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PUBLICATIONS

OP THE

Modern Language Association

AMERICA

EDITED BY

CHARLES H. GRANDGENT

SECRETARY OF THE ASSOCIATION

VOL. XVII
NEW SERIES, VOL. X

PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE ASSOCIATION
PRINTED BY JOHN MURPHY COMPANY

BALTIMORE

4
HC,

CONTENTS.

PAGE.
I. — On the Date and Composition of The Old Law. By EDGAR

COIT MORRIS, ---------1

II.— Cato and Elijah : A Study in Dante. By C. H. GRANDQENT, 71
III.— Practical Philology. By E. S. SHELDON, - 91

IV. — Fate and Guilt in Schiller's Die Braut von Messina. By W.

H. CARRUTH, 105

V. — The Relations of Hamlet to Contemporary Revenge Plays.

By ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE, ------ 125

VI. — The Literary Influence of Sterne in France. By CHARLES

SEARS BALDWIN, ---...-. 221

VII.— The Home of the Beves Saga. By PRENTISS C. HOYT, -. 237

VIII.— The First Riddle of Cynewulf. By WILLIAM WITHERLE

LAWRENCE, --.-..-._ 247

IX. — Signy's Lament. By WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD, - - 262
X. — The Amelioration of our Spelling. By CALVIN THOMAS, - 297

XI. — The Relation of Shakespeare to Montaigne. By ELIZABETH

ROBBINS HOOKER, - -- 312

XII.— Notes on the Ruthwell Cross. By ALBERT S. COOK, - - 367

XIII. — Scholarship and the Commonwealth. By JAMES TAFT HAT-
FIELD, 391

XIV.— Aimer le Che*tif. By RAYMOND WEEKS, - - - - 411
XV.— The Comedies of J. C. Kriiger. By ALBERT HAAS, - - 435

XVI.— Contributions to the History of the Legend of Saint George,
with Special Reference to the Sources of the French,
German, and Anglo-Saxon Metrical Versions. By JOHN
E. MATZKE, 464

IV CONTENTS.

APPENDIX I.

PAGE.

Proceedings of the Nineteenth Annual Meeting of the Modern
Language Association of America, held at Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, December 26, 27, 28, 1901.

Address of Welcome. By President CHARLES W. ELIOT, - iii

Report of the Secretary, ......_. v

Report of the Treasurer, --.._... y

Appointment of Committees, - vii

1. Notes on the Ruthwell Cross. By ALBERT S. COOK, - - vii

2. Augier's L} 'Aventur&re of 1848 and 1860. By A. RAMBEAU, vii

3. Three Swabian Journalists of the American Revolution. By

JOHN A. WALZ, ix

4. A Discrepancy in several of Schiller's Letters. By J. B. E.

JONAS, x

Report of the Pedagogical Section: The Undergraduate Study

of Composition. By W. E. MEAD, Secretary, - x

5. Goethe's Idea of Polarity and its Sources. By EWALD A.

BOUCKE, -_.-__.-. xxv

6. Cato and Elijah. By C. H. GRANDGENT, - xxv
Address of the President of the Association :

Practical Philology. By E. S. SHELDON, - xxv

7. The Relation of Shakespeare to Montaigne. By ELIZABETH

R. HOOKER. --------- xxv

8. Classical Mythology as an Element in the Art of Dante. By

CHARLES G. OSGOOD, xxv

9. The Amelioration of our Spelling. By CALVIN THOMAS, - xxv

10. The Influence of German Opera upon Grillparzer. By

EDWARD S. MEYER, xxvii

11. The Work of the American Dialect Society. By O. F.

EMERSON, xxvii

12. Biblical Names in Early Modern English. By GEORGE H.

MCKNIGHT, xxviii

13. On Verner's Law. By HERBERT Z. KIP, - xxviii

14. The Relations of Hamkt to Contemporary Revenge Plays.

By ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE, xxviii

15. The Home of King Horn and of Sir Tristrem. By W. H.

SCHOFIELD, ---.--.-- xxviii

16. The Legends of Horn and of Bevis. By P. C. HOYT, - - xxix

CONTENTS.

17. Literary Adaptations in Gerhart Hauptmann's Versunktne

Olocke. By HENRY WOOD,

18. Lessing's Attitude toward the Sources of his Dramas. By

ALBERT HAAS, xxix

19. The Origin of the Negro Dialect in the United States. By

GEORGE HEMPL, -------- xxix

20. Conflicting Standards in French Literature at the Opening

of the Twentieth Century. By A. SCHINZ, - - - xxix

21. A List of Hated Words. By F. N. SCOTT, - xxix

22. Literal Repetition in Anglo-Saxon Poetry. By WILLIAM

W. LAWRENCE, xxix

23. The Date and Composition of The Old Law (Middleton,

Rowley, Massinger). By EDGAR COIT MORRIS, - - xxix

24. The Life and Works of Heinrich der Teichner. By J. B. E.

JONAS, xxix

Report of Auditing Committee, ------- xxix

The American Dialect Society, xxx

25. Chaucer and Milton. By W. H. HULME - xxx
Report of Nominating Committee, - ' -<• - - - - xxx

Election of Officers, xxxi

Report of Committee on International Correspondence, • • xxxii
Changes suggested in the method of arranging the programme of

the Meetings, xxxiv

Regulations concerning presentation of papers at the Meetings, - xxxv

Vote of Thanks, ---------- xxxvi

26. The Comedias of Diego Ximenez de Enciso. By RUDOLPH

SCHWILL, xxxvi

27. The Literary Influence of Sterne in France. By CHARLES

S. BALDWIN, xxxvii

28. Friedrich Hebbel and the Problem of "Inner Form." By

JOHN F. COAR, xxxvii

29. The Dramatic Guilt in Schiller's Braut von Messina. By W.

H. CARRUTH, xxxvii

List of Oflicers, xxxviii

List of Members, ---------- xxxix

List of Subscribing Libraries, ---.... lxv

Honorary Members, Ixvii

Roll of Members Deceased, Ixviii

The Constitution of the Association, Ixx

VI CONTENTS.

APPENDIX II.

PAGE.

Proceedings of the Seventh Annual Meeting of the Central Divi-
sion of the Modern Language Association of America, held
at Champaign, Illinois, December 26, 27 and 28, 1901.
Address of Welcome. By Dean THOMAS A. CLARK, - - - Ixxv
Address of the President of the Central Division of the Associa-
tion : Scholarship and the Commonwealth. By JAMES

TAFT HATFIELD, - - Ixxv

Keport of the Secretary and Treasurer, .... - Ixxvi
Appointment of Committees, ..-.-.- Ixxvii

1. Goethe's Faust, lines 418-29. By A. K. HOHLFELD, - - Ixxvii

2. Notes on English Elegiac Poetry, with a Bibliography. By

ALBERT E. JACK, Ixxvii

3. The English Sixteenth Morality Play, Mary Magdalen. By

F. I. CARPENTER, ------ -- Ixxviii

4. Notes on Wieland's Translation of Shakespere. By MARCUS

SIMPSON, .._------ Ixxviii

5. In what Order should the Works of Martin Luther be read.

By W. W. FLORER, Ixxviii

6. Goethe's Predecessors in Italy. By C. VON KLENZE, - - Ixxix

7. Intercollegiate Agreement in English Courses. By DANIEL

K. DODGE, Ixxix

8. An Old Spanish Version of the Dislicha Catonis, By K.

PIETSCH, Ixxix

9. A Comparison of the Ideals in Three Eepresentative Versions

of the Tristan and Isolde Story. By MAY THOMAS, - Ixxx

10. The Technique of Adam Bede. By VIOLET D. JAYNE, - Ixxx

11. The Latin Sources of the Expurgatoire of Marie de France.

By T. ATKINSON JENKINS, ------ Ixxx

12. The Short Story and its Classification. By C. F. MCCLUMPHA, Ixxx

13. Das and Was in Relative Clauses Dependent on Substantiv-

ized Adjectives in Modern German. By STARR W.
CUTTING, Ixxxi

14. The Influence of Wilhelm Miiller upon Heine's Lyric Poetry.

By JOHN S. NOLLEN, - Ixxxi

15. An Unpublished Diary of Wilhelm Miiller. By PHILIP S.

ALLEN, Ixxxii

16. The I. E. root sdo-. By F. A. WOOD, Ixxxii

17. Literary Criticism in France. By E. P. BAILLOT, - - Ixxxii

CONTENTS.

VI 1

18. Remarks on the German Version of the Speculum humanae

salvationis. By H. SCHMIDT- WARTENBERG, - Ixxxii

19. The Sources of Cyrano's Trip to the Moon. By JOHN R.

EFFINGER, -- ._-_._- Ixxxiii

20. A Record of Shakespearian Representations at Chicago for

the past five years. By W. E. SIMONDS, - - - Ixxxiii

21. The Symbolistic Drama since Hauptmann. By MARTIN

SCHUTZE, .__...... Ixxxiii

Reports of Committees and Election of Officers, - - - - Ixxxiii

22. The Authenticity of Goethe's Sesenheim Songs. By JULIUS

GOEBEL, Ixxxiv

23. The Plautine Influence on English Drama during the last

Decade of the Sixteenth Century. By MALCOLM W.
WALLACE, Ixxxiv

24. The Sources of Ferdinand Kiirenberger's Novel, Der Amerika-

miide. By GEORGE A. MULFINGER, .... Ixxxv

25. Taine. By H. P. THIEME, Ixxxv

26. The Development of the Middle High German Ablaut in

Modern German. By PAUL O. KERN, - Ixxxv

27. Goethe's Schafer's Klagelied. By A. R. HOHLFELD, - - Ixxxv

28. Ai'mer le Che"tif. By RAYMOND WEEKS, .... Ixxxv
Final vote of thanks, Ixxxvi

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA,

19O2.
VOL. XVII, 1. NEW SERIES, VOL. X, 1.

I.— ON THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE
OLD LAW.1

It is the purpose of this paper to study the unassisted work
of Middleton, of Rowley, and of Massinger for the individual
characteristics of these men. From the characteristics thus
arrived at, the part each man probably took in the com-

1 The texts used in this paper are as follows ;

Middleton' s Plays ; edited by A. H. Bullen, Boston, 1885.
Massinger's Plays; edited by Arthur Symonds, Mermaid Series, 1893.
Rowley's Plays ; All's Lost by Lust, London, 1633. (The quarto.)

A Match at Midnight, in vol. ii of Ancient British Drama,

3 vols. London, 1810.

A Woman Never Vexed, in vol. xii of Hazlitt's Dodsley,
4th edition, London, 1875.

In making quotations for the purpose of illustration, I have been con-
fronted by a dilemma. If I made them long enough to be perfectly clear
to a person not very familiar with the plays, the paper would be too long.
But if I cut them shorter, there was danger of failure to be convincing.
In trying to take a middle course I fear I have oftenest erred on the side
of brevity; I hope, therefore, that those interested in The Old Law will
carefully reread the play before attempting section v of this paper.

I desire here to acknowledge my indebtedness to Professor George P.
Baker of Harvard University for his courteous and valuable assistance
during the preparation of this paper; also to my colleague, Professor
Frank E. Farley, for helpful criticism.

EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

position of The Old Law will be determined. This assignment
of parts will be used as the basis for determining the probable
method of composition, and the approximate date of the play.

It will be necessary to consider Middleton's characteristics
only as they appear in the seven plays by him published in
1602, 1607, and 1608, since his part in The Old Law is
pretty generally thought to be very early. Bullen 1 assigns
the date of this play to 1599 apparently on no further evi-
dence than the speech of the Clerk in act III, scene 1, line
34; speaking of Agatha, the Clerk says, "Born in an. 1540,
and now 'tis 799." Bullen adds, however, that this is " a point
on which we cannot speak with certainty/7 Fleay,2 Dyce,3 C.
H. Herford,4 and A. W. Ward,5 all agree on this date and evi-
dence, but Ward adds that the play " in subject as well as
in occasional details savours of the student." Further evi-
dence for the early writing of Middleton's part in this play
may be found by comparing it in plot and general treatment
with six other plays of the same type, usually considered
to be by Middleton alone. Blurt, Master- Constable, and The
Phoenix, which are known to be early, The Mayor of Queens-
borough, Women Beware Women, More Dissemblers besides
Women, and The Witch, which it is generally agreed are later,
are all of the same general type of plot. They have a tragic
main plot and a comic sub-plot. The differences are, the
last four are distinctly romantic and tragic in their serious
parts; the first two are solved without serious results,
though they might easily have ended fatally. The comedy

1 The Works of Thomas Middleton; ed. by A. H. Bullen, vol. i, p. xv.

2 Chronicle of the English Drama; F. G. Fleay, 2 vols. 1891.

3 The Works of Thomas Middleton; ed. by A. H. Dyce, 5 vols. 1840.

4 Article on Thomas Middleton, in the Dictionary of National Biography,
by C. H. Herford ; vol. xxxvii.

5 A History of English Dramatic Literature ; by A. W. Ward, 3 vols. ; 1899 ;
vol. ii, p. 501.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 3

of the former two is prominent and from distinctly lower
London life; that of the latter four is less prominent and
concerns people of a higher station in life. Finally the
appreciation and expression of the awfulness of wrong is dis-
tinctly better in the latter four than it is in the former two
of these plays. Now a single reading of The Old Law will
show that it belongs with The Phoenix and Blurt, Master-
Constable rather than with The Mayor of Queensborough or
with The Witch, not to mention the still more evidently later
plays, Women Beware Women and More Dissemblers besides
Women.

For the present purpose, then, the distinguishing character-
istics of Middleton's early work will be derived from Blurt,
Master- Constable, printed in 1602, and the six comedies
printed or licensed for printing in 1607 and 1608; namely,
The Phoenix, Michaelmas Term, A Trick to Catch the Old
One, The Family of Love, Your Five Gallants, and A Mad
World My Masters.1

In these plays approximately two-thirds of the matter is
in prose, and one-third in dramatic or epic blank verse. A
few songs, however, that have no real connection with the
plays, are introduced here and there, as in BMC, I, 2, 209-
216, where the pages remain, after the action of the scene is
over, to sing for us. Another slight exception is found in the
heroic couplets now and then occurring in BMC, MW, and
M T. Yet this use of song and rime is by no means promi-
nent in these plays ; it merely shows Middleton's sympathy
with the dominant forms of the drama, and his leaning
toward the romantic and idealistic without the ability to give
it adequate expression.

All this verse is pretty uniformly regular as to number
of feet, and smooth in quality. It is sometimes noticeable,
even, that poetical expression is kept at the expense of

1 Hereafter these plays will be called respectively, BM C, P, MT, TOO,
FofL, YFG, and MW.

EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

naturalness and brevity. A somewhat exaggerated case,
though really typical, is found in FofL, V, 2, 25-36, of
which I quote the first five verses :

Gerardine ?

Aurora, nor the blushing sun's approach,
Dart not more comfort to this universe
Than thou to me : most acceptably come !
The art of number cannot count the hours
Thou hast been absent.

This is not mere lover's hyperbole, but it is the writer's
attempt to express in good verse a simple though passionate
welcome from a girl to her lover. The response is similar
and worse. An equally formal and almost antiphonal scene
occurs in YFG, I, 2, 1-23. The antiphoual quality of this
latter passage is rather unusual, but the formal fulness of
the verse, almost if not quite padding, is thoroughly typical
of Middleton's longer speeches. The most notable excep-
tions to this uniformity of verse are in YFG, which besides
containing incomplete verses in several places, has eight
double endings in sixteen lines in I, 2, 83-98. A few
rough verses, too, are scattered through the plays, like FofL,
IV, 2, 2:

Thou power predominate, more to be admir'd,
and some irregular ones, like line 97 :

Is happiness sought by the gods themselves,
and like I, 1, 105, in MW:

Yet willingly embrace it — love to Harebrain's wife.

But with the exception of a few such lines, the verse errs on
the side of dull regularity.

In the distribution of prose and verse, also, Middleton
seems somewhat self-conscious. Dignified, serious topics,
like love, honor, bravery, integrity, whether they are merely
talked about by the characters or whether they are the domi-

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 5

nant influences in the action of the play, are almost always
presented in verse. But the moment there is a change to
the light and humorous, there is a change of form. The
only important exceptions to this occur in YFG. These
exceptions, however, cannot be allowed to weigh fully against
the other plays for two reasons : first, the verse in these
places is essentially unlike that in the other five plays ; and
second, although this play was licensed for printing in
March, 1607-8, the quarto bears no date, so it may be much
later and revised by another hand. A single passage to show
the quality of the verse; IV, 8, 48-57 :

When things are cleanly carried, sign of judgment :

I was the welcom'st gallant to her alive

After the salt was stolen ; then a good dinner,

A fine provoking meal, which drew on apace

The pleasure of a day-bed, and I had it ;

This here one ring can witness : when I parted,

Who but sweet master Goldstone f I left her in that trance.

What cannot wit, so it be impudent,

Devise and compass ? I'd fain know that fellow now

That would suspect me but for what I am.

A good example of a sudden change from verse to prose
because of the change of theme, is found in P, I, 4. Up
to line 197, since law has been treated humorously as the
means of gulling some one, the speeches are all in prose;
but the moment Phoenix begins speaking of law in a higher
sense, the form becomes verse. A similar case may be found
in FofLj V, 2, 39-42, where the change is made in the midst
of a speech because Gerardine turns from talking to Maria
of their approaching marriage, to ask her an ordinary question
about some of the less dignified characters in the play :

At Dryfat's house, the merchant, there's our scene,

Whose sequel, if I fail not in intent,

Shall answer our desires and each content.

But when sawest thou Lipsalve and Gudgeon, our two gallants ?

Compare also the curious use of prose and verse in BMC,
I, 1, 123-133, quoted on page 12. This practice of poetical

6 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

expression for the serious treatment of serious topics, or for
increased effectiveness, is surprisingly constant throughout
these plays.

Middleton's early prose is usually well written, adapted to
the characters, and conversational. It is for the most part
better adapted to its purpose than is the verse ; he seems
more at home with it. There are a few exceptions, like the
euphuistic prose in BMC, I, 1, 100-104, and the stiff phras-
ing in some parts of the induction to M T ; but on the whole,
Middleton subordinates the means to the end better while
using prose than while using verse. The reader is seldom,
if ever, conscious of the style while the characters are talking
his colloquial prose.

The people who occupy the important places in the plays
are mostly from the lower ranks of society. They are the
kind one would meet in Eastcheap or on the Bankside,
excepting five people in P, and one of slight importance in
BMC. These are two dukes, the sou of a duke, and three
nobles. Of these gentlefolk, only Phoenix and one of the
nobles are more than puppets in the play. Phoenix, to
be sure, develops considerable character ; he and his com-
panion in disguise stand out in striking contrast to the
law-breakers that make up the rest of the action. But
Middleton is unable to keep him from becoming decidedly
priggish in his search for the vices in his dukedom. The
result is an unattractive hero. Two good instances of his
priggishness are found in his apostrophes to law and to
marriage. In the former case, Phoenix and his friend have
been observing a perverter of the law in his dealings with
simple people ; the pettifogger is called out to see a captain,
whereupon the friend asks, " What captain might this be ? "
Phoenix, rapt out of consciousness of the question, makes no
reply but soliloquizes on law for thirty lines thus :

Thou angel sent amongst us, sober Law,
Made with meek eyes, persuading action,
No loud immodest tongue,

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 7

Voic'd like a virgin, and as chaste from sale.
Save only to be heard, but not to rail ;
How lias abuse deform'd thee to all eyes,
That where thy virtues sat, thy vices rise ! etc.

I, 4, 197-203.

At the end of the speech, the friend repeats his question
with better results. The passage on marriage is in II, 2,
162-196. These elaborate monologues are as ill-timed as
would be Henry V's speech " Upon the king," if it were to
follow FalstafPs caricature of Henry IV, in the first part
of the play by that name. It is evident, therefore, that
Middleton was unable at this time to fit dignified people into
his plays. He does not seem quite at home with them.

It is equally clear that Middleton was considerably interested
in the lower classes ; at all events, he handled them much better.
His touch is sure and his appreciation is excellent when deal-
ing with the common people. He must have known all kinds
of men and women of the lower social stratum, from the
young spendthrift, Witgood, who got back his squandered
fortune by his wits, to Frippery, the broker gallant, who
grew rich upon the prodigality of his friends; from the
lascivious jeweler's wife, who secretly supported her " friend
in court," to the keen-witted servant of the courtesan, who
poured a pail of dirty water from an upper window upon the
head of a too importunate old courtier. The perfect natural-
ness of the whole list of shrewd, reckless, good-natured,
immoral characters is unmistakable.

The kind of people who are most prominent in these plays
will no doubt account for the fact that in none of the seven
is there a leading character who really wins our admiration.
However attractive they may be in other parts of the play,
without exception they somewhere do things or show charac-
teristics that we cannot admire in a hero or a heroine. Not
only does the modern reader feel this, but it is impossible to
imagine a competent critic of the seventeenth century feeling
otherwise. The failure to idealize Phoenix has already been

EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

mentioned. In the same play Castiza is made an exemplary
lady in most situations, but it is almost impossible to under-
stand how she could have married the captain. After calling
her a fool for marrying him, the captain sells her to a man
who with the captain's consent has already tried to seduce
her. Caught in the act of selling, the captain is arrested ;
whereupon Castiza says :

Who hath laid violence upon my husband,
My dear sweet captain ? Help !

II, 2, 297-298.

In FofL, Gerardine and Maria would make an ideal pair of
lovers in many ways, but they are obliged to hasten their
marriage at the end of the play that their child may be born
in wedlock. In YFG, Fitsgrave and Katherine keep their
honor and are shrewd in their actions, but they are priggish
in their moral superiority over their friends and associates.
And so through the rest of the plays ; not a single character
wins unqualified sympathy. Of the two, the men are better
understood than the women, but there is lack of full appre-
ciation of human nature even among the people Middleton
knew best.

The fact that there are no heroes or heroines in these plays
does not imply that there are no interesting characters. Like
Satan in Paradise Lost, the sharpers and the courtesans carry off
the honors. If moral and ethical questions are disregarded,
as of course they may be in comedy, there are some excellent
people in these plays. There can be no doubt that the police
force and Lazarillo in SMC, were irresistably funny on the
stage. So were Falso and his servants, and Tangle in P.
The exquisite scheming of Quomodo in MT, and his com-
plete overthrow by the man he had wronged must have been
very effective. And so on through a long list of people like
the two old sharpers gulled in TOO, like the broker-gallant
and the cheating-gallant in YFG, and like Sir Bounteous
Progress and Follywit in M W. Here also, as in the case

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. »

of the more honest characters, the women fall below the
men in naturalness; but I cannot help admiring the wit,
energy, and good sense of the courtesan in TOO. Aside from
the fact that she is called a courtesan, and is treated accord-
ingly, her actions and character on the stage would place her
on a level with the best in the play. She and Imperia in
BMC, in spite of the stigma of their names, are the most
interesting and life-like women in these plays. They are real
people from the streets of London, full of interest because so
thoroughly plausible.

Part of the interest felt in the characters of this class, is
no doubt due to the fact that both the men and the women
are quick in conversation, apt in repartee, and shrewd in all
their dealings. The very fact that so many of them are
professional gullers and cheats would make keen wits neces-
sary. In five of the plays, all but BMC and P, the hero
and the heroine win by the sharpest kind of scheming against
no mean opponents. In YFG, as the name shows, there are
five professionals whose only business is to show us how such
fellows get their living out of the simpler people. In the
two plays just excepted there is no lack of sharp practice,
though the plot of the play does not hinge on these wit-
contests. For instance, Falso's mock trial of his own servant,
and Tangle's living upon the gullible court followers, in P,
are really subordinated to the rest of the plot, but they are
two of the most effective scenes in the play. The same is
true of Imperia and her discarded suitors in BMC.

Considering the knowledge that Middleton seems to have
had of the London lower life, it is surprising that his plays
show so little appreciation of its serious aspect. Even recog-
nizing the fact that most of this work is comedy, there still
remain places where the serious side of that life can hardly
be ignored. Whether he was unable to see it or unable to
express it is not very clear. That the latter is likely to have
been the difficulty is shown by such cases as that of Penitent
Brothel and Mistress Harebrain in M W. Scene 2 of act III

10 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

could have been made just as effective without the actual sin,
for that plays practically no part in the action. Middleton,
however, allows the sin a place, and without doubt gains in
realism thereby; then in his attempt to maintain ethical
verity he makes the sinner repent, but in a most formal and
categorical manner. So far Middleton seems merely to be
unable to phrase a serious situation. But this passage is
followed by the entrance of a Succubus in the form of the
woman to tempt the repentant sinner back to his sin. At
best it is very low melodrama; — but I have a strong sus-
picion that the audience thought it excellent burlesque. The
temptation, as a serious matter, is as ridiculous as the speech
of repentance is unnatural. A few lines will show the
temper of the speech of repentance :

Nay, I that knew the price of life and sin,
What crown is kept for continence, what for lust,
The end of man, and glory of that end,
As endless as the giver,

To doat on weakness, slime, corruption, woman !
What is she, took asunder from her clothes ?
Being ready, she consists of an hundred pieces,
Much like your German clock, and near ally'd ;
Both are so nice, they cannot go for pride :
Besides a greater fault, but too well known,
They'll strike to ten, when they should stop at one.

IV, 1, 14-24.

In FofL, the case is somewhat different. There the serious
side of life is entirely disregarded. All through the play we
are led to understand that Glister has had criminal relations
with Mistress Purge. At the end of the play, however
(V, 3, 400-428), the case is dismissed from a mock court,
the only place where the guilty are called to account, with a
little good advice and a promise to the injured husband that
all will be well if he also will do as he ought. On the
whole, therefore, it looks as though Middleton knew there
was a serious side to this life, and as though he tried at times
to express it ; but he did not have a deep and genuine feeling

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 11

for the moral questions that unavoidably underlie the life he
chose to portray.

The plots of these plays are realistic in method and motif;
only in a slight degree are they romantic or tragic. On brief
consideration, five of these plots seem to be little better than
a stringing together of effective incidents : P, M W, YFG,
FofL, and BMC. In P, for instance, Falso's abuse of
justice especially in order to protect his disguised thieving
servants, is well connected with his plan to detain his
niece's dower. But these events have practically no con-
nection with the half insane termer, Tangle, who is largely
amusing because of his humorous gulling of others seeking
their rights at law. The captain's attempt to prostitute his
wife, and then, after failure in that, his attempt to sell her,
are quite independent of the other two stories. And yet
these varied incidents are mechanically unified by the fact
that Phoenix, while investigating the vices of his dukedom,
finds all of these abuses and corrects them. Thus the unify-
ing element is really present, although quite secondary to
the elements unified, for the Phoenix story is secondary in
interest to at least three others in the play. However poor
such a plot may be, there was plainly a carefully worked out
plan at bottom. The plots of the other four plays show
similar plan and similar looseness. In JOG, and in MT,
however, there is developed a well balanced plot that of
itself becomes interesting. The binding together is not in
all places skilful, but for the most part it is effective. To a
much greater extent than in the five plays first mentioned,
these two plays not only arouse interest in the individual
situations, but they make each situation increase the interest
in the final solution.

Although in most of these early plays Middleton lacked
a fine artistic sense in plot-construction, he showed remark-
able ability in making effective scenes. Every play has
at least two or three really excellent situations; and some
plays are full of them, as TCO, and MT. That this fact is

12 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

due to his discrimination and not to chance is shown by the
fact that not one of the seven plays is strong in plot and
weak in situation, while five are weak in plot and strong in
situation, and the other two are strong in plot and still
stronger in situation. Middleton's regard for incident is
still farther shown by the way effective scenes are introduced
because they are effective regardless of their connection with
the plot. There are a large number of these, as in BMC,
III, 3, where Lazarillo reads a remarkable paper on the way
women may get control of their husbands; or in P, where
the principal purpose of the main plot is that a number of
comic gulling scenes may be introduced ; or in FofL, II, 3,
and III, 2, in both of which Lipsalve and Gudgeon drop to
pretty low comedy for the amusement of the pit, without
advancing the plot at all; or in MW, III, 2, where the
courtesan in mock illness entertains company and helps her
friend to meet the merchant's wife almost under his very
eyes, and in IV, 5, where she traps Folly wit into marriage,
neither of which scenes is vitally connected with an important
main plot. It is, then, in his ability to choose the right kind
of incidents, and to work them up into effective scenes, that
Middleton showed the most promise in his early dramatic
work.

The fact that these plays are all comedies, and also that in
these plays character and plot are less artistically worked out
than is incident, would naturally preclude the possibility of
developing to any extent important themes. Some, however,
are touched upon in a significant manner. Love is conven-
tionally romantic, making the lover speak in all sorts of
hyperboles, as in BMC, I, 1, 123-133 :

My dear Violetta, one kiss to this picture of your whitest hand, when I
was even faint with giving and receiving the dole of war, set a new edge
on my sword, insomuch that

I singl'd out a gallant spirit of France,

And charged him with my lance in full career ;

And after rich exchange of noble courage,

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 13

(The space of a good hour on either side),
At last crying, Now for Violetta's honour !
I vanquished him and him dismounted took,
Not to myself, but prisoner to my love.

Similar extravagant passages are found in FofL, I, 2, 53-57,
and 99-102. But this romantic love never becomes the
central interest of the play ; it is rather subordinated to other
things. The brevity of its presentation is well shown in the
case of Fidelio and Falso's niece (she has no name) in P.
The niece is given only about fifty lines divided into less
than half as many speeches, and all occurring in five appear-
ances on the stage. The most prominent romance is that
of Gerardine and Maria in FofL. Here the woman appears
ten times, but with no lines the last time, though it is the
scene in which her troubles cease and she is promised to her
lover in marriage. During the other nine appearances she
has fifty-one speeches, making in all 208 lines or about four
pages of the 108 pages of the play. Of these fifty-one
speeches, sixteen have only one line, and but five have ten lines
or more. Certainly romantic love is not given a prominent
part in these plays, even though it might have been used to
advantage in some instances.

The opportunities for pathos are not numerous, and where
they occur, are handled with only moderate skill. In one
of the best plays, MT, there are two cases somewhat alike ; a
father follows a wayward daughter to London, and grieves
over her fall, while he in disguise and not recognizing her
serves her in her life of sin ; and a mother who has been
deserted by a worthless son, follows him to London, and
without knowing it though recognized by the son, serves as
his drudge and pander. These two situations are practically
the only ones in which Middleton even suggests the real
pathos that underlay the life he was portraying. And even
in these two instances the pathos is not emphasized, and may
not have been noticed by the Elizabethans ; at most it is only
suggested .

14 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

The principle involved in these plays, almost without
exception, can be stated thus : the end plus a small amount
of repentance, no matter how sudden, will justify the means
and bring assured happiness to all. The only exceptions
are that Proditor in P is banished for treason, the thieving
boy and the bawd-gallant in YFQ- are whipped, and in
several places men who have seduced women or lived with
them unlawfully are compelled to marry them. But those
who receive even such punishment are few and insignificant,
in comparison with those who are forgiven for much worse
crimes on promise of better behavior.

In connection with these peculiarities of theme and treat-
ment, it should be distinguished that the result is unmoral
rather than immoral. Seldom if ever does the language fall
from the ordinary sixteenth century coarseness to obscenity.
To the modern mind the humor is often vulgar and the
expression direct, but it is never salacious. The worst cases
occur in FofL, IV, 1, and V, 1 ; but quotations will not
show the temper of these scenes, they must be read entire.
It will then be seen that attention is all the time centered
upon shrewd devices and keen repartee, not upon the sin,
the alluring quality of which has not been suggested. It
must be admitted, however, that these two cases are very
near the danger point of twentieth century English morals,
though they are quite in line with certain French comedy,
such as The G~irl from Maxim's. Moreover there is a notice-
able absence of noise and horseplay like that in The Comedy
of Errors. In no place is physical discomfort or suffering
introduced solely for the sake of humor, as so frequently they
are in the contemporary farce comedy. The nearest approach
to this is when the cowardly Pursenet, in YFG, in attempt-
ing a robbery sets upon the wrong man and receives a
drubbing for his pains; and when Curvetto, in BMC, becomes
too assiduous in his attentions to Simperiua, and receives a
bucket of water from an upper window ; or when Lazarillo,
in the same play, receives somewhat similar treatment. On

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 15

the contrary, the fun is all worked out by the wits in devising
comic situations and shrewd solutions. In these two things
Middleton must have idealized the life to which he was other-
wise so faithful.

Although Middleton for the most part seems to have gone
directly to contemporary life for his material, it is not at all
unusual to find rather surprising echoes of familiar Shake-
spearean lines and scenes. Compare BMC, I, 1, 194-196 :

Lady, bid him whose heart no sorrow feels
Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels :
I've too much lead in mine,

with Romeo and Juliet, I, 4, 35-36 :

Let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels.

In at least three plays there are resemblances that extend to
whole situations. In FofL, 1, 2, 71 ff., Maria appears at the
window and talks of her love for Gerardine, not knowing
that he hears, in a manner that is strongly suggestive of Act
II, scene 2, in Romeo and Juliet. Lethe in MT, 1, 1, 257 ff.,
has a remarkable resemblance to Gobbo in The Merchant of
Venice. In BMC, I, 2, 50 ff., IV, 3, 11 ff., and V, 3, entire,
Blurt and his assistants show more than a chance resemblance
to Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing. For the present
purpose it matters little which way the borrowing occurs ;
the important thing is the frequent resemblance to situations
and lines in Shakespeare.

In brief, Middleton's characteristics in his early works are
as follows : His prose is natural and colloquial j his verse
is regular, smooth, padded in places, but seldom lyrical.
The most sympathetically handled characters show him
especially interested in the people of the lower ranks of
society and the slums of London. The heroes and heroines
do not win full sympathy, but they are decidedly interesting.
Plots are carefully but inartistically constructed, and the

16 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

incidents are dramatically effective. Endless gulling is the
main theme, aided by conventional romantic love and good-
natured sin duly repented of. These are treated unmorally
and thoughtlessly, not immorally and seductively. There is
notable absence of pathos and burlesque comedy. Finally,
there are frequent suggestions of Shakespearean lines and
incidents.

II.

The only plays assigned in the early editions to William
Rowley alone, are A New Wonder ; a Woman Never Vexed,
printed in 1632, All's Lost by Lust, printed in 1633, A
Match at Midnight,1 printed in 1633, and A Shoemaker's a
Gentleman, printed in 1638. The last of these has not been
accessible to me, so only the first three are considered in this
study. Of these three, only A LL has been accepted by later
critics as being undoubtedly by Rowley alone. The genuine-
ness of WNV is not doubted by Mr. Thomas Seccomb,2 or
by Mr. A. W. Ward;3 but Mr. Fleay4 thinks that the
original play was by Hey wood. In regard to MatM, Mr.
Bullen says, " I strongly favour Mr. Fleay 's view that
Rowley merely altered it (circ. 1622) for a revival, and that
the real author was Middleton. It is written very much
in the style of Middleton's early comedies of intrigue." s
Mr. A. W. Ward and Mr. Thomas Seccomb give no opinion ;
but the assertion by Mr. Bullen has been carefully considered
by Miss P. G. Wiggiu.6 She concludes that there is not
sufficient reason to doubt the assertion of the first edition,

1 These plays will hereafter be referred to respectively as WNV, ALL,
and MatM.

2 Article on William Rowley, in The Dictionary of National Biography.

3 A History of English Dramatic Literature ; vol. ii, p. 543.
* Chronicle of the English Drama ; vol. ii, p. 103.

5 The Works of Thomas Middleton, edited by A. H. Bullen ; vol. i, p.
Ixxix.

6 An Inquiry into the Authorship of the Middleton-Rowley Plays', Boston,
1897; pp. 7-13.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 17

that Rowley wrote the play. For the present purpose,
therefore, it will be assumed that ALL furnishes undisputed
evidence, and that WNV and MatM furnish very strong
contributory evidence as to the characteristics of Rowley's
dramatic work.

These three plays show Rowley in three different styles
of composition. WNV has a tragic main plot and comic
sub-plot, with the tragic element resolved without disaster.
MatM is a realistic comedy of London lower life. ALL is a
tragedy of blood with a slight romantic element and a few
comic scenes for contrast. The first two plays are, therefore,
like the seven early Middleton plays in plot ; the last belongs
to an entirely different class of drama.

Considering the divergence of material and method in
these plays, there is a remarkable agreement in style. Each
play contains both prose and verse: MatM is all prose
except about 130 lines, the other two plays are largely
verse. The prose style is not marked by any distinguishing
characteristics. It is colloquial and direct, well expressing
the kind of people who utter it. The verse, however, is quite
different ; that has qualities of its own. Although there are
a few rimed lines, they are not numerous, and lyric effects
are practically unknown in these plays. On the contrary
the blank verse is rugged, vigorous, often noisy ; as though
Rowley were trying to produce the Marlowesque effect with-
out the poetical power to give resonance to the verse. When
excited people try to " do it in King Cambyses' vein," their
verses usually trip them, as in WNVy act III, end :

MrsF. No, no, 'tis thine, thou wretch ; and therefore
Let me turn my vengeance all on thee ; thou
Hast made hot haste to empty all my warehouses,
And made room for that the sea hath drunk before thee.

