadly wounds, And much effuse 
of blood doth make me faint." Henry Fourth speaks of his "wasted 
lungs," Mortimer of his "fading breath" and "fainting words;" York 
says, "I am faint;" Warwick says (j Henry VI, V, ii, 7) : 

My mangled body shows, 
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows 
That I must yield my body to the earth. 

Now in the major tragedies there is practically none of this self-diagnosis. 
Shakespeare came to see that such words have no place in a really moving 
tragic scene. A striking corroboration is afforded by Hamlet. In the 
early draft of that play found in the 1603 quarto, very imperfectly 
printed and in all probability garbled, Hamlet's last words are : 

O, my heart sinks, Horatio. 
Mine eyes have lost their sight, my tongue his use : 
Farewell, Horatio! Heaven receive my soul. 

This indeed is not Hamlet it might be anybody. In the revised and 


enlarged version these lines disappear. For the diagnosis we have merely 
"The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit ;" and in place of the con- 
ventional prayer, the simple and impressive "The rest is silence." 

Hamlet. O, I die, Horatio; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit. 
I cannot live to hear the news from England, 
But I do prophesy the election lights 
On Fortinbras ; he has my dying voice. 
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less. 
Which have solicited. The rest is silence. 

V, ii, 363. 

Over "more and less" death draws the veil, and Hamlet, like Mercutio, 
dies Hamlet still. 

Whether Hamlet meant to add to the word "solicited" any object 
not virtually contained in it, thus leaving the sentence unfinished, cannot 
certainly be determined. But, though many modern editions punctuate 
with a dash, Shakespeare's practice seems to be rather against such a 
construction. There seems to be only one certain instance of it : Hotspur, 
whose reflections were partly quoted above, concludes with a broken 
sentence addressed to himself, "No, Percy, thou art dust. And food for " 
which Prince Hal completes "For worms, brave Percy." Cleopatra's 
last words, "What [=why] should I stay," are logically complete not- 
withstanding Charmian's continuation of "In this vile world." More 
natural, perhaps, than the abruptly broken speech, certainly more effective, 
are those cases in which the last utterance contracts to an exclamation or 
wanders into repetition and semi-articulateness. Thus, for instance, 
Mercutio, to the last throb of his vigorous life, ejaculates his surprise 
and indignation : "A plague of both your houses ! They have made worms' 
meat of me. I have it, and soundly too. Your houses !" And Cleopatra, 
applying the asps, sinks in a euthanasia, crooning as it were her own 
lullaby (V, ii, 311) : 

Cleo. Peace, peace! 

Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
That sucks the nurse asleep ? 
As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, 
O Antony ! Nay, I will take thee too : 
What should I stay" 

The figures under which the dying speak of life and death are 
interesting, though perhaps in no wise instructive. The following will 
illustrate : 



York. The sands are numbered that make up my life. 

S Henry VI, I, iv, 25. 


Clifford. Here burns my candle out. s Henry VI, H, vi, i. 
(Compare Macbeth's "Out, out, brief candle!") 
Antony. The torch is out. A. and C, IV, xiv, 46. 


K. John. The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd, 
And all the shrouds wherewith my life should sail 
Are turned to one thread, one little hair. 

K. John, V, vii, 52. 

Romeo. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 

R. and J., V, iii, 117. 

Othello. Here is my journey's end, here is my butt 
And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 

Othello, V, ii, 267. 

Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go. 

King Lear, V, iii, 321. 

These are, of course, the commonplaces of poetry, though sometimes 
marked with Shakespeare's peculiar transmuting power. But more 
touching, one feels, than deliberate or conventional figures, are those 
remoter metaphors and euphemisms beneath which the coming doom 
is sometimes veiled. Though apparently employed only by minor 
characters, they carry a most effective challenge to the imagination. Thus 
Iras says {A. and C, V, ii, 193) : 

Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done, 
And we are for the dark. 