May serpents breed,

And fill this fated stream, and poison her forever.
OFos. O curse not ; they come too fast !
2

18 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

MrsF. Let me curse somewhere, wretch, or else I'll throw
Them all on thee ; ' tis thou, ungodly slave,
That art the mark unto the wrath of heaven :
I thriv'd ere I knew thee.

Such lines as these are frequent, in which smoothness of
verse and rhythm are sacrificed to rather bombastic vigor.

In order to avoid needless repetition, comparison of Row-
ley's verse with that of Middleton will be omitted till after
the study of Massinger's characteristics, when all three men
will be considered together. The other characteristics of
Rowley will be taken up in direct relation with those of
Middleton. This direct comparison of the two men is made
desirable because they dealt with such similar situations and
worked with such similarity of method that the differences
are often in degree rather than in kind. These differences,
of course, can be illustrated only, not proved ; but the illus-
trations can be made with similar passages, and therefore will
carry some force as indications of method.

The difference in vulgarity can be seen by comparing the
process by which Witgood gulls Hoard into marrying his
courtesan, in Middleton's TCO, and a similar gulling process
in MatMj where Tim Bloodgood marries a whore and his
father barely escapes the same fate with a bawd. In TCO,
but for the fact that the woman is called a courtesan, and is
now and then spoken of as having been Witgood's mistress,
the reader would hardly suspect her character. In the play
itself she says and does nothing which the Chaste Maid in
Cheapside might not have said and done. The absence
of vulgar allusion and of suggestive details, and the constant
keeping to the front of the shrewdness of the tricks by
which the old men are gulled, are surprising if we consider
the real character of the people concerned. Compare this
phrasing with that of the situations in MatM. In the latter
play the audience is never allowed to forget the character of
the bawd and whore, although they have names to cover
somewhat their character. Every time they appear they are

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 19

in their parts, from the time when they capture Tim at the
tavern to the time when Mrs. Coote is taken in the chamber
with Ear-lack, and then with Sue Shortheels sent away to
prison. Their language is constantly suggestive or salacious.
The nearest to Sue and Mrs. Coote that Middleton has done,
is the courtesan in M W. But there is a marked difference
even here. Middleton draws the attention of the audience
to the keen wit shown by the courtesan in deceiving the
jealous husband and in getting rid of the troublesome suitors,
not to the things that are actually going on. In Rowley's
play attention is drawn to the vulgarity or indecency of the
situation ; in Middleton's, attention is centered upon the
humor that attends the situation. This is a distinct differ-
ence in method, whatever it may be in morals.

This difference is fully borne out by certain scenes in ALL.
In act I, Roderick considers it necessary to employ a bawd.
She is brought upon the stage and examined as to her qualifi-
cations, with no other result than to make some vulgar jests.
There is absolutely no development of character or furtherance
of plot or real humor of situation. Again in the beginning
of act II, she and Lothario amuse the pit with jests about
their occupations in lines quite devoid of any kind of wit
or humor; they have nothing but their ribaldry to excuse
their existence. In short, Rowley seems to introduce vulgar
situations for their own sake, but Middleton because they
can be made the basis for genuine humor.

Another noticeable characteristic of Rowley is his constant
punning. His manner of using puns to eke out action or in
place of it is well shown by comparing two gambling scenes.
One is in act II of WNV, and the other in act II, scene 3,
of YFG. The entire action of the former scene is as follows :
While the men are playing at dice and quarreling, the host
of the tavern has to go below to quiet the bowlers. Soon
after his return he has to quiet the card players above.
Meanwhile the dicers keep on playing and commenting on
their poor plays and quarreling. While the host is gone

20 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

the second time, the dicers fall to fighting over the false dice,
whereupon the host and some friends of the hero come in and
stop the fight. During the brawl the bowlers come in
and steal the cloaks of the dicers. While the owners are
in hot dispute with the host about the lost cloaks, in come
some more friends of the hero, and the real action of the play
is resumed. Thus 160 lines are used merely to catch the
hero at dice, regardless of the fact that we all know him to
be a confirmed gambler. The noise below and above, the
fight, the cheating at play, the loss of the cloaks, — all of
this has no other use than to let us find the hero in bad
company in order that the action may begin. This passage
has absolutely no value in itself, and is carried merely by
tiresome and persistent punning. In the first thirty-six lines
there are no less than nine plays upon words. Their quality
may be judged by the following :

Steph. Seven still, pox on't ! that number of the deadly sins

haunts me damnably. Come, sir, throw.
Jack. Prythee, invoke not so : all sinks too fast already.
Hugh. It will be found again in mine host's box. [The dice are thrown.
Jack. In still, two thieves and choose thy fellow.
Steph. Take the miller.
Jack. Have at them, i ' faith.

Hugh. For a thief, I'll warrant you ; who'll you have next ?
Jack. Two quatres and a trey.
Steph. I hope we shall have good cheer, when two caters and a tray go to

market.

The larger part of the conversation is just such a weak
attempt to take up the words of the last speaker and turn
them in some witty way. Apart from this word-play fully
one half of the 160 lines have no reason to exist.

Although the scene in YFG is much longer it really seems
less padded because it is all the time furthering the plot
of the play. Every scrap of conversation and every bit of
action help us to a better understanding of the moral character
of the persons concerned, and accomplish this end in a witty
or humorous manner. Whether or not such a plot is good,

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 21

is not the question here. For instance, in II, 3, 83-104,
Bungler explains in a really humorous dialogue, how he has
schooled himself to forget whom he would. Lines 50-62, in
which Goldstone tries to steal the beakers and gets caught,
would make excellent acting. Lines 141 and following, in
which Goldstone and his servant manage to fleece the whole
company by Goldstone's pretending to be angry that his
servant should dare to offer to play with them, is effectively
handled. So of all the other situations, notably of the last,
in which Goldstone gets away with a large gold cup by not
desiring to mistrust anyone there, but by preferring to pay
the host his share of its value of it rather than have all
the company searched.

The same difference between Rowley and Middleton is
evident from the witty scenes in ALL. In this play, puns
are the stock form of humor for the clown, and they are the
principal form of conversation between Antonio and Dionisia.
In the latter case they are supposed to represent polite con-
versation which is to result in the two participants falling in
love with each other, as in act II :

Dio. Worthy sir,

My noble father entreats some words with you.
Ant. A happy messenger invites me to him.

How shall I quit your pains?
Dio. I'll take my travil for't sir.
Ant. Tis too little.
Dio. I think it too much, sir,

For I was loath to travel thus far, had not

Obedience tied me to't.
Ant. You're too quick.
Dio. Too quick, sir ; why, what occasion have I given you

To wish me dead ?
Ant. I cannot keep this pace with you, lady.

I'll go speak with your father ?
Dio. I pray stay, sir, I'll speak with you myself.
Ant. Before your father ?
Dio. No, here in private, by yourself.
Loss. I'll stop my ears, madam.
Dio. Why, are they running away from your head, sir ?

22 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

Laz. I mean I'll seal them up from hearing, lady.
Dio. You may : no doubt they have wax of their own.

Such passages, and a good many of them, show pretty clearly
that Rowley believed in punning as a legitimate means of
humor, and that he allowed it to carry him quite away from
the purpose of the scene.

Rowley's humorous scenes are also helped out in many
places by rather noisy action if not by burlesque. In MatM,
Captain Carvegut and Alexander Bloodhound are swash-
bucklers when they dare act their purposes, as is well shown
in the tavern scene or in the first visit of Alexander to the
Widow. The Clown in WNV is exceedingly noisy in his
objection to his mistress' marriage, and equally so in his final
acceptance of his new master. Similarly in ALL, in the
beginning of the last act, when the kingdom of Spain is
tottering to its fall, in comes Lothario, the king's gentleman
pander, with a rope around his neck, scared almost to suicide
but lacking the courage to end his own life. He meets the
Clown who refuses to help him out of the world, so they
make horse-play fun for the audience, and retire. In a word,
then, Rowley's humorous scenes contain weak punning, noise,
and coarse jest, while Middleton uses real wit in humorous
action.

In the matter of plot construction, the difference between
Rowley and Middleton is one of conscious method rather
than of result. Both men seem to have striven for effective
situations at the expense of proportion or consistency of plot.
In the tragic part of WNV there is a notable lack of causa-
tion. One cannot help wondering just why Brewen should
be so willing to sell his half interest in the commercial venture
when the ships have returned as far as Dover, and when his
share of the profits is known to be worth twice what he
sold for. It is a strange coincidence that the ships should all
be lost at the Thames mouth just after the bargain was made.
Next, one is surprised that the widow should be so anxious to
marry a worthless fellow merely to be vexed once in her life ;

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 23

and then comes the startling information that the worthless
fellow has become a most exemplary husband. Finally, one
is a little surprised at the way the father casts off his son for
helping the uncle ; but that is not a circumstance to the per-
versity with which the father refuses to believe that his son
really wants to help him in his trouble, even when the son
stands ready to offer the best of proof of his sincerity. The
father is merely mad with anger at nothing except that, as in
the other cases, the plot requires him to be so or the play will
stop. In MatMj the scheme of gulling is better worked out
for the most part, though it is a little hard to explain the rela-
tion of seven alternating appearances and exits of Randall on
the one hand and of Captain Carvegut and Lieutenant Bottum
on the other. At best these are a very clumsy stage device to
explain a part of the play that is to follow. Otherwise the
scenes work up well to the inevitable conclusion of such a
play, — namely, the punishment of the wicked, the gulling of
the father and old lover, and the marrying of the faithful girl
and her young lover.

A slightly different phase of this tendency in Rowley to
sacrifice consistency and unity of plot to effectiveness of situa-
tion is shown in ALL. As was said earlier, there is no
apparent reason for Malina's appearance in the first act except
that her vulgar jests will please the pit. There is reason
against it in that it is out of keeping with the character of a
king who has won the implicit confidence of such a general as
Julianus. The same criticism holds of her appearance with
Lothario in the beginning of the second act. Such a vulgari-
zation of the rape of Jacinta is not consistent with the attitude
of Julianus toward his king, and there is no reason why
Julianus should not know the character of the king. To the
same kind of carelessness is due the loose binding together of
the two parts of the plot. Whether or not they are taken
directly from the original story is not in point here ; the fact
is that the plot is made up of two quite different stories, with
a purely mechanical unification. The three points of contact

24 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

between the story of Antonio and his two wives and the story
of Julianus and his ravished daughter are as follows : the two
men go to the same war ; both are present at the conference
with a captain of the forces of a neighboring city at which
Antonio, already married to a poor girl at home, falls in love
with the captain's daughter ; at the end of the play, Antonio
comes upon the stage to die as the result of a wound given
him by Julianus because he had upbraided Julianus with the
fall of their kingdom. Thus only at one point, and that a
very slight one, does one story influence the other.

A brief consideration of BMC will show how Middleton
has woven a main plot and sub-plot together. In the main
plot, Fontinelle, a war-prisoner of Camillo, falls in love with
Yioletta, the fiancee of Camillo, and marries her. In the
sub-plot, Curvetto, an old courtier, and Lazarillo, an eccentric
Spaniard, make love to Imperia, a courtesan, and her servant.
Frisco is another servant of Imperia, and Hippolito is the
brother of Violetta. Now Camillo and Hippolito try to use
Imperia and Frisco to entrap Fontinelle, and so to cure
Violetta of her love for him by showing his love for the
courtesan. By this means Frisco is able to help Fontinelle to
escape from prison and to marry Violetta. Then Lazarillo
and Curvetto, who at first seem to serve only for the sport of
the audience, bring about a situation where they call out the
city guard just in time to prevent Camillo and Hippolito
from forcibly entering Imperials house in search of Fontinelle
and Violetta, whom they intend to murder. Similarly in P,
each part of the sub-plot bears directly upon the main plot.
There is evidently a plan underlying both these plays, however
unwise and inartistic. The difference between the two drama-
tists is indicated by the difference between ALL and BMC.
The former is more mechanical in its putting together, but
more plausible and clear on the stage; the latter is more
carefully devised, but less clear on the stage. One was the
result of stage experience and not much careful forethought ;
the other, of forethought but not much stage experience.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 25

Middleton overcame his difficulty, as is shown in TOO ; there
is no evidence that Rowley ever worked out a better plot
than that in MatM, which at best is a poor imitation of the
play by Middleton just named.

In his vigorous attitude toward life, Rowley is quite
different from Middleton. For instance, Sue Shortheels and
Mrs. Coote are both sent off to jail in MatM after they have
served their purpose in gulling the more respectable persons, —
a thing not heard of in Middleton, where they would have
repented in their last few lines. In WNV, also, there is a
more intense feeling toward the wrongdoers. At times, to be
sure, it becomes little better than coarse vituperation, yet it
represents a vigor of mind not found in Middleton's early
work. This difference is shown by comparing the language
used by Hoard and Lucre in their quarrel in TCO, I, 3,
3-16, with that used by Mrs. Foster and Old Foster in
WNV, act I, p. 104. This same virility produces pathos in
some instances, as in ALL, act II :

Jac. Remember what my father does for you,

He's gone to brandish gainst your enemies,

He's fetching your honour home ; while at home

You will dishonour him.
Rod. My purpose 'twas,

To send him forth the better to achieve

My conquest here.
Jac. Tyrannous, unkingly.
Rod. Tush, I have no cares.
Jac. He'll be revenged.
Rod. Pity, nor future fears —
Jac. Help, help, some good hand help !
Rod. There's none within thy call.
Jac. Heaven hears.
Rod. Tush, 'tis far off.

So far the scene is deeply pathetic ; but then Rowley drops to
the conventional rime-tags for the end of the scene and
consequently becomes bathetic :

Jac. See heaven, a wicked king, lust stains his crown,
Or strike me dead, or throw a vengeance down.

26 EDGAR OOIT MORRIS.

-Bod Tush, heaven is deaf, and hell laughs at thy cry.

Jac. Be cursed in the act, and cursed die.

Rod. I'll stop the rest within thee. [Exit dragging her.

All this vigor of feeling, whether in the form of bombastic
vituperation, or pathos, or bathos, is quite different from
the more elaborately and carefully expressed feeling of
Middleton's early work.

To summarize : The differences between Middleton and
Rowley in the plays where they used the same kind of
materials and sought the same results, are substantiated by a
consideration of Rowley's tragedy. Rowley's verse is less
regular, less rhythmical than Middleton's ; his treatment of
vulgar themes is coarser and more salacious ; thin punning
and noise are made to help out the comedy in place of genuine
wit and humor ; the plots and characters show less thought,
but are quite as plausible on the stage; finally, Rowley's
greater vigor is shown in his more intense attitude toward
life and the resulting pathos or rant as the case may be.

III.

The qualities of Massinger's dramatic style are so generally
agreed upon that they can be illustrated from three typical
plays with a few references to others. The three referred to
are, The Duke of Milan, a tragedy, A New Way to Pay Old
Debts, a comedy, and The Great Duke of Florence, a tragi-
comedy. Reference will now and then be made to The City
Madam, a tragi-comedy, and to The Maid of Honour,1 a
tragi-comedy that ends rather seriously. Mr. A. W. Ward 2
and Mr. Robert Boyle 3 think there is a suggestion of Fletcher
in NWD, but do not feel at all certain that he helped Massinger
in writing the play. There has also been some doubt about

1 Hereafter these plays will be referred to respectively as DofM, NWD,
GDI, CM, and MofH.

2 A History of English Dramatic Literature ; vol iii, p. 21.

3 Article on Philip Massinger ', in the Dictionary of National Biography.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 27

CM, but Mr. Ward l concludes that the play is all by Mas-
singer. For present purposes, therefore, I shall assume that
these plays are all by Massinger; they certainly are suffi-
ciently alike to warrant that conclusion without a more
careful investigation of all of Massinger's work than has yet
been made.

The general characteristics of these plays may be stated as
follows : the style is self-conscious, parenthetical, elaborate,
Latinized, but for the most part accurate ; all of the plays
show more or less of a romantic tendency ; the principal
characters belong to the nobility, even in the comedy; the
plots are carefully worked out, with a proper explanation of
everything unusual ; there is a good general understanding of
human nature without the power to phrase it, hence the
stiffness of some situations and the elephantine humor ; there
is clearly a didactic purpose, however unethical may be the
means by which it is attained. "Wherein these characteristics
are like those of Middleton (in the seven early plays) and
those of Rowley, and wherein they are unlike, will be
noticed as these qualities are developed.

Massinger's sentences are accurately constructed, but they
are such as no mortal ever spoke off the stage. A single
sentence from DofM will illustrate a constant practice with
him ; act III, scene 3 :

Therefore, madam,

(Though I shall ever look on you as on

My life's preserver, and the miracle

Of human pity,) would you but vouchsafe,

In company, to do me those fair graces

And favours, which your innocence and honour

May safely warrant, it would to the duke,

I being to your best self alone known guilty,

Make me appear most innocent.

Such sentences are plainly the product of the study, and show
a better Latin than English idiom. The verse is also
accurate in number of syllables, but lacking in feeling for

1 A History of English Dramatic Literature ; vol. iii, p. 34.

28 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

rhythm. The most noticeable thing about the verse is the
number of double endings, the prosaic quality, and the absence
of incomplete verses. The verses quoted above show in a
brief example how prosaic pretty regular verse can be, though
in the next to the last verse the accents will not be placed so
that any rhythm whatever can be felt. And yet, in spite of
the lack of poetic feeling in some of the lines, most of them
will read easily if the reader does not try to torture them into
verse. They would make good rhythmical prose.

As in the case of Rowley, the consideration of Massinger's
verse (he wrote practically no prose) in connection with Mid-
dleton's will be omitted for the present to avoid repetition.

The romantic element occupies practically all the action
in DofM, in MofH, and in GDF. In the other two plays it
is less prominent ; yet the love episode of All worth and the
daughter of Sir Giles Overreach is carried on in a thoroughly
romantic manner, with a feared rival who turns out to be a
helpful friend, with the proper deception of an objecting
father, and with a mid night -elopement, all of which occupy a
large part of our interest and of the denouement. Similarly
in (7Jf, although the whole plot is made to center upon the
marriage of the two daughters of the City Madam, and
although the main moral lesson comes from the conquered
pride of the mother, the main interest is in the methods by
which the father and two lovers overcome that pride in the
mother and daughters. So that, although these are not really
romantic plays, they have a strong romantic tendency. Since
Middleton introduced only a slight romantic element into his
early plays but developed a stronger romantic tendency in his
later work, and since Rowley showed rather more of a
romantic tendency than did Middleton, this cannot be taken
as a hard and fast mark of distinction between the three men ;
but it is so much more prominent in Massinger, that it is safe
to say that he was more inclined to use romantic material
than Rowley, and Rowley more than Middleton.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 29

As is likely to happen in romance, the people in Massin-
ger's plays are of excellent social standing. In three of these
plays, kings, dukes, lords, and noble women occupy practi-
cally all our attention. But even in the other two, we are
not among the common people. NWD has its duke, noble
lady and her son, an extortioner who is " Sir " Giles, and a
prodigal carefully named Wellborn lest we mistake him for a
common fellow. CM, intended to teach proper humility in
the wife of a rich city merchant, very carefully knights the
merchant, marries one of the daughters to the son of a lord,
and marries the other to a landed gentleman of parts. This
care to give each play a proper social standing (and most ot
the other plays do not differ from these) is a distinct point
of difference from Middleton and Rowley. In his early plays
Middleton's interest was plainly with the common people.
Rowley seems about equally divided in interest; but Mas-
singer is almost entirely concerned with the nobility, or at the
lowest, with people of gentle birth.

That Massinger worked out his plots with care is a fact
generally accepted by critics. Indeed they are sometimes
too elaborate: they smell of the midnight lamp. Such a
romance as that in ODF is more like a military cam-
paign between two brilliant generals, than like the perverse
ways of romantic Cupid. Every important incident is care-
fully thought out and logically provided for. What else
could Sanazarro do, since his love for the duchess was
only lukewarm, than fall in love with the peerless Lidia !
Then after he had found that Lidia loved another, and that
the duchess had saved him from the angered duke, he very
naturally discovered that he could love the duchess. There is
no reason to doubt such fickleness in romance; moreover,
Massinger has provided all the reasons and circumstances
that make it possible; yet somehow the phrasing of the
parts is not convincing. The actions are logical enough in
their general trend, but the speeches are not phrased to suit
the action. The details do not make plausible the general

30 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

outline Massinger has planned. So too of Bertoldo, in MofH.
He could not well help loving the beautiful and pure Camiola ;
but when she had refused him absolutely, and when he had
been away from her for some months, and when he was
persistently wooed by the superb Duchess of Sienna, what
could he do but accept her love and her dukedom ! But here
again, as in GDF, although the larger parts of the incidents
are provided for, the individual speeches do not ring true.
Massinger seems rather to have argued out what they should
say than to have felt what people must have said. He could
outline human action, but could not phrase it in detail.

Massinger's care in plot-construction is sometimes frustrated
by lack of emphasis in the presentation of motives. For
instance, the reader is hardly prepared, and much less the
audience, for the malicious hatred of Francisco for Sforza in
DofM. Not till the first few lines of the fifth act, though
the revenge has been in progress since the middle of the
second act, do we know the real motive for this specially
honored favorite becoming the secret enemy of his patron.
Then it is fully explained that Duke Sforza has ruined and
cast off the sister of Francisco, and that Francisco is avenging
his family honor. The fact was mentioned before, but so
obscurely that no one would suspect its connection with
Francisco's action. It looks, therefore, as though Massiuger
had planned well enough, but had misjudged the effect of the
speech which he so carefully inserted as the plot-causation.

It is probably because of such seeming confusion in method,
but really inadequate phrasing, that one critic says, " He
rewards his good people and punishes the bad with the most
scrupulous care ; but the good or bad person at the end of the
play is not always the good or bad person of the beginning.1 >;
Of course, no one would expect him to be ; so I suppose the
critic means that we are often surprised at the end of the play
to learn who it is that has come out bad, and who has come

1 Massinger's Plays. Mermaid ed., vol. i, p. xviii.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 31

out good. This is without doubt true ; but the good and bad
at the end were all arranged for in the plan, and a careful
search will usually discover the reason for their change. The
fault, then, — and it appears again in a still different form in
his character-presentation, — is one of execution, not of plan.

In this carefulness of plot-construction, Massinger is fol-
lowed at a little distance by Middleton, and at a much greater
distance by Rowley. The difference between Massinger and
Middleton is, that Massinger knew what constituted a good
plot but could not phrase it, while Middleton lacked judg-
ment as to what constituted a good plot. Rowley, on the
other hand, seems not to have had much of a plan in mind,
but to have trusted to his characters and his own instinct to
work out the plot as necessity required.

It is doubtless because of Middleton's inability to make
inevitable phrases that his characters fail in plausibility in a
crisis. The more passionate they become, the longer and more
declamatory their speeches. Thought does not answer thought,
and feeling flash out into lasting phrase, even as vitally as
they do in real life, not to mention what we expect in imagi-
native work. For instance, when Sanazarro, in GDF, secures
a private interview with Lidia with whom he is desperately
in love, he turns away after eight lines of purely formal
compliment, and speaks three long asides of five, thirteen, and
eleven lines respectively balancing three long embarrassed
speeches by her. Another good case is at the end of act II of
DofMj where occurs the temptation of Marcelia by Francisco.
As has already been said, it is logical in general outline but
quite unnatural in detail. The speeches are about such as two
disinterested persons might use if they were debating the
opposite sides of the question ; but no shrewd man, seeking
revenge, would try to seduce the devoted wife of his over-
trustful patron with the words of Francisco, and no woman
of Marcelia's character would reply with her words. He
begins with general flattery, follows that speech with more
specific compliment, then in his third speech makes a plain

32 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

statement of his love. It looks logical and natural ; but the
words are impossible in the mouths of both people. Act II,

scene 1 :

Farewell, circumstance !

And since you are not pleased to understand me,
But by a plain and usual form of speech ;
All superstitious reverence laid by,
I love you as a man, and, as a man,
I would enjoy you. Why do you start, and fly me ?
I am no monster, and you but a woman,
A woman made to yield, and by example
Told it is lawful : favours of this nature
Are, in our age, no miracles in the greatest ;
And therefore, lady —

After this astounding proposition, the woman, who has been
so far pictured as passionately devoted to her husband, remains
to argue the matter for five pages more with this man, and

answers :

Keep off! — O you Powers! —
Libidinous beast ! and, add to that, unthankful !
A crime, which creatures wanting reason fly from.
Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours,
Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom,
Thy lord and raiser hath conferred upon thee,
In three days' absence, buried ? Hath he made thee,
A thing obscure, almost without a name,
The envy of great fortunes ? Have I graced thee,
Beyond thy rank, and entertained thee, as
A friend, and not a servant ? and is this,
This impudent attempt to taint mine honour,
The fair return of both our ventured favours !

These speeches are entirely unnatural ; and yet one cannot but
feel that the general situation was properly conceived. Mas-
singer seems to understand the voluntary and involuntary
motives of human action ; he seems to have a wide acquaint-
ance with human life ; he understands the natural sequence of
events ; but he is unable to conceive of the individual actu-
ated by individualistic motives and to give plausible expres-
sion to the resulting action. Naturalness of expression, the
inevitable word for the particular situation, is rare in Mas-

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 33

singer. One cannot help feeling that the previously prepared
outline of the plot was more keenly in his mind than the
characters, and that attention to details of plan killed spon-
taneity of speech. Besides trying to say what they feel, the
characters are burdened with the plot.

The differences between Massinger, Middleton, and Rowley
in character presentation, are : Rowley does not elaborate his
speeches more than the immediate needs of the situation
require. Middleton's comedy characters are realistic to quite
as great an extent as Rowley's, but his serious characters are
inclined to be stilted. Massinger's characters are persistently
self-conscious and periphrastic. Though Massinger and Mid-
dleton are somewhat alike in their presentation of serious charac-
ters, there is greater plausibility of speech in Middleton's work.

Self-consciousness of expression goes through all of Mas-
singer's plays, and naturally kills the humor. The cook, the
steward, the foolish gallant, are all watching their words
too closely to be really funny. They have no abandon, they
cannot get away from the plot. Just as we think some
genuine humor is coming, it is either turned to a moral
purpose, as when Tapwell, in NWD, receives a merited beat-
ing for his malicious abuse of Wellborn ; or it is made to
promote the serious part of the play, as when Sylli, in MofH,
becomes a sort of antic foil to Camiola, so that she is able to
give the audience some necessary information without resorting
to soliloquy. In comedy, then, more than in anything else,
Massinger is incapable of the keen wit and delightful humor
of Middleton, and the boisterous fun of Rowley.

That Massinger had a pretty definite moral to teach, he
seldom leaves to chance to discover. For instance, of the ten
plays in the Mermaid edition, eight announce the moral in so
many words, as in Believe as You List :

May my story

Teach potentates humility, and instruct
Proud monarchs, though they govern human things,
A greater power does raise, or pull down, kings !
3

34 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

And the teaching of the other two cannot be very deeply
hidden, since The Virgin Martyr is usually taken as strong
evidence that Massinger was a Roman Catholic ; and GDF,
although it forgives all the wrongdoers in the last few lines,

does so with this caution :

Yet let not others

That are in trust and grace, as you have been,
By the example of our lenity,
Presume upon their sovereign's clemency.

The moral tag is missed only by a hair. In this attention to
the moral teaching, Massinger is quite like Rowley, but unlike
Middleton. Middleton carefully deals out repentance or
punishment, — usually repentance, — to every erring one in the
plays, but he does not try to make a sweeping application of
the lessons to life. Rowley, like Massinger, gives prominence
to the moral lesson, by making it the name of one play, and
by tacking it to the end of the other two. The difference is
that Massinger and Rowley are verbally didactic, while Mid-
dleton is so pervasively.

IV.

All I have said heretofore about the verse of Middle-
ton, of Rowley, and of Massinger, was based upon general
impressions from reading their plays, and could be only illus-
trated by examples, not proved. In order to verify these
impressions, I have made a careful analysis of the verse in
several plays. The figures given below are the result of that
analysis.

One hundred lines of verse were taken from each of nine
plays : Middleton 's BM C, MT, P, and A Game at Chess ;
Rowley's MatM, WNV, and ALL; and Massinger's DofM,
and NWD. In MatM, I have used all of the verse but
about twenty or thirty lines, some of which are doubtful. In
the other eight plays, I arbitrarily decided to take the first
twenty lines of verse in each act.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 35

After marking the lines as it seemed to me they should be
read, I made a note of the following facts: 1. Elision,
except of -e- in -ed and such usual ones as I'll, I've, ejent
etc. Under elision I have counted only the loss of a
vowel that did not carry with it a consonant, and the loss of
-e in the; as in char(i)ty, trul(y) intending, walk th(e) horses,
etc. 2. Resolution of syllables ; this means the breaking of
one syllable into two, sometimes because of a vocalic con-
sonant, as em-bl-em, he-re, etc., where the verse needed an
extra syllable. 3. Trochees ; these are marked on the basis
of word or thought accent, excepting the possibilities under
Schmidt's rule,1 and counting as regular iambic feet all those
that are made up of two almost equally light accents, like stance
of in " This Is th£ instance of my scorn'd disgrace," though
there may be a shade more of emphasis on stance than on of.
4. AnapaBstic feet ; these are admitted to exist only where the
rules for elision can not be applied, as in "And wakes thS
dull Sye e'en 6f & Puritan." 5. Accent on light syllables,
such as unemphatic conjunctions, prepositions, and the defi-
nite and indefinite articles. 6. Double endings. 7, Regular
verses, — admitting light accents, and a trochaic foot at the
beginning of the verse or after the caBsural pause. 8. Regu-
lar verses, — admitting light accents, and a double ending
of not more than one syllable. 9. Incomplete verses. 10.
Regular verses, — admitting light accents only. 11. Regular
verses, — admitting light accents, trochees in the first foot or
just after the csesural pause, and double endings of not more
than one syllable.

In applying these rules, there were found some cases
that could easily have been decided either of two ways. But
as most of them did not involve important differences, and as
they will about balance one another, they need not be especially
considered. There are some other cases, however, that this
classification could not cover. They are the almost hopeless

1 " Dissyllabic oxytonical adjectives and participles become paroxytonical
before nouns accented on the first syllable." — Lexicon, p. 1413.

36 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

prose lines that occur now and then in both Massinger and
Rowley. For instance, no statistics of irregularities of verse
will indicate the rythmical value of such lines as Rowley's

" Virtue and valour, (those fair twins "
or

" In which he casts his actions. Such a discreet temperance ; "

or of Massinger's

" To all you meet ; I am this day the state-drunkard."

It can be noted merely that they occur with about equal
frequency in both Massinger and Rowley.

Before comparing the figures arrived at, a few facts about
the plays should be recalled : BMC was printed in 1602,
probably not more than four or five years after Middleton
began writing. It is, therefore, pretty certain to be his work,
not much if any changed by another hand. M 1 and P were
printed in 1607, and the title pages say they were played by
the Children of Paul's. They are, therefore, open to more
suspicion, but were probably not revised by anyone, since they
would not be likely to have two runs at the theatre before
that date. A Game at Chess was played only nine days in
August of 1624, and was then stopped by order of the Court.
Middleton was prosecuted as the sole author, and the play
was printed in 1625. This too, then, is not likely to have
been retouched and shows us clearly Middleton's later style.
Rowley's WNVwas printed in 1632; MatM, in 1633; and
ALL, also in 1633. The first two of these have been
suspected, and the last is not above suspicion ; but they were
printed while Rowley was probably yet alive, and have the
balance of probability in their favor. DofM was printed in
1623, and NWD in 1633. They are both typical of Mas-
singer's style, although the latter has been slightly suspected
of Fletcher's influence. It is safe to say, then, that these
eight plays will give an approximate idea of Middleton's
(early), of Rowley's, and of Massinger's verse style.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 37

TABULAR VIEW OF VERSE ANALYSIS.

«5

S-g

"fl

45 s*

--Q

•42

B
0,

"5,

«S

Middleton : —

BMC.

GatC

Rowley : —

MatM

WNV.

ALL

Massinger : —

DofM....

NWD

In this table there are some rather remarkable differences.
First, in the matter of exceptional verse structure : Three of
Middleton's plays require the reader to resort to the resolution
of a syllable, and contain 12 instances in all. None of Mas-
singer's plays require resolution. On the other hand, Rowley's
plays have 25 instances of resolution. The percentages of
resolved feet are : Massinger, 0 per cent. ; l Middleton, 3 per
cent. ; Rowley, 8 per cent.2 The anapsest also is unusual in
blank verse. Of anapsestic feet, Middleton uses 4, 12, 12,
and 12, respectively in his plays ; Massinger, 6, and 16 ;
Rowley, 29, 22, and 28. If we average these, and consider
only Middleton's early work, the percentages are : Middleton,

1 Strictly speaking, here, as elsewhere, this numeral is not a percentage
but indicates the average number of instances in a hundred lines.
8 In most cases fractions are disregarded.

38 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

9 per cent.; Massinger, 11 per cent.; and Rowley, 26 per cent.
The use of incomplete verses is more frequent in Rowley than
in Middleton, and much more frequent in these two men than
in Massinger. The percentages are: Rowley, 9 per cent.;
Middleton, 5J per cent.; Massinger, J per cent. Although
light accents are frequently resorted to by all poets, they are
an irregularity that weakens the verse. In the use of these,
Massinger is more frequent than Rowley, and Rowley than
Middleton. The percentages are : Massinger, 37 per cent.;
Rowley, 26 per cent.; and Middleton, 23 per cent. Finally
the use of trochaic feet out of the usual positions, that is,
other than at the beginning of a verse or after the caesura,1 is
more marked in Rowley than in Massinger or in Middleton.
Massinger uses 40 trochees in 200 lines. Of these, 4 are
improperly used, making 2 per cent, out of the usual places.
Middleton uses 107 trochees in 400 lines. Of these, 10 are
improperly used, making an average of 2J per cent, out of
the usual places. Rowley uses 112 trochees in 300 lines. Of
these, 35 are improperly used, making an average of 12 per
cent, out of the usual places. It should also be noticed that
Rowley uses a larger number of trochees than either Mas-
singer or Middleton. The percentages of trochees used, are :
Rowley, 37 per cent.; Middleton, 26 per cent.; and Massinger,
20 per cent.

Second, in the matter of regularity : Since double endings
do not interrupt the rhythm, but only change it, and since
they were a regularly admitted form of blank verse, I class
them here. This table shows that although Middleton used a
good many double endings in his later verse, he used less in
his early verse than did Rowley, and Rowley used less than
Massinger. The percentages are : Middleton (early), 14 per
cent.; Rowley, 32 per cent.; and Massinger, 54 per cent.

1 In order that I may have a standard by which to determine varying
usage, I have assumed that a trochaic foot at the beginning of an iambic
verse or after the caesura is usual, without desiring to raise the question
of verse forms.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 39

Even counting in the late play, Middleton's average is only
23 per cent. If, however, we compare the number of double
endings of more than one extra syllable, we get a somewhat
different result. Rowley uses 7 per cent., Middleton 3 per cent.,
and Massinger J per cent. ; this shows that Rowley is by far the
most careless in their use. In the matter of perfectly regular
blank verse, Middleton seems to have fallen off from his early
period to his later. If trochees or double endings are not
admitted, the regular verses in the nine plays respectively are
as follows : Middleton, 60, 43, 44, and 29 ; Rowley, 22, 32,
and 33 ; Massinger, 34 and 25. Thus Massinger and Rowley
average the same, 29 per cent., but are both much below
Middleton, whose average is 44 per cent. If, however,
trochaic feet in the usual positions and double endings be
admitted, the relative positions change somewhat, Massinger
surpassing Middleton in regularity. Then the regular verses
in the nine plays respectively are as follows : Middleton, 86,
64, 69, and 67 ; Rowley, 44, 49, and 57 ; Massinger, 79 and
73. Or averaging these, the percentages become : Massinger
76 per cent., Middleton 71 per cent, (early, 73 per cent.),
Rowley 50 per cent. The influence of double endings on
Massinger's verse will be clearly seen if we compare these
percentages just obtained with the percentages of regular
verses plus light accents and trochees in the usual positions.
Of these verses, the percentages are : Middletou 60 per cent,
(early, 65 per cent.), Massinger 42 per cent., and Rowley 39
per cent.