And Charmian, to whom Cleopatra had promised "I'll give thee leave to 
play till doomsday," addresses her dead mistress (V, ii, 321): 

Char. "Your crown's awry ; 

I'll mend it and then play " 

With these, as similarly significant, I should unhesitatingly place the 
last words of Lear's Fool, who disappears in the middle of the play. 
Says Lear, "We'll go to supper in the morning," and the Fool responds 
(III, vi, 92) : 

Fool. And rU go to bed at noon. 



Indeed, it is not impossible that behind Lear's words themselves lay, in 
Shakespeare's mind, the thought which he had brought out in Hamlet 
when Hamlet says Polonius is "at supper" "not where he eats, but where 
he is eaten." One can conceive of the poet's delighting in this eironeia 
even though he should not expect the audience to understand it. 

The typical death in the chronicle plays is a Christian death, with 
thoughts fixed on heaven, divine pardon, and the soul's peace. In the 
other tragedies, including the distinctly Christian play of Hamlet, and 
Romeo and Juliet with its "ghostly confessor," these things color very 
little or not at all the actual final scenes. In the latter play, the domin- 
ating thought is of "triumphant death," of the all-devouring grave, and 
abode with worms. 

Romeo. Here, here will I remain 

With worms that are thy chamber-maids ; O, here 
Will I set up my everlasting rest. 
And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
From this world-wearied flesh. 

V. iii, io8. 

Yet the scenes are quite purged of sordid passions. Perhaps the nearest 
approach to selfish interests is in Brutus's and Antony's very Roman 
concern for glory ; even so, love, which is by no means to be regarded as 
selfish, divides with glory the conflict in Antony's breast. In the thoughts 
of Romeo, Juliet, Cleopatra, and Desdemona, love reigns almost sole; 
and even with Othello love rises above the bitterness of his tragic fate. 
Lear's last thoughts are centred upon Cordelia. Hamlet thinks first of 
his good report and last of the kingdom. Laertes begs for Hamlet's 
forgiveness, and Enobarbus despairs of Antony's; Edmund vainly 
endeavors to make amends to Lear. Emilia dies full of devotion to 
Desdemona, as Iras and Charmian to Cleopatra. Thus, though the 
Christian note be absent, honor (with its counterpart, shame), love, and 
loyalty, make up a trinity of great and essentially noble passions domin- 
ating these spirits in the hour of death. 



Colbert Searles 

ALL students of Corneille know that the Excuse d Ariste was 
written by Corneille, in response to a request for verses for a 
chanson from his correspondent, who is identified by Marty- 
Laveaux and Gaste^ with one Andre de Saint-Denis, a monk of the 
Convent des Feuillants de Saint-Mesmin. Few writers on Corneille and 
the Quarrel of the Cid have failed to cite the verses which the poet in- 
serted, proclaiming his merits as a poet and insisting on the independent 
methods by which he had won his reputation. It will be convenient for 
the sake of reference to cite them once more. 

Je sgay ce que je vaux, et croy ce qu'on m'en dit 
Pour me faire admirer je ne fais point de ligue, 
J 'ay peu de voix pour moy, mais je les ay sans brigue, 
Et mon ambition pour faire plus de bruit 

40 Ne les va point quester de Reduit en Reduit, 

Mon travail sans appuy monte sur le Theatre, 
Chacun en liberte I'y blasme ou Tidolatre, 
La sans que mes amis preschent leurs sentiments 
J'arrache quelque fois trop d'applaudissements, 

45 La content du succes que le merite donne 

Par d'illustres avis je n'^blouis personne 
Je satisfaits ensemble et peuple et courtisans 
Et mes vers en tous lieux sont mes seuls partisans 
Par leur seule beaute ma plume est estimee 

50 Je ne dois qu*a moy seul toute ma Renommee, 

Et pense toute fois n'avoir point de rival 
A qui je fasse tort en le traittant d*egal. 