In brief, then, Massinger's verse is a little more regular
than Middleton's, and Middleton's a good deal more regular
than Rowley's, if we allow both trochees and double endings.
But if we allow only trochees in the usual places and light
accents, Middleton is much more regular than Massinger, who
drops down nearer to Rowley. A large number of double
endings indicates Massinger's work rather than Rowley's, and
Rowley's rather than Middleton's early work ; but the use of
more than one extra syllable indicates Rowley rather than

40 EDGAR C01T MORRIS.

Middleton, and Middleton than Massinger. The use of
resolved syllables, of anapaests, and of trochees out of the
usual places, indicates Rowley rather than either Middleton
or Massinger. The use of incomplete verses indicates Rowley
or Middleton rather than Massinger; and the use of light
accents indicates Massinger or Rowley rather than Middleton.
In all this consideration, it is of course admitted that figures
do not determine poetry; but a careful reading will show
that the passages used are typical, and that the general
impression is like the conclusions arrived at in these tables.
It will therefore be safe to apply these verse tests in connection
with the other characteristics already ascertained in determin-
ing the parts of The Old Law written by Middleton, by
Rowley, and by Massinger.

The title page of the oldest known quarto of The Old Law
reads as follows : " The Excellent Comedy, called The Old
Law, or A new way to please you.

/ Phil. Massinger.
by<| Tho. Middleton.
I William Rowley.

Acted before the King and Queene at Salisbury House, and
at severall other places, with great Applause. Together with
an exact and perfect Catalogue of all the Plays, with the
Authors Names, and what are Comedies, Tragedies, Histories,
Pastoralls, Masks, Interludes, more exactly Printed than ever
before. London, Printed for Edward Archer, at the signe of
the Adam and Eve, in Little Britaine. 1656."

The significance of these statements must not be overesti-
mated. The fact that this play is attributed to Massinger,
Middleton, and Rowley, merely establishes a presumption that
each man had some part in its composition. That Massinger
had the greater share since his name comes first, does not
follow. He may have been the last reviser, or the most

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 41

popular, or the most influential, or the printer may have
arranged the names alphabetically. Moreover, excepting the
fact that the play was "Acted before the King and Queene at
Salisbury House," the title page gives us no information on
three important questions, namely : the part each man had in
the composition of the play ; the manner of its composition ;
and the date of its composition. Since the answer to the first
of these questions will materially aid in answering the other
two, attention will first be given to the probable part each
man had in the composition of The Old Law.

The following distribution of passages may seem dogmatic
because incapable of exact proof. It certainly is a delicate
matter to assert that the work of one man ends at a given
line, and that the work of another follows, with no other
evidence than the general dramatic characteristics of the two
men to support the assertion. On the other hand, the
difference between certain lines and certain others is indis-
putable. Somewhere between them the work of one of the
men must end and that of the other begin. The assignment
of passages that follows pretends only to indicate this probable
point of division. For the sake of defmiteness of statement,
however, I have found it necessary to mark the places of
division precisely, although I realize that the evidence supports
only my general conclusions as to the distribution of parts in
the play. As a still further recognition of the difficulty of
too close distinctions in style and method, I have recognized
two classes of passages : one, in which for several consecutive
lines there is clear evidence of only one hand ; the other, in
which the work of one man is so closely interwoven with the
work of another that any attempt to separate the lines would
be impracticable if not impossible.

The first act of The Old Law shows the work of Middleton
and Rowley divided as follows: Middleton, lines 106-110,
126-159, 260-274, 312-349, and 395-442; Rowley, lines
1-105, 111-125, 160-259, and 350-394; Middleton and
Rowley, lines 275-311 and 442-488.

EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

In these mixed passages Rowley's hand is felt in the more
rapid dialogue, in the rough, prosaic lines, and especially in
the rougher lines between more rhythmical ones where they
could be omitted without affecting the sense. Lines 275-280
show such an interpolation :

Sim. The day goes away, sir.

Oreon. Why, wouldst thou have me gone, Simonides?

Sim. O my heart ! Would you have me gone before you, sir,

You give me such a deadly wound ?

Clean. Fine rascal ! [Aside.

Sim. Blemish my duty so with such a question ?

Sir, I would haste me to the duke for mercy : etc.

The second speech of Simonides and the aside of Cleanthes
are not in the same style as the lines before and after, and
give no added information. Omittedf they leave a passage
quite in Middleton's style ; as they stand, the passage does
not feel homogeneous. In lines 293-297 there is a similar
passage. Besides the difference of style and taste, there is a
curious confusion of pronouns in the quarto reading that
might well have arisen from an interpolation. The quarto

reads,

Sir, we have canvassed it from top to toe,
Turn'd it upside down ; threw her on her side,
Nay, open'd and dissected all her entrails,
Yet can find none ; there's nothing to be hop'd
But the duke's mercy.

Although the antecedent of the pronoun is somewhat remote,
it is plainly law. If the writer of these lines had had a con-
sistent figure in his mind when he wrote, he could hardly
have referred to law with it in two cases and with her in the
following three, all in three lines. Nor would a printer be
any more likely to make such an error. If, now, the line
and a half containing the feminine pronouns and the coarse
Rowleyesque figure be removed, the improved verse and the
finer taste are like Middleton's. Restored, it reads,

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 43

Sir, we have canvass' d it from top to toe,
Turn'd it upside down ; yet can find none :
There's nothing to be hoped but the duke's mercy.

Such retouching as Rowley probably did in these two passages,
notwithstanding their rougher verse and coarser taste, gives
more vigor to the lines, and is what we should expect from
a comedy actor who was attempting to liven up an old
play. Because of similar combinations of the verse of both
men, lines 442-488 are also put into this group of mixed
verses.

Of the lines assigned to Middleton, lines 106-110 are a
unique case. Excepting the law itself, they are the only
prose in this act. This fact alone would not assign them to
Middleton, though it would be good evidence ; but the addi-
tional fact that this speech is a non-sequitur, makes it very
suspicious. The apparent reason for its presence is that it
brings us back to the main question from which the preceding
speeches have taken us. Notice that there is nothing in the
preceding speeches to account for the why and you of this
speech, as there must have been when the speech was first
written. Lines 90-110 will show the lack of sequence :

Clean. They shall be now, sir,

And shall have large fees if they'll undertake

To help a good cause, for it wants assistance ;

Bad ones, I know, they can insist upon.
First Law. O sir, we must undertake of both parts;

But the good we have most good in.
Clean. 1'ray you, say,

How do you allow of this strange edict ?
First Law. Secundum justitiam ; by my faith, sir,

The happiest edict that ever was in Epire.
Clean. What, to kill innocents, sir ? It cannot be,

It is no rule in justice there to punish.
First Law. O sir,

You understand a conscience, but not law.
Clean. Why, sir, is there so main a difference ?

First Law. You'll never be good lawyer if you understand not that.
Clean. I think, then, 'tis the best to be a bad one.

44 EDGAR OOIT MORRIS.

First Law. Why, sir, the very letter and the sense both do overthrow you
in this statute, which speaks, that every man living to four
score years, and women to three score, shall then be cut
off, as fruitless to the republic, and law shall finish what
nature lingered at.

This last speech implies that they have been discussing the
possibility of finding a defect in the law so that its execution
can be avoided ; but the preceding nine speeches touch on no
such topic. They concern the relation of lawyers to good and
bad cases, the justice of this law, and the difference between
conscience and law. Plainly Rowley has here cut out some
of Middleton's work and inserted some of his own, without
taking pains to make it fit perfectly. The next Middleton
passage, lines 126-159, is so assigned merely because the law
must have been a part of the old play, and there is no evidence
later that the general form of the play has been changed.
The last three Middleton passages are so assigned because of
their uniformly better rhythm, the absence of double endings,
and the longer, more formal, more serious speeches. The
difference in style and verse is easily seen in four consecutive
speeches, lines 383-404 :

Leon. I'll tell thee one;

She counsels me to fly my severe country ;

Turn all into treasure, and there build up

My decaying fortunes in a safer soil,

Where Epire's law cannot claim me.
Clean. And, sir,

I apprehend it as a safest course,

And may be easily accomplished ;

Let us be all most expeditious.

untry where we breathe will be our own,

Or better soil ; heaven is the roof of all ;
393 And now, as Epire's statute by this law,

There is 'twixt us and heaven a dark eclipse.

0 then avoid it, sir; these sad events
Follow those black predictions.

Leon. I prithee, peace;

1 do allow thy love, Hippolita,

But must not follow it as counsel, child ;

Till'. I».\TK AND COMPOSITION OF Till'. Ol.l» LAW. -|/>

I nui-.i n..( rimmo IMV ronnlry f.a ih«- l.i«
riiiNiHHtntn horo Imth l.ro,l m«i, hrot.Khl mo up.

And Khali I mm i,iu •> In her?

I'm iii my ;.«-,«,.ii,l iultin.-y, tuut i-hil.lmt

No',-. :,l,-,,, ..„, -.u.Hh in lll.-ii III . I :.O'N «Trt.llo

As in their mothor'ii.

Quory : iloos (ho l.roak in oonst motion in lii-..-;- ;i'j;; ".'.'I s!i,.\\

that Rowley tried to patch his lines to Middletoa'i at that
plaoe? The break ia quality of vowo is near there, plainly
enough.

All (ho other |>:ISS:U>VM in thisarl Mssi;-,n,,l I,, U\.\\ 1,-v can

be olasaed with linen 90-105 m..! s :-394 previously quoted,

siiuv (hoy li:iv«» (lio snino marks of slvlo nn.l V.MS,-. riu-v
oonlnin short, :il»ni|»( spooolios that snorilioo rliydnn to tlniumtio
otloot. Tlio voi-so lialls i-v«-ry now niulthon tor a misplarotl
(rooliiM-, or for an iinapsosf. or fora ivsolvo«l syllal»l«>. That
(his rons-h verse l..-l,.n;-s to liowloy ami not to Mnssin^or, can

be seen by comparing lines 160-175, for instance, \vith a
passage in WNV, act III, (page 151) which shows the same

(rioks,.r K..u lev's stylo. The Old Law, I, 1, h',0 IV..:

A fint tdloi, and very flitrly gildtd !

in there BO teruplt in all thtM wordi
To demur the Uw upon oooaiion T
Fox ! 'tli an unneetfwary inquiiition ;
Prithee, tet him not about It,
Xicm. Troth, none, ulr ;

It ii to evident and plnln a eaue,

Tlinr in no MUV«IIII- f.u- Iho ilrfrititnul.
PiHwil.lr ! nut nolliiiiK hrlp in u K..,.,l rnno ?
/•'ir«/ /.,!«-. l-'nilli, hir, I .In think llinl thorn inny l.o n holo,

wiiinh would protraet— delay, if not remedy,
( /r,,M. Why, there's tome comfort in that \ good sir, upeak it,

l'\i-«t /..MI-. Nsiv. von inn I |.!ii. l,>n inr lor (lint, mi.

.VM». !'»< hoe, do not;

It limy ii|>« it w. mill I l<> ninny r,.mr, nu.l lionn,
That limy .lio ult.-r it.

A Woman Never FeowJ, aot 1 1 1

8t«ph. 0 nephew, are you otmte I the weleom'at « . • i,

I'll.ll IIIV Ill-Ill ( llMM , (III:. IM IIIV I,U|-.I,, :

46 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

Wife. Let him be largely texted in your love,

That all the city may read it fairly ;

You cannot remember me, and him forget ;

We were alike to you in poverty.
Steph. I should have begged that bounty of your love,

Though you had scanted me to have given't him ;

For we are one ; I an uncle-nephew,

He a nephew-uncle. But, my sweet self,

My slow request you have anticipated

With preferred kindness ; and I thank you for it.

But how, kind cousin, does your father use you ?

Is your name found again within his books ?

Can he read son there ?
Rob. 'Tis now blotted quite :

For the violent instigation

Of my cruel stepmother, his vows and oaths

Are stamped against me, ne'er to acknowledge me,

Never to call or bless me as his child ;

But in his brow, his bounty and behaviour

I read it all most plainly.

A comparison of these passages with a passage from Massin-
ger's Do/M, act IV, scene 3 (page 74), will make apparent
the reason for assigning the first to Rowley :

Sforza. There's comfort yet : I'll ply her

Each hour with more ambassadors of more honours,

Titles, and eminence ; my second self,

Francisco, shall solicit her.
Steph. That a wise man,

And what is more, a prince that may command,

Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife,

As she were a victorious enemy,

At whose proud feet himself, his state, and country,

Basely begged mercy !
Sforza. What is that you mutter ?

I'll have thy thoughts.
Steph. You shall. You are too fond,

And feed a pride that's swollen too big already,

And surfeits with observance.

The verse of the two former passages is alike, and is rougher
than that of the latter. Still further, there is nothing in the
former passages like the first speech by Stephen for compli-

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 47

cated sentence structure. Finally, as still further corroboration
of Rowley's band in the act, there are a few touches of pathos,
like the last line in lines 299-303 :

Then to his hopeless mercy last I go ;
I have so many precedents before me,
I must call it hopeless : Antigona,
See me deliver'd up unto my deathsman,
And then we'll part ;— five years hence I'll look for thee.

Unlike the first act, the first scene of the second act shows
Rowley's revision affecting nearly all of the scene. The
passages are assigned : Rowley, lines 1-78, 100-171 ; Mid-
dleton, lines 78-99, 172-211; Rowley and Middleton, lines
211-272. Thus there remain only about sixty lines and a
few scattered speeches that are unmistakably by Middleton.
The difference between the two kinds of writing in this scene
is well shown by lines 72-85 :

Sim. Push ! I'm not for you yet,

Your company's too costly ; after the old man's
Dispatch'd, I shall have time to talk with you ;
I shall come into the fashion, ye shall see too,
After a day or two ; in the mean time,
I am not for your company.

Evan. Old Creon, you have been expected long ;
Sure you're above four score.

Sim. Upon my life,

Not four-and-twenty hours, my lord ; I search'd
The church-book yesterday. Does your grace think
I'd let my father wrong the law, my lord ?
'Twere pity a' my life then ! no, your act
Shall not receive a minute's wrong by him,
While I live, sir; and he's so just himself too,
I know he would not offer't : — here he stands.

These two speeches by the same character could hardly have
been written by the same person at the same time. The
former speech can be read as verse only with the greatest care ;
the latter has a distinct rhythm. In the former, the word
and thought accents do not correspond to the verse accents ; in
the latter, they all agree.

48 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

It is hardly worth while, even if it were possible, to try to
separate Rowley's work from Middleton's in lines 211-272.
That the basis of this passage was by Middleton can hardly
be doubted since the general thought is necessary to the latter
part of the play. The fact also that the quarto prints four
passages, lines 211-213, 217-220, 224-227, and 260-263, as
prose seems to show a confusion in the manuscript, which
would be more likely to occur in case of revision than in
case of rewriting. A good instance of what seems to be by
Middleton, because of the self-restraint and the excellence of
the puns, is found in lines 229-241 :

Sim. There's least need of thee, fellow ; I shall ne'er drink at home, I

shall be so drunk abroad.

But. But a cup of small beer will do well next morning, sir.
Sim. I grant you ; but what need I keep so big a knave for a cup of small

beer?
Cook. Butler, you have your answer. Marry, sir, a cook I know your

mastership cannot be without.
Sim. The more ass art thou to think so ; for what should I do with a

mountebank, no drink in my house ? — the banishing the butler

might have been a warning to thee, unless thou meanest to

choke me.
Cook. In the meantime you have choked me, methinks.

This is too apt and calm for Rowley. On the other hand,
his coarse jest and noise seem apparent in lines 256-264 :

Sim. And when my bets are all come in, and store,

Then, coachman, you can hurry me to my whore.

Coach. I'll firk 'em into foam else.

Sim. Speaks brave matter :

And I'll firk some too, or't shall cost hot water.

[Exeunt Simonides, Coachman, and Footman.

Cook. Why, here's an age to make a cook a ruffian,

And scald the devil indeed ! do strange mad things,

Make mutton-pasties of dog's flesh,

Bake snakes for lamprey-pies, and cats for conies.

The passages assigned entirely to Rowley, lines 1-78 and
100—171, are of the same general character as are those assigned
to him in the first act. They are well represented by lines

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OP THE OLD LAW. 49

72-78 quoted above, and by lines 100-110, which show a
slightly different vein :

Ant. His very household laws prescribed at home by him

Are able to conform seven Christian kingdoms,

They are so wise and virtuous.
Sim. Mother, I say —
Ant. I know your laws extend not to desert, sir,

But to unnecessary years ; and, my lord,

His are not such ; though they show white, they're worthy,

Judicious, able, and religious.

Sim. I'll help you to a courtier of nineteen, mother.
Ant. Away, unnatural !
•Sim. Then I'm no fool, I'm sure,

For to be natural at such a time

Were a fool's part indeed.

These are too rapid, irregular, and vulgar for Massinger or
Middleton.

In the second scene of the second act, Rowley continues the
same process of revision. To him belong lines 1—74 and
121-137; to Middleton, lines 75-111 ; to Rowley and Mid-
dleton, lines 111-121 and 137-204.

The two Rowley passages, besides bearing the stamp of his
rough verse, coarse humor, and rapid dialogue, are suspicious
because they introduce a superfluous character, and show
Eugenia in a meaningless double attitude. In line 10, she
plainly refers to herself as being nineteen, and the rest of the
play supports this statement, except that in these lines and in
lines 121-137 she apparently has a daughter old enough to
" make spoon meat " for her father and to " warm three night-
caps for him." It may be explained that this girl is a daughter
of the former wife. If so, it is curious that she is not utilized
anywhere else to defend her father, and to arouse our sympa-
thies with the losing side. Why is she not brought into
the second scene of the third act, where her presence would
make still more pitiful the foolish trials of Lysander ? or why
not in act five to plead for her father's life? Instead she
appears only in these two passages, and serves merely as an
4

50 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

excuse ; for Eugenia to make two speeches, in themselves
thoroughly Rowleyesque in coarseness, and quite inconsistent
with other speeches in the same act. Compare :

Would not this vex a beauty of nineteen now ?
Alas ! I should be tumbling in cold baths now,
Under each armpit a fine bean-flower bag,
To screw out whiteness when I list —
And some seven of the properest men i' the dukedom
Making a banquet ready i' the next room for me ;
Where he that gets the first kiss is envied,
And stands upon his guard a fortnight after.
This is a life for nineteen ! 'tis but justice :
For old men, whose great acts stand in their minds,
And nothing in their bodies, do ne'er think
A woman young enough for their desire ;
And we young wenches, that have mother-wits,
And love to marry muck first, and man after,
Do never think old men are old enough,
That we may soon be rid on 'em ; there's our quittance.
I've waited for the happy hour this two year,
And, if death be so unkind to let him live still,
All that time I have lost. 11. 10-28.

with,

Excuse me, gentlemen ; 'twere as much impudence
In me to give you a kind answer yet,
As madness to produce a churlish one.
I could say now, come a month hence, sweet gentlemen,
Or two, or three, or when you will, indeed ;
But I say no such thing : I set no time,
Nor is it mannerly to deny any.
I'll carry an even hand to all the world :
Let other women make what haste they will,
What's that to me ? but I profess unfeignedly,
I'll have my husband dead before I marry ;
Ne'er look for other answer at my hands, gentlemen. 11. 99-110.

and with,

Gentlemen,

You know my mind ; I bar you not my house ;
But if you choose out hours more seasonably,
You may have entertainment. 11. 116-119.

This last is rather tame after the dashing effect of the first
speech, and there is no apparent reason for the change.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 51

Moreover, directly after this last mild speech, the daughter
re-enters and gives occasion for other coarse comparisons
between young and old husbands. It is probable, therefore,
that these speeches are interpolated by Rowley.

Lines 75-111 are given to Middleton on the usual evidence
of rhythm, which is corroborated by a phrase that would
hardly have occurred to Rowley. Lines 85-93 utter a curse
upon the young men who are courting Eugenia before Lysander
is dead ; they are followed by an apology for the rant into
which the speaker has fallen :

I am too uncharitable,

Too foul ; I must go cleanse myself with prayers.

Rowley would have left the curse ringing in our ears, and
then have allowed Lysander to repent in private if the plot
needed it, as it does not here. This touch is thoroughly like
Middleton, showing his finer taste.

The mixed passages are assigned on the same grounds as
the former ones. Detailed division would be as difficult as it
would be needless.

In the first scene of the third act, there is found the unmis-
takably keen wit and the shrewd, unmoral, but genuine
humor of Middleton. Massinger could not give to his humor
the quick, natural turn here found, nor did he know such
people as Gnotho, the Clerk, and the house servants of
Simonides. Had Rowley written this or even revised it, there
would have been some rough verses interspersed, and more
thin punning and vulgarity. Only Middleton could write
those shrewd suggestions by which Gnotho leads up to the
change of the date in the parish register ; he alone was capable
of the perfect ethical abandon of the humor in lines 321-341 :

Gno. You have but a month to live by the law.
Aga. Out, alas !
Gno. Nay, scarce so much.

Aga. O, O, O, my heart ! [Swoons.

Gno. Ay, so ! if thou wouldst go away quietly, 'twere sweetly done, and like
a kind wife ; lie but a little longer, and the bell shall toll for thee.

52 EDGAR COIT MOBRIS.

Aga. O my heart, but a month to live !

Gno. Alas, why wouldst thou come back again for a month ? —

I'll throw her down again — O, woman, 'tis not three weeks ; I

think a fortnight is the most.

Aga. Nay, then I am gone already ! [Swoons.

Gno. I would make haste to the sexton now, but Fm afraid the tolling of

the bell will wake her again. If she be so wise as to go now —

she stirs again ; there's two lives of the nine gone.
Aga. O, wouldst thou not help to recover me, husband?
Gno. Alas, I could not find it in my heart to hold thee by the nose, or

box thy cheeks ; it goes against my conscience.

Despicable as Gnotho really is from a purely moral viewpoint,
his humor is irresistible. Like that of Tangle and of Falso
in P, it is almost Shakespearean.

The second scene of the third act is in a very confusing
condition. One long passage and two shorter ones are pretty
clearly by Rowley, lines 56-196, 258-268, and 309-318.
One passage, lines 1—55, shows the characteristics of Rowley
and Middleton both. Two other passages, lines 197-257 and
269-308, show characteristics of Massinger and Middleton.

The Rowley passages, lines 56-196, 258-268, and 309-318,
are distinctly marked with his rough verse, rapid conversation,
coarse jests, and noisy humor. These qualities are especially
noticeable in lines 138-196, where Lysander bests the
three young courtiers in dancing, fencing, and drinking.
Lines 56-138 are practically in the same spirit, and in fact
are mostly a preparation for the contests, so there is little
doubt that Rowley wrote all these lines. The other two
shorter passages are not only quite unlike Middleton or Mas-
singer, but they could easily be omitted. Their only value
lies in their coarse humor. For instance, lines 256—268 read :

[Exit Lysander.

Clean. I see't has done him good ; blessing go with it,
Such as may make him pure again.

He-enter Eugenia.

Eugen. 'Twas bravely touch'd, i' faith, sir.
Clean. O, you 're welcome.
Eugen. Exceedingly well handled.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 53

Clean. Tis to you I come ; he fell but i' my way.

Eugen. You mark'd his beard, cousin ?

Clean. Mark me.

Eugen. Did you ever see a hair so changed ?

Clean. I must be forc'd to wake her loudly too,

The devil has rock'd her so fast asleep. —

Strumpet !

Eugen. Do you call, sir ?
Clean. Whore!
Eugen. How do you, sir ?
Clean. Be I never sc well,

I must be sick of thee ; thou 'rt a disease

That stick'st to th' heart, — as all such women are.

By omitting all from " Re-enter Eugenia " to her last speech,
we*leave the sense and verse complete, and have thrown out
some bad verse and coarseness. Considering the fact, also,
that Eugenia is away during all of Cleanthes's lecture to
Lysander except the first six lines, we obviate the necessity
of explaining Eugenia's words, " Excellently well handled."
How did she know ? She was off the stage.

The passage given to Rowley and Middleton together, lines
1-55, is so assigned because, although it contains some
instances of Rowley's rough verse and fun, it also shows in
places a refinement of humor quite away from Rowley's bent,
if not out of his power. The first hundred lines or so are
probably as planned by Middleton, and remind us at once
of Maria's and Sir Toby's trick on Malvolio, in Twelfth
Night. The situations are surprisingly similar : the people
that are the cause of the action stand one side and laugh at
Lysander's foolish antics, then later join the scene themselves.
The difference is that the introduction is more expanded in
The Old Law, the people that caused the action did not plan
it, and the antics of Lysander are much coarser than those of
Malvolio. It is difficult to pick out Middleton's lines here,
unless 37-43 are his :

I'm sure his head and beard, as he has order* d it,
Look not past fifty now : he'll bring 't to forty
Within these four days, for nine times an hour at least

54 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

He takes a black-lead comb, and kembs it over :
Three-quarters of his beard is under fifty ;
There's but a little tuft of fourscore left,
All of one side, which will be black by Monday.

This has a better quality of verse and of humor than the rest,
and is too much restrained in mirth for Rowley ; but the
double endings are suspicious. Probably, therefore, the whole
passage has been so thoroughly revised by Rowley that Mid-
dleton's influence in the first part of the scene is felt in the
general trend of it rather than in passages of any length.

The most difficult parts of this scene to account for are
lines 197-257 and 269-308. The difficulties in assigning
these are numerous. In regularity of verse, in length and
didactic quality of the speeches, they might be by either Mid-
dleton or Massinger, but not by Rowley. In frequency of
double endings, 32 in 60 lines in the first passage and 18 in
40 lines in the next passage, they suggest Massinger rather
than Rowley or Middleton. In directness of statement, that
is in the absence of complicated sentences and periphrastic
phrases, they suggest Middleton rather than Massinger. The
natural conclusion is, therefore, that the originally simple
sentence structure of Middleton has been retained by Massinger
in his revision, which nevertheless has changed the form of
many lines. Just how great that change was in all cases it is
impossible to state ; but in lines 269-292 it seems easiest to
separate the work of the two men. Of these, lines 275-282
contain practically all the double endings, they needlessly
detail what is told in general either before or after, and can
be omitted without affecting the rest of the passage, by reading
" How he " in place of " So he " in line 283. I quote lines
270-288, enclosing the Massinger lines in marks of parenthesis,
to show the difference :

What a dead modesty is i' this woman,
Will never blush again ! Look on thy work
But with a Christian eye, 'twould turn thy heart
Into a shower of blood, to be the cause

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 55

Of that old man's destruction ; think upon *t,
(Ruin eternally ; for, through thy loose follies,
Heaven has found him a faint servant lately !
His goodness has gone backward, and engender' d
With his old sins again ; has lost his prayers,
And all the tears that were companions with 'em :
And like a blindfold man, giddy and blinded,
Thinking he goes right on still, swerves but one foot,
And turns to the same place where he set out ;
So) How he, that took his farewell of the world,
And cast the joys behind him, out of sight,
Summ'd up his hours, made even with time and men,
Is now in heart arriv'd at youth again,
All by thy wildness : thy too hasty lust
Has driven him to this strong apostacy.

Otherwise, the only certain feeling is that both Middleton
and Massinger were concerned in these speeches.

The first scene of the fourth act is easy to assign. Like
all the humor of low characters, it is quite out of Massin-
ger's power, and possible only to Middleton and Rowley. In
lines 1-45 the naturalness and self-control and good-natured
satire are almost certainly Middleton's. From about line 45
to line 90 there linger a few of Middleton's touches, as in
lines 55-62 :

Quo. No dancing with me, we have Siren here.
Cook. Siren ! 'twas Hiren, the fair Greek, man.
Gno. Five drachmas of that. I say Siren, the fair Greek, and so are all

fair Greeks.

Cook. A match ! five drachmas her name was Hiren.
Gno. Siren's name was Siren, for five drachmas.

The nice point in Gnotho's last speech is quite in Middleton's
finer vein. The excessive punning, however, that follows,
like that in lines 66-75, is much more like Rowley :

Cook. That Nell was Helen of Greece too.

Gno. As long as she tarried with her husband, she was Ellen ; but after

she came to Troy, she was Nell of Troy, or Bonny Nell, whether

you will or no.
Tail. Why, did she grow shorter when she came to Troy ?

56 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

Gno. She grew longer, if you mark the story. When she grew to be an
ell, she was deeper than any yard of Troy could reach, by a
quarter; there was Cressid was Troy weight, and Nell was
avoirdupois ; she held more, by four ounces, than Cressida.

"This miserable trash, which is quite silly enough to be
original/' is thoroughly in the vein of Rowley ; but I cannot
agree with Gifford when he continues, it " has the merit
of being copied from Shakespeare." There are two very
different qualities of humor here within a few lines of each
other. This latter passage is the same kind of humor as that
in ALL, quoted on page 21. From line 90 to the end of
the scene Middleton practically disappears, leaving only the
burlesque, the coarse jest, and the vulgar allusion of Rowley.
It is possible that a few exceptions should be made, as in lines
113, 129, and 157 :

Onotho to Agatha. I'll not leave her [the courtesan] : art not ashamed to
be seen in a tavern, and hast scarce a fortnight to
live?

Barest thou call my wife [the courtesan whom Gnotho
plans to marry as soon as Agatha is dead], a
strumpet, thou preter-pluperfect tense of a woman !

Go, go thy ways, thou old almanac at the twenty-eighth
day of December, e'en almost out of date !

These all have the shrewd satirical wit of Middleton, that
goes clear up to the vulgar line but does not pass unless
necessary. A few such phrases seem to have been retained by
Rowley.

The second scene of the fourth act shows Massinger's
characteristics of verse, construction, and phrasing almost
throughout. The main exception is in the last thirty lines.
These last lines, 254-284, are like several other humorous
passages that could easily be omitted. The scene ends harmo-
niously at line 270, if we omit lines 254-266, which add nothing
but some coarse jests on Simonides* cowardice. The lines
following line 270 merely continue this theme with the addi-

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 57

tional fact that Simonides has cut his finger on his own sword.
It is thus just about the sort of thiug a comedian might add
to a play he was trying to liven up.

The rest of the scene bears many traces of Massinger.
First, the short speeches are almost invariably so arranged
that there are no incomplete lines. For example, lines 56-65
(Bullen erroneously numbers them as nine lines) :

Leon. What was ;t disturbed my joy ?

Clean. Did you not hear,

As afar off?

Loon. What, my excellent comfort ?

Clean. Nor you ?

Hip. I heard a — [-4 horn.

Clean. Hark, again !

Leon. Bless my joy,

What ails it on a sudden ?

Clean. Now ? since lately ?

Leon. 'Tis nothing but a symptom of thy care, man.
Clean. Alas, you do not hear well !
Leon. What was 't, daughter ?

Next, there is an unusual number of double endings. In the
first speech of 24 lines there are 11 ; in the 100 lines from
101 to 200, for example, there are 51 double endings. These
typical passages compared with earlier passages assigned to
Middleton will show the difference. In act I, scene 1, lines
397-437, there are 13 double endings; in act II, scene 1,
lines 78-98, there are 7 double endings; in lines 170-210 of
the same scene, there are 11 double endings. Thus in 100
lines by Middleton there are only 31 double endings as com-
pared with 51 in 100 lines here assigned to Massinger. This
agrees with the statistics given earlier. Still further, there
are three or four sentences with Massinger's peculiarly com-
plicated sentence structure. For example, lines 5-14, and
104-113:

For in these woods lies hid all my life's treasure,
Which is too much never to fear to lose,
Though it be never lost : and if our watchfulness
Ought to be wise and serious 'gainst a thief

68 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

That comes to steal our goods, things all without us,
That proves vexation often more than comfort ;
How mighty ought our providence to be,
To prevent those, if any such there were,
That come to rob our bosom of our joys,
That only makes poor man delight to live !

But finding it

Grow to a noted imperfection in me,
For anything too much is vicious,
I come to these disconsolate walks, of purpose,
Only to dull and take away the edge on't.
I ever had a greater zeal to sadness,
A natural propension, I confess, my lord,
Before that cheerful accident fell out —
If I may call a father's funeral cheerful,
Without wrong done to duty or my love.

That there are not more of these complicated sentences may
well happen since Massinger would naturally use the original
verse as a basis, and would so be somewhat influenced by the
simpler style, except when he left the original entirely, as he
seems to have done in the first speech. Finally, these passages
show Massinger's method of didactic harangue, and his lack
of power to phrase at a crisis. For instance, the first 24
lines are a clumsy preparation for the entrance of Leonides ;
then when Leonides comes out, instead of greeting his son
and the son's wife he talks about the sweet sound of woman's
voice. Cleanthes replies to this with a set speech, lines 37-49 :

I hope to see you often and return
Loaden with blessings, still to pour on some ;
I find 'em all in my contented peace,
And lose not one in thousands ; they're disperst
So gloriously, I know not which are brightest.
I find 'em, as angels are found, by legions :
First, in the love and honesty of a wife,
Which is the first and chiefest of all temporal blessings ;
Next, in yourself, which is the hope and joy
Of all my actions, my affairs, rny wishes ;
And lastly, which crowns all, I find my soul
Crown'd with the peace of 'em, th' eternal riches,
Man's only portion for his heavenly marriage !

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OP THE OLD LAW. 59

Nothing could be more like Massinger. This is the very
thing a man might moralize out of the scene after it was over,
but not at all what he would say while he was there. Again,
at another crucial moment, when Leonides has been found by
the duke's followers and brought out to be taken to execution,
when Cleanthes must realize that he has himself been found
guilty of treason, his passion labors out as follows, lines

170-179:

Father ! O father ! now I see thee full
In thy affliction ; thou'rt a man of sorrow,
But reverently becom'st it, that's my comfort ;
Extremity was never better grac'd,
Than with that look of thine ; O, let me look still,
For I shall lose it ! all my joy and strength [Kneels.

Is e'en eclips'd together. I transgressed
Your law, my lord, let me receive the sting on't ;
Be once just, sir, and let the offender die :
He's innocent in all, and I am guilty.

There can be little doubt that most of this scene was phrased
by Massinger.

The last act is the most confusing part of the play. All
three men seem to have had a hand in it in one place or
another. Excepting the passages assigned to Middleton, I
feel less certain of the divisions here than of any others.
They are assigned, however, as follows : Middleton, lines
39-78, 106-124, 148-262, and 417-531 ; Massinger, lines
1-38, 79-105, and 125-147 ; Rowley and Middleton, lines
263-416 ; l Middleton, Rowley and Massinger, lines 532-713.

The Middletou passages, lines 39-78, 106-124, 148-262,
and 417-531, contain both serious and comic matter. The
serious matter in the first three passages is in Middleton's
smooth blank verse, with very few double endings or irregu-
larities of any kind. The difference between Middleton 's

1 In considering the amount of work done by each, it must be kept in
mind that Bullen has made a mistake in numbering the lines, so that
between the line numbered 301 and that numbered 400 there are only
eight lines.

60 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

verse and that of the reviser can be seen in such a passage as
lines 100-1 11:

Sim. Ay, and gave me

Those elbow-healths, the hangman take him for't !
They had almost fetched my heart out : the Dutch venny
I swallow'd pretty well ; but the half-pike
Had almost pepper' d me ; but had I took long-sword,
Being swollen, I had cast my lungs out.
A Flourish. Enter Evander, and Oratilus.

First Court. Peace, the duke !

Evan. Nay, back t' your seats ; who's that ?

Sec'd Court. May't please your highness, it is old Lysander.

Evan. And brought in by his wife ! a worthy precedent

Of one that no way would offend the law,
And should not pass away without remark.
You have been look'd for long.

Lysan. But never fit

To die till now, my lord. My sins and I
Have been but newly parted ; much ado etc.

The difference in style between the verses of Simonides and
those that follow is unmistakable. It is equally easy to detect
Middleton's humor between lines 148 and 262. It has a
mildly satirical tone, and is pointed toward the law courts,
one of Middleton's favorite themes, as in lines 157-159 :

Evan. All our majesty

And power we have to pardon or condemn

Is now conferr'd on them.
Sim. And these we'll use

Little to thine advantage.

In other words, the judgment of the court is made before the
trial begins. And again in lines 195-202 is a bit of genuine
Middleton humor :

Sim. Know then, Cleanthes, there is none can be

A good son and bad subject ; for, if princes
Be call'd the people's fathers, then the subjects
Are all his sons, and he that flouts the prince
Doth disobey the father : there you're gone.

First Court. And not to be recover'd.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 61

Sim. And again —

Sedd Court. If he be gone once, call him not again.
Sim. 1 say again, this act of thine expresses

A double disobedience.

That Middleton was solely responsible for the very comic
scene from 432 to 531, — lines 417-432 are his, but are not
comic, — is shown by the absence of Rowley's marked charac-
teristics, and by the fact that Massinger could not do such
work. The noisy good nature of Gnotho in his repeated
" Crowd on, I say," must not be confused with the vulgar
noise and horseplay of Rowley. Then, too, this passage con-
tains the subtle, almost Shakespearean humor that was also
found in Falso in P, and in Blurt and his assistants in BMC.
Notice lines 444-453 :

Leon. Good sir, a few words, if you will vouchsafe 'em;

Or will you be forc'd ?