Even Corneille's champions regretted, or tried to excuse, the "vanity" 
of these verses.' His enemies took advantage of them to throw the 

1 Marty-Laveaux, Corneille, Gr. Ecri. fr. III., p. 29; Gaste, La Querelle du 
Cid, Paris, 1898, p. 9 f. 

^Le Jugement du Cid composi par un Bourgeois de Paris, Gaste, op. cit., 
p. 239 f ; Discours d Cliton sur les Observations du Cid, Ibid., p. 241. In Chapelain's 


responsibility of precipitating the Quarrel upon the poet himself. Cette 
scandaleuse lettre (Excuse a Ariste) doit estre appelee vostre pierre 
d'achopement puisque sans elle ny la Satyre de I'Espagnol^ ny la Censure 
de rObservateur* n'eussent jamais este congeiies.'' Modern commentators, 
after repeating these observations or assertions, have contented them- 
selves with ridiculing or condemning, almost without reserve, the poet's 
rivals for criticizing the verses in question and for taking up the challenge 
which they contain. Gaste may serve as the spokesman of this view of 
the case. "If the rivals of Corneille, formerly his friends (*. e., Mairet 
and Scudery), but now his enemies, after the success of the Cid, had 
not been blinded by a ferocious hatred and especially by the basest 
jealousy, they would have overlooked this piece which, I repeat, was 
more of a jest than a serious utterance; but sure of pleasing Richelieu, 
they took in V Excuse a Ariste, only those verses in which half seriously, 
half playfully Corneille speaks of himself a little too favorably." It 
is possible that if we had all the facts before us we should see the actions 
of all parties concerned in a Hght somewhat different from what they 
appear under the refracting influences of our admiration for the great 

In the Epistre familier, his first signed contribution to the Quarrel, 
Mairet refers to verses 39 ff, in a way to suggest that he had felt from 
the first in them some reference to himself: Vous sgavez que je suis de 
ceux qui peuvent avoir entree en ces lieux d'honneur, a qui vous donnea 
un si plaisant nom, lors que vous dites en vous mocquant de ceux qui y 
sont receus: Et mon ambition etc.'' That Mairet's sensitiveness was not 
unfounded is proven by the first of two replies which this Epistre 
familier called forth : La Lettre du Des-interessee au Sieur Mairet, written 
by Corneille or one of his friends and almost certainly with his cognizance. 
S'il est du Parnasse comme du Paradis . . . Tombez d'accord avec tout 
le monde que vous en estes exclus, si vous ne restituez la plus grandq 

manuscript of the Sentiments de I'Academie Frangoise sur le Cid there is also a 
passage inedit which excuses Scudery for his action in attacking the Cid on the 
ground of this manifestation of vanity on the part of Corneille. Bibliothique 
Nationale, Ms. Frangais, 15045, pp. 56-57. 

^L'Autheur du vray Cid espagnol d son traducteur franeais. Gaste, op. cit., 
67 f. 

* Observations sur le Cid (Scudery) Ibid., 71 ff. 

^Epistre familier du Sieur Mayret, Ibid., p. 291. 

Admiration for Corneille, the entirely different modern point of view, a 
sense of repulsion before the gross violence which characterized the quarrel of 
the Cid, are the reasons doubtless of this almost universal tendency to overlook 
the faults of Corneille, while condemning those of his rivals. 

T Gaste, op, cit., p. 288. 


partle de vostre reputation, a un maistre (le Comte de Belin) qui par 
excez de bonte ne s'est pas contente de vous recevoir chez luy genereuse- 
ment au fort de vos miseres: Mais qui par son approbation, et par 
rhonneur qu'il vous a fait en vous regardant d'assez bon oeil, a oblige tons 
ses amis a dire du bien de vos ouvrages: c'est de luy seul que vous tenez 
le peu d'estime que vous possedez ; non du merite de vos oeuvres, qui ne 
sont pas si parfaits, que tout le monde n'y ait remarque de grands deflfauts.* 
The second reply, Advertissement au Besangonnois Mairet which is 
generally attributed to Corneille himself, is still more explicit upon this 
point. Nous voyons maintenant ce qui vous picque, vous vous fachez, 
de ce qu'on a decouvert vos brigiies, et les artifices que vous mettez 
en usage pour mandier un peu de reputation, vous vous plaignez de ce 
que dit M. Corneille: Que son ambition etc. ... On sgait le petit 
commerce que vous pratiquez, et que vous n'avez point d'applaudissemens 
que vous ne gaigniez a force de Sonnets et de reverences. Si vous, 
envoyiez vos pieces de Besangon, comme Mr. Corneille envoye les siennes 
de Roiicfi, sans interesser personne en leur succez, vous tomberiez bien 
bas, et je m'asseure que quelque adresse que vous apportiez a faire 
valoir vostre traduction du Solyman Italien, qui a desja couru les ruelles 
dix-huict mois, et qu'on reserve pour cet hyver, le bruit de cette import- 
ante piece de batterie ne fera point faire retraitte au Cid. 