Ono. Forced ! I would the duke himself would say so.
Evan. I think he dares, sir, and does ; if you stay not,

You shall be forced.

Ono. I think so, my lord, and good reason too ; shall not I stay, when
your grace says I shall ? I were unworthy to be a bridegroom
in any part of your highness' s dominions, then : will it please
you to taste of the wedlock-courtesy ?

Falstaff himself has hardly bowed to authority and slapped
it on the shoulder at the same time with better wit. It is
the good-natured, unethical, slightly satirical, shrewd mother
wit found frequently in Middleton's early plays. There can
be almost no doubt who wrote this.

The Massinger passages, lines 1-38, 79-105, and 125-147,
have the usual characteristics, — the double endings, the regu-
lar verse even in broken lines, and the careful explanations ;
still more, they lack the dignity and rhythm, and the humor
of Middleton, and they lack the dash and noise of Rowley.
Notice the clumsy humor of lines 88-105 :

Eug. Now, servants, may a lady be so bold

To call your power so low ?

62 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

Sim. A mistress may ;

Hhe can make all things low ; then in that language

There can be no offence.
Eug. The time's now come

Of manumissions ; take him into bonds,

And J am then at freedom.
SeJd Court. Is't possible these gouty legs danc'd lately,

And shatter'd in a galliard ?
Eug. Jealousy

And fear of death can work strange prodigies.
Secfd Court. The nimble fencer this, that made me tear

And traverse 'bout the chamber ?

These lines are too stiff and formal for Middleton, and too
tame for Rowley to write at the climax of the play ; they
can be by no one but Massinger, especially since they closely
resemble his other work.

The only passage that retains Rowley's characteristics at
all clearly is in lines 263—416, where it is in close proximity
to portions of the law that would probably be by Middleton,
and with some verses that are rather by Middleton than by
Rowley. Compare lines 258-275 :

Evan. These are thy judges, and by their grave law

I find thee clear, but these delinquents guilty.

You must change places, for 'tis so decreed :

Such just pre-eminence hath thy goodness gain'd,

Thou art the judge now, they the men arraign'd. [To Clean.
First Court. Here's fine dancing, gentlemen.
Sec?d Court. Is thy father amongst them ?
Sim. O a pox I I saw him the first thing I look'd on.

Alive again ! 'slight, I believe now a father

Hath as many lives as a mother.
Clean. 'Tis full as blessed as 'tis wonderful.

O, bring me back to the same law again !

I am fouler than all these ; seize on me, officers,

And bring me to my sentence.
Sim. What's all this ?

Clean. A fault not to be pardon'd,

Unnaturalness is but sin's shadow to it.
Sim. I am glad of that ; I hope the case may alter,

And 1 turn judge again.
Evan. Name your offence.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OP THE OLD LAW. 63

It will be noticed that if all the rough and incomplete
verses and coarse expressions, which destroy the dignity of
this trial, are omitted, the remaining lines, which are
thoroughly like Middleton's, will still make good sense and
good verses. It looks, therefore, as though the speeches of
the First and Second Courtiers, of Simonides, and the last
one of Cleanthes, had been interpolated. For the same
reasons, the comments upon the law in lines 289-409 do not
seem like Middleton. Instead, he would be much more
likely to read the whole law through, and then sentence the
guilty. Although he himself is inclined to make sport of
the law courts, he does not allow the guilty to do so in
the presence of a serious judge. He would not allow such
jests as occur in these two passages while the law is being
administered by the duke. Compare P, act V, scene 1, lines
210-229 :

Jew. Wife. Who would not love a friend at court ? what fine galleries and
rooms am I brought through ! I had thought my Knight
durst not have shown his face here, I.
Pho. Now, mother of pride and daughter of lust, which is your

friend now ?
Jew. Wife. Ah me I
Pho. I'm sure you are not so unprovided to be without a friend

here : you'll pay enough for him first.
Jew. Wife. This is the worst room that ever I came in.
Pho. I am your servant, mistress ; know you not me ?

Jew. Wife. Your worship is too great for me to know ; I'm but a small-
timbered woman, when I'm out of my apparel, and dare
not venture upon greatness.

Pho. Do you deny me then ? know you this purse ?

Jew. Wife. That purse ? O death, has the Knight serv'd me so ?

Given away my favours ?
Pho. Stand forth, thou one of those

For whose close lusts the plague ne'er leaves the city.
Thou worse than common ! private, subtle harlot !

These scenes are quite similar in theme and characters, but
the Jeweler's wife does not dare be familiar with the young
prince, as are Eugenia and Simonides with Evander. The

64 EDGAR COIT MOKKIS.

trial scene in The Old Law lacks the dignity that Middleton
puts into his serious presentations of courts of law.

The characteristics of all three men are so closely com-
bined in lines 532-713, that the only safe thing to do is to
point out a few places where these characteristics jostle one
another closest. The lines seem to have been too much
revised to allow of anything like probable assignment of
more than brief passages. For instance, Gnotho for the
most part keeps the satirical, dry humor originally given
him by Middleton, as in lines 549-553 :

Ye are good old men, and talk as age will give you leave. I would
speak with the youthful duke himself; he and I may speak of things that
shall be thirty or forty years after you are dead and rotten. Alas ! you
are here to-day, and gone to sea to-morrow.

This is followed by some prosaic verse which is quite unlike
Middleton and equally unlike that which Evander uses in
other places; for example, compare lines 554-559 and 569-
572, with 424-431 :

In troth, sir, then I must be plain with you.
The law that should take away your old wife from you,
The which I do perceive was your desire,
Is void and frustrate ; so for the rest :
There has been since another parliament
Has cut it off.

Your old wives cannot die to-day by any
Law of mine ; for aught I can say to 'em
They may, by a new edict, bury you,
And then, perhaps, you pay a new fine too.

Of sons and wives we see the worst and best.
May future ages yield Hippolitas
Many ; but few like thee, Eugenia !
Let no Simonides henceforth have fame,
But all blest sons live in Cleanthes' name —
Ha ! what strange kind of melody was that ?
Yet give it entrance, whatso'er it be,
This day is all devote to liberty.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 65

The last passage is entirely different in tone and verse from
the other two ; it is rhythmical and dignified, while the
others have the roughness of Rowley with the clumsy humor
of Massinger. Only a little farther on comes such a noisy,
coarse, punning passage as lines 585-604. Omitting some
of the worst, I will quote 591-594 to show their quality :

Avaunt, my venture ! it can ne'er be restor'd,
Till Ag, my old wife, be thrown overboard :
Then come again, old Ag, since it must be so :
Let bride and venture with woful music go.

Another passage, in which Gnotho has been robbed of some
of his boisterousness, is found in lines 613—627. It is very
badly printed in the quarto, as though from a bad place in
the manuscript, where the reviser had been at work, — I
give Bullen's restoration :

All hopes dash'd ; the clerk's duties lost,

[My] venture gone ; my second wife divorc'd ;
And which is worst, the old one come back again 1
Such voyages are made now-a-days !
I will weep two salt [ones out] of my nose, besides these
two fountains of fresh water. Your grace had been more
kind to your young subjects — heaven bless and mend
your laws, that they do not gull your poor country-men

[in this] fashion : but I am not the first, by forty, that
has been undone by the law. 'Tis but a folly to stand
upon terms; I take my leave of your grace, as well as
mine eyes will give me leave : I would they had been
asleep in their beds when they opened 'em to see this day I
Come, Ag ; come, Ag.

The four verses are like Rowley; the rest of the passage
has a suggestion of both Rowley and Middleton, but is
wordy enough to be the work of Massinger. It is probably
Massinger's dilution of Rowley's boisterous Gnotho, with
just a slight touch of Middleton's wit in a few places. A
little further on we have Middleton's dignified closing of the
play with a speech by Cleanthes ; lines 675-686 :

66 EDGAR COIT MOBKIS.

Here's virtue's throne,

Which I'll embellish with my dearest jewels
Of love and faith, peace and affection !
This is the altar of my sacrifice,
Where daily my devoted knees shall bend.
Age-honour* d shrine ! time still so love you,
That I so long may have you in mine eye
Until my memory lose your beginning !
For you, great prince, long may your fame survive,
Your justice and your wisdom never die,
Crown of your crown, the blessing of your land,
Which you reach to her from your regent hand !

But after this comes a passage of twenty-six rather ragged
verses, containing nine double endings, and closing with a
moral tag, thoroughly after the manner of Massinger. Thus
is woven together, in these last hundred lines, some of the
rhythmical verse and keen wit of Middleton, some of the
noise and coarse humor of Rowley, and some of the wordi-
ness and didacticism of Massinger.

My analysis of the authorship of The Old Law may be
summarized as follows :

Middleton, I, 1, 106-110, 126-159, 260-274, 312-349, 395-

441;

II, 1, 78-99, 172-211 ;
II, 2, 75-121 ;

III, 1, 1-356 ;

IV, 1,1-45;

V, 1, 39-78, 106-124, 148-262, 417-531 :

Kowley, 1, 1, 1-105, 111-125, 160-259, 350-394;
II, 1, 1-78, 100-171 ;
11,2,1-74,121-137;

III, 2, 56-196, 258-268, 309-318;

IV, 1,46-177;
IY, 2, 254-284 :

Massinger, IV, 2, 1-253 ;

V, 1, 1-38, 79-105, 125-147 :

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 67

Middleton-Rowley, I, 1, 275-311, 442-488;
11,1,211-272;
11,2,137-204;
III, 2, 1-55 ;
V, 1, 263-416 :

Middleton-Massinger, III, 2, 197-257, 269-308 :
Middleton-Rowley-Massinger, V, 1, 532-713.

VI.

If this distribution of passages is approximately correct,
there can be but one conclusion as to the method of composi-
tion. Collaboration is out of the question, and revision by
more than one of the men at a time is improbable. It must,
therefore, be concluded that the play was written by one of
the men, was later revised by another, and still later revised
by the third.

A careful consideration of the passages assigned to Mas-
singer will show that he was clearly a reviser; he appears
only in the third, fourth, and fifth acts. That Rowley also
was a reviser, and that Middleton was the writer of the
original play, are apparent from the following facts : Rowley
has little to do with the present form of the fifth act, but is
prominent in all of the others; the main story of the feigned
law and the main portion of the Gnotho story are by Middle-
ton; passages that resemble Middleton are like his early
work ; Middleton wrote two other plays, P and BMC, with
the same plot scheme, namely, a tragi-comedy main plot and
a sub-plot from the lower London life ; and the climax of the
play, still retaining many of Middleton's characteristics of
style, allows everybody to repent and escape punishment in
the genuine Middleton manner.

It has already been shown (page 2) that The Old Law is
probably an early play, tire. 1599. The date of the revisions

68 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

can only be surmised. Mr. Thomas Seccombe1 and Mr.
Fleay2 assert that in 1614 the Prince of Wales' Company,
with Kowley as the leading comedian, was united with the
Lady Elizabeth's Company, for which Middleton was writ-
ing. The same authorities assert that in 1616 the companies
separated, Rowley and Middleton following their old com-
panies. During the amalgamation of the two companies
there was an opportunity for the two men to work together ;
but I doubt if the play was revised at that time. The
revision by Rowley of a play originally by Middleton,
when both men were working for the same company, could
hardly have occurred except by collaboration. That collabo-
ration is highly improbable is shown by the fact that there
are no less than six, possibly seven, places where it is
practically impossible to separate Rowley's work from
Middleton's. Had they been working together, we should
expect to find a division of the play, either by acts and
scenes, or by comic and tragic situations. It is more likely,
therefore, that when the properties were divided at the sepa-
ration of the two companies, the manuscript of The Old Law
fell into the hands of Rowley. If so, the revision is likely
to have been made after 1616.

There is, however, another possibility. Mr. Seccombe and
Mr. Fleay assert also that in 1621 Rowley was with the
Lady Elizabeth's Company, for which Middleton used to
write. At this time he may have got possession of the old
manuscript and made the revision. The chief objection to
this theory is that Rowley (on the authority of Mr. Seccombe
and Mr. Fleay) is supposed to have retired as an actor soon
after, and his work on The Old Law shows youth rather
than old age. Then, too, an early date, soon after 1616,
agrees better with the possible date for Massinger's revision,
since it puts the two revisions farther apart.

1 Article on William Rowley in The Dictionary of National Biography.
* Chronide of the English Drama ; F. G. Fleay, vol. ii, p. 98.

THE DATE AND COMPOSITION OF THE OLD LAW. 69

That Massinger was the last reviser is pretty evident from
some otherwise curious passages in the fifth act. Lines
79-105 and 125-147, both assigned to Massinger, come
at a point where Eugenia and Simonides might well make
considerable sport if they are to keep up their parts as
Rowley began with them. Instead, they are restrainedly
humorous in the true Massinger style. In lines 263-416
these two characters become more noisy with less reason
for it ; here they more nearly resemble what Rowley would
be likely to make of them. Then in lines 532-713, just
as Gnotho gets well started in a fine piece of burlesque,
the manuscript becomes confusing to the printer, and Mas-
singer's style appears. It is not at all difficult, therefore, to
infer that Massinger was revising Rowley, and deemed it
wise to cut out the coarsest of the noisy burlesque. This
explanation will help to make clear the insertion by
Massinger of nearly all of the second scene of the fourth
act. In the hands of Rowley, this might well have been
very low comedy, in all but a small part of the scene in the
woods where Leonides is discovered. As such it would natu-
rally lead up to a climax of low comedy in the last act. Even
as it is, there remains a curious little tag end of inharmonious
low comedy in the last few lines of the fourth act. We are
rather surprised to see Simonides hide behind Eugenia to
escape the wrath of Cleanthes, and then cut his finger on
his own sword. This is plainly Rowley's Simonides, not
Massinger's. There can be little doubt, therefore, that Mas-
singer was the last reviser.

The facts just mentioned not only show who did the last
work on the play, but they indicate a method of revision
that helps to a possible date. Massinger seems to be expur-
gating the lowest comedy, to be making it more dignified,
and to be glorifying royalty. This latter fact is shown by
the addition to Middleton's ending of the play at line 686.
All that follows is in praise of the duke for his royal wisdom
and his magnificent entertainment of the old courtiers whom

70 EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

he had imprisoned for a short time. Was this play, then,
revised by Massinger for his company to perform in Salisbury
House before the King and Queen, as part of the coronation
ceremonies in 1625? Such an inference, although it is purely
conjectural, is certainly possible. Without some further evi-
dence, this can be only a guess; but it has the merit of
explaining the method of revision consistently with the fact,
deemed of importance by the printer, that the play was
"Acted before the King and Queene at Salisbury House."

EDGAR COIT MORRIS.

II.— CATO AND ELIJAH:
A STUDY IN DANTE.

The appropriate and frequently quoted words of Orazio
Bacci, "E speriamo che anche del Catone non si ritorni a
parlare troppo presto/' l have taken their place among those

maxims

Le qua' fuggendo tutto '1 mondo onora.

The copious stream of Cato literature has flowed on undi-
minished, and the end is apparently no nearer than before.
If, then, a new recruit is to join the procession of those who
seem to honor Bacci's precept more in the breach than in the
observance, it behooves him to declare at the outset that he
does so only because he has material to offer which he believes
to be new and of a nature to expedite the ultimate solution
of the problem.

To facilitate reference, let us begin by quoting the passage2
in which Cato first appears : —

Lo bel pianeta che ad amar conforta

Faceva tutto rider 1'oriente,

Velando i pesci ch' erano in sua scorta.
lo mi volsi a man destra, e posi mente

All' altro polo, e vidi quattro stelle 3

Non viste mai fuor che alia prima gente.
Goder pareva il ciel di lor fiammelle.

O settentrional vedovo sito,

PoichS private sei di mirar quelle 1

1 Buttettino detta Societd, dantesca italiana, Nuova Serie n, p. 75.

*Purg. i, 19-111. It will be remembered that Dante and Virgil have
just emerged from hell, and find themselves, at early morn, on the shore
of the island of purgatory. Venus and Pisces are in the eastern sky.

8 Whether or not these four stars are the Southern Cross, they certainly
represent allegorically the four cardinal virtues : justice, prudence, temper-
ance, and fortitude. Compare Purg. vui, 89-93, where three stars symbolize
the three theological virtues : faith, hope, and charity.

72 C. H. GRANDGENT.

Com' io dal loro sguardo fui partito,
Un poco me volgendo all' altro polo,
La onde il carro gia era sparito,

Vidi presso di me un veglio solo,
Degno di tanta riverenza in vista,
Che piu non dee a padre alcun figliuolo.

Lunga la barba e di pel bianco mista
Portava, e i suoi capegli simigliante,
Be' quai cadeva al petto doppia lista.

Li raggi delle quattro luci sante
Fregiavan si la sua faccia di lume
Ch' io '1 vedea come il sol fosse davante.1
" Chi siete voi, che contro al cieco fiume
Puggito avete la prigione eterna ? "
Diss' egli, movendo quell' oneste piume.
"Chi v' ha guidati? O chi vi fu lucerna,
Uscendo fuor della profonda notte
Che sempre nera fa la valle inferna ?

Son le leggi d'abisso cosi rotte?
O £ mutato in ciel nuovo consiglio,
Che dannati venite alle mie grotte? "

Lo Duca mio allor mi di£ di piglio,
E con parole e con mano e con cenni,
Riverenti mi fe' le gambe e il ciglio.

Poscia rispose lui : " Da me non venni ;
Donna scese del ciel, per li cui preghi
Della mia compagnia costui sovvenni.

Mostrato ho lui tutta la gente ria ;

Ed ora intendo mostrar quegli spirti

Che purgan se sotto la tua balia.2
Come io 1'ho tratto, saria lungo a dirti :

Dell' alto scende virtu che m' aiuta

Conducerlo a vederti ed a udirti.
Or ti piaccia gradir la sua venuta :

Liberia va cercando, che £ si cara

Come sa chi per lei vita rifiuta.
Tu il sai ; che non ti fu per lei amara

In Utica la morte, ove lasciasti

La vesta che al gran di sara si chiara.*

1 Cf. Daniel xii, 3, and Matthew xvii, 2.

* This line shows clearly that Cato has charge of purgatory proper, as
well as the shore that lies outside.

3 The epithet chiara, applied to Gate's body resurrected on the day of
Judgment, is, according to A. Bartoli (Storia della lett. ital. VI, i, p. 203)

CATO AND ELIJAH. 73

Non son gli editti eterni per noi guasti :

Ch& questi vive, e Minos me non lega ;

Ma son del cerchio ove son gli occhi casti
Di Marzia tua,1 che in vista ancor ti prega,

O santo petto,* che per tua la tegni :

Per lo suo amore adunque a noi ti piega.
Lasciane andar per li tuoi sette regni : 3

Grazie riporterd di te a lei,

Se d'esser mentovato laggiu degni."
" Marzia piacque tanto agli occhi miei,

Mentre ch' io fui di la," diss1 egli allora,
" Che quante grazie volse da me, fei.
Or che di la dal mal fiume dimora,

Piu mover non mi pud per quella legge

Che fatta fu quando me n'uscii fuora.4
Ma se donna del ciel ti move e regge,

Come tu di', non c' S mestier lusinghe :

Bastiti ben che per lei mi richegge.
Va dunque, e fa che tu costui ricinghe

D'un giunco schietto, e che gli lavi il viso,

Si che ogni sncidume quindi stinghe.

and F. Cipolla ( Quatlro lettere intorno al Catone di Dante, in Alii del R. Istituto
Veneto, Serie vn, Tomo ix, p. 1111), a reminiscence of the claritas which
St. Thomas (Summa Theologia, Suppl. n, Qu. Ixxxv, Art. 1) attributes to
the glorified bodies of the just.

1 Marcia, Cato's wife, is still in Limbo, the outermost circle of hell, the
abode of virtuous pagans. This little episode of Marcia was perhaps
introduced here to satisfy a desire lurking in Dante's mind to develop an
allegory which he had outlined in Conv. iv, xxviii: according to this alle-
gory, the return of Marcia to Cato (Lucan, Pharsalia n, 326-348) symbolizes
the return of the human soul to God. In the above lines Dante may have
intended to convey the doctrine that God, since the departure of Christ
from earth, has been and always will be indifferent to the fate of the
damned. Cf. Luke xvi, 26. It is possible that Dante had in mind also
the words of Jesus in John ii, 4.

2 Cf. Conv. iv, v, " O sacratissimo petto di Catone," a translation of " tua
pectora sancta," Phars. ix, 561.

3 This verse proves that Cato rules over the whole of purgatory. Cf. the
directions given by him in his next speech.

4 These lines, if naturally and rationally interpreted, can mean only that
Cato was formerly confined in Limbo and has been subsequently rescued
from it. Cipolla (Qaaltro lettere, etc., p. 1112) thinks that the use of the
word legge was suggested by Virgil's Georgics iv, 486-487, where legem indi-
cates Proserpine's decree given when Eurydice returned to earth.

74 C. H. GRANDGENT.

Poscia non sia di qua vostra reddita ;

Lo sol vi mostrera, che surge omai,

Prender lo monte a piu lieve salita."
Cosi spari ; l ed io su mi levai

Senza parlare, e tutto mi ritrassi

Al Duca mio, e gli occhi a lui drizzai.

" II veglio onesto " appears once more,2 to reprove the
laggard spirits that are listening to Casella. Even the wise
Virgil is abashed at his rebuke.3

The allegorical significance of Dante's Cato has been satis-
factorily explained by A. Bartoli,4 whose opinion has been
generally though not universally accepted.5 Cato's suicide
was an assertion of his independence, and by it as well as by
all his previous life he became the type of spiritual freedom —
of the liberated will, which, rid of the ties of sin, can return
to God. He represents also the soul illumined by the four
cardinal virtues, not yet in possession of the theological
virtues, but destined to attain them. His final salvation is
clearly prophesied.

Impressive and appropriate as this figure appears at the
threshold of the realm where sinful but repentant souls are
engaged in winning back the lost freedom of the will, it
presents several strange and hitherto unexplained incon-
sistencies. Its outward appearance is not that which one
would naturally ascribe to Cato. Moreover, the hero of Utica
was a pagan and a suicide, and as such belongs in the lower

1 It is very unusual for Dante's spirits to vanish in this fashion. The
phrase should be noted.

*Purg. 11,118-123.

3 Purg. Ill, 7-11.

*Storia ddla lett. ital. vi, i, Ch. v (published in 1887).

6 Of. A. Bartolini, Studi danteschi n (1891) ; G. Crescimanno, Figure dan-
tesche (1893) ; B. Bartoli, Figure dantesche (1896). In the Giornale dantesco
IX, vii, 121, is to be found an interesting and ingenious (but, to me, uncon-
vincing) article by L. Filomusi Guelfi, II simbolo di Catone net poema di
Dante, in which a different allegorical interpretation is attempted. Cf. also
G. B. Zoppi, Sul Catone dantesco (1900), discussed by M. Pelaez in the
Bullettino della Societd dantesca ilaliana vui, 75.

CATO AND ELIJAH. 75

world, not in heaven nor in purgatory. To investigate the
reason of these incongruities is the purpose of the present
article.

Dante's u veglio " has the aspect of great age, whereas the
real Cato was only forty-nine at the time of his death. Even
if this exact number was unknown to the poet, he must have
inferred from Cato's conduct in Africa — described in the ninth
book of the Pharsalia, which Dante knew almost by heart —
that the sturdy Roman was still in the prime of life. Lucan
does, to be sure, speak of Cato's uncut hair and beard,1 but
not as a token of advanced years ; he tells us that this disre-
gard of personal appearance was a protest against the civil
war. P. Chistoni, in a recent essay,2 tries to prove that Dante
has here confused the two Catos and ascribed to the younger
the venerable countenance of the Censor; his own paper,
however, furnishes evidence that such a mistake was most
unlikely, for he calls attentibn to the fact that Dante was
constantly using works of Orosius and Cicero 3 in which the
two are plainly distinguished. We must seek another explana-
tion. Meanwhile let us observe that the long white hair and
beard are suggestive of a patriarch or prophet.

The guardian of purgatory, while alive, was not a Christian.
As a pagan, he should be lodged in Limbo. Thither he went
at first, but afterwards was taken out and given authority over
the island which he now inhabits ; his ultimate abode will be
heaven. His rescue can hardly have occurred on any other
occasion than the descent of Christ into hell, when the good
people of the Old Testament were removed to paradise. Cato
alone, among all the virtuous Greeks and Romans, was per-
mitted to leave hell with the Hebrew patriarchs. The Corn-
media offers, however, two other examples of worthy pagans

1 Phars. ii, 373-375.

8 Le fonti dassiche e medievali del Catone dantesco, in Raccolta di studii critici
dedicata ad Alessandro HAncona (1901), p. 97.

3 Especially De Offidis, DeSeneclufe, De Finibus: see p. Ill of Chistoni's
article.

76 C. H. GRANDGENT.

who have won salvation : Trajan,1 who was allowed to return
to earth, resume his body, and embrace Christianity ; Ripheus,2
who received grace to foresee Christ long before the Savior's
advent. Presumably Cato is likened to one of these ; but, as
his home is not yet in heaven, it is to be supposed that he has
not attained complete blessedness. In fact, he occupies an
altogether abnormal position in Dante's universe, being outside
of hell, purgatory, and paradise — neither saved, nor damned,
nor doing penance. His exceptional state has been remarked
by V. Cian.3

But Cato is not only a pagan : he is also a suicide ; hence
we might suppose his proper place to be with Pier della Vigna
in the second girone of the seventh circle of hell. Dante,
elsewhere so strictly othodox, would hardly venture to set at
defiance the Church doctrine on suicide. That doctrine is
simple and severe; it is based on the commandment "Non
occides." 4 The principal authority on the subject is St.
Augustine, who is sternly logical, condemning expressly the
suicide of Cato,5 which he attributes to impatience, and also
that of Lucretia,6 which he lays to false pride. Lactantitis,
too, singles out Cato's act for reprobation 7 : the great Roman
was a homicide ; he killed himself less to avoid Caesar than
to follow the precepts of the Stoics and to leave behind him a
great name. u Hie tamen," he adds, " aliquam moriendi
causara videbatur habuisse, odium servitutis." Razis, the
" manful " suicide of Maccabees,8 who threw himself from
the walls of the city to avoid falling into the hands of the
enemy, may, according to St. Augustine,9 have died " nobiliter

1 Par. xx, 106-117. * Par. xx, 118-129.

3 Cited by F. Cipolla, Quattro lettre, etc., pp. 1117-1120. Cipolla does not
agree with Ci;in.

4 Exodus xx, 13.

5 De Civitate Dei I, xxiii, and ix, iv, 4.

6 De Civitate Dei I, xix.

7 Divince Institutiones m (De falsa sapientia philosophorum), xviii.

8 2 Mace, xiv, 37-46.

9 EpistokB, Classis in, Epistola cciv, 6-8.

CATO AND ELIJAH. 77

et viriliter," but did not die " sapienter ; " his end is merely
narrated, not praised, in the Bible ; his act was great, but not
good, for it was caused by pride. His example is given to us
"judicandum potius quam imitandurn." The same opinion
of Razis is expressed by Rabanus Maurus l and by St. Thomas
Aquinas.2 The suicide of Judas is condemned by St. Jerome.3
As we pass iii review the Church writers, it seems increasingly
strange that Dante should have selected a suicide for one of
the most important functions in his poem.4

This function is, as we have seen, the custodianship of the
island of purgatory, which consists of a ring of low-lying
shore, steep mountain sides, and a flat, circular summit con-
taining the terrestrial paradise. The seaside where the guardian
dwells, outside of purgatory proper, seems to correspond to
the Antinferno, the vestibule of hell, and Eden, the vesti-
bule of heaven.5 Cato would then correspond, in a way, to
Charon and Matilda, who preside over the other vestibules.
His office is a necessary one in the scheme; but could not

1 Oommeutaria in Libros Machabceorum n, xiv.

8 Summa Theologia, Secunda Secundce, Qu. Ixiv, Art. 5.

8 Commenlaria in Amos Prophetam n, v, Vers. 18-20.

4 In an article in the Bullettino della Societd dantesca italiana vm, 1, M.
Scherillo notes that Dido, Lucretia, Empedocles, Cleopatra, Lucan, and
Seneca are not treated by Dante as suicides, and concludes that the poet
regarded self-slaughter as less culpable for a pagan than for a Christian.
This opinion is contrary to the views expressed by St. Augustine and
Lactantius. Moreover, Dido and Cleopatra are punished in the place
befitting their most conspicuous and characteristic fault ; Lucretia can be
accounted for, as will presently be shown ; as to the other three, Dante
may have forgotten the manner of their death.

6 In an excellent Breve trattato del paradiso di Dante ( Giorn. dant. IX, viii,
] 49) G. Federzoni maintains that the vestibule of heaven consists of the
spheres of the moon, Mercury, and Venus. But as these spheres form an
integral part of paradise, and are not separated from the rest as the Antin-
ferno and Antipurgatorio are divided from hell and purgatory, the terrestrial
paradise would seem to correspond more closely to the other vestibules.
Just as the desire to reform is the necessary prelude to purgation, so the
life of innocent activity is the natural predecessor of religious contem-
plation.

78 C. H. GRANDGENT.

Dante have chosen some one else to fill it ? If so, why did
he prefer Cato, and how did he contrive to excuse Cato's
misdeed ?

In the description of Eden and its surroundings Dante is
more influenced than anywhere else by legend. Almost every
feature of his terrestrial paradise and the approaches to it can
be matched in mediaeval popular or ecclesiastical tradition.1
For instance it was commonly related that the home of our
first ancestors was on the top of a mountain, or on an island,
or on both. Ephraim the Syrian 2 says that Eden is on a high
summit, circular, surrounded by the sea, and divided into an
inner — most sacred — and an outer part. This division we
find, in a form closer to Dante's, in the Navigatio 8. Brendani*
where the two parts are separated by a mysterious river. The
beautiful trees and birds, so striking in Dante's description, are
common to nearly all the legends. The terrestrial paradise of
tradition is often surrounded by a region of horror, and is
sometimes — as in Frate Alberico's vision and in St. Patrick's
Purgatory — in close proximity to purgatory or hell.4 In an
Old French version of the legend of Seth purgatory and Eden
are contiguous.* Moreover, we frequently find the earthly
paradise enclosed by a wall of fire : so it is in Tertullian,
Lactantius, St. John Chrysostom, St. Isidore, and in many
later writers.6

Now, who are the inhabitants of this legendary Eden ?
There are two regular dwellers, Enoch and Elijah. Some-
times, to be sure, we meet other patriarchs ; in the Apocalypse
of St. Paul, for example, are to be found, in addition to the
two just mentioned, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Isaiah, Jeremiah,

1 See A. Graf, La leggenda del Paradiso terreslre (1878) ; II mito dd Paradiso
terrestre in Miti, leggende e superstizioni del media evo (1892), I. Also E. Coli,
II Paradiso leirestre dantesco (1897).

2 Coli, Par. terr. dant., p. 46.

8 C. Schroder, Sanct Brandan (187.1), p. 35.

4 Graf, Mito, pp. 21-22.

6 Coli, Par. terr. dant., pp. 144-145.

6 Graf, Mito, pp. 18-19.

CATO AND ELIJAH. 79

Ezechiel, and Noah.1 The usual tradition, however, is that
which appears in a very popular early Italian tale,2 in which
the visitors discover only Enoch and Elijah, "li quali pose Dio
nel Paradiso deliciano a cid che vivessero infin alia fin del
mondo, per render testiinonianza della morte di Gesu Cristo."
Similarly in an Old Venetian version of St. Brendan,3 Enoch
and Elijah are in the " paradiso delitiarum," still alive, destined
to go forth to fight against the Antichrist on the last day. In
fact, these two elders — Enoch, who was taken by God,4 and
Elijah, who was carried up in a chariot of fire 5 — were generally
supposed to have been translated not to heaven but to some
happy spot on earth, usually the garden of Eden, where they
are still living in the flesh, to come out and meet their death
and salvation on the day of Judgment. They were identified
with the two nameless witnesses of the Apocalypse.6 Of these
two figures, Elijah is of course the more important : he plays
a leading part in the Old Testament, while Enoch is barely
mentioned ; in the New Testament it is Elijah who, at the
Transfiguration, appears in company with Moses conversing
with Christ.7 Enoch may, indeed, be regarded almost as a
mere appendage to Elijah.

The legend of Elijah and Enoch was recognized by the
Church. St. Augustine says : 8 " Plerique exponunt Apoca-
lypsim Joannis de duobus illis prophetis, de quibus, tacitis
eorum nominibus, loquitur, quod isti duo sancti [Elijah and
Enoch] cum suis tune corporibus apparebunt, in quibus nunc
vivunt, ut etiam ipsi quemadmodum cseteri martyres pro

1 H. Brandes, Visio S. Pauli (1885), p. 18.

2 I^Ancona e Bacci, Manuale della kit. ital. i, p. 562.

8 F. Novati, La ' Navigatio S. Brendani' in antico veneziano (1892), Ch.
xxxviii.

4 Gen. v, 24 : " Ambulavitque cum Deo, et non apparuit : quia tulit eum
Deus."

6 2 Kings ii, 11 : " Ecce currus igneus, et equi ignei diviserunt utrumque :
et ascendit Elias per turbinem in cselum."

6 Rev. xi, 3-12. i Mat. xvii, 3 ; Luke ix, 30.

8 Epislolce, 01. in, Ep. cxcin, Cap. iii, 5.

80 C. H. GEANDGENT.

Christi veritate moriantur." Elsewhere l he speaks of Elijah
alone : " Et quod Joannes [John the Baptist] ad primum
adventum, hoc erit Elias ad secundum adventum. Quomodo
duo adventus judices, sic duo pra3cones." In another work2
he declares that Elijah will come before the Judgment, and
by his preaching and his revelations of the secrets of the
Scriptures will convert the Jews to Christ. In still another
place 3 he raises the question whether Elijah and Enoch are
now in the animal or the spiritual body; the place where
they are living is known — it is the spot where Adam and
Eve sinned : " Ibi erant illi, quo translati sunt isti ; et illic
vivunt isti, unde ut morerentur ejecti sunt illi/'

In Elijah we have, then, the traditional and, so to speak,
the official keeper of the terrestrial paradise ; his majestic
figure would have well become the place allotted to Cato.
Familiar as Dante was with legendary and Church literature,
he must at some time have entertained the idea of making
Elijah guardian of the island. How early he abandoned it
we cannot tell ; but the assignment was so obvious, apparently
so inevitable, that Dante must at least have considered it.
Furthermore, we can gather from the whole poem circum-
stantial evidence that Elijah has been crowded out of the
position originally reserved for him. Our poet, in his first
conception of the Commedia, must have placed the great
prophet somewhere; he had him in mind while writing the
Inferno, for he mentions him there in a simile.4 Yet Elijah
is not in heaven, since St. John tells Dante that none but
Christ and Mary are dwelling in paradise in the flesh.5 He
is not to be found in the minutely described garden of Eden.
He is surely not in hell nor in purgatory proper. It is
barely possible that he has been turned out of the earthly

1 In Joannis Evangelium Tractatus IV, Cap. i, 5.
« De Civitale Dei xx, xxix.

* Contra Julianum VI, xxxix.

* Inf. xxvi, 34-39.

6 Par. xxv, 127-128.

CATO AND ELIJAH. 81

paradise to make room for Matilda, but far more likely that
his rightful place has been usurped by Cato.

If we can assume that the figure of Cato has been super-
posed, in Dante's mind, upon an earlier image of Elijah,
some obscure features will at once become clear. In the first
place, the great age ascribed to the custodian may be regarded
as a remnant of Dante's mental picture of the prophet.
Secondly, the scandal of an approved suicide disappears from
the original design of the Purgatorio. More explicable, too,
is the association of Cato with the patriarchs of the Old
Church who were rescued from Limbo. Furthermore, the
anomalous situation of the guardian — outside of earth, hell,
and heaven, doing no penance, but sure of salvation — a
situation which we can hardly imagine Dante making to
order for Cato, he found ready made for Elijah. According
to St. Augustine,1 the prophet occupies just such an inter-
mediate station : —

" Neque enim arbitranduin est Eliam vel sic esse jam sicut erunt sancti,
quando peracto operis die denarium pariter accepturi sunt (Mat. xx, 10);
vel sic quemadmodum sunt homines qui ex ista vita nondum emigrarunt,
de qua ille tamen non morte sed translatione migravit (iv Reg. ii, 11).
Jam itaque aliquid melius habet, quam in hac vita posset ; quamvis nondum
habeat quod ex hac vita recte gesta in fine habiturus est. . . . Nam si
Enoch et Elias in Adam mortui, mortisque propaginem in carne gestantes,
quod debitum ut solvant, creduntur etiam redituri ad hanc vitam, et, quod
tamdiu dilatum est, morituri (Malach. iv, 5 ; et Apoc. xi, 3-7), nunc tamen
in alia vita sunt, ubi ante resurrectionem carnis, antequam animale corpus
in spirituale mutetur, nee inorbo nee senectute deficiunt." 8

If we admit that Dante thus altered his original plan, the
question remains, why did he alter it? Doubtless the poet
desired a single person for the office in question, and it might
have been hard to separate Elijah from Enoch; this, however,
is not a sufficient reason. The obvious similarity in character

1 De Genesi ad Litteram IX, vi, 11.

2 The author goes on to say that if man had not sinned, he never would
have suffered death, but would have been regularly transferred, like Enoch
and Elijah, after life to a better state.