Scudery had quite as much reason as Mairet for seeing in these 
verses a very thinly veiled allusion to his practices. It was with his 
Amant Liberal that the Hotel de Bourgogne strove to compete with the 
Cid triumphant at the Theatre du Marais.^** At the time when the 
Excuse a Ariste was being printed, Scudery had two volumes in press :^^ 
one containing La Mort de Cesar and a collection of miscellaneous poems 
in praise of the King and Richelieu, to whom the whole is dedicated ; the 
other volume contained the Didon and was dedicated to the Comte de 
Belin, who was second only to Richelieu as a patron of the theater. Now 
the Didon, as its author admits, had been rather cooly received. In the 
dedicatory epistle Scudery complains of the attacks of envious rivals, 
quite as bitterly as Corneille does in the Excuse a Ariste, and bespeaks 
the support of his patron. He was moreover cultivating the Count's 
friendship very assiduously in other ways. On the 22nd of February 

* Gaste, op. cit., p. 317. The italics in this and other citations of this paper 
arc mine. 

* Ibid., p. 324 f. 

i^'See: L'Inconnu et Veritable Amy M Messieurs de Scudery et Corneille, 
Gaste op. cit., p. 156. 

11 The privilege of both volumes is dated May 1636 but they did not appear in 
print till about the middle of the following year. 


Chapelain wrote to the Comte de Belin : M. et Mile de Scudery sont icy 
qui se tuent de puhlier vos generosites et vos courtolsies, dont je suis 
extremement satisfait.^^ Under these conditions there was something 
more than badinage in verses like: Par d'illustres advis je nehlou'is 
personne, or, if there was not, Mairet and Scudery may well be pardoned 
for thinking there was. All the facts brought out in the documents above 
cited must have been perfectly well known to the literary public of the time, 
and a considerable portion of this public can hardly have failed to see in 
these very clear insinuations, an attack by Corneille upon the artistic 
integrity of his two most important rivals. From this point of view, 
it is unjust to both Scudery and Mairet to attribute their action solely 
to the promptings of "la plus basse jalousie." The methods of securing 
support and patronage which they had put in practice were quite in vogue 
and they could hardly fail to resent the allegations of their rival. 

But was it merely vanity or "commodite de la rime" {Disc ours a 
Cliton) which led Corneille to indulge in this unfortunate expression of 
his sentiments ? To the poet of Rouen whose works had to stand or fall 
on their merits, these manoeuvres of his rivals in Paris must have been 
a source of considerable irritation. There are at least two other causes 
which may have contributed to his dissatisfaction. 

On the 15th of February, 1637, Chapelain writes a letter to Mile. 
Paulet, reporting the results of an interview which he has had with 
Desmarests de Saint-Sorlin, in accordance with the wishes of his corres- 
pondent: Suyvant done vos ordres, je vis hier M. Desmarests, auquel 
j'eus a peine propose de vostre part le retranchement des vers dont M. 
Scudery avoit este choque, qu'il me respondit de galand homme, 
que non seulement il les rayeroit pour Tamour de ceux qui y 
prenoient interest, mais encore osteroit ceux du Cid qui avoient cause 
ce petit scandale.^^ It is evident from the context of the letter that 
Desmarests had, in the Visionnaires, put in the mouth of one of his 
characters (Sestiane) a comparison setting the Cid above his own Aspasie, 
(1636) and a play of Scudery's doubtless UAmant Liberal. As the 
passage quoted indicates, Desmarests was quite willing to put an end to 
the discussion (toute cette liderie) which this comparison had caused 
and the affair seemed to be settled to the satisfaction of all parties con- 
cerned. On the 6th of March Chapelain felt justified in writing to Balzac : 
Vous sgavez que mon exercice joyeux du Carnival a este d'accomoder 
une guerre dans sa naissance entre les seconds poetes, qui vous firent un 
esclaircissement I'annee passee, (?) et M. Desmarests, auquel ces Mess- 

'^^ Lettres, Ed. Tamizey de Larroque, Paris 1880, i, p. 134. 
'^^Lettres, I, p. 137. 


ieurs a ma diligence ont fait reformer quelques endroits d'une comedie 
qu'il a donnee au public et ou il estoit parle d'eux et de Ieurs ouvrages 
moins dignement qu'ils ne croyent meriter.^* Now this bit of diplomacy 
on the part of Chapelain cost Corneille a very flattering bit of public 
recognition, and the result must have been much less satisfactory to him 
than to any of the other parties concerned. 

In his contributions to the Quarrel of the Cid, Mairet has much to 
say of the debt which Corneille's masterpiece owed to the actors who 
presented it, and Scudery touches upon this point in his Lettre a I'lllustre 
Academic. ^'^ This allegation is probably not the afterthought which it 
has generally been represented to be. In 1636 there appeared in Paris, 
La Suitte de la Seconde Partie des Lettres de M. de Balzac}^ Among 
these letters there is one addressed to Boisrobert, in which the Sage of 
Charente and literary oracle of his day gives the following appreciation 
of the art of Mondory, who played the role of the Cid : II est certain que 
la grace dont il prononce les Vers leur donne un degre de beaute qu'ils 
ne peuvent recevoir des Poetes. lis ont bien plus d'obligation a celuy 
qui les recite qu'a celuy qui les a faits, et ce second pere, pour le dire 
ainsi, les purge de taus les vices de leur naissance. Le son de sa voix, 
accompagne de la dignite de ses gestes annoblit les plus vulgaires et les 
plus viles conceptions. II n'est point d'ame si bien fortifiee contre les 
objets des sens, a qui il ne face violence, ny de jugement si fin et si 
prepare, qui se puisse garantir de I'imposture de sa parole. De sorte 
que s'il y a en ce monde quelque souverain bien pour les vers, il faut 
avoiier qu'elle est dans sa bouche et dans son recit, et que comme les 
mauvaises choses y prennent I'apparence du bien, les bonnes y trouvent 
leur perfection.^^ Marty-Laveaux in this connection cites only the 
in-folio edition of Les Oeuvres de Balzac (1665), and apparently over- 
looked this special edition of 1636, which permits him to assert: La date 
de ces reflexions de Balzac ne perniet pas de les appliquer au Cid.^^ They 
were newly acquired public property when the Cid appeared, and jealous 
rivals of the poet were doubtless quick to avail themselves of this power- 
ful auxiliary. Mairet was probably not the first to make use of them, 
when he declared in his Epistre Familier: C'est proprement du Cid et 
des pieces de telle nature que Monsieur de Balzac a voulu parler en la 
derniere de ses dernieres lettres, quand il a dit du Roscius Auvergnac, 

^^ Lettres, I, p. 139. 

15 Gaste, op. cit., p. 215. 

iThe Achevi d'imprxmer is dated the 26th of February, 1636. 
"0/>. cit., I, 322. 
i0/>. cit.. Ill, 9, I (footnote) 



que si les vers ont quelque souverain bien c'est dans sa bouche qu'ils en 
jouyssent, qu'ils sont plus obligez a celuy qui les dit qu'a celuy qui les a 
faits, et bref qu'il en est le second et meilleur pere, d'autant que par 
une favorable adoption il les purge par maniere de dire des vices de 
leur naissance.^^ At any rate the concentrated irritation of Corneille's 
reply suggests very clearly that it was not the first time that this 
altogether extravagant and unjust claim had come to his ears: Criez 
tant qu'il vous plaira, et donnez aux acteurs ce qui n'est deu qu'au Poete, 
servez vous du tesmoignage de Mr. de Balzac il ne vous sera point 
advantageux, ne traite-t-il pas Massinisse et Brutus de mesme que Jason 
qu'il nomme le premier, pour monstrer qu'il estime plus son Autheur 
que vous.2 It is very likely that the verses: Par leur seule heaute ma 
plume est estimee, Je ne dois qu'a moy seul tk)ute ma Renommee, have' 
no wider significance than a reply to the insinuations which this letter of 
Balzac seemed to authorize. 