82 C. H. GBANDGENT.

between Elijah and Cato may have facilitated the substitution,
but can scarcely have suggested it.

Among the numerous mediaeval accounts of the terrestrial
paradise which Dante may have used in the composition of
his Purgatorio, there is one with which he seems to have
been particularly familiar. Between the Navigatio Sancti
Brendani l and the Commedia there are resemblances so close
as almost to exclude the possibility of chance coincidence or
indirect influence. A parallel to Dante's neutral angels is
found, in the legend, in those neutral souls that are discovered
on an island in the form of birds ; their punishment is to be
deprived of the sight of God.2 One of St. Brendan's islands
is strikingly similar to the island of purgatory : " Viderunt
ripam altissimam sicut muruni et diversos rivulos descend-
entes de summitate insule fluentes in mare."3 The absence
of atmospheric change in Dante's purgatory and Eden re-
minds us of that island in the Navigatio, unchanged since
the beginning of the world, in which it is always day without
darkness.4 The wonderful carvings in the first circle of pur-
gatory are matched in the Venetian version of the Brendan :
" E si e tante belle figure e ben intaiade, ch' ele par pur eser
vive." 5 The " terra repromissionis sanctorum " of the Latin
legend is full of fruit trees,6 and in the Venetian text we have
most elaborate descriptions of trees and birds.7 This promised
land is divided in the middle by a mysterious river, beside
which a young man appears : " Ecce juvenis occurrit illis
obviam osculans eos cum magna leticia et singulos nominatim

1 See C. Schroder, Sanct Brandan (1871) for the Latin text; F. Novati,
La ( Navigatio S. Brendani' in antico veneziano (1892) for a 13th century Italian
version. This Venetian work contains considerable amplifications.

'Schroder, p. 12: "Penas non sustinemus. Hie presentiam Dei non
possumus videre."

'Schroder, p. 7.

* Schroder, p. 4.

6 Novati, Ch. xxxiv. Cf. Purg. xn, 67-69.

6 Schroder, p. 35.

7 Novati, Ch. xxxi and xxxvii.

CATC AND ELIJAH. 83

appellabat." l In the Venetian the youth is called beautiful,
and approaches singing sweetly 2 — a veritable male Matilda !

Now, at the begining of the Navigatio there is a figure that
can hardly have failed to affect Dante's conception of the
guardian. Barinthus is relating his journey to St. Brendan,
and has just told of his disembarking on the shore of the
promised land : " Subito apparuit vir quidam magni splendo-
ris 3 coram nobis, qui statim propriis nominibus nos appellavit
atque salutavit." 4 He does not disclose his name, but gives
the travellers information about the island. Then he accom-
panies them to their boat : " ascendentibus autem nobis in
navim raptus est idem vir ab oculis nostris." Here we find
a mate to the curious phrase " cosi spari," at the end of the
interview with Cato.5 The custodian of the St. Brendan is
not Elijah ; in the Italian version both Elijah and Enoch
appear in another place. With this " vir magni splendoris "
may have been fused, in Dante's mind, another impressive
figure from the Navigatio — that of " Paulus eremita," who is
discovered on a desolate island and declares : " Michi promis-
sum est expectare diem judicii in ista came." 6 Thus St. Bren-
dan's Voyage furnishes a means of easy transition from Elijah
to a new guardian.

The first suggestion of Cato for this office probably came,
as has often been conjectured, from that line of the Aeneid 7
which describes the good souls in the other world, apart from
the wicked : —

Secretosque pios, his dantem jura Catonem.

Very likely Virgil had in mind the Censor, as Servius tells
us ; but there was nothing to prevent Dante from taking him
to mean Cato Minor. To the fitness of Cato Uticensis for
such a trust the ancients bear abundant testimony. Some of

1 Schroder, p. 35. s Novati, Ch. xlii.

3Cf. Purg. i, 37-39. 4 Schroder, p. 4.

6 Purg. i, 109. 6 Schroder, p. 34.

7 Aen. vin, 670.

84 C. H. GRANDGENT.

their most significant utterances have been collected by G.
Wolff.1 The same writer points out that the Distwhs of Dio-
nysius Cato, attributed to Cato of Utica as well as to the
Censor, were used in the middle ages as a text-book, perhaps
by Dante himself; their style is almost biblical, " God " is
used in preference to " the Gods ; " so they were calculated to
enhance the sacredness with which their supposed author was
already invested.2 Brunetto Latini, in his Trteor, translates
from Sal lust's Catiline the speech of Cato ; and further on he
adds selections from the Disticha Catonis.3

A strong incentive to follow this suggestion must have been
Dante's own desire to make a fit place for Cato in his poem.
Cato Uticensis was Dante's hero. In the Convivio and De
Monarchia he speaks of him as of no other human being.4
" E quale uomo terreno," he asks, " piu degno fu di significare
Iddio, che Catone ? Certo nullo." 5 Cato was one of those
divinely ordained to prepare Rome for the dominion of the
world. Dante did not wish to condemn him to hell — " quello
glorioso Catone, di cui non fui di sopra oso di parlare " 6 — nor
did he venture to place him in heaven ; purgatory proper was
not an appropriate location. The intermediate position pre-
pared for Elijah seemed best to fit him.

Doubtless more potent than any of the foregoing considera-
tions was the need of a type of free will who should at the
same time represent the cardinal virtues. It is evident that
to Dante's mind the suicide of Cato, to escape tyranny, was,
anagogically interpreted, an example of spiritual freedom, just
as the departure of Israel from Egypt 7 stood for the " exitus
animse sanctaB ab hujus corruptionis servitute ad aeternse glorise

1 Cato der Jungere her Dante, in Jahrbuch der deutschen Dante- Gesellschaft
n, pp. 227-229.

3 Wolff, pp. 230-231.

8 Wolff, p. 230. See Tresor vm, 34, and vm, 45, 54, 66.

4 Conv. iv, v, lines (Oxford Dante) 140 ff. ; vi, 95-96 ; xxvii, 31-33 •
xxviii, 97 ff. De Man. n, v.

6 Conv. iv, xxviii.

6 Conv. iv, vi. 7 Psalm cxiii, 1 (Vulgate).

CATO AND ELIJAH. 85

libertatem." l " Accedit," he says elsewhere,2 " et illud inenar-
rabile sacrificium severissimi libertatis tutoris Marci Catonis."
His death is a symbol of the " libertas arbitrii " of all man-
kind. " Si legge di Catone, che non a se, ma alia patria e a
tutto il mondo nato essere credea." 3 As an embodiment of
the four cardinal virtues — prudence, justice, temperance, and
fortitude — no fitter character could have been found in all
history. The very fact that his name consisted of four letters
was perhaps not without significance in Dante's eyes. Indeed,
with a little ingenuity, we may discover a mystic affinity
between that name and the virtues in question : —

Cautio
Aequitas
Temperantia
Obstinatio

Fantastic as this may seem, it is no more so than the interpre-
tations of Adam's name which are common in Church writers *
and must have been known to Dante.6

One important question remains. How could so good a
churchman as Dante bring himself to include Cato, a heathen
and a suicide, among the ultimately blessed? The fact that
Cato was a pagan is not an unsurmountable obstacle. " In
omni gente," says St. Peter,6 " qui timet eum, et operatur
justitiam, acceptus est illi." We have already seen that Trajan
and Ripheus were saved, and their example shows what Dante's
idea was concerning Cato : either God inspired him, before his
death, with a belief in the coming Christ ; or, after he had
died a pagan and had dwelt in Limbo for some eighty years,
Christ, on liberating him with the patriarchs, clad him with
his body and allowed him to work out his salvation on the
brink of purgatory. The former explanation is offered by

1 Letter to Can Grande vii. * De Man. n, v.

3 Conv. IV, xxvii.

4 See Appendix at the end of this article.

5 Cf. Vita Nuava, Ch. xiii, lines 13-14 (Witte) ; Ch. xxiv, lines 19-30.

6 Acts v, 35.

86 C. H. GRANDGENT.

Dante's son Pietro : l " Christus eum liberavit a limbo ; cum
possibile sit et verisimile Deum, qui fecit eum tantum virtuo-
sum, inspirasse et credulitatem Christi filii venturi et contri-
tum decessisse et sic salvatum." If, however, he had died a
Christian, there would have been no reason for his going to
Limbo at all ; and when we consider that Elijah, his probable
prototype, was generally pictured as abiding in the flesh, the
second supposition seems by far the more likely.

But was Cato — even if we overlook for the moment his
violent end — worthy of such a favor ? His name does not
occur often in the Church writers, but when he is mentioned,
it is generally in terms of praise. Tertullian, to be sure,
blames the transfer of Marcia to Hortensius ; 2 but this act is
excused 3 and apparently commended 4 by St. Augustine. The
latter author devotes a chapter 5 to a comparison of Cato and
Ca3sar, much to the advantage of the first. Even Tertullian
exclaims : 6 " Quis ex illis diis vestris gravior et sapientior
Catone ? " Of the unstinted praise bestowed upon Cato by the
ancients, and of Dante's boundless admiration for him, we have
already spoken.

Cato of Utica was, nevertheless, a suicide ; and the Church
was relentless in its condemnation of self-slaughter. In his
work De Monarchia 7 Dante quotes freely from Cicero a pas-
sage in which the Roman philosopher justifies Cato's act as the
only one that could accord with his life and character, and as
different from an ordinary suicide : —

" In iis vero quae de Officiis,8 de Catone dicebat : ' Non enim alia in causa
Marcus Cato fuit, alia caeteri qui se in Africa Csesari tradiderunt ; atque

1 Quoted by A. F. Ozanam, k Purgatoire de Dante (1862), p. 42. Cf. A.
Bartoli, Storia della lett. ital VI, i, 205.

* Apologeticus adversus gentes xxxix.

* De Fide et Operibus vii, 10.

4 Epislolce, Cl. n, Ep. xci, 4.

5 De Civitate Dei v, xii.

* Apologeticus adversus gentes xi. Cf. Conv. iv, xxviii : " E quale uomo
terreno piu degno f n di significare Iddio, che Catone ? "

''De Mon. u, v, end. 8De Officiis I, xxxi.

CATO AND ELIJAH. 87

cseteris forsan vitio datum esset, si se interemissent, propterea quod levior
eorum vita, et mores fuerunt faciliores. Catoni vero quum incredibilem
natura tribuisset gravitatem, eamque perpetua constantia roborasset, sem-
perque in proposito susceptoque consilio permansisset, moriendum ei potius
quam tyranni vultus adspiciendus fuit.' "

This, however, is the opinion of a pagan writer ; and although
that pagan was regarded with the greatest reverence as a
philosopher, his views on a theological question would
naturally be inconclusive. Our only hope is to find an outlet
through the Church doctrine.

Such a loophole St. Augustine furnishes : l " Quasdam vero
exceptiones," he says, " eadem ipsa divina fecit auctoritas, ut
non liceat hominem occidi." And he proceeds to explain that
killing is right when performed at the direct bidding of God.
Further on 2 he declares that " qusedam sanctae feminae tempore
persecutionis," who killed themselves to preserve their honor,
if (as the Church assumes) they did right, must have acted
"non humanitus deceptse, sed divinitus jussse." With these
holy women Dante seems to have classed Lucretia, whom he
assigns to Limbo and not to the suicides' wood.3 St. Augus-
tine's teaching is followed and quoted by Rabanus Maurus,4
Abelard,5 and St. Thomas.6 A frequently cited example is
that of Abraham and Isaac.7 Dante was perhaps thinking of
this instance when he wrote : 8 " Chi dir£ di Torquato giudica-
tore del suo figliuolo a morte per amore del pubblico bene,
senza divino aiutorio cid avere sofferto? e Bruto predetto
similmente?"

A test case of suicide is offered by Samson. His voluntary
death 9 could not be dismissed, like that of Razis, as the mis-

1 De Civitate Dei i, xxi. *De Civitate Dei I, xxvi.

3/w/.iv, 128.

* Commentaria in Libros Machabceorum ir, xix.

5 Sic et Non civ.

9 Sum. TheoL, Secunda Secundce, Qu. Ixiv, Art. 5.

7 See, for instance, St. Augustine : Qucestiones in Heplateuchum in, Ivi ;
De Civitate Dei i, xxi ; Contra Gaudentium I, xxxi, 39.

8 Conv. iv, v, lines 118-122 (Oxford Dante). 9 Judges xvi, 29-30.

OS C. H. GRANDGENT.

taken deed of an otherwise worthy man. Samson was a sacred
character: his birth was announced by an angel;1 as St.
Thomas points out,2 "conuumeratur inter sanctos;"3 accord-
ing to Rabanus Maurus he is the symbol of Christ.4 St.
Augustine solves the problem5 by assuming that Samson's
suicide was immediately inspired by God : " Nee Samson
aliter excusatur, quod se ipsum cum hostibus ruina domus
oppressit, nisi quia spiritus latenter hoc jusserat, qui per ilium
miracula faciebat." Abelard repeats St. Augustine, and adds : 6
" De Samson aliud nobis fas non est credere ; cum autem
Deus jubet seque jubere sine ullis ambagibus intimat, quis
obedientiam in crimen vocet? Quis obsequium pietatis
accuset ? " 7 St. Thomas, too, follows St. Augustine.8

If such an explanation can be advanced for Samson's suicide,
why (Dante may well have thought) cannot Cato's be excused
on the same principle ? " O sacratissimo petto di Catone," he
cries,9 "chi presumera di te parlare? Certo maggiormente
parlare di te non si puo, che tacere, e seguitare Jeronimo,
quando nel Proemio della Bibbia, la dove di Paolo tocca, dice
che meglio e tacere che poco dire. Certo manifesto essere dee,
rimembrando la vita di costoro e degli altri divini cittadini,
non senza alcuna luce della divina bonta, aggitinta sopra la
loro buona natura, essere tante mirabili operazioni state. E
manifesto essere dee, questi eccellentissimi essere stati stru-
menti, colli quali procedette la divina Provvideuza nello
Romano Imperio, dove piu volte parve le braccia di Dio essere
presenti.7' Cato is not like other suicides. We may note, in
passing, that he is not to be found in Virgil's lower world 10
among those

1 Judges xiii, 3. *Sum. Theol, Sec. Sec., Qu. Ixiv, Art. 5.

8 Hebrews xi, 32-33. * Commentaria in Librum Judicum I, xx.
5 De Civitate Dei I, xxi. 6 Sic et Non civ.

7 Cf. Cicero, De Seneclute xx, 73 : " Vetatque Pythagoras injussu impera-
toris, id est dei, de prsesidio et statione vitse decedere."

9 Sum. TheoL, Sec. £ec.,Qu. Ixiv.

9 Conv. iv, v, lines 140 ff. (Oxford Dante).

10 Aen. vi, 434 ff.

CATO AND ELIJAH. 89

qui sibi letum
Insontes peperere manu.

He is an instrument of Providence, and took his life at the
direct command of Heaven, thus at the same time removing
an obstacle to the empire and furnishing mankind with an
example of free will. His fitness to receive a personal mes-
sage from God was doubtless suggested by the words which
Lucan puts into the mouth of Labienus : * —

Nam cui crediderim superos arcana daturos
Dicturosque magis quam sancto vera Catoni ?
Certe vita tibi semper directa supernas
Ad leges sequerisque deum. Datur ecce loquendi
Cum Jove libertas.

Cato of Utica — "ille deo plenus," as Lucan calls him2 imme-
diately after the passage cited — simply executed God's behest.
He has no guilt to purge away : all he lacked in life was
Christian faith, which, by heavenly favor, he is now permitted
to acquire. And when, on the day of Judgment, his great
office shall be abolished, he will take, among the just, the
place befitting his virtues and foreordained to him by divine
mercy.

C. H. GRANDGENT.

APPENDIX.

ON THE MYSTIC INTERPRETATIONS OF THE
NAME OF ADAM.

In a little work De Montibus Sina et Sion, formerly attri-
buted to St. Cyprian, we read : 3 —

"Hebrai'curn Adam in Latino interpretatur terra caro facta, eo quod ex
quatuor cardinibus orbis terrarum pugno comprebendit, sicut scriptum est :
' Palmo mensus sum coelum, et pugno comprehend! terram, et finxi homi-

1 Phars. ix, 554-558. 8 Phars. ix, 564. 8 Paragraph 4.

90 C. H. GKANDGENT.

nem ex omni limo terrse : Ad imaginem Dei feci ilium.' Oportuit ilium
ex his quatuor cardinibus orbis terrse nomen in se portare Adam. Inveni-
mus in scripturis, per singulos cardines orbis terrse esse a conditore mundi
quatuor Stellas constitutas in singulis cardinibus. Prima stella orientalis
dicitur avaro\-fi, secunda stella occidentals Mo-is, tertia stella aquilonis
&PKTOS, quarta stella meridiana dicitur jueo-ij/ijSp/o. Ex nominibus stellarum
numero quatuor, de singulis stellarum nominibus tolle singulas litteras
principales, de stella Anatole, a, de stella Dysis, d, de stella Arctos, a, de
stella Mesembria, m: in his quatuor litteris cardinalibus habes nomen
Adam. Nam et in numero certo per quatuor litteras Graecas nomen desig-
natur Adam : ita a, fj.la, id est unurn ; 5, rcWapa, id est quatuor, a, pia, id
est unum ; /*, reo-frapdicovTa, id est quadraginta. Fac et invenies numerum
quadragenarium senarium. Hie numerus XLVI passionem carnis Adse
designat, quam carnem in se figuralem Christus portavit, et earn in ligno
suspendit."

Forty-six years (the text continues) were spent in building,
or rebuilding, Solomon's temple,1 which symbolizes the body
of Christ, the " second Adam." St. Augustine repeats both
these interpretations.2 In another place3 he says the name
Adam indicates that the descendants of the first man will
occupy the four regions of the earth 4 and that the elect will
be gathered from the four winds.5 Similarly Bede tells us,
at some length, that the four Greek letters which spell Adam
stand for the dispersal and gathering of man ; he adds that
the forty-six years occupied in the construction of the temple
represent the forty-six days during which Christ's body was
in process of formation in his mother's womb.6 Bede's state-
ment is repeated, word for word, by Alcuin.7

C. H. G.

^ohnii, 19-21.

8 In Joannis Evangdium, Tractatus IX, xiv ; x, xii.

8 Enarratio in Psalmum XCV, 15.

*Gen. ix, 19.

'Markxiii, 27.

* In S. Joannis Evangdium Expositio ii, Vers. 20.

7 Commentaria in Joannem n, iv, Vers. 20.

III.— PRACTICAL PHILOLOGY.1

The people of this country are commonly supposed to be
in a high degree practical, and the word is often used in
praise of Americans as possessing a clear vision of the hard
facts of life and as governing their conduct accordingly, so
as to get the best results possible. The typical American is
supposed to be a practical man, not an idealist or a misty
theorizer absorbed in meditations that lead to nothing. But
the same word may also be used to imply a reproach, not the
less real for being covert; it may suggest that ours is a
civilization which looks upon material prosperity as the
highest good and cares but little if at all for whatever is
intangible. That our colleges and universities attract a large
number of students of capacity and industry is good evidence
that the young men of this country do not all understand
success in life to be synonymous with the acquisition of
wealth. But it cannot be said that we have in our universi-
ties all the students we want. There is still room for a great
increase in their numbers before we need feel that there is
any risk for us of an intellectual proletariat.

We certainly do not wish to increase the number of students
by having our universities become practical in any low sense
of the word. But if we have definite work to do and defi-
nite aims in our work, there must be a choice in methods ;
some are better than others, and a recognition of the condi-
tions under which we live and have to do our work is
implied in the word practical. It is this that I have in mind
when I speak of practical philology. If philology is to
maintain or improve its position among university studies,
if it is to do all that it can do and to do it in the best

1 An address delivered in Cambridge by Professor Sheldon, as President
of the Association, on the 26th of December, 1901. — ED.

92 E. S. SHELDON.

possible way, it must be practical in this sense. I do not
mean by saying that philology should be practical, that it
should be so studied and taught that the student may be able
when he leaves the university to use it as a means of gaining
a livelihood.

It is my purpose to speak in the first place of some mis-
conceptions or misunderstandings of philology on its purely
linguistic side which may hamper us in the work of teaching.
If I speak of these misunderstandings and contrast with
them the views of modern philology as I understand these
latter, it is because, in spite of all that has been written on
linguistic science, they are still very prevalent among edu-
cated people. It is quite possible that in some details not all
philologists would agree entirely with me, but I hope such
disagreement would be only in details. In the second place
I intend to say a few words about the final work of candi-
dates for the degree of doctor of philosophy, and I shall then
add some remarks on the study of literature in its relations
to linguistic science.

Before taking up the purely linguistic matters a general
observation may be permitted, one that applies not to teachers
of philology alone, but to all university teachers. It is
obvious that it is not for our interest to put any unnecessary
obstacles in the path of the votary of learning. The attrac-
tions of the scholar's career are real enough and strong
enough to draw an increasing number of students to our
universities if we will allow those attractions a fair chance.
Let not the scholars of any branch of learning set themselves
apart as a chosen few who look askance at new comers.
Anything like an attempt to create or revive a spirit of caste,
an aristocracy of learning, is in this country at least out of
place. On the contrary, if a clearer understanding of the
nature of our work will bring about a legitimate increase in
the number of our students or otherwise help us, then we
should further that clearer understanding.

Among the misconceptions which embarrass us, especially
at the outset, in our teaching is the narrow view often taken

PRACTICAL PHILOLOGY. 93

of the relation of grammar to language and of the dictionary
to language. People are accustomed to look upon grammar
as containing the rules to which they must conform in the
use of language, whether the language be Greek, Latin,
German, French, or English, and they are only too apt to
think that the larger English dictionaries contain all the
words that anybody has the right to use in speaking or writ-
ing English, and that any word in the dictionary may be so
used. This view of grammar as a code of laws is almost
inevitable in the study of a dead language with a highly
developed inflexional system, such as classic Latin, and it
may be admissible as a matter of convenience for teaching
the facts of any language to schoolboys. But it would be
of some assistance to us if the views of philologists on
grammar, dictionary, and language were better known. We
should then hardly need to explain that we look upon
grammar simply as the description of the structure of a
language, of its condition during some definite period in its
constantly changing history, and that to us a dictionary is a
more or less incomplete list of the words and phrases used in
a language in some period of its life, with definitions (often
inexact) of these words and phrases.

If merely a theoretical question of definition of the words
grammar and dictionary were at issue, no great harm would
be done by this difference in the understanding of these
words. Unfortunately the not wholly unjustifiable notion
of grammar which I have mentioned as common is bound
up with and is in part the cause of certain other misconcep-
tions which are the harder to correct because they are not all
entirely and absolutely wrong, and because they concern the
question of the standard of correctness in speech. I am
thinking of the opinions of educated people in general about
what is right and what is wrong in language, opinions which
are sometimes pretty firmly held, but which often must be
unlearned or modified before the student can take the proper
view of questions of linguistics.

94 E. 8. SHELDON.

For example, the student has to learn to distinguish be-
tween the state of things in English speaking and writing
among the educated, where we all try to conform to a
standard, the standard of good usage, and the state of things
in philological work, where ordinarily and properly no attempt
is made to set off certain existing linguistic usages as right
and others as wrong. The investigator may be reproached
with not using right methods, that is, with not conforming
strictly to the proper philological methods, but the objects of
his investigation, the phenomena of language, are to him in
general all equally right, or, rather, the question what is right
and what is wrong does not arise at all.

So far as the student's notions of correct English recognize
good usage as the standard we meet no serious difficulty.
But sometimes, more or less consciously, a different standard
is set up. For the purposes of linguistic science the normal
form of language is not the written language, but the spoken
language, and it is also the natural, careless, unconscious,
colloquial speech which furnishes the philologist with his
best illustrative and explanatory material, because this is
freest from intrusive artificial influences. In our vocabulary
we recognize the important division into learned and popular
words, a division which is of such importance in the Romance
languages, and we find that in English as in those languages
the popular or familiar words have obeyed with great strict-
ness certain laws of phonetic change, while the learned words
are not thus regular, and they even seem to the philologist to
be barbarous intrusions which interfere with the regular and
harmonious development of the language. Just so it is the
colloquial pronunciations which the student of linguistics
must observe and which to him seem most important as
being most regular. To him the pronounced word is the
word, its written form is only of secondary importance,
though the latter may also be of value and even of great
value to him. When these two forms, the written and the
spoken, disagree, it is the latter which is or should be in his

PEACTICAL PHILOLOaY. 95

eyes the more important. Of course this applies to popular
words primarily, and the more learned a word is the less
important its pronunciation is to him in his study of the
natural growth and changes of the language.

Here now arises opportunity for a misunderstanding, and
the philologist himself, if he is not on his guard, may be to
blame for it, at least in part. We all, philologists as well as
others, must accept the principle that in the use of language,
whether it be a question of syntax that arises or one about
the proper pronunciation of a word, good usage is decisive.
The question of the right pronunciation of a word is not one
for the philologist as such to decide, for it is a question not
what the facts of pronunciation are, but what usage is
accepted as the best, and his knowledge on that point may or
may not be of value. But if a person is known to be a
philologist he may be asked to give his opinion as one who is
an expert in the historical study of the language and who
can accordingly tell what pronunciation ought to be adopted.
Let him not accept this erroneous view of his functions as a
philologist. He can perhaps tell what would be the regular
pronunciation if phonetic laws were observed without any
interference of disturbing influences, but it does not follow that
that regular pronunciation is really the correct one. Good
usage is the tribunal to be appealed to, not the philologist,
however learned he may be. The philologist must be care-
ful not to put philology in a false position.

Good usage can sometimes be alleged on both sides of a
question of pronunciation, and in this case the philologist is
perhaps justified in casting the weight of his opinion in favor
of one side or the other. But even then he must be cautious,
and it will often if not usually be best to recognize both sides
as right, or at least not to assume that either is wrong.
Sometimes a basis in the history of the language can be found
for different pronunciations, as in the case of words contain-
ing an r final or before a consonant, such as star, cord, word.
Those Americans who do not pronounce this r in the same

96 E. 8. SHELDON.

way as an r at the beginning of a word, but substitute for it
a vowellike murmur or nothing at all can defend their pro-
nunciation on historical grounds just as those other Americans
also can do who pronounce the r alike in all places where it
occurs in the written word. Neither side need call the other
wrong ; we may leave it to the future to decide which, if
either, will ultimately be recognized as the only right pro-
nunciation.

Most Americans, when in doubt what pronunciation has
the sanction of the best usage, consult a dictionary, and I see
no occasion for blaming them for accepting that as the best
authority within their reach. If they accept it as an abso-
lutely final or infallible authority they are in error and may
be blamed. Now it seems to me that the dictionaries do not
give sufficient attention to good colloquial usage, but rather
indicate a pronunciation which would sometimes sound a
little affected in ordinary conversation, or which is perhaps
a little archaic. It would be well if they gave, in case the
facts of good colloquial usage justify it, at least two pro-
nunciations for words frequently used in conversation ; one
that which they give now, the other representing something
like the colloquial English which Sweet has tried to represent
in his Elementarbuch des gesproehenen Englisch and in his
Primer of Spoken English. That this would not be an easy
task may be granted, that Sweet's pronunciation sometimes
seems to us Americans a little vulgar may also be granted,
but that the thing he has attempted is desirable for this
country, and perhaps for different parts of this country, as
well as for England, seems to me clear. I believe it might
even be done in such a way as to have a conservative influ-
ence in both countries, and that it would not necessarily
encourage diversity of usage. Something of this sort is, to
be sure, attempted in dictionaries, but it is at best hardly
more than a beginning that has been made. Let me illus-
trate. In the admirable Oxford dictionary I find annunciation
with the c pronounced like s, but enunciation with c like t>h.

PRACTICAL PHILOLOGY. 97

It seems evident that both pronunciations exist in good usage
for each of these nouns in England as well as in America,
but only one is recognized for each, and that one is not the
same in the two cases.1 In the preface to the first volume
of the same work (p. x) we are told that the editor heard at
a meeting of a learned society the adjective formed from gas
(gaseous) "systematically pronounced in six different ways
by as many eminent physicists." Presumably, then, all six
could claim the support of some reputable usage. If the
proper function of a dictionary is to register certain facts of
language of which pronunciation is one, may we not fairly ask
for the facts of pronunciation, at least those of presumably
good usage, as well as those of spelling and of the meanings
of words ? Without them the history of the word is incom-
plete, and until the facts of actual usage are known can
anyone be trusted to tell what is the best usage without very
great risk of errors? In this particular case the Oxford
Dictionary gives two pronunciations for the word in its
alphabetical place, one American dictionary also gives two,
one of them not in the other work, and another gives one,
and that not a new one. The pronunciation most familiar to
me is not recognized by any of these three dictionaries, but
in spite of that I think it is probably in good colloquial
usage in both England and America. Such cases as these
may serve to show how difficult and also how desirable the
task here spoken of is.2

One feature of English colloquial pronunciation may be
dwelt on here particularly. That is the alteration of initial
or final sounds of words in the flow of speech, for the spell-
ing gives no hint of the facts and many are hardly aware of
the phenomena. Perhaps not all the following examples will

1 The American dictionaries I have consulted recognize both pronuncia-
tions. That different persons are responsible for the letters A and E in the
Oxford dictionary seems to show plainly the division of usage in England.

8 It is perhaps necessary to say that no slur is intended to be cast on the
great dictionary mentioned above. Its very excellence tempts one to ask
of it more than can perhaps be justly demanded.

98 E. S. SHELDON.

be universally accepted as representing really good colloquial
usage, but I hope no one will reject them offhand. In this
year pronounced slowly no such effect is noticed, but if it is
pronounced as the phrase naturally would be in ordinary
conversation, you observe that instead of the final s in this
there is produced, under the influence of the following y,
nearly or quite the sound we commonly write sh. So in that
year, don't you, as naturally pronounced, you may hear what
we should write ch. If instead of s and t we have z or d as
the final sound — as in here is your brother (the s in is means
z), did you — we get a similar result ; in one case we hear the
sound badly expressed by s in pleasure, in the other that of j
in judge. The phenomenon is the same as that seen and
universally accepted in such words as aversion (nobody says
aversyon), question, vision, soldier, and we may doubtless add
the colloquial forms at least of such words as nature and the
other words in -ture, verdure, gradual. Obviously the phrases
mentioned above are pronounced in this way because of the
close connection in sense between the words, which brings
the final and the initial consonants as closely together as if
they were actually in the same word. I do not add this as
the true reason for using these pronunciations ; it is only an
explanation of what has happened. These pronunciations are
not right because they are in accordance with philological
principles ; they are right (or I think them so) because they
are in accordance with good usage.

I might add something in a similar line on the pronuncia-
tion of at followed by all (at all), and on the pronunciation
of the written a great deal like a gray deal, and I might ask
whether any thing could be said in favor of such and other
similar pronunciations. But what has been said may suffice,
and indeed some may question whether all this does not
amount to recommending a vulgar kind of colloquial English
as strictly correct. Such is of course not my purpose. I
mean to recommend nothing that is not in perfectly good
usage. It is true that really vulgar colloquialisms may have

PRACTICAL PHILOLOGY. 99

an interest for the philologist ; that is because he views them
from the purely philological standpoint. But in the matter
we have been considering the question is one of right and
wrong for us nowadays, and in such a question the philologist
as such has no standing. Good usage must be decisive,
whether this usage be logical or not, whether it have a
historically satisfactory basis or not. Colloquial English does
not necessarily mean vulgar English. It may not always be
easy to tell what good usage sanctions, but that does not
compel us to give up the recognition of good colloquial
English to be used as well as a more formal English, each in
its proper place. For ordinary conversation or for the much
neglected art of reading aloud (in most cases), whether in the
family circle or among friends, it is the former that is pre-
ferable and that will be used, even if ideal correctness in its
use is not attained.

The relation between spelling and pronunciation has already
been touched upon, but the importance of the subject and the
common feeling that the spelling is right and that therefore it
should determine the pronunciation make it well to say some-
thing here on that subject. We may observe also how our
bad spelling hampers observation of linguistic processes.

It is well known that French words taken into our language
during the Middle English period have since been to a large
extent refashioned, so as to resemble more closely the classi-
cal Latin words from which they came. This later and, as
we may say, unhistorical spelling has in several instances
affected pronunciation, especially in words not the most
familiar, though some are not wholly unpopular. Thus the
words recognize and recognizance have taken and kept a g
under the influence of Latin (or of a French spelling now
abandoned and itself in imitation of Latin), and in the former
word the g is regularly sounded, though in the latter the
lawyers at least have not yet adopted the new pronunciation.
So too in fault and assault the I was originally an etymologi-
cal blunder, but we pronounce it in both words. We now

100 E. S. SHELDON.

write falcon for older faucon, but the I has not yet acquired
so firm a hold on the pronunciation that the older sound is
quite lost. But the new one with audible I will probably
drive it out entirely before long, for the word is hardly
popular. Or, observe the Old French word for "body,"
spelt cors.1 This gave us the word corse, now only poetical,
while the originally learned corpse came from the late French
spelling corps (with silent p), and this word now has in
English a pronounced p and is decidedly more popular
than corse.

Such instances show that a bad spelling may come to affect
pronunciation, even in pretty popular words. Artificial influ-
ences of this sort are displeasing to the student of linguistic
science, but for languages in their modern stages they must
be reckoned with as new and, if you choose, unnatural, but
still real factors in linguistic growth. But, though we must
recognize their results after they have become established, we
need not welcome any new ones of the same sort, and we are,
on the contrary, inclined to reject all such arbitrary interference
with the language. As philologists we cannot sympathize
with the idea that because a word is spelt in such and such a
way therefore it should be pronounced accordingly. If our
natural pronunciation has no I in falcon we need not change
it on account of the spelling, and if we naturally pronounce
haunt with the vowel sound of a in father we need not change
because au generally means the sound heard in awe, just as
we do not feel obliged to pronounce the word victuals in
accordance with its bad spelling.

It has been observed that our spelling sometimes hampers
us in linguistic studies. Let us return for a moment to the
phrase this year, where we saw the sound of sh resulting from
8 followed by y, just as in the word aversion, while t followed

1 It is curious that there is a spelling corps in the oldest known French
poem belonging in the ninth century. But we may feel pretty sure that
ever since the Norman conquest at least no p has been pronounced in this
word in French.

PRACTICAL PHILOLOGY. 101

by y produced our cA, as in don't you and question. There is
a whole group of words, namely, almost all those in -tion,
such as nation, abbreviation, etc., which seem to form a strik-
ing exception, for they show t, not s, and yet the sound is sh,
not ch. If you will look at the history of such words you
will see that the spelling is an obstacle to the easy perception
and explanation of the truth. The pronunciation of words
of this class was determined by the large number of them
that came into our language from French centuries ago.
The Old French had, as learned words, many of these, and
it commonly wrote them with a c, this c having at first the
sound of ts and later of s. In English these words were
naturally enough written with a c, and as the French sound
of the c became simply s (as in modern French) so this c
meant s in English. Historically, then, this -tion is a bad
spelling for -sion, and these words are not the exceptions
they at first seemed to be.

Indeed we may say in general that etymological spelling
inevitably hampers the student of linguistics more or less,
because it gives no hint of the actual changes through which
the language has passed in the last centuries ; it ignores, or
rather it conceals a great part of the history of the language.

Does this mean that English orthography ought to be
reformed completely ? Not necessarily. That is a question
which concerns many others besides philologists. It is
enough here to point out that for students of the history of
our language our present spelling is not really a help but
rather a hindrance, and that this would still be the case even
if the etymological principle of spelling were carried through
without error.

Perhaps enough has now been said to illustrate the impor-
tance of having the bases of the linguistic side of philology
made as generally intelligible as possible. I pass now to the
student's own work in preparation for the doctor's degree,
and particularly to that part of it which usually marks the
close of his student life at the university, the writing of his

102 E. S. SHELDON.

dissertation. That he has been trained to strict intellectual
honesty is assumed, and it is to certain minor but still im-
portant matters that I would direct his attention and that
of the instructors who have been guiding him on his way.

In writing his dissertation let him not be regardless of
literary form. Not that the graces of style are to be expected
in all dissertations, but let the language at least be correctly
used, and, above all, let the meaning be always clear ; not
simply intelligible after careful reading and perhaps rereading,
but if possible unmistakable at the first reading. Prolixity
should be avoided, but there is an even worse fault, that of
excessive brevity, which causes obscurity and makes too
great demands on the reader's time. It is dangerous to try
to pack as much meaning into as few words as possible ; it
does not always mean a saving of time. With the same end
in view, namely, clearness, let every reference and every
quotation be verified, let the punctuation be looked after with
care, and finally let the proof-reading be done with the most
scrupulous exactness. That scholars of good repute have
been guilty of some of the negligences against which these
cautions are uttered is no excuse for the young writer to do
likewise. Practical work in philology and other subjects as
well must take serious account of such matters as these, and
no one can aiford to scorn them as of little importance.

Thus far we have considered mainly linguistic matters.
But language and literature are usually combined in our
higher institutions of learning, and this will doubtless always
be the case. If it is desirable not to be unpractical in study-
ing and teaching linguistics, is it not also well to be equally
careful as regards literature, lest time be wasted in ill-directed
or unintelligent study ?

As a proper branch of study in a university literature must
be studied with definite aims and methods. Thus, new truth
must be sought for, and the processes of growth and develop-
ment, or, it may be, of decay must be studied in order that
they may be understood. This means, among other things,

PRACTICAL PHILOLOGY. 103

that reading and study must not be confined to the great
masterpieces in any literature. That would be a very inade-
quate way to study the subject, and it is one wholly unworthy
of a university in these modern times. Not that we under-
value the subtle refining influence of the best literature, nor
that we do not desire that influence to have its full effect on
mind and character, but to set up the study of the best litera-
ture as the whole purpose of our work devoted to literature
would encourage the common vague conception of literary
study, and would discourage at least one kind of serious
study, which, to be sure, involves the reading of some pro-
ductions of small merit, but which by giving us a better
knowledge of the origin and sources of the great masterpieces
enables us to understand and appreciate them better than
before. Let us also tell young men or women who wish to
study literature that a sound linguistic training is necessary,
that they must learn to weigh the meanings of words and of
grammatical constructions most carefully, must acquire a
feeling for the force of the subjunctive mood in Latin and in
French, and in general must form the habit of close and
accurate observation of apparently trifling things. Without
such a training, though they may appreciate much, they will
inevitably miss something of the finer touches in the great
authors they read. Of course they need not forget, while
acquiring this linguistic equipment, that their ultimate purpose
is not linguistic study, but a certain modicum of thorough
linguistic training is essential for their later studies.

It would be a mistake to allow all students to imagine that
the study of literature is in itself something higher and nobler
than linguistic studies, that the latter are really only valuable
as leading up to this higher and nobler work. Some study
of literature is doubtless higher and nobler than some lin-
guistic study, but the converse is also true. The preparation
for the study of any period of literature in any modern
language is quite as arduous as that for similar work in
linguistics, for it involves not only some training in linguistic

104 E. S. SHELDON.

methods, it requires also some acquaintance with literature in
more languages than one and in more periods of time than
one. Both linguistics and literature are proper university
studies, and each will attract the proper type of mind. Not
every student ought to study either as his most important
subject, and the friends of neither should disparage the other.
Which of the two will prove of the greater benefit to
humanity we need not ask ; it is hardly a practical question
for us, since we can feel sure that both are useful and will
long continue to be useful. Moreover the two are not
mutually exclusive; on the contrary, each, if studied as it
should be, involves some acquaintance with the other. The
student of linguistics may and often does read less of good
literature than is desirable, and he may pursue his studies in
a narrow spirit, never, for example, thinking of the light
that the history of words throws on the history of civilization,
or of the historical study of syntax as illustrating the work-
ings of the human mind dealing with the problems of
expression. But narrow minds are not the minds to judge
by in estimating the worth of university study, and we may
hope that in our universities both these branches of study
will continue to flourish, each doing its work with its utmost
skill and each cooperating constantly with the other. There
should be no dissensions in the camp of philology.

E. S. SHELDON.

IV.— FATE AND GUILT IN SCHILLER'S DIE
BEAUT VON MESSINA.

The "dramatic guilt" or the "tragic fate" differs, it is well
known, from fate and guilt in the common sense of the terms.
Fate is the equivalent of blind destiny, or of the whimsical
decree or the general envy or malice of the gods towards
men. This Fate foredooms the victim to some crime which
brings a punishment in its train, or to a wholly undeserved
calamity, which the Greeks were fond of representing as fore-
told but unavoidable. The ill-will of the gods had perhaps
been incurred by an ancestor of the victim, but was wreaked
upon the remote descendant to the third and fourth genera-
tion. In this curse of the gods we may see a poetical
conception of an hereditary evil. Or on the other hand, in
heredity we may see a modern and very real equivalent of
the Greek decree of the gods, the ft moira."

Guilt scarcely needs definition. It means conscious and
deliberate sin, entailing more or less logically a calamity as
sequence and punishment.

" Tragic fate " and " dramatic guilt " in a drama express
the relation between the character and conduct of the persons
and the calamity that befalls them. It is the philosophy of
the catastrophe, the theory of the cause or source of the
catastrophe, and may, in the case of blind destiny, embrace
even the case when there is no relation between the conduct
of the victim and the calamity that overtakes him.

The last mentioned case, where there is no connection
between conduct and catastrophe, constitutes a "Schicksals-
tragodie," and it is not customary to speak of such a play as
having any "dramatic guilt." Dramas of Destiny may be
written with a pessimistic purpose of showing that there is
no justice in the government of the Universe, that there is no
connection between men's conduct and their fortunes ; or they

105

106 W. H. CARRUTH.

may be written with the design of showing the power and
inscrutable wisdom of God and the impotence of man. The
former was probably the spirit of most of the " Schicksals-
tragodien" of the last decade of the 18th century and the
first decade of the 19th ; the latter may have been the motive
of the writers in the case of a few of the Greek tragedies.
It is not the purpose of this paper to pursue the history and
analysis of the tragedy of destiny.

When there is some logical connection between the conduct
and character of the personage and the calamity that befalls
him, we may speak of a "dramatic guilt." That trait of
character, that course of conduct, that action or neglect
of action which leads naturally and more or less inevitably
to the calamity, is the "dramatic guilt " of the personage
thus related to the calamity.

The "dramatic guilt" covers all shades of responsible
causes, from a simple error of judgment to wilful and de-
liberate sin. At this latter end of the gamut direct ethical
guilt and " dramatic guilt " become coincident, but at other
points of the scale "dramatic guilt" does not necessarily
imply moral guilt. There may, indeed, be various degrees
of guilt or wrong intent, or the person involved by his
" dramatic guilt " in the catastrophe may be wholly innocent
of any evil intent ethically.

To discuss with Aristotle the general character most suita-
ble for a tragic hero would lead too far aside from my
purpose. But it may be observed that Aristotle's exclusion,
from the category of suitable cases, of the thoroughly bad
man — if any such there be — does not ipso facto exclude the
case of one who is deliberately and wilfully guilty of wrong
in the action of the plot. A man otherwise amiable and
excellent may fall into a mortal sin under strong temptation.
Or, whatever his general character, there may be mitigating
circumstances connected with his specific evil action in the play.

The tragic guilt which consists of more or less conscious
wrong-doing has always furnished the themes for much the

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA. 107

greatest number of dramas. The case of conscious guilt
succeeded by a consequent calamity is more easily followed
by the average mind and more fully satisfies the general sense
of justice.

The Greek dramatists were especially fond of dealing with
a dramatic guilt that consisted in such unethical defects of
character as impetuousness, presumptuousness, distrust, con-
ceit, etc.

Schiller, too, in his later dramas, made the dramatic guilt
to consist in a subjective wrong or error : in Wallenstein, the
dalliance with the possibility of evil ; in Maria Stuart, lack
of self-control ; in Die Jungfrau von Orleans, the relaxation
of a consecrated purpose.

Let us proceed to examine Die Brant von Messina with
respect to this same element, the dramatic guilt. And at the
very start, we have to determine a question that does not
meet us in Schiller's other dramas : who is the leading
personage of the play ? Whose character and conduct have
we especially to examine in connection with the dramatic
guilt?

As to the leading personage of the play, Schiller himself
indicated by his alternative title, Die feindlichen Bruder, that
he was somewhat in doubt whether this was Beatrice or the
two brothers. Moreover, the part of the mother, Isabella, is
quite as prominent and important as either of these. Indeed,
it might fairly be claimed that the real personage involved in
the calamity is the ruling family of Messina, rather than any
individual member of it. But if we consider only those
upon whom the calamity of death falls, the brothers are the
ones whose conduct we are to examine. Yet death is by no
means the worst calamity, and it would be superficial not to
recognize that the final condition of the sister, and still more
that of the mother, is more deplorable than that of either
brother ; " er ist der gliickliche : er hat vollendet." All four
members of the family are brought to grief by the series of
events and situations which develop the plot, and hence we

108 W. H. CARRUTH.

must examine in how far each of them has contributed by
his responsible action to the ensuing calamity.

We discover directly that there are different degrees of
responsibility for -the various personages, and, furthermore,
that there are various opinions of this responsibility expressed
in the drama itself.

From the noble final couplet alone,

Das Leben ist der Giiter hochstes nicht,
Der Uebel grosstes aber ist die Schuld,

it has been inferred by Heskamp and Hoffmeister that actual
moral guilt and its punishment is the essential theme of the
play, and Bormann has even gone so far as to attribute con-
scious moral turpitude to every leading person : to Isabella
in consenting to her forced marriage (adultery?), and in
blasphemous questioning of the will of the Most High ; to
Beatrice in violating the rules of modesty and propriety and
finally in an illicit union with Don Manuel ; to Don Manuel
in hating his brother and in this immoral relation with
Beatrice; to Don Cesar for hating and finally slaying his
brother; and, behind this, to all three of the children for
being the offspring of an adulterous (?) father.

But Isabella's lines, 2506-8 :

Dies alles

Erleid' ich schuldlos. Doch bei Ehren bleiben
Die Orakel, und gerettet sind die Gotter,

show that the point of view just mentioned is not held by at
least one of the leading persons. And furthermore a con-
sideration of the final couplet in connection with the lines
and the action just preceding suggests the plausibility of the
notion that the Chorus in this utterance has in mind only
the conduct and death of Don Cesar :

Erschiittert steh' icb, weiss nicht ob ich ihn
Bejammern, oder preisen soil sein Los.
Dies e i n e fiihl' ich und erkenn' ich klar :
Das Leben ist der Giiter hochstes nicht,
Der Uebel grosstes aber ist die Schuld.

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA. 109

It is Don Cesar who has just surrendered his life. The
only sense of Schuld which applies in this apothegm is
" guilt/' conscious moral guilt, and not, of course, " dramatic
guilt.'' Don Cesar is the only one of the characters who has
committed an overt crime. His ethical guilt is indeed his
"dramatic guilt" also. But surely Don Cesar is not the
central personage of the play. And while his outward act is
a terrible crime, it is done in the heat of misunderstanding of
circumstances which, as he regards them, would palliate if
not excuse his guilt, and for which the conduct of others
is to blame.

It is true, no one else performs or wills an act of deliberate
wrong toward another within the limits of the play. But
is there no unwisdom or indiscretion on the part of others,
which induces the catastrophe ?

If we have not been impressed throughout the First Act
with the secretive character of Don Manuel, our attention
is called to this trait and its probable evil consequences by
the Chorus, 11. 954 ff. : "Aber sehr missfallt mir dies Ge-
heime," etc. When once we have been aroused to this point,
we may reread the First Act and discover even there that
secretiveness is a dominant characteristic of both Isabella
and her son Don Manuel. This impression is greatly
strengthened throughout the two following acts. In 11.
1450 if., Isabella expressly emphasizes the quality as an
inheritance in Don Manuel from his father, although
she does not point out the fact that she, too, whether
from contact with her husband or by birth, is prompted
by the same over-caution. But both her sons recognize
this quality in her actions, and reproach her for it as early
as 11. 1292 ff.

But if there were no other passage in the play to
the same effect, one so explicit as Don Cesar's utterance,
11. 2470 ff. :

Und verflucht sei deine Heimlichkeit,
Die all dies Grassliche vereohuldet,

110 W. H. CARRUTH.

would be conclusive for the poet's purpose to throw at least
a considerable measure of the responsibility for the catastrophe
upon Isabella's secretiveness.

However, this passage is supported by many others, in
which the secretive course of the mother is recognized as
unwise and as the more or less direct source of the calamities
that befall the family.

It will be found on closer examination that secretiveness is
not merely the dramatic guilt of the mother, but that secrecy
is the keynote and the very atmosphere of the drama. I
have collected in the appended notes the passages in which

JT i Jr o

the words heimlich, Geheirnnis, etc., verhehlen, verschweigen,
verbergen, Verstellung, verschleiert, Stille, dunkel, Verdacht, and
other words of similar meaning occur, some hundred in all.
A small proportion of them have no particular significance in
interpreting the character of any person or action, though
even these contribute to thicken the general air of secrecy.

Viewed in the light of this darkness, even those points in
the technique of the drama which have been most severely
criticised, the failure to say and do the obviously rational and
natural thing under the circumstances, become less objection-
able, if not even inevitable. Inheriting the instinct or trained
to it, the mother begins by consulting an oracle in opposition
to the one accepted by her husband, and follows it up by
saving and secreting her daughter. Forced throughout her
daughter's childhood to conceal her knowledge of the latter's
existence and at the same time to maintain communication
with her by stealth, having thus " practised dissimulation her
life long," it is not so wholly absurd that she has forgotten
how to face the daylight, that she delays bringing the daughter
to light for some time after the outward and obvious necessity
for concealing her has passed away. It is true, a person with
another disposition might have found a hundred opportunities
to allay the superstitious distrust of the father and bring the
daughter to his arms in safety, or might at least have main-
tained personal, face to face communication with her, but the

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA. Ill

disposition of this woman is once for all secretive. While
her course is happily not a normal one, he must have seen
life in narrow limits who declares it to be impossible. Isa-
bella's conduct is not meant to be normal in this respect, else
there would be no " dramatic guilt."

Don Manuel's character is essentially the same as his
mother's. While he comes by it honestly from his father, as
the mother points out (/. c.), he may have inherited a share
of it from her also, or at least have received it through pre-
natal influence. His stealthy visits to the cloister, his will-
ingness to dispense with fuller knowledge regarding his
mistress, his abduction of her without sufficient cause, his
concealment of her in the city and leaving her without
attendant, are again things — some of them — which a more
straightforward nature, for instance Don Cesar, would not
have done, but they are not even improbable in one thus
endowed with a genius for the furtive.

As for Beatrice herself, the same instinct has been culti-
vated in her, though it is manifested in the main only in
passivity. Her one overt act of secretiveness, the visit to her
father's funeral contrary to the wish of her lover, was
natural enough, although she blames herself severely for it
and seems to have a presentiment of the fact that it was to
lead to catastrophe. Her silence during the impetuous woo-
ing of Don Cesar is exasperating enough to us who know
how a few natural remarks would avert the calamity, but one
who knows the hour-long cowering of the fledgling quail
when affrighted will understand her behavior.

Even the trying scene (II, 6) in which word is brought
of the disappearance of the sister ; when Don Cesar rushes
out before obtaining the indispensable information of her
former whereabouts ; when Don Manuel, even after showing
that he understands the need of this information conveniently
goes off without it, and Isabella so conveniently seems to
withhold deliberately the knowledge which she should hasten
to impart, and yet, Don Manuel gone, imparts it so readily

112 W. H. CABROTH.

to the returning Don Cesar — even this scene does not seem
absurd if we bear in mind the dominant secretiveness of
Isabella and Don Manuel. I conceive of this scene as filled
with agitation. The half-hysterical mother may be excused
if she does not immediately grasp the necessity of revealing
a secret which long habit has taught her to guard automati-
cally. And even without R. Franz's suggested dash at the
end of line 1637 :

Verborgner nicht war sie im Schoss der Erde —

we may suppose that Isabella was really on the point of
describing her daughter's retreat when she was interrupted
by Diego with his confession. This so occupies Don Manuel's
mind with a more engrossing consideration that his final
withdrawal without the necessary clue is intelligible.

It is a notable point that the words signifying secrecy, etc.,
are wholly absent from the last 300 lines of the drama, after
Don Cesar's declaration that his mother's secretiveness has
caused all the horrors that have been witnessed.

While the evidence seems to be sufficient to show that
secretiveness is the " dramatic guilt" of Die Braut von
Messina, and was so recognized by Schiller, it is not fair
to ignore the fact that there are many expressions showing
that the personages of the play regard their misfortunes as
the result of a blind Fate or of a hostile divinity. Such
expressions are found in the passages beginning 11. 24, 409,
1226, 1551, 1695, 2085, 2182, 2226, 2441, 2487, 2747. Of
course, this latter interpretation is not wholly inconsistent
with the other. The characteristics of the father of the
hostile brothers, as well as the circumstances that seem to
impel the mother to her course of dissimulation, may be
looked at as the product of a hostile destiny by those who
regard all the world's details ideologically. It is in this
light that I understand Schiller's remark, quoted by Bottiger,
that it is "precisely in this closing of the mouth at the
critical moment, . . . that the unevadable and demonic power

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA. 113

of evil-brooding destiny manifests itself most clearly." In a
word, the two age-old points of view, of free-will and pre-
destination, are represented in these two seemingly different
interpretations of the catastrophe. And like all differences
that turn on this dispute, they merge into one image if the
mirror revolves swiftly enough.

The attribution of the calamity to an ancestral curse,
which is also clearly expressed in not a few passages, notably
those beginning 11. 964, 1695, 2400, 2698, 2797, attaches
closely to the notion of destiny, though a destiny somewhat
less blind and arbitrary. In the thought of the identity of
family life, the suffering of a descendant for the sins of an
ancestor was not so utterly unjust as in the case of suffering
"snowed in from without." Yet here too the execution of
the curse depends upon the endorsement of the gods. We
are probably not warranted in suspecting here, for Greeks or
for 18th century Germans, the subtlety of an alteration of
character induced by the working of a knowledge of the
curse upon the mind of the victim.

The victims of the catastrophe in Die Braut von Messina
are the entire princely house, and, in the order of their suffer-
ings : Isabella, Don Cesar, Don Manuel, Beatrice. The
immediate cause of the catastrophe, and the only pronounced
ethical guilt, is the murder of Don Manuel by Don Cesar.
But in this Don Cesar" is largely a victim of circumstances
for which Isabella and Don Manuel are primarily responsible.
And this responsibility is an excess of caution, a deviation
from the normal course of human conduct so great as to
constitute a true " dramatic guilt/' filling the reader and the
spectator with " pity and fear/7 pity because the victims " do
not deserve to be unfortunate," and fear because " they
resemble ourselves," that is, incur the misfortunes through
just such errors of judgment as we are liable to commit
any day.

114

W. H. CAREUTH.

QUOTATIONS.
"SCHWEIGEN UND GEHEIMNIS " IN SCHILLER'S

BRAUT VON MESSINA.

11. 1-5 : Isabella.

Der Not gehorchend, nicht dem eignen Trieb,
Tret' ich, ihr greisen Haupter dieeer Stadt,
Heraus zu euch, aus den ver&chwiegenen
Gemachern meines Frauensaals, das Antlitz
Vor euren Mannerblicken zu entschleiern.

11. 6-9 : Denn es geziemt der Wittwe, . . .

Die schwarzumflorte Nachtgestalt dem Auge
Der Welt in stillen Mauern zu verbergen.

11. 23-25 : .... doch mit ihnen wuchs

Aus unbekannt verhdngnisvollem Samen
Auch ein unsel'ger Bruderhass empor.

11. 105-10 : Verpfaudet hab' ich deiner treuen Brust

Meiu schmerzlich susses, heiliges Geheimnis.
Der Augenblick ist da, wo es ans Licht
Des Tages soil hervorgezogen werden.
Zu lange schon erstickt' ich der Natur
Gewalt'ge Kegung. . . .

11. 570 ff. : Don Cesar.

Entdeckt' ich dir, was mich von hinnen ruft. . . .

Don Manuel.

Lass uair dein Herz ! Dir bleibe dein Oeheimnis.
Don Cesar.

Auch kein Geheimnis trenn' uns ferner mehr,
Bald soil die letzte dunkle Falte schwinden.

If here, where the mischief of secrecy is hinted at, there
had been complete and frank utterance, Don Manuel would
have recognized that Don Cesar's messenger had found the
former's own betrothed, and the whole catastrophe would
have been averted.

SCHILLER'S DIE BRATJT VON MESSINA. 115

11. 585' ff.: Don Cesar.

Nicht Wurzeln auf der Lippe schlagt das Wort,
Das unbedacht dem schnellen Zorn entflohn ;
Doch von dem Ohr des Argwohns aufgefangen,
Kriecht es wie Schlingkraut, endlos treibend fort.
So trennen endlich in Verworrenheit
Unheilbar sich die Guten und die Besten.

11. 617 ff. : Don Manuel.

Ich sehe diese Hallen, diese Sale,

Und denke mir das freudige Erschrecken

Der iiberraschten, hoch erstaunten Braut.

Dem Fremdling,

Dem Namenlosen hat sie sich gegeben.
Nicht ahnet sie, dass es Don Manuel,
Messina's Fiirst ist, der die goldne Binde
Ihr um die schone Stirne flechten wird.

While none of the fateful words are used in this passage,
it shows in Don Manuel the inherent instinct for secrecy that
has already been revealed in his mother.

11. 633 ff.: Chor.

Ich hore dich, o Herr, vom langen Schweigen
Zum erstenmal den stummen Mund entsiegeln.
Mit Spaheraugen folgt' ich dir schon langst,
Ein seltsam wunderbar Oeheimnis ahnend ;
Doch nicht erkiihnt' ich mich, dir abzufragen
Was du vor mir in tiefes Dunkel hull&t.

11. 646 ff. : Warum verschlderst du bis diesen Tag

Dein Liebesgliick mit dieser neid'schen Hutte f
Was zwingt den Machtigen, dass er verhehle ?
Denn Furcht ist fern von deiner grossen Seele.

11. 650 ff. : Don Manuel.

Gefliigelt ist das Gliick und schwer zu binden,
Nur in verschlossner Lade wird's bewahrt;
Das Schweigen ist zum Hiiter ihm gesetzt,
Und rasch entfliegt es, wenn Geschwatzigkeit
Voreilig wagt, die Decke zu erheben.

116 W. H. CARBUTH.

The whole passage is saturated with this sentiment, as
shown in the phrases :

das lange Schweigen brechen.
Nicht mehr verstohlen werd' ich zu ihr schleichen.

Wherein, to be sure, Don Manuel recognizes the danger of
secrecy, but confesses how he has been dominated by it.

11.668ft: C/ior.

So nenne sie uns, Herr, die dich im stillen
Begluckt, dass wir dein Los beneidend riihmen
Und wiirdig ebren unsers Fiirsten Braut.
Sag* an, wo du sie fandst, wo sie verbirgst,
In welches Orts verschwiegner Heimlichkeit ?

Doch keine Spur hat uns dein Gliick verraten,
So dass ich bald mich iiberreden mochte,
Es hiille sie ein Zaubernebel ein.

11. 678-9 : Don Manuel.

Den Zauber 16s' ich auf, denn heute noch
Soil, was verborgen war, die Sonne schauen.

[1. 703 : So stehen wir schweigend gegeneinander,

^o significance to the word here.]

11. 731 ff. : Geflochten still ward unsrer Herzen Bund,
Nur der allsehnde Aether iiber uns
War des verschwiegnen Gliicks vertrauter Zeuge.

I. 745 : Sich selber ein Qeheimnis wuchs sie auf.

II. 757 : Nie wagt' ich's einer Neugier nachzugehn,

Die mein vertchvrieyenes Gliick gefiihrden konnte.

11. 767-8 : Chor.

.... Also furchtest du
Ein Licht zu schopfen das dich nicht erfreut ?

11.769-70: Don Manuel.

Ein jeder Wechsel echreckt den Gliicklichen,
Wo kein Gewinn zu hofien, droht Verlust.

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA.

117

11. 771-2 : Chor.

Doch konnte die Entdeckung, die dafurchtest,
Auch deiner Liebe giinst'ge Zeichen bringen.

11. 777 : Don Manuel.

Schon seit den letzten Monden liess der Greis
Geheimnisvolle Winke sich entfallen, . . .

11. 787-8 : In dieser Nacht raubt' ich die Jungfrau weg
Und bracbte sie verborgen nach Messina.

11. 793-4: Unfern vom Kloster der Barmberzigen,
In eines Gartens abgeschiedner Stitte,
Der von der Neugier nicht betreten wird,
Trennt' ich mich eben jetzt von ihr. . . .

11. 858-60 : Was ihr vernahmt,

Bewahrt's in cures Busens tiefem Grunde,
Bis ich das Band gelost von eurem Munde.

11. 951 ff.: Chor.

Noch hab' ich das Ende nicht gesehen,
Und mich schrecken ahnungs voile Traume !
Nicht Wahrsagung reden soil mein Mund ;
Aber sehr missf allt mir dies Geheime,
Dieser Ehe segenloser Bund,
Diese lichtscheu krummen Liebespfade,
Dieses Klosterraubs verwegne That;
Denn das Gute liebt sich das Gerade. . . .

In these lines is fairly to be seen the key to the Dramatic
Guilt, announced thus in anticipation by the Chorus. It is
here not simple, indeed, but secrecy is foremost.

To this significant utterance are added the following lines
in the same scene :

11. 970 ff. : Es endet nicht gut,

Denn gebiisst wird unter der Sonnen
Jede That der verblendeten Wut.
Es ist kein Zufall und blindes Los
Dass die Briider sich wiitend selbst zerstoren
Denn verflucht ward der Mutter Schoss —
. . . Aber ich will es schweigend verhullen,
Denn die Kachgotter schaffen im Stillen.

118

W. H. CARRUTH.

I. 986 : Beatrice.

Es schreckt mich eelbst das wesenlose Schweigen.

II. 1023 ff. : Und friihe schon hat mich ein fremdes Los

(Ich darf den dunkdn Schleier nich erheben)
Gerissen von dem mutter-lichen Schoss.
Nur einmal sah ich sie, die mich geboren,
Doch wie ein Traum ging mir das Bild verloren.
. . . Und so erwuchs ich still am stillen Ort
In Lebens Glut den Schatten beigesellt.

11. 1052 ff. : Nicht kenn' ich sie und will sie nimmer kennen
Die sich die Stifter ineiner Tage nennen,
Wenn sie von dir mich, mein. Geliebter, trennen.
Ein ewig Rdtsd bleiben will ich mir ;
Ich weiss genug : ich lebe dir !

11. 1085-7 : Als ich aus des Klosters Hut

In die fremden Menschenscharen
Mich gewagt mit frevlem Mut.

11. 1099-1101 : Nimmer, nimmer kann ich schauen
In die Augen des Geliebten,
Dieser stitten Schuld bewusst.

Here is a piece of secretiveness on the part of Beatrice,
which contributes its share to the catastrophe.

[11. 1115 : Verbarg dich diese lange Zeit ;

1120 : Nicht verborgen, etc. ;

1134: An alien offhen und verborgnen Orten,

are without especial significance for the speaker's character.]

1.1148: Don Cesar.

Nicht forschen will ich, wer du bist.

is one of the fatal neglects of curiosity where it should have
been exercised.

11. 1162 ff. : Dein Staunen lob' ich und dein sittsam Schweigen,
Schamhafte Demut ist der Keize Krone,
Denn ein Verborgenes ist sich das Schone !

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA.

119

11.1216-20: „ Beatrice.

Jetzt versteh' ich das Entsetzen,
Das geheimniswlle Grauen,
Das mich schaudernd stets gefasst,
Wenn man mir den Namen nannte
Dieses furchtbaren Geschlechtes.

11. 1254-7 : Chor.

Aber jetzt folgt mir, zu bewachen den Eingang
Und die Schwelle des heiligen Raums,
Dass kein Ungeweihter in dieses Geheimnis
Dringe. . . .
11. 1276 ff.: Isabella.

So flieht der alte Hass mit seinem nachtlichen
Gefolge, dem hohldugigten Vei'dacht,
Der scheelen Missgunst und dem bleichen Neide,
Aus diesen Thoren murrend zu der Holle.

11. 1286 ft : Ja meine Sohne, es ist Zeit, dass ich

Mein Schweigen breche und das Siegel lose
Von einem lang verschlossenen Geheimnis.

11.1292-3: Don Cesar.

.... Eine Schwester lebt uns
Und nie vernahmen wir von dieser Schwester?

Here and in the following we find the reproach and the
reproof of the unwise and uncalled-for course of the mother.

11; 1298-9 : Don Manuel.

.... Sie lebt, und du verschwiegest uns?

Isabella.
Von meinem Schweigen geb' ich Rechenschaft.

11. 1327-9: Ich vereitelte

Den blut'gen Vorsatz und erhielt die Tochter
Durch eines treuen Knechts verschwiegnen Dienst.

11. 1352 fl. : ... Im Innersten bewahrt* ich mir dies Wort ;

Dem Gott der Wahrheit mehr als dem der Luge
Vertrauend.

120

W. H. CARRUm.

11. 1360 ff. : So Hess ich an verborgner Statte sie,

Von meinen Augen fern, geheimnisvoll
Durch fremde Hand erziehn, . . .
. . . den strengen Vater scheuend
Der, von des Argwohns ruheloser Pein
Und finster grubdndem Verdacht genagt,
Auf alien Schritten mir die Spaher pflanzte.

11. 1368-71 : Dem Cesar.

Drei Monde aber deckt den Vater schon

Das stille Grab .... Was wehrte dir, o Mutter,

Die lang Verborgne an das Licht hervor

Zu ziehn und unsre Herzen zu erfreuen ?

Isabella.
Was sonst als euer ungliickselger Streit ?

This is an inconsequent excuse which puts cause before
effect. The daughter was to heal the strife. Nothing but
ineradicable secretiveness could account for the mother's
failure to see this, and for her pursuing such an illogical,
unreasoning course.

11. 1396 ff. : Don Manuel.

Vernimm, o Mutter, jezt auch mein Geheimnia.
Eine Schwester giebst du mir .... Ich will dafiir
Dir eine zweite liebe Tochter schenken.

11. 1445 ff. : Nur heute, Mutter, fordre nicht den Schleier
Hinwegzuheben, der mein Gliick bedeckt.
Es kommt der Tag, der alles losen wird,
Am besten mag die Braut sich selbst verkiinden,
Des sei gewiss, du wirst sie wiirdig find en.

Isabella.

Des Vaters eignen Sinn und Geist erkenn' ich
In meinem erstgebornen Sohn I Der liebte
Von jeher, sich verborgen in sich selbst
Zu spinnen und den Ratschluss zu bewahren
Im unzugangbar fest verschlossenen Gemiit 1

11. 1458-9 : Don Cesar.

Nicht meine Weise ist's, geheimnisvoll
Mich zu verhiillen, Mutter I

SCHILLER'S DIE BEAUT VON MESSINA.

121

11. 1487 ff. : Es war des Vaters ernste Totenfeier ;

Im Volksgedrang verborgen, wohnten wir
Ihr bei, du weisst's, in unbekannter Kleidung;
So hattest Du's mit Weisheit angeordnet ;
Dass unsers Haders wild ausbrechende
Gewalt des Festes Wiirde nicht verletze.

11. 1533-5 : Es war ihr deflates und geheimstes Leben,
Was mich ergriff mit heiliger Gewalt.

11.1549-50: Don Manuel.

Den Schleier hat er gliicklich aufgehoben
Von dem Gefiihl, das dunkel mich beseelt.

11.1558-60: Isabella.

So unterwerf' ich mich ....

Der unregiersam starkern Gotterhand,

Die meines Hauses Schicksal dunkel spinnt.

11. 1564-5 : Wo ist mein Kind ? . . . Sie wissen alles ! Hier
1st kein Geheimnis mehr !

11. 1601-2 : Don Cesar.

Wie konnten Rauber aus des Klosters Mitte
Die Wohlverschlossne heimlich raubend stehlen?

1.1636: Don Manuel.

In welcher Gegend hieltst Du sie verborgen *

I. 1637 : Isabella.

Verborgner nicht war sie im Schoss der Erde.

II. 1642-3 : Diego.

Ich habe dir*s verhehlt, Gebieterin,

Dein Mutterherz mit Sorge zu verschonen.

11. 1651 ff. : Ich Ungliickseliger, liess mich bewegen,
Verhullte sie in ernste Trauertracht,
Und also war sie Zeugin jenes Festes.
Und dort, . . .

Ward sie vom Aug' des Raubers ausgespaht.
Denn ihrer Schonheit Glanz birgt keine Suite.

122 W. H. CARRUTH.

11. 1664-8 : Ich hielt es fur des Himmels eignes Werk,
Der mit verborgen ahnungsvollem Zuge
Die Tochter hintrieb zu des Vaters Grab I
Der frommen Pflicht wollt' ich ihr Recht erzeigen
Und so, aus guter Meinung, schafft' ich Boses 1

I. 1681 : Dm Cesar.

Das Kloster nenne mir, das sie verbarg.

II. 1682-5: Isabella.

Der heiligen Cacilia ist's gewidmet,

.... liegt es versteckt,

Wie ein verschwiegner Aufenthalt der Seelen.

11.1769-72: Don Manuel

Auch in der Unschuld still verborgnem Sitz
Bricht euer Hader friedestorend ein ? . . .
Weiche zuriick ! Hier sind Geheimnisse
Die deine kiihne Gegenwart nicht dulden I

11. 1795-6 : Was ist Dir ? So verschlossen feierlich
Empf angst Du mich ?

11. 1814 ff. : Lerne mich endlich kennen, Beatrice !

Ich bin nicht der, der ich dir schien zu sein,
Der arme Bitter nicht, der unbekannte,
Der liebend nur um deine Liebe warb.
Wer ich wahrhaftig bin, was ich vermag,
. Woher ich stamme, hab' ich dir verborgen.

11. 1833-6 : Kennst Du mehr

Als nur den Namen bloss von meinem Hause ?
Weiss ich dein ganz Oeheimnisf Hast du nichts,
Nichts mir verschwiegen oder vorenthalten ?

1.1841: Beatrice.

Du kennst sie .... kennst sie und verbargest mir ?

1. 1842 : Don Manuel.

Weh dir und wehe mir wenn ich sie kenne I

11.1863-4: Beatrice.

O ungliickselge, traurige Entdeckung I
O hatt' ich nimmer diesen Tag gesehen !

SCHILLER'S DIE BRAUT VON MESSINA.

123

I. 1870 : Gott ! Diese Stimme ! Wo verberg' ich mich ?

II. 1882 ff. : Don Manuel.

Was ahnet mir 1 Welch' ein Gedanke fasst
Mich schaudernd ? . . .

Du worst . . . . bei meines Vaters Leichenfeier ?

11. 1890 ff.; Beatrice.

Vergieb mir I Ich gestand dir meinen Wunsch I
Doch, plotzlich ernst und finster, liessest du
Die Bitte fallen, und so schwieg auch ich.
Doch weiss ich nicht welch bosen Steraes Macht
Mich trieb mit unbezwinglichem Geliisten.

Ich war dir ungehorsam, und ich ging.

11. 1997-9 : Chor.

Aber nichts ist verloren und verschwunden
Was die geheimnisvoll waltenden Stunden
In den dunkel schaffenden Schoss aufnahmen.

11.2032-3: Isabella.

Wie ist mein Herz geangstiget, Diego !

Es stand bei mir dies Ungliick zu verhiiten.

11. 2036-7 : Hatt' ich sie friiher an das Licht gezogen,

Wie mich des Herzens Stimme machtig trieb !

While the test-words are not found here, the consciousness
of the fatal error in conduct is very clear.

11. 2076 ff. : Nichts Kleines war es, solche Heimlichkeit
Verhuttt zu tragen diese langen Jahre,
Den Mann zu tauschen, den umsichtigsten
Der Menschen, und ins Herz zuriickzudrangen
Den Trieb des Bluts, der machtig wie des Feuers
Verschlossner Gott, aus seinen Banden strebte 1

11. 2088-9 : Schilt oder lobe meine That, Diego !

Doch dem Getreuen will ich's nicht verbergen.

124

11.2103-4:

11.2115-6:
1.2124:

11.2191-3:

1. 2246 :

1. 2251 :
1. 2252:

I. 2309 :

II. 2471 ff. :

11. 2551 ff.