While both Mairet and Scudery could very reasonably feel that 
verses 37-50 were directed against them in common, the latter had some 
reason for seeing a special challenge to himself in the last two cited (51 
and 52). It is too generally forgotten that the piece with which the Hotel 
de Bourgogne strove to compete with the Theatre du Marais and the Cid 
was precisely a play of Scudery's, VAmant Liberal. The letter of 
Chapelain to Mile. Paulet, cited above, shows that early in this competi- 
tion a comparison! had been made, in the manuscript at least, of the 
Visionnaires, a comparison which, Desmarests asserted, had been sug- 
gested to him by another ;2^ that out of this discussion there had arisen 
''a little scandal" and considerable wrangling (toute cette liderie) and 
that Chapelain had, as he thought, put an end to this "guerre dans sa 
naissance." All this is very evidently in Corneille's mind when he declares 
in his Lettre Apologitique : II n'est pas question de scavoir de combien 
vous estes noble ou plus vaillant que moy, pour juger de combien le 
Cid est meilleur que I'Amant Liberal.^^ Now it was in the midst of 
this effervescence that the provocative verses: 

Et pense toute fois n'avoir point de rival 
A qui je fasse tort en le traittant d'egal, 

came to fall, and Ulnconnu et Veritable Amy de Messieurs de Scudery et 
Corneille evidently voices the opinion of a considerable number, when he 

19 Gaste, op, cit., p. 289 f. 
^"^Ihid., p. 325. 
2iChapeIain, Letters, I, p. 137. 
22 Gaste, op. cit., p. 147. 


declares: on trouve fort estrange que Monsieur Corneille, qui est sage, 
et doit estre sans presomption et vaine gloire, voulust pretendre un degre 
de preeminence audessus de Monsieur de Scudery, qui a fait une 
infinite des plus beaux Poemes qui se jouent a present sur le Theatre.^* 
And in the passage inedit, above cited (page 2, note i), of Chapelain's 
manuscript of the Sentiments de I' Academie Frangoise, we find this 
excuse for Scudery: Nous Ten trouvous d'autant moins blasmable qu*il 
n'estoit hors de propos que la vanite a laquelle le Poete s'estoit laisse 
emporter fust un peu mortifiee, et qu'ayant use peu modestement de sa 
bonne fortune il se trouvast quelqu'un asses interesse a son abbaissement 
(var. humiliation) pour ne le luy pas pardonner de s'estre si fort esleve 
au dessus des autres. Under these circumstances it is not difficult to 
understand the action of Scudery, and there is little reason for questioning 
the sincerity of his claim in the Lettre a Vlllustre Academie: II suffit 
qu'on sgache que le sujet qui m'a fait escrire est equitable, et qu'il n'ignore 
pas luy-mesme, que j'ay raison d'avoir escrit. (i) At any rate Scudery 
receives a justification from no less a contemporary personage than 
Chapelain, not only in the passage just cited, but also in a private letter 
written to Balzac the 13th of June, 1637. En Italic, il (le Cid) eust passe 
pour barbare et il n'y a point d' Academie qui ne Teust banni des confins 
de sa jurisdiction; ce qui a donne beau jeu a Mr. de Scudery, corrival 
de Corneille, de luy opposer les fautes que vous verres remarques dans 
le volume que je vous envoye. . . . Maintenant ces chaleurs de poetes 
nous embarassent, car Scudery, se tenant fort de la verite, a retenu pour 
juge du different la noble Academie dont vous estes un des principau 

23 Gaste, op. cit., p. 155. 
^^Le iters, I, 156.