W. H. CARRUTH.

das aufgeloste Spiel
Des unverstandlich krummgewundnen Lebens.

Sag* an, und weder Schlimmes hehle mir
Noch Gutes.

Sole.
Die Tiefverborgne fand dein altster Sohn.

Isabella.

Diego ! Das ist meine Tochter. . . . Das

Die Langverborgne, die Gerettete,

Vor aller Welt kann ich sie jetzt erkennen 1

Beatrice.
Weh, weh mir ! 0 entoelzensvolles Licht I

Ungliickliche, wo habt ihr ihn verborgen f

Weh, wehe !

Chor.
Isabella.

Wen verborgen ?

Was soil ich horen ? Was verbirgt dies Tuch ?

Don Cesar.

Verflucht der Schoss, der mich
Getragen ! . . . Und verflucht sei deine Heimlichkeit
Die all dies Grdssliche verschiddet f Falle
Der Donner nieder, der dein Herz zerschmettert,
Mcht langer halt' ich schonend ihn zuriick.

Lass mich im Irrtum 1 Weine im Verborgnen I
Sieh nie mich wieder. Niemals mehr. Nicht dich,
Nicht deine Mutter will ich wieder sehen,
Sie hat mich nie geliebt ! Verraten endlich
Hat sich ihr Herz. Der Schmerz hat es geoffnet.
Sie nannt; ihn ihren bessern Sohn ! . . . So hat sie
Verstellung ausgeubt ihr games Leben !

W. H. CARRUTH.

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA,

1902.
VOL. XVII, 2. NEW SERIES, VOL. X, 2.

V.— THE RELATIONS OF HAMLET TO CON-
TEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS.1

The revenge tragedy, a distinct species of the tragedy of
blood, may be defined as a tragedy whose leading motive is
revenge and whose main action deals with the progress
of this revenge, leading to the death of the murderers and
often the death of the avenger himself.

This type, as thus defined, probably first appeared on the
Elizabethan stage in the Spanish Tragedy and the original
Hamlet.2 Of these two plays the old Hamlet is not extant

1 The reader may be referred to my investigation of a simiJar influence on
Shakspere : The Influence of Beaumont and Fletcher on Shakspere. Worcester,
O. B. Wood, 1901. Some of the discussions there may seem to lend support
to the conclusions of this article.

2 The MS. of this article was sent to the printer before it was possible to
obtain Professor Boas's edition of Kyd in this country. It has consequently
been found impossible to give references to his texts and introduction or to
profit — except in a few particulars — from his important discussions of the
First Part of Jeronimo, the Spanish Tragedy, and the Ur Hamlet. A knowl-
edge of these discussions would have added to the thoroughness of my
investigation but would have not affected its main argument. Some of the
points at which I dissent from his conclusions are considered in a review
of Professor Boas's book about to be published in the Modern Language
Notes.

125

126 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

and can only be reconstructed conjecturally ; the Spanish
Tragedy represents, therefore, the origin of the type. Just
what the ultimate sources of the type may have been, is not
a question which enters our discussion. In the Spanish
Tragedy the influence of Seneca is marked as in much early
English tragedy,1 and there may be some indebtedness to
contemporary French and Italian drama of the Senecan sort.2
We are not, however, to examine the Spanish Tragedy in
connection with the influence of Seneca but in connection
with a long succession of Elizabethan revenge plays ; and for
such an investigation it serves well enough as a starting
point. Thomas Kyd was the author of this play and proba-
bly, as Dr. Sarrazin3 has shown, of the old Hamlet. He
may safely be taken as the introducer of the revenge tragedy
upon the English stage, and his work may be considered one
of the many dramatic innovations of the Elizabethan period.

The revenge motive appears, to be sure, in other old plays;
in Titus Andronicus, for instance, and Alphonsus of Germany*
where revenge for a father plays an important part in the
plot. The Spanish Tragedy and the old Hamlet, however,
were both very popular for years after their first production
and undoubtedly influenced later dramatic work more than
all other early revenge plays. This long continued popu-
larity, in addition to the fact that these two plays are the
most distinct examples of the type, further justifies us in
regarding them as the main sources of all later developments.

From 1599 to 1604 there occurred, as we shall later see,

1 Cf. J. W. Cunliffe, The Influence of Seneca on the Elizabethan Drama,
London, 1893. K. Fischer, Zur Kunstentwicklung der englischen Trogodie,
Strassburg, 1893.

2 Cf. Nash's Epistle to Greene's Menaphon : the allusion to Italian sources.
Kyd translated Garnier's Cornelia. Note also Hieronimo's acquaintance
with French and Italian tragedies. S. T.t Act V. Hazlitt's Dodsley, vol.
6, p. 152.

$G. Sarrazin, Thomas Kyd und sein Kreis, Berlin, 1892.
4 Fleay is almost certainly right in ascribing this play to about 1590 and
to gome other author than Chapman.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 127

a revival and development of this type which is of im-
portance in any study of Hamlet from a historical point of
view. Mr. Fleay has already shown proof that "revenge
for a father " plays were popular on the stage during these
years and that Marston, Chettle, Tourneur, and Jonson, as
well as Shakspere, were engaged in supplying the stage
demand.1 It will be necessary, however, for us to reexamine
his evidence and gather what new evidence we may.

It was during these years that Shakspere brought Hamlet
to its final form. There is little doubt that he worked on
the basis of the old Hamlet. How much he was indebted to
it and how much the final play was affected by it, have been
pointed out most effectively, perhaps, in the essays of Dr.
Sarrazin 3 and Mr. Corbin.3 There is also a probability that
the first quarto of Hamlet represents an incomplete revision
by Shakspere and is intermediate between the original play
and the final Hamlet, represented by the second quarto.

In investigating the relations of Shakspere's Hamlet to the
demands of the stage and to contemporary plays of this
revenge type, we are not to look upon Shakspere as an
imitator, but as an Elizabethan play-wright, using an old
play for the basis of his work, writing in response to current
demands, accepting much that was already familiar on the
stage, and vitalizing all, and permeating all with his own
individuality. We need not obscure in the least our appre-
ciation of his work or our admiration of his powers, but we
must also look upon him as likely to work in much the same
way and to be influenced by the same conditions as his fellow
Elizabethan dramatists. We must keep to this point of view,
then the course of our investigation is clear. (1). The dates
of the plays and the stage history of the period must be
examined in order to show that revenge tragedies were popu-

1 Chr. [Chronicle of the English Drama'], n, 75, 264.
1 Thomas Kyd und sein Kreis.

•J. Corbin, The Elizabethan Hamlet, London, 1894. Cf. also Harvard
Studies and Notes, vol. V.

128 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

lar and common at the time when Shakspere's Hamlet was
first presented. (2). The extant revenge plays of the period
must be examined, in order to determine their leading charac-
teristics and how far they constituted a distinct type of drama.
(3). Hamlet must be examined to determine to what extent
and in what ways it was influenced by this contemporary type.

I. CHRONOLOGY OF THE REVENGE TRAGEDIES.

Our examination of the dates of the revenge plays and
some facts of stage history concerning them has three objects :
(1) to determine approximately the dates of the early revenge
plays, the exact dates being unimportant for our purpose; (2)
to show evidence that between 1599 and 1604 tragedies deal-
ing with ghosts and revenge were especially popular in the
London theatres ; (3) to determine as exactly as possible the
dates of the extant revenge plays produced in this period —
exactness here being important in enabling us to decide what
revenge tragedies probably preceded Shakspere's Hamlet. I
shall follow a chronological arrangement.

The First Part of Jeronimo with the Wars of Portugal
and the life and death of Don Andrea, quarto 1605;1 The
Spanish Tragedy , second part, quarto 1592;2 and Hamlet,

1 See Thomas Kyd und sein Kreis. Fleay thinks Jeronymo was acted soon
after Three Ladies of London, because the line at the end alludes to Gerontus
in that play (acted 1583). The line—

" So good night kind gentles,
I hope there's never a Jew among you " —

is, of course, the usual quibble between gentle and gentile, and has no
allusion to Gerontus. Dr. R. Fischer and Professor Schick have presented
evidence that Jeronymo was not written by Kyd, but this evidence seems
insufficient in view of the close connection between the play and the
Spanish Tragedy.

2 Kyd is mentioned as the author in Hey wood's Apology for Actors. For
date, cf. Fleay, Sarrazin, Schick, and Dekker-Studien by W. Bang, in Englische
Sludien, 28. 2. Probably the play was acted as early as 1587.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 129

non-extant, were all probably acted within two or three years
before 1589.1

Popularity of Tragedies with ghosts and revenge, after 1597.
— An important evidence of this popularity is found in the
induction to A Warning to Fair Women (S. R. 1599,2 and
described on title page as lately acted). Tragedy, History,
and Comedy are personified and appear as rivals. In the
course of their discussion, Comedy describes Tragedy :

" How some damn'd tyrant to obtain a crown
Stabs, hangs, impoisons, smothers, cutteth throats
And then a chorus, too, comes howling in
And tells us of the worrying of a cat :
Then, too, a filthy whining ghost,
Lapt in some foul sheet or a leather pilch
Comes screaming like a pig half stick'd
And cries, Vindicta ! — Revenge, Revenge !
With that a little rosin flasheth forth
Like smoke out of a tobacco pipe, or a boy's squib :
Then comes in two or three [more] like to drovers
With tailors' bodkins stabbing one another."

Some particular play or plays 3 may be here alluded to, but
the passage also indicates that the typical tragedy of the day
was not only full of murders and broils, but was also a
revenge play with a ghost. A further evidence that ghost
plays were on the stage in these years is found in Ben Jonson's
the Case is Altered:* "But first Til play the ghost, I'll call

1 Hamlet must date before August 23, 1589, when Greene's Menaphon was
entered S. R. Nash's prefatory epistle contains a reference to "whole
Hamlets."

9 First quarto 1599. Acted by Chamberlain's men and sometimes ascribed
to Shakspere. The play is a ' domestic tragedy,' a type which at this time
seems to have been as popular as the revenge type.

3 Possibly the Spanish Tragedy, but the description of the ghost doesn't
quite fit. Probably the passage would fit the old Hamlet equally well, and
it seems to me to have a general rather than a specific reference. Fleay,
Chr., 11, 321, points out that "Vindicta," also ridiculed in the Poetaster,
occurs in Wily Beguiled, Alcazar, and the old Richard III.

4 Acted before 1599 ; see Fleay, Chr., I, 357.

130 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

him out." The original Hamlet was also on the stage 1597-
1601 as is indicated by the allusion in Dekker's Satiromastix1 —
" My name's Hamlet's revenge." The Spanish Tragedy was
also popular. In Henslow's diary we have no record of its
performance from January 22, 1593, to January, 1597, when
it was revived and acted twelve times before the end of July.
Doubtless some other plays of an early date with ghosts and
revenge were also revived, and some non-extant plays may
have been of this sort.

Antonio and Mellida, first part, and Antonio's Revenge,
second part of Antonio and Mellida, first quartos, 1602, "as
acted by Pauls Boys;" by John Marstou. The "Anno
Domini, 1599," and "Aetatis suae 24," 2 (Marston was proba-
bly born in 1575) fix the date of the first performance of the
first part in 1599. The prologue of the second part indicates
that it was acted in the winter, probably, then, the winter
of 1 599-1 600.3

A Revival of Ghost and Revenge Plays, 1599-1600. — In the
Induction to Cynthia's Revels (S. R., May 23, 1601 ; acted in
1600 by the Chapel Children), the following passage occurs :
"Another whom it hath pleased nature to furnish with more
beard than brain .... swears that the old Hieronymo as it
was first acted was the only best and judiciously penn'd play
of Europe." 4 Another passage reads : " They say the ghosts
of some three or four plays departed a dozen years since have
been seen walking on your stage here; take heed, boy, if

1 First quarto, 1602 ; acted 1601.

* First part, Works, ed. A. H. Bullen, v. I, p. 201.

8 Fleay dates both plays 1600, because he assigns the reinstatement of
the Paul's boys to that year. There is, however, no reason for dating this
in 1 600, rather than 1599. Cf . the Stage Quarrel between Sen Jonson and the
So-called Poetasters. R. A. Small, 1899.

* Fleay takes this to refer to a revision of Jeronymo, the first part. The
1605 4to probably represents the play as it was acted by the Children
of the Chapel. The phrase, ' as it was first acted/ suggests a revision, but
the other passage quoted above makes it seem probable that the Spanish
Tragedy itself was referred to.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 131

your house be haunted by such hobgoblins 'twill fright away
all your spectators quickly/' The two passages indicate that
the Spanish Tragedy or Jeronymo or both, and perhaps other
ghost plays were revived by the children about 1599. There
is also a line in Satiromastix1 — "For trusty Damboys now
the deed is done" — which Mr. Fleay2 takes to indicate the
existence of a play on -Bussy D'Ambois before 1601. This
was doubtless a revenge play like the second part of Chap-
man's Bussy D'Ambois; indeed there is no very definite
evidence against the early date for that play. In want of
more positive evidence, however, it is safer to assume that
Chapman's play did not appear until after Shakspere's Hamlet.
Julius Caesar, usually dated 1600-1, ought also to be men-
tioned; for, whether or not it is a condensed rendering of
two plays on the death and the revenge of Caesar as Fleay
conjectures,3 it at least contains a ghost and a revenge element.

Hamlet, revived by the Chamberlain's men, 1601-2. — The
Revenge of Hamlet was entered S. R. July 26, 1602; the
Tragicall Historie, " by William Shakespeare," was published
1603. This quarto is generally thought to have been a
pirated edition. Authorities will be given later for adopting
the hypothesis that this represents Shakspere's partial revision
of the early Hamlet; we shall here consider the date of the
stage performance, represented in a mangled fashion by the
first quarto.

The title page states that the play had been divers times
acted in the city of London and " in the two Universities of
Cambridge and Oxford, and elsewhere." Resting on this
statement of a pirating book-seller, Mr. Fleay has fixed the
date as 1601.4 His conclusion rests further on the hypothesis
that Hamlet's question — " How comes it that they travel?"5 —
indicates that for the company to travel was unusual, and

1 First quarto, 1602 ; acted 1601. See Chr., I, 128. 2 Chr., I, 59.

3 Life of Sh., p. 215 seq.

4 Life of Sh., p. 143, p. 227. H. S., p. 136 ff. Chr., 185 ff.

5 Q,, 971. Cf. Hamlet, III, 2, 324.

132 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

still further on the hypothesis that 1601 is the only date
when they are known to have travelled. Nevertheless he
thinks Polonius' remark about playing Julius Caesar at the
university l indicates that the actor who played Polonius' part
had also previously played the part of Caesar in Shakspere's
play. One would think, then, that Shakspere's company
must have travelled as far as the university before 1601.
Without, however, taking advantage of the dilemma, one
may safely assert that travelling as far as Oxford or Cam-
bridge was by no means so uncommon as to give much aid
in fixing the date of the play.

Fleay's reasons for fixing on 1601 as the date of travelling
may still warrant a further examination. In the first place,
he thinks that the Lord Chamberlain's company was then in
disgrace at court because of their presentation of Richard II
in connection with the Essex rebellion, and was therefore
travelling. The accounts of the trials of Essex and his
companions 2 show that Richard II with his deposition and
death was acted at their request ; but there is no evidence that
the theater people were blamed or disgraced.3 On the con-
trary, there is definite evidence that they were not ; for on
February 24, 1601, over two weeks after the performance
and rebellion and on the eve of Essex's execution, the
Chamberlain's men played at court before the queen.4 In
the second place, Fleay6 considers the fact that Laurence
Fletcher was in Scotland in October, 1601, with a company
of players, sure evidence that Shakspere and the Chamber-
lain's men were there too. There is no evidence of any
connection between Fletcher and Shakspere's company until
the patent of 1603, when Fletcher's name appears at the head
of the list of King's men. In 1596, there was a Fletcher

1 Q,, 1247 ff.

8 See State Trials, 17 Feb., 1601, and March. See also Nichols, m, 552.

3 See State Trials, vol. 1, p. 10, March 5, 1601.

*H.-P. Outlines, I, 176; JET. of S.t p. 122.

*H.ofS.,p. 136.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 133

who had dealings with Henslow,1 and nothing more is known
of any Fletcher connected with the theaters until the Aber-
deen affair. Fletcher there appears as manager, but in 1601
Hemings appears as manager of the Chamberlain's men in
the court payments. Moreover, there are also references to
actors in Scotland in 1599; and these might as reasonably
be connected with the King's men of 1603.

There is nothing but conjecture, then, to show that the
Chamberlain's men travelled in 1601, and nothing but con-
jecture to fix the date of any Hamlet by Shakspere in
that year.

Apart from this theory of Mr. Fleay's, there are, however,
some reasons which show that 1601 cannot be very far out
of the way. Hamlet is not mentioned in Meres' list; and
therefore Shakspere's earliest version must date later than
1598. Moreover, if the play had been long on the stage, the
printer would have been able to secure a better copy than he
evidently used. The errors and mangled condition tend to
show that he went to press with the first copy attainable of a
new version of a popular play. Finally, the entry in the
Stationer's Register says, "as it was lately acted." These
considerations lead the Cambridge editors to conclude : "At
some time, therefore, between 1598 and 1602 Hamlet, as
retouched by Shakespeare, was put upon the stage. We are
inclined to think that it was acted not very long before the
date of Roberts' entry in the Stationer's Register, namely,
26 July, 1602."2 Probably, indeed, as is now somewhat
generally agreed, it was not put on the stage earlier than 1601.

The Spanish Tragedy, with additions ; revived by Henslow,
1601-2. Quarto, 1602. — Two entries in Henslow's diary,
25 Sept., 1601, and June 24, 1602, state that he paid Ben
Jonson first for additions and again for new additions to the
Spanish Tragedy. The total payments for both additions and
a play called Richard Crookback were twelve pounds ; and as

1 See Diary ; Collier's ed., p. 78.

s Hamlet. Clarendon Press Series. Introduction.

134 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

Henslow's limit for a play was about eight pounds, Jonson
must have received four pounds for the additions. He was
evidently paid in full; and the two entries for "adicions"
and four months later for new " adicyons " seem to indicate
that he did two separate pieces of work. The title of the
1602 4to mentions "additions of the painter's part and
others," and must surely represent Jonson's additions. In
1601, then, Jonson was writing on the Spanish Tragedy, and
some of his work may have been on the stage ; by the end
of June, 1602, he had finished his additions; the revised
play must have been seen on the stage at that time and was
printed before the year was over. It will be noticed that
•, Henslowe's revival of the Spanish Tragedy with Jonson's
additions was probably almost contemporaneous with the
revival by the Chamberlain's men of Hamlet, revised by
Shakspere.

Possible Revenge Plays. — The evidence already examined
is sufficient to show that revenge and ghost plays were popu-
lar and common on the stage between 1598 and 1603, and
further suggests that some of the non-extant plays were of
this type. Among the plays known only by name from
Henslow's diary, there are at least three whose titles to some
extent warrant the guess that they were revenge plays.
There is no other evidence either way, and the guess is only
a guess.

Orphan's Tragedy, 27 Nov., 1599, and 24 Sept., 1601.
This looks a little like a ' revenge for a father ' play ; but it
may just as likely have been a domestic tragedy.

Italian Tragedy, 10 Jan., 1599. In Henslow's diary the

play is called " etalyan tragedy of ," with a blank space

left for the name. On March 7 and 12, 1603, Mr. Smythe
received £6 in full payment for an Italian Tragedy. This
may have been the completion of Day's play of four years
back, or it may have been a new play.

Roderick, acted Oct. 29, 1600. Fleay says "probably a
play on the death of Hoffman's father ; possibly the founda-

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 135

tion of Chettle's Danish Tragedy (7 July, 1602); but this
may have been only another name for Hoffman." l Hoffman
rather needs an introductory play like the first parts of the
Spanish Tragedy and Antonio's Revenge.

Hoffman, or A Revenge for a Father. — First quarto, 1631.
The quarto announces that the play had been "acted with
great applause at the Phoenix," so it was popular as late as
1631. In Henslow's Diary, December 29, 1602, there is an
entry of a payment made " Harey Chettle," " for a tragedy
Haughrnan." This is in all probability the above Hoffman.
There is an earlier entry, July 7, 1602, of another payment
to Chettle in earnest of a tragedy called "a Danyshe tragedy,"
which is very likely the same as "Haughrnan." At about
this time there are various entries of payments to Chettle for
plays he was writing for Henslow; and there are several
payments for a nameless tragedy (August 24, September 7, 8,
and 9, 1602)2 and one payment (January 14, 1603) for a
tragedy he was writing with Heywood. Fleay thinks all
these entries refer to the same tragedy and identifies it with
Hoffman, assigning Heywood two scenes (III, 2 ; IV, 3) ;
but all this is pure conjecture. We may best keep to the
comparatively certain date, December, 1602.

The Atheist's Tragedy. — First quarto, 1611, "as it hath
often been acted in divers places." Fleay conjectures that it
was acted during the plague of 1603 when the players
travelled. " The great man who went to the war " in I, 2,
was, he says, " I suppose Sir Francis Vere who had resigned
his government of Ostend March, 1602." " From a passage
in II, 1, it appears to have been written before the siege of
Ostend (1601-August, 1604) had ended."

This passage seems to me conclusive in showing that the
play was written during the siege of Ostend and still further

1 Chr., ii, 302. Fleay has various conjectures in regard to the other two
plays, but they are, of course, avowedly conjectural.

'The names in Collier for September 7, and 9, "Robin hoodfellowe, and
Bobin Goodfellow " are forgeries. See Warner's Catalogue of Dulwich MSS.

136 ASHLEY H. THOENDIKE.

in fixing the date definitely. The disguised Borachio is thus
introduced : — " My lord, here's one i' the habit of a soldier,
says he is newly returned from Ostend, and has some busi-
ness of import to speak." He then goes on in a speech of
thirty-one lines to describe the opening of the sluices during
the Spanish assault which occurred January 7, 1602. English
interest was strongly centered on Ostend, and so detailed a
description of an important event was probably written
shortly after it took place.

The great man, who went to the war under foreboding
skies which presaged an ill success that killed his happiness,
could hardly have been Sir Francis Yere who retired from
the siege with honor and who, so far as I can ascertain, was
not in England immediately before the war. He had been
many years in the service of the Netherlands. So many
Englishmen of noble birth went to Ostend at the beginning
of the siege,1 I have not found it possible to identify the
great man referred to. The reference, however, must have
been almost contemporaneous with the event.

These allusions to Ostend enable us to fix the date as not
earlier than 1602, and hardly later than 1603.

Hamlet. — Shakspere's final version; second quarto, 1604.
For all purposes this play of the second quarto is the final
Hamlet. On our hypothesis that the first quarto represents
a play which was Shakspere's partial revision of the early
Hamlet, his final version must have followed the entry of the
first quarto for publication in 1602, and probably followed
its publication in 1603. The date for the production of the
final Hamlet on the stage is not earlier than 1602 or later
than 1604, probably 1603.

Revenge Plays after "Hamlet." — The type did not end with
Hamlet, nor did it go out of fashion for some years after
1604. Chapman's Bussy D'Ambois (acted perhaps 1604-5) 2

1 See Motley's United Netherlands, IV, 67 ; and Camden's Annales Eliza-
bethae, p. 1019, where a list of twenty-four is given.
a First 4to, 1607. For date, see Chr., i, 59.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 137

and Revenge of Bussy D'Ambois (acted perhaps 1606),1 and
Tourneur's Revenger's Iragedy (acted before 1607) are ex-
amples of the type. There are traces of it, indeed, throughout
the later period of the Elizabethan drama.2

The results of our investigation may be recapitulated.

I. We have found that the Spanish Tragedy and the early
Hamlet date before 1590.

II. We have found sufficient evidence to warrant us in
concluding that revenge tragedies were especially popular
1597-1604. A summary of the evidence will indicate the
grounds of this conclusion.

1. Popularity of plays dealing with ghosts and revenge,
shown by A Warning to Fair Women, 1599. 2. Popularity
of the Spanish Tragedy in 1597. 3. Antonio and Mellida.
Part I. 1599. 4. Antonio's Revenge, 1599. 5. The Spanish
Tragedy orJeronymo, revived by the Chapel Children, about
1600. 6. Ghost plays, revived by the Chapel Children,
about 1599. 7. A Bussy D'Ambois play, about 1600. 8.
Julius Caesar, containing a revenge element and a ghost,
1600-1601. 9. Three lost plays, possibly revenge plays,
written for Henslow, 1599-1601. 10. The early Hamlet,
altered by Shakspere for the Chamberlain's men, 1601-2.
11. The Spanish Tragedy, altered by Ben Jonson for Henslow,
1601-2. 12. Hoffman, 1602. 13. The Atheist's Tragedy,
1602-3. 14. The final Hamlet, 1603.

It will be seen that revenge plays were produced by
Henslow's companies, by the Chamberlain's men, by the
Chapel Children, and by the Pauls' boys. It may also be
fairly concluded that the Spanish Tragedy and the old Hamlet
were important factors in creating and in supplying this
fashion for plays dealing with revenge and ghosts.

III. The dates of the extant plays have been determined

1 First 4to, 1607. See Chr., I, 62.

* Cf. ghosts in Lover's Progress, Prophetess, Humourous Lieutenant, and the
story of ghost and revenge in Fletcher's Triumph of Death in Four Plays
in One.

138 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

with some exactness. The first version of Shakspere's Hamlet
is dated 1601-2, the final version 1603. The Spanish Tragedy
and the original Hamlet preceded Shakspere's contribution to
the revenge type by a dozen years. Antonio's Revenge also
preceded Shakspere's first revision of the old Hamlet, and
Jonson's additions to the Spanish Tragedy were almost exactly
contemporary with it. Our evidence also indicates that
Hoffman and the Atheist's Tragedy preceded the final Hamlet,
but this cannot be insisted upon. At all events the Spanish
Tragedy and Antonio's Revenge preceded any Hamlet that can
be called Shakspere's.

II. THE DIFFERENT HAMLETS.

Before we proceed to discuss the revenge tragedies, we must
determine on some basis for an examination of the three
distinct forms of Hamlet — the German Fratricide Punished,
the first quarto (1603), and the second quarto (1604). We
cannot examine all the theories which have been advanced to
explain the relations of the first two plays to the original
and final Hamlets, but some hypotheses in regard to these
relations must be adopted. That Shakspere had nothing
to do with the original Hamlet is a proposition which has
been generally agreed to and has been recently still further
strengthened by Dr. Sarrazin.1 That the second quarto is to
all intents Shakspere's final Hamlet, is beyond question. In
regard to the German play and the first quarto we shall
proceed on the hypotheses that the German play represents
in a translated and altered form the original Hamlet, and that
the first quarto represents a play founded on the original
Hamlet and only partially revised by Shakspere.

The first hypothesis is the one adopted by Dr. Furness
who, after an admirable summary of the evidence, concludes :
"I think there can be little doubt that in the Fratricide
Punished we have a translation of an old English tragedy,

1 Thoma* Kyd und sein Kreis, Chap. V.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 139

and most probably the one which is the ground work of the
quarto of 1603."1

This hypothesis, although generally accepted, has not gone
undisputed and is not without its difficulties. These have
been stated most strongly by Professor Creizenach,2 He
objects to our hypothesis because it involves the supposition
that the plot, situations, and general dramatic treatment of
Shakspere's Hamlet were in the original play and were
borrowed and made over by Shakspere. This objection
rests on the ungrounded assumption that Shakspere could not
borrow. We shall try to show that he borrowed very much
not only from the early Hamlet, but from other revenge plays
as well. Creizenach's most important objection, however, is
his list of nineteen verbal details in the German play which
are also found in the second quarto and which are not in the
first quarto. Since there are other important details found
in both the German play and the first quarto, and not in
the second, he conjectures that the German play had for its
basis a Shaksperean version which contained both sets of
parallelisms and consequently the subject matter of both Qx
and Q2. The parallels between the German play and Q^ seem,
however, also explainable by our hypothesis if we remember
(1) the possibility that the German play, which can be traced
back only to 1710, may have been affected by interpolations
from Shakspere's Hamlet ; and (2) that the old play is doubt-
less very imperfectly represented in Q1? and probably survives

1 Hamlet. Variorum Ed., vol. u, p. 1120.

8 Berichte ilber die Verhandlungen der Koniglich-Sachswchen Gesellschaft der
Wissenschaft zu Leipzig. 1887. p. 1. " Die Tragodie ' Der bestrafte Bruder-
mord oder Prinz Hamlet aus Danemerk' und ih're Bedeutung fur die
Kritik des Shakespeare'schen Hamlet." W. Creizenach. Cf. also Die
Schauspiele der Englischen Komodianten. W. Creizenach. Deutsche National-
Litt.-Hist.-Krit. Ausgabe. Berlin u. Stuttgart. 1889. 23 Band. Pp. 125
seq. For a criticism of Creizenach's views, and an attempt to prove that
the first quarto is the basis of the German play, cf. Shakespeare Jahrbuch.
1888. P. 224 seq. " ' Der bestrafte Brudermord ' . . . . und sein Verhaltniss
zu Shakespeare's ' Hamlet.' " Gustav Tanger.

140 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

to a considerable extent in Q2, so that many details may have
been omitted in Q1? and preserved in Q2. Even if Creize-
nach's conjectural Shaksperean version were assumed, we
should still have good reason for supposing that it resembled
the original Hamlet and for considering the German Hamlet
as the best representative we have of the old play. We shall
proceed, however, on what seems the less violent hypothesis,
that the German play does not represent any work of Shak-
spere but does represent the original Hamlet.

The first quarto has a very imperfect text and was proba-
bly pirated. The first act in the main closely resembles the
final Hamlet and through the second act there are obvious
touches of Shakspere's hand. After that there are few indi-
cations of Shakspere, and the text seems to be an abbreviated
and corrupt copy of the work of some earlier author.1 With
this last statement many critics disagree, looking upon the
whole quarto as an imperfect reproduction of Shakspere's
Hamlet. A careful comparison of the two quartos, however, has
only served to strengthen in my mind the conclusions set forth
by Clark and Wright.2 The weight of critical opinion also
justifies the acceptance of their opinion as a working hypothesis.

"In conclusion/7 they say, "we venture to think that a
close examination of the quarto of 1603 will convince
anyone that it contains some of Shakespeare's undoubted
work, mixed with a great deal that is not his, and will con-
firm our theory that the text, imperfect as it is, represents an
older play in a transition state, while it was undergoing a
remodelling but had not received more than the first rough
touches of the great master's hand."

The proposition that the quarto contains elements of an
old play as well as of Shakspere's work seems to me unassail-
able. The proposition that the quarto represents Shakspere's
partial revision of an old play does not necessarily follow
from this but seems altogether plausible.

1 For evidence that Kyd was the auther, see Boas, p. xlix seq.
8 Clarendon Press Hamlet, 1872, pp. x-xii.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 141

These hypotheses enable us to examine the three texts,
Fratricide Punished, first quarto, and second quarto, as repre-
sentatives of three different plays. We shall have occasion
to note that the character of the first two texts renders any
detailed reconstruction of the original and transition plays
very hazardous, and we must remember that such reconstruc-
tion rests at the start on our hypotheses. While these will
be henceforth assumed without further explanation, they
will not form essential supports for our main conclusions.
If our hypothetical reconstructions of the two earlier Hamlets
be disregarded, there is still abundant opportunity for a dis-
cussion of the relation of Shakspere's Hamlet to other revenge
tragedies. And this discussion will rest on propositions
which can hardly be questioned by students of the Eliza-
bethan drama : (1) the original Hamlet was not written by
Shakspere ; (2) the Spanish Tragedy and Antonio's Revenge
preceded Shakspere's Hamlet; (3) Chettle, Tourueur and
Jonson were at work on revenge tragedies at about the same
time that Shakspere was writing Hamlet.

With the aid of our hypothetical reconstructions we have
seven revenge tragedies which, according to our chronology,
precede the final Hamlet; the Spanish Tragedy, the original
Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, the first quarto of Hamlet, Jonson's
Additions to the Spanish Tragedy, Hoffman, and the Atheist's
Tragedy. In examining each of these plays or revisions, the
following plan will be followed :

1. A brief statement of the plot.

2. An examination of the leading dramatic motives and
their treatment.

3. A consideration of the reflective element, particularly
as shown in the long soliloquies.

4. An examination of the scenes, situations, and details of
the stage presentation. The same scenes, situations, and bits
of stage business will be found to be repeated over and over.
Some of these are of such importance that they point to a
direct influence of one play on another. Some are of less

142 ASHLEY H. THOENDIKE.

importance, and some occur in many other plays as well a»
the revenge tragedies; but besides furnishing some slight
indication of direct influence, the repetition of these situations
and bits of stage business goes to show how much these plays
must have resembled one another on the stage.

5. A discussion of such characters as are related to pre-
vailing character types of the revenge tragedy ; and particu-
larly of the avenging hero.

6. A brief discussion of the style. In general the style
of each play is individual enough, but there are a few points
of similarity.

7. A discussion of the characteristics which differentiate
the particular play from the others — its special development
of or variation from the general type.

Throughout this discussion we shall in the main keep to
our point of view and look upon these dramas as Elizabethan
stage-plays written for the London theatres. In particular,
we must guard against allowing modern aesthetic views to-
influence our judgments. In the end, however, it will be
profitable to ask whether or no any distinct imaginative or
intellectual impulses are discernible in each author's treat-
ment of the revenge story ; and in considering this question
it will be necessary to look upon these plays as at least
attempts at poetical expression and for a moment to discus*
the artistic motives and moods which the revenge story
aroused in the different authors.

III. THE SPANISH TRAGEDY.

The two plays dealing with Hieronimo are really two-
parts of one play. The first part, for convenience called
Jeronimo, sets forth the events culminating in the death of
Andrea. It contains two murders and is full of embassies
and battles, of mouthing defiances by the combatants, and
the villainous intrigues of Lorenzo. The story of Bell'
Imperia, Lorenzo's sister, and her love for Andrea furnisher

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 143

a sentimental element ; and Andrea's ghost, Revenge, and
Charon supply a mythological-supernatural ending. All
these characteristics also distinguish the second part, or the
Spanish Tragedy ; and what little in Jeromino bears directly
on the restricted revenge type will be considered in discuss-
ing that play.1 The Spanish Tragedy2 continues the story
after the death of Andrea. Before each act Andrea's ghost
and the ghostly personage Revenge appear and criticise and
oversee the progress of the revenge on Andrea's enemy,
Lorenzo. The story is too well known to need repetition ;
we can pass to the motives.

I. The fundamental motive is revenge, and this revenge
of a father for a son is superintended by a ghost. II.
Another important motive is hesitation on the part of the
revenger who requires much inciting and superabundant
proof. Hieronirao finds his task a difficult one; he is
burdened with doubt and hesitation ; the letter from BelP
Imperia, the confession of Pedringano, and the exhortations
of Bell' Imperia and his wife are all required to spur his
resolution to the deed. Without this hesitation as an im-
portant motive, a revenge play would, indeed, have hard
work to get on from the first act to the climax. III. Mad-
ness is an essential motive throughout. Hieronimo pretends
madness, and his pretended madness often passes into real
distraction. " Old Hieronimo is mad again," the second title
of the 1602 quarto, shows how important this motive was in
the stage representation. Isabella, too, becomes insane in
grief for her son. IV. Intrigue, used both against and by
the revenger, is an important element. Lorenzo's machina-
tions are many, and Hieronimo accomplishes his revenge by

lDr. Sarrazin has pointed out resemblances between the characters of
Jeronimo and Polonius — both faithful servitors of their Kings — and both
a little of the comic old man type; and also between Horatio and the
Horatio in Hamlet. He has also noted resemblances batween the first and
second scenes of Jeronimo and the second and third scenes of Hamlet.

9 Hazlitt's Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. v, to which all page numbers refer.

144 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

dissimulation and trickery. V. Blood is always spouting,
and death confronts us at every turn. Ten of the leading
dramatis personae go to " the loathsome pool of Acheron,"
and after the final slaughter only the two kings are left to
bear off the five bodies which encumber the stage.

The fourth and fifth motives characterize tragedies of
blood in general, the first three distinguish more specifically
the revenge tragedy. Other motives such as that of romantic
love hardly need mention, since they are common to most
plays, but one somewhat subsidiary motive ought to be added.
YI. The contrast and enforcement of the main situation by
similar situations. Thus Hieronimo's grief for his son is
reenforced by the Viceroy's grief over the supposed death
of his son and more particularly by the petition of the old
man whose son has been murdered.

Such a medley of murder, intrigue and revenge would
seem to allow little opportunity for reflection and meditation
on the part of the hero. On the contrary, the soliloquies on
such subjects as the wrongs of fate, revenge, and suicide form
a very important part of the play. Hieronimo has six of
these, which, together with one by the viceroy, should be
referred to if one wishes to judge of the reflective element
of the play. The opening lines are as follows :

" Then rest me here awhile in our unrest" — Viceroy on " Fortune."

I, 2, p. 21.

"O eyes! no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears" III, p. 67.

" Where shall I run to breathe abroad my woes " III, p. 91.

" And yet though somewhat nearer me, concerns " III, p. 92.

" Hieronimo, 'tis time for thee to trudge" — on suicide. IV, p. 107.
"Vindicta mihi— Ay, heaven will be reveng'd" IV, p. 123.

" See, see, O, see thy shame, Hieronimo " IV, p. 129.

These soliloquies while furnishing free play to vigorous
action and a ranting style of declamation, are intended to
embody after the Senecan model a good deal of fine writing
and some profound philosophizing.

Of the individual scenes and situations, perhaps the most

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 145

notable in its relation to Hamlet is the play within the play
by which the revenge is accomplished.1 Previously2 Hie-
ronimo assigns the parts, discusses the play with the actors,
and throughout superintends the production. In the play
after he and BelF Imperia have stabbed in earnest, he has to
explain to the kings and spectators this "romantic-ironical
trick," as Sarrazin calls it. Earlier in the play he assists at
another theatrical show or " masque." Here, too, we have a
banquet and an ambassador. The scene in which Isabella
' runs lunatick/ 3 is also interesting in relation to later scenes
of the same sort. Apparently she enters with herbs in her
hands, and some of her mad talk reminds one a little of that
in later plays.

" Why did I give you gowns and goodly things ?
Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk too,
To be revenged on their villainies." (p. 94.)

The trick by which Lorenzo rids himself of his accomplice,
Pedringano,4 will serve as an example of the scenic repre-
sentation of the intrigue element. Pedringano is promised a
pardon and understands that it is contained in a box carried
by a boy whom Lorenzo has sent. So, sure of his release,
he goes to the gallows with many jocose remarks. The boy
stands by and doesn't open the box, which in fact contains
nothing, and Pedringano to his surprise is strung up in the
midst of his jesting. There is one other hanging scene in
the play, the one in which Lorenzo and Balthazar surprise
Horatio and hang him in the arbor.5 The scene in which
Hieronimo becomes reconciled with his murderers and offers
to fight anyone who blames Lorenzo,6 is worth noting.
Many minor situations and details of the stage presentation
are followed, we shall find, in later plays, and some be-
come conventional accompaniments of the revenge tragedy.
Among these are the exhibition of Horatio's body after the

1 V, p. 160. a V, p. 152. 8 IV, p. 94.

4 II, 3, p. 85. 6II, p. 52. 6IV, p. 140.

146 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

play,1 Hieronimo's biting out of his tongue,2 the wearing of
black,3 the final march bearing off the slain, the swearing on
the cross of the sword,4 the capture of Pedringano by the
watch,5 the reading in a book before a soliloquy,6 and the
falling to the ground in the midst of a soliloquy.7

Besides these situations to which we shall have cause to
refer in later discussions, a few others may be noted to illus-
trate still further the crude character of the performance.
The letter written in blood ('red ink' says the stage direc-
tion),8 Hieronimo's play with the rope and dagger,9 Isabella's
cutting down of the arbor,10 and Hieronimo's digging with
his dagger, while he cries : " I'll rip the bowels of the
earth ; " u all reveal the most primitive means of expressing
rage, despair, and madness. Like much else in the play they
are as completely archaic as the scene where Balthazar enters
with a chair, whereupon Hieronimo cries :

" Well done, Balthazar, hang up the title
Our scene is Rhodes."12

In a play calling for such violent action and such rude
stage devices we cannot expect much shading or consistency
in the characterization. Some of the characters, however,
represent types which reappear again and again in Eliza-
bethan plays, and doubtless the frequent revivals of the
Spanish Tragedy did much to establish these character-types
on the stage. Inasmuch as we shall find traces of them in
the revenge tragedies, they must be noticed here. Lorenzo
is the villain par excellence, as full of demoniacal devices as
he is free from conscientious scruples. He serves on the
stage as a convenient first cause of all the evil in the play
and manages to accomplish three murders before he is him-
self dispatched. His accomplice, Pedringano, is a good

1 V, p. 163. • V, p. 170. » 1, p. 21.

* II, p. 41. 6 III, p. 77. • IV, p. 123.

7 1, p. 21. 8 III, p. 68. 9 IV, p. 107.

10 V, p. 155. "IV, p. 111. "IV, 3.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 147

-example of that type already outlined1 in Lazarotto in
Jeronimo. With his jests to the hangman while on the
scaffold, he is a bit of fairly vivid grotesque. BelP Imperia
serves in the first of the play chiefly to supply the indis-
pensable idyllic element which she does rather prettily. Later
on she develops an Amazonian fierceness and aids largely in
the revenge. This type of woman, both prettily sentimental
and desperately revengeful, is not uncommon in later tragedy.
The character of Hieronimo, rudely as it is depicted, is
not without subtlety of conception. He is a ranting mad-
man, but he is also a poet, a scholar, interested in plays and
in Seneca's philosophy. To analyze his leading traits ; in
the first place he is much given to ^meditation and to arguing
with himself. He struggles with the problems of revenge,
fortune, and death ; and if the result furnishes little valuable
philosophy, it is certainly not for a lack of rumination.
Secondly, he is constantly oppressed with an overburdening
sense of his obligation to revenge, an obligation which he
shuns even after the proof of the murderers' guilt has been
forced upon him, and the realization of which often drives
him to real madness. Thirdly, when he finally brings his
resolution up to the point of action he becomes exceedingly
ounning, dissimulates with the murderers, feigns madness, (j
and adroitly plans the play for a means of revenge. Fourthly, '
he accomplishes this revenge not only with cunning, but with
irony. Witness, for example, his dissimulated reconciliation
with Lorenzo and his conduct and speeches in the last act,
particularly the brutal irony of his speech to the viceroy and
duke.2 So, too, his madness often takes an ironical turn.
These four qualities, fondness for meditation, a realization
of a responsibility so terrible that it drives him to frenzy,
great cunning in action, and constant irony, are perfectly
distinct characteristics of Kyd's hero.

1 In Shakespeare's Predecessors, p. 492, Mr. J. A. Symonds has noted that
Lazarotto is the precursor of Flamineo and Bosola.
»V, p. 163 seq.

148 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

Of the style of the play little need be said in addition
to Sarrazin's comments. It certainly would have justified
Nash's description, "whole handfulls of tragical speeches"
and " a blanke verse hedged up with ifs and ands." l It was
ridiculed as old-fashioned a dozen years after it was written,
but bits of it seem to have stuck in the memory of theatre-
goers and play-wrights, and some traces of its influence will
appear in the plays we are to consider.

With all this analysis we must not forget that the play
must have appealed to its audience above all as a rip-roarer,
a succession of deeds of intrigue and blood, with the central
figure a ranting maniac. No analysis, however, is needed to
convince the reader that it possesses other qualities as note-
worthy as these salient features. Far less than Tamburlaine,
an artistic achievement ; no more than that play, can it be
pushed aside as a mere blood and thunder tirade. Ludi-
crously lacking in dignity though it may be, the Spanish
Tragedy presents, perhaps for the first time on the English
stage, a story by no means lacking in tragic grandeur. In
Hieronimo's struggle with his terrible responsibility, in his
irresolute meditation and his madness, there is not only much
which is comically primitive, there is also much which in its
imaginative conception shows a poet struggling for expres-
sion. In the discussions of the ghost and Revenge, in the *
frequent references to Nemesis, Heaven, and Hell, in the '
carefully elaborated soliloquies, there are still more tangible
indications that Kyd was trying after the Senecan model to
express something of the tragic sense of fate which has
always pervaded the English mind.

IY. THE ORIGINAL HAMLET.

Assuming our hypotheses, we can work back to the origi-
nal Hamlet from two sources, the first quarto and the German
Fratricide Punished. From the mere facts, however, that the

1 Epistle to Greene's Menaphon.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 149

first quarto is very imperfect and that the German play is a
prose abridgement which cannot be traced back earlier than
1710, it is plain that we cannot hope to reach a very definite
idea of the original Hamlet. Sarrazin in his ingenious and
convincing chapter on "der Ur Hamlet," has accomplished
this reconstruction and has assigned the authorship to Thomas
Kyd. In the main his conclusions seem to me sound, but in
order to avoid conjectures as much as possible and in order
to make the relations of the different Hamlets perfectly clear,
it seems best to neglect his plausible conclusion that the early
Hamlet was a play by Kyd strongly resembling the Spanish
Tragedy and first to attempt to form some idea of the old
play directly from Fratricide Punished. Even the evidence
of the first quarto may be omitted until the discussion of the
first and second quartos. We may then find some things
which can be credited to the old play and which can be used
to develop the view already formed ; but for the present we
shall deal solely with the Fratricide Punished.1

Meagre as the resulting view will be, it will at least rest
on only one of our hypotheses, the fairly safe one that the
German play represents the early Hamlet. Even this meagre
reconstruction will be sufficient to establish the close connec-
tion in theme and treatment between the old Hamlet and the
Spanish Tragedy.2 It will also be sufficient to indicate that
with the Spanish Tragedy the old Hamlet became a basis for
all later developments in the tragedy of revenge.

Before considering the German play we must notice what
little direct evidence we have of the nature of the old Hamlet.
The earliest reference to the play is found in Nash's Epistle

^Variorum edition of Hamlet. Vol. u, p. 1120 seq. All references will
be to this translation of the German play.

8 To this extent we shall arrive at Sarrazin's conclusions ; but working
from a different point of view and by a different method we may hope to
add some new force to these. At every step, however, I shall be obliged
to repeat material used by Sarrazin in a little different way.

150 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

to Greene's Menaphon,1 and from this we learn that it was a
Senecan tragedy of blood. From Lodge's Wit's Miserie2 we
learn that it dealt with a ghost and revenge ; and in Dekker's
Satiro-mastix3 we have a similar reference. From Henslow's
Diary we learn that it was played on June 9, 1594. Finally,
there can be little doubt that it was founded on the novel of
Belleforest, afterwards, or perhaps already, translated as the
Hystorie of Hamblet. The ghost was an addition to Belle-
forest.

The plot of Fratricide Punished hardly requires a summary.
It follows the main lines of the action of the final Hamlet ; and
the old English play doubtless did the same. The treatment
of the story, however, is comic in the German version to an
extent hardly supposable in an English revenge play.

The five leading dramatic motives which we found in the
Spanish Tragedy all reappear. I. The revenge is by a son for
a father and is directed by the latter's ghost. This direction
by the ghost is somewhat differently handled, for he appears
at the start and directly incites and encourages the hero to
revenge. II. There is hesitation on the part of Hamlet who
requires the proof afforded by the play and who lets one chance
to kill the king escape him. III. There is the madness of
Ophelia and the melancholy and assumed madness of Hamlet.
IV. Intrigue and deceit appear in Hamlet's affair with the
accomplices and also in the plots of the king. V. There is
abundant slaughter throughout the play and at the end. VI.
We find, too, as in the Spanish Tragedy, the main situation
contrasted and emphasized by a similar situation. Thus the
grief and revenge of Laertes for his father are used to strengthen
the main motive. VII. Perhaps, too, the unholy passion of

1 Printed 1589. "yet English Seneca read by candle-light yields manie
good sentences, as Bloud is a beggar, and so foorth ; and if you intreate him
faire in a frostie morning, he will affoord you whole Hamlets, I should say
handfulls of tragical speaches" etc.

8 Printed 1596. " a foule lubber and looks as pale as the visard of ye ghost
which cried so miserably at ye theater, like a oisterwife, Hamlet revenge."

' Printed 1602. " My name's Hamlet's revenge."

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 151

the king and queen may be said to present another motive.
At all events the marriage of the murderer to the wife of the
murdered man is a theme that appears again on the Eliza-
bethan stage.

In respect to soliloquies, the German play offers little re-
semblance to the Spanish Tragedy. Latham1 has indeed
declared that there are no soliloquies. There is one, however,
by Hamlet at the beginning of Act V. I quote it in full,
because in the reference to Nemesis, in the excuse for delay,
and the promise to revenge, I fancy there are some faint hints
of a soliloquy which in its original form may not have been
unlike those in the Spanish Tragedy.

" Unfortunate Prince ! How much longer must thou live
without peace? How long dost thou delay, O righteous
Nemesis ! before thou whettest thy righteous sword of ven-
geance for my uncle, the fratricide? Hither have I come
once more, but cannot attain to my revenge, because the fra-
tricide is surrounded all the time by so many people. But
I swear that before the sun has finished his journey from east
to west, I will revenge myself on him."

In the separate scenes and situations there is much which
connects the play with the general revenge type. First in
importance in its relation to the Spanish Tragedy is the play
within the play.2 Here as there, the hero superintends and
advises the actors. The play is not, however, used to bring
about the revenge but, as in the final Hamlet, to produce further
proof of the king's guilt.

The Ophelia scenes are the only ones which at all supply
the place of the sentimental love scenes of the Spanish Trag-
edy ; and they also recall the insanity and suicide of Isabella.
In the German play, however, Ophelia is for the most part
treated in a frankly comic manner. This adds stress to Mr.
Corbin's thesis3 that a comic element survives in the great

1 Two Dissertations on the Hamlet of Saxo Grammaticus and of Shakespear.
E.G.Latham. 1872. See p. 147. *n. 7, 8.

1 The Elizabethan Hamlet. John Corbin. London, 1895.

152 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

scene of the final Hamlet. Just how far, however, the comic
element was manifest in the early Hamlet we cannot say ; it
is not paralleled in Kyd's treatment of Isabella's insanity.
Some other features of the Ophelia scenes, such as her distri-
bution of flowers, her mad talk, her part as a decoy, seem
more certainly to point to the English original and appear
again in later plays. In the main her part must have been
derived from the old Hamlet, and a summary of it will be
convenient. II. 3. Ophelia says Hamlet plagues her, where-
upon Corambus (Polonius) concludes that love is the cause
of Hamlet's madness. II. 4. Ophelia returns a jewel to
Hamlet, and he repulses her, while the king and Corambus
look on from their hiding place. III. 9. Ophelia is insane
and follows Phantasmo about. Apparently she has flowers
for she cries : " See, there is a pretty floweret for thee, my
heart." III. 11. Another mad scene in which she annoys
Phantasmo and strikes him. IV. 6. The queen announces
that Ophelia is mad. IV. 7. Ophelia appears with flowers,
gives each person a flower, and runs off. V. 6. The queen
enters and announces a great calamity : " Ophelia went
up a high hill and then threw herself down and killed
herself."

The treatment of the ghost varies considerably from that
of the Spanish Tragedy. The ghost * is not a mere looker-on ;
he now holds direct speech with the hero, relates the circum-
stances of the murder, and calls for revenge. His first appear-
ance is more dramatic2 — two soldiers are on watch at night,
while healths are being proclaimed within and trumpets
sounded. The same circumstances are repeated when the
ghost first appears to Hamlet, with the addition that the
clock has probably just struck midnight.3 Clearly, here is
an important addition to the stage business of ghost plays, an

1 The ghost has none of the dignity of Andrea's ghost. He boxes the
soldier's ears and opens his jaws to frighten Hamlet. Undoubtedly a good
deal of this comic business was added by German players.

"1.1. *i. 4.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 153

addition which may be credited to the original Hamlet and
which was adopted in later plays.

The swearing on the hilt of the sword which Hamlet com-
pels his friends to perform is the same situation used in the
Spanish Tragedy.1 The ghost joins in the dialogue from
within.2 Again while Hamlet has an interview with his
mother, the ghost appears to him unseen by her.3 In the
prologue, the personages, "Night, in a car crowned with stars,
Alecho, Thisephone, and Maegara," and the style of their
speeches contrast decidedly with the rest of the play and, as
Sarrazin notes, suggest Kyd.4 The wearing of black is indi-
cated where the king announces : we must " change our black
mourning suits into crimson, purple, and scarlet." 6 Hamlet
refuses to kill the king who is praying at the altar in the
temple — " But, hold, Hamlet, why wouldst thou take his sins
upon thyself? " The business of the two portraits also occurs
in the scene after he has killed Corambus.7 After fooling
with Phautasmo (Osric) and just as he is about to go to the
king, Hamlet has a premonition of death.8 Like Hieronimo,
he dissimulates with his enemies in a merry mood ; 9 and as
in the Spanish Tragedy the catastrophe results in a number
of deaths.

This enumeration of situations is sufficient to give an idea
of the stage-presentation of the old play, to indicate its resem-
blance to the Spanish Tragedy, and to furnish a basis for
comparison with scenes in the later revenge tragedies. The
most important scenes which are not found in the German
play and appear in Hamlet are the scene at Ophelia's grave,
the grave-diggers' scene, and those dealing with Rosencrantz

1.F. P. i. 6. S. T. ii. p. 41. Sarrazin has not emphasized the close con-
nection between the two scenes, but Fleay has pointed it out. Chr. n, p. 31.

2 It seems rather probable that in the old Hamlet the ghost spoke from
beneath the stage as in the later play. We shall find " the voice in the
cellarage " in Antonio's Revenge ; so at any rate it was not an invention of
Shakspere. 3ni. 2.

*Note the line "from Acheron's dark pit, come I, Maegera, hither."

5 1. 7. • in. land 2. 'in. 5. 8V. 3. »iv. 1.

154 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

and Guildenstern. Whether or not these occurred in the
original Hamlet, we have seen enough evidence to show that
on the stage it must have strongly resembled both the later
Hamlet and its contemporary, the Spanish Tragedy.

In regard to the characterization of the old Hamlet, very
little can be inferred from the German abridgement. The
king is the villain and source of all evil, and Laertes to some
extent his tool as Balthazar is the tool of Lorenzo. Sarrazin
has also noted a resemblance between Jeronimo in the first
play and Polonius ; so also the Horatios in the two plays are
both faithful friends. Only by following Sarrazin in his
whole reconstruction, however, shall we find a Hamlet with
Hieronimo's fondness for soliloquising and irony and an
Ophelia whose wooing has the grace of Bell7 Imperials and
whose fate has the pathos of Isabella's. Such the characters
of the old Hamlet may have been, but in the German play
Ophelia is comic, and Hamlet is without individuality. Some
traces of a more subtle delineation are, nevertheless, not
altogether wanting. We have already noticed his one solilo-
quy, and we may not agree with Latham * that the play is
absolutely wanting in ironical bits of cynicism.

" Hamlet. Well adieu, Lady mother I

King. Why is this, my prince ? Why do you call us mother ?
Hamlet. Surely man and wife are one flesh. Father or mother — it is all
the same to me." (in. 10.)

Here at least is a kind of irony, much like Hieronimo's, and
good enough on the stage for Shakspere's purposes. In the
German play again, Hamlet like Hieronimo is interested in
plays and actors and he certainly resembles Hieronimo in his
duplicity and pretended madness. Only in these traces, how-
ever, do we find evidences of a hero who in stage importance
and dramatic conception could have rivalled the popular hero
of the Spanish Tragedy.

Even less can be confidently conjectured in respect to the

1 Two Dissertations on Hamlet, etc., p. 147.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 155

style of the old Hamlet. Some bits of the Fratricide Punished
have been noted by Sarrazin in connection with Kyd's work
and some others will appear later in our discussion in con-
nection with the phrasing of later plays.

From the German play we have derived some idea of the
action and main motives of the old Hamlet and little more.
We may conclude that the old English play must surely have
been a companion piece to the Spanish Tragedy, dealing with
a revenge for a father, containing all the leading motives of
that play and many similar scenes and situations. In respect
to characterization and style we must postpone most of our
inferences to the discussion of the first quarto. For a moment,
however, we may anticipate and again recall Sarrazin's recon-
struction of the old Hamlet. Then we have a play by Kyd
with soliloquies and Senecan philosophy and a central figure
like old Hieronimo. Still further we may conclude that the
catholic coloring, Hamlet's calmness after the murder of Polo-
nius, his conduct at Ophelia's funeral, his trick on Rosen-
crantz and Guildenstern, and his treatment of Ophelia, were
all derived from the old play. Our more meagre reconstruc-
tion serves our purpose ; it is sufficient to indicate that very
considerable portions of the two later Hamlets must be referred
to the original play.

Y. ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.

Antonio and Mellida,1 like Kyd's Hieronimo, is a two-part
play ; the story of murder and revenge being confined in each
case to the second part. The first part or the History of
Antonio and Mellida opens with the hero, Antonio, in disguise
as an Amazon. His father, Andrugio, has been defeated in

1 References will be to The Works of John Marston, edited by A. H. Bullen,
vol. 1. For a discussion of the two plays, see "John Marston" von Wolf-
gang von Wurzbach. Shakespeare Jahrbuch, vol. xxxiii, p. 85 seq. Dr.
von Wurzbach calls Antonio's Revenge "cine wiiste Mischung der Spanish
Tragedy und des Hamlet." We will not try to determine, he adds, "ob

156 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

a sea-fight by Piero, duke of Venice, and father and son are
in hiding. Antonio goes to the court of Piero with whose
daughter, Mellida, he is in love, and later Mellida leaves the
court disguised as a page in search of him but is retaken.
Andrugio proceeds to court in full armor, demands the reward
offered for his own head, and then discovers himself. A
funeral procession enters bearing the body of Antonio. Piero
professes to admire Andrugio's courage, pardons him, and
protests that he would give his daughter's hand to have
Antonio alive. Thereupon Antonio comes to life, and there
is a joyful conclusion. There is some " masquery " and danc-
ing, some love scenes, a good deal of comic buffoonery, and a
good deal of serious and philosophical declamation. What
little directly concerns the conventions of the tragedy of
revenge will be noticed in the discussion of the second part.
The second part, or Antonio's Revenge, deals with a revenge
for a father and is constructed on almost the same lines as the
Spanish Tragedy and the original Hamlet. Antonio's father,
Andrugio, is poisoned, and his friend, Feliche, butchered by
Piero. Strotzo, an accomplice, declares that Andrugio died
naturally, and Piero declares that he found Mellida in Feliche's
embraces upon the eve of her marriage to Antonio. Mellida
is confined for trial, and Antonio becomes frantic with grief
and bewilderment. Andrugio's ghost appears to Antonio,
discloses Piero's villany, and bids Antonio to take revenge.
Antonio, crazed by the revelation, stabs Piero's young son,
Julio, at Andrugio's tomb but refuses a chance to kill Piero ;
later he disguises himself as his mother's fool and watches for
his opportunity. His mother meantime has yielded to Piero

dies der 'alte Hamlet' (von Kyd) 1st, oder ob sich nicht sogar aus Antonio
Beweis fiir die Entstehungszeit des Shakespeare'schen Hamlet ableiten
liesse, den einzelne englische Kritiker schon vor 1600 aufgefuhrt wissen
wollen." "Shakespeare's Einfluss," he also declares, "ist zu deutlich,"
and points out resemblances to Romeo and Juliet and Lear. Equally apart
from our purpose is an article in Englische Studien, vol. xxi, " John Mar-
ston als dramatiker," by Ph. Aronstein.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 157

a promise of marriage, but after a visitation from Andrugio's
ghost she joins Antonio in his scheme for revenge. At Mel-
lida's trial, Strotzo, instigated by Piero, declares that he was
suborned and is himself despatched by a trick of Piero. Mel-
lida swoons and later dies. Antonio is also reported dead
but he appears disguised in a masque : the masquers disclose
themselves and kill Piero. They are hailed as public
benefactors but determine to retire to a religious house; so
Antonio appears alive to make the final speech bewailing
Mellida.

This summary of the plot will suggest parallelisms with
the two plays already considered. Their leading motives all
reappear. I. Revenge for a father by a son, urged on by the
dead man's ghost, forms the central action. II. Hesitation
and irresolution appear in Antonio's neglect of his opportunity
to kill Piero and in his useless murder of Julio. III. Antonio
is driven to the verge of real insanity and later pretends to be
a fool. IV. Intrigue is practised by both Piero and Antonio.
V. The death-list, though not so long as in the earlier plays,
includes six persons. Of the minor motives, VI. the contrast
to the main situation appears in the grief and revenge of
Pandulpho for the death of his son, Feliche ; and VII. the
unholy passion of Piero for Maria becomes, more distinctly
than in Hamlet, an underlying motive of the drama. An
idyllic love story is also prominent, but especial attention
should be called to the fact that the five leading elements,
revenge, hesitation, insanity, intrigue, and slaughter, are as
clearly manifest as in the Spanish Tragedy or the early
Hamlet.

Moreover, the play resembles the Spanish Tragedy, and
very likely the early Hamlet, in its abundance of long solilo-
quies. There are several by Piero and five by Antonio, even
the first lines of which will be enough to indicate a similarity
to Hieronimo's.

" Pish, thy mother was not lately widowed." (II. 2. p. 133.)

158 ASHLEY H. THOBNDIKE.

He reads from Seneca's De Providentia and then contrasts his
own fate.

" Graves, vaults, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight."

(III. 1. p. 143.)
"Ay, so you must before you touch the shore." (III. 1. p. 147.)

— On human nature and its iniquity.

" Howl not, thou putry mould ; groan not, ye graves."

(III. 1. p. 150.)
— A characteristic murder speech.

" Ay, heaven, thou may'st, thou may'st, omnipotence."

(IV. 2. p. 171.)

— In which he submits himself to Heaven's will.

Like the soliloquies in the Spanish Iragedy, these seem to
have been modelled on Seneca, and even more than those they
indicate an attempt at philosophical reflection. One of the
best examples of this philosophising is to be found in Anto-
nio's speech on a fool's part, to which we shall have occasion
to refer again.

" I never saw a fool lean ; the chub-faced fop
Shines sleek with full-cramm'd fat of happiness,
Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice
From wisards' cheeks : who making curious search
For nature's secrets, the first innating cause
Laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy apes
When they will zany men. Had Heaven been kind,
Creating me an honest, senseless dolt,
A good, poor fool, I should want sense to feel
The stings of anguish shoot through every vein ;
I should not know what 'twere to lose a father;
I should be dead of sense to view defame
Blur my bright love ; I could not thus run mad,
As one confounded in a maze of mischief,
StaggerM, stark, felFd with bruising stroke of chance ;
I should not shoot mine eyes into the earth,
Poring for mischief that might counterpoise
Mischief, murder, and — " x

(IV. 1. p. 158.)

1 The reflective soliloquies in the first part of Antonio and Mettida should
be noticed, particularly the scene between old Andrugio and Lucio (in. 1.).

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 159

Coming now to the individual scenes, we note that the
revenge is accomplished much as in the Spanish Tragedy.
Piero is seated in the banqueting hall with Maria ; an equivo-
cal reply to his advances leads him to believe that she loves
him ; whereupon he breaks out in jubilations which recall the
carousing of the king in Hamlet.1 In the midst of the carous-
ing the masquers enter. Piero is induced to remain alone
with them, and they unmasque, bind him, and pluck out his
tongue,2 and triumph over him — uncovering the dish that
contains the limbs of his murdered child. Finally they hack
him to pieces, and the ghost, who has joined in the proceed-
ings, makes his exit with —

" "Pis done, and now my soul shall sleep in rest:
Sons that revenge their father's blood are blest."

The marriage celebration, the exhibition of the dead body,
the exultation in revenge, in fact, the whole method of the
revenge is after the style of the Spanish Tragedy- but the sub-
stitution of a masque for a play,3 the participation of the ghost,
and some of the torments heaped upon the villain may be
credited to Marston's ingenuity.

The ghost scenes are managed very much after the manner
of the Fratricide Punished. Antonio comes to the church-
yard and approaches his father's tomb ; even as the clock is

Charles Lamb has noted the resemblance of their situation to that of Lear
and Kent. " Andrugio, like Lear, manifests a kind of royal impatience, a
turbulent greatness, an affected resignation. The enemies which he enters
lists to combat, ' Despair and mighty Grief, and sharp Impatience ' and the
Forces (' Cornets of Horse, etc.' ) which he brings to vanish them, are in the
boldest style of allegory. They are such a race of mourners as the ' infec-
tion of sorrows loud ' in the intellect might beget on some pregnant cloud
in the imagination."

1A. E. v. 2. F. P. i. 1. and I. 6. Hamlet i. 2. and v. 2. Cf. also the
banquet, triumphs, masque, etc., in the Spanish Tragedy, i. 3, as well as
the final scene.

8 Compare a similar bit of stage business in the Spanish Tragedy where
Hieroniruo bites out his tongue, v. p. 170.

3 Cf. the Malcontent and Tourneur's Revenger's Tragedy.

160 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

striking twelve, the ghost rises.1 Like Hamlet's ghost, the
ghost of Andrugio makes a long speech ; and cries " Antonio,
Revenge!" — manifestly a reminiscence of the "Hamlet, re-
venge ! " accredited to the old Hamlet. The succeeding dia-
logue between Maria and Antonio is interrupted by the ghosts
of Andrugio, Feliche, and by Pandulpho,2 who " from above
and beneath " cry " murder ! murder ! murder ! " 3 There is
also a groan from beneath when Antonio stabs Julio, and
before this when the child is prattling, there is a cry of
" revenge," apparently from below.4 The cries of the ghost
seem also to have suggested Mellida's interrupting sighs from
beneath.5 All these instances of a voice in the cellarage point
back to the cries of the ghost, also probably beneath the stage,
in the original Hamlet.6

As in the various Hamlets, the ghost appears in a scene
with his former wife and son.7 The scene, however, shows
marked variations from that in the fratricide Punished and
is a typical example of Marston's stage effects. As she is
about to retire, Maria discovers the ghost sitting on the bed.
While the ghost is upbraiding her and bidding her join her
son in seeking revenge, Antonio enters in a half- frenzy. He
is bidden to carry out the revenge by means of a disguise and
retires ; then Maria goes to bed, while the ghost draws the
curtains and ends the scene with a characteristic tirade.8 The

1 A. R. in. 1. F. P. i. 4. Cf. also A.E.I. 1, for another scene at night
with the clock striking.

8 Pandulpho is no ghost, and seems out of place.

8 m. 1. 4m. 1. *H. 2.

6 The many resemblances between Antonio's Revenge and the Fratricide
Punished furnish corroborating evidence for the hypothesis that the latter
was a translation of the old English Hamlet.

M. R., Ill, 2. F. P., Ill, 6.

8 III, 2, p. 156.

" And now, ye sooty coursers of the night,
Hurry your chariot into hell's black womb.
Darkness, make flight; graves, eat your dead again:
Let's repossess our shrouds. Why lags delay ?
Mount sparkling brightness, give the world his day ! "

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 161

scene between Hamlet and his mother is recalled by another
scene between Antonio and Maria.1 The anxious mother
finds Antonio just after the ghost has left him, frantically
vowing revenge, and therefore takes him to be mad. So in
the Fratricide Punished, Hamlet's speech as the ghost crosses
the stage increases his mother's belief in his insanity.

The Mellida scenes furnish divergences from the material
of the revenge plays which need not be here discussed. The
fact that her chastity is in question adds a new motive to the
forces which drive the hero toward madness. In one im-
portant respect, however, there is a similarity to the Fratri-
cide Punished. Just as there the queen enters and announces
Ophelia's death, so Maria enters and announces the death of
Mellida.2 Moreover, she does this in a long descriptive piece
of declamation just as the queen does in both the first and
second quartos of Hamlet? This bit of stage convention,
then, was in use as early as Antonio's Revenge*

The burial of Feliche5 and the dumb show before the
second act, representing Andrugio's funeral, suggest the burial
of Ophelia in Hamlet. Though not in the Fratricide Pun-
ished this scene may have been in the old Hamlet, or the use
of funerals and churchyards in a revenge tragedy may have

1F. P., Ill, 6. A. K., Ill, 1. Hamlet, III, 4, 102-139.
2 F. P., V, 6. A. R., IV, 1. 3 QL 1. 1822. Hamlet, IV, 7, 167.

*One passage in the report of Antonio's death (IV, 1) directly recalls
the report of Ophelia's death in the Fratricide Punished.

"Distraught and raving, from a turret's top,
He threw his body in the swollen sea."

F. P., V, 6. " Ophelia went up a high hill, and threw herself down, and
killed herself." Cf. also the Spanish Tragedy, V, p. 150:

" Marry thus, moved with remorse of his misdeeds ;
Kan to a mountain top and hung himself."

The hanging is the fate of Bruser, one of the corresponding characters in
the novel of Soliman and Persida, but the running to a mountain top is
Kyd's addition.

5 A. R., IV, 2.

162 ASHLEY H. THOENDIKE.

been original with Marston. The dumb show before the
third act represents the wooing of Maria by her husband's
murderer, who has already made advances to her. The situ-
ation is an old one in literature and is the same as that
between Richard and Anne in Richard III, and similar to
that in the dumb show of the play in the final Hamlet.1

In the mad scenes insanity receives different treatment from
that of the Spanish Tragedy or of the German play. Anto-
nio's distraction is depicted as something terrible ; it is never
treated as comic, even to the extent that it is in the Spanish
Tragedy. Nor does Antonio pretend madness like Hieronimo
and Hamlet ; instead of this he assumes the disguise of a fool
like Hamlet in the story. The stage direction — " Enter
Antonio in a fooPs habit with a little toy of a walnut shell
and soap to make bubbles " — 2 indicates sufficiently his action
in this disguise.

Like Hieronimo, Antonio cries " vindicta " ; 3 and one of
his early interviews with his mother is clearly paralleled by
a scene in Jeronimo between Hieronimo and Isabella.4 Like

1 A. E., II, 2, Rich. Ill, I, 2. Not in the dumb show in Fratricide Pun-
ished.

2 Of. Hamlet's " I must be idle." Ill, 2, 85.
*A. E., V, 1. S. T., IV, p. 123.

4 Jeronimo. Dodsley 1825 ed. I, 3, p. 63.

" Jer. Peace. Who comes here ? News. News, Isabella.

Is. What news, Jeronimo ?
Jer. Strange news :

Lorenzo has become an honest man.
Is. Is that your wondrous news ?
Jer. Is it not wondrous

To have honesty in hell : " etc.

A. K, II, 2, p. 137.

"Ant. Hark ye ; I'll tell you wondrous strange, strange news.
Maria. What, my good boy, stark mad ?

Anl. I am not.
Maria. Alas !

Is that strange news ?

Ant. Strange news? Why, mother, is't not wondrous strange.
I am not mad — I am not frantic, ha ?" etc.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 163

Hamlet, he has an opportunity to stab the murderer and
refuses it.1 He (like Hamlet) enters with a drawn sword and
has Piero at his mercy, and his excuse for postponing the
revenge is not much better than Hamlet's.2 His murder of
the little Julio recalls the murder of the innocent Corambus
and Hieronimo's murder of the innocent father of Lorenzo.3
Antonio wears black and appears reading a book, as did
Hieronimo and probably Hamlet in the old play.4 As the
Portuguese viceroy falls on the ground in the midst of his
lamentation, so in one of his soliloquies Antonio lies flat on
his back and addresses heaven from that posture.5

The stratagems practised by Piero on his accomplice are
like similar tricks in the Spanish Tragedy and the trick
played by Hamlet on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.6 The
body of Feliche, stabbed thick with wounds, appears hung
up like that of Horatio,7 and Julio's body is exhibited in the
final scene as is Horatio's.8 Finally, the oath of the con-
spirators on their wreathed arms, and the striking of the floor
with their daggers, give the same sort of stage effect as the
swearing on the sword hilt and Hieronimo's digging with his
dagger.9 The scene with the painter, too, must be noticed in

1A. B., Ill, 1. F. P., Ill, 2.

3 A. K., Ill, 1. "No, not so.

This shall be sought for ; I'll force him feed on life
Till he shall loath it. This shall be the close
Of vengeance' strain."

9 A. -R., Ill, 1. F. P., Ill, 5. S. T., V, p. 170. The murder of Julio is
possibly intended to be excused by the frenzy which possesses Antonio.

*S. T., IV, p. 123. A. -R., II, 1. Hamlet reads a book in both the first
and second quartos.

*S. T., I, p. 21. A. R., IV, 2. Cf. also Antonio and Mellida, Part I,
IV, 1, where Andrugio in the midst of a soliloquy throws himself on the
ground ; in the same scene Antonio falls on the ground twice. This solil-
oquizing from the floor was in fact common in early plays.

9 A. R, IV, 1. S. T., Ill, p. 90.

"i A. -B., 1, 1. S. T., I, p. 52.

*S. T., last scene.

9A. R., IV, 2. S. T., II, p. 41. IV, p. 111.

164 ASHLEY H. THOBNDIKE.

connection with the painter scene in Ben Jouson's Additions
to the Spanish Tragedy.

This somewhat detailed examination of the scenes and situ-
ations indicates how closely Marston's play on the stage must
have resembled the two old revenge plays. Some changes
and especially the great prominence given to the ghost may
be credited to Marston, although these hint that there may
have been some development of the revenge type between
1588 and 1599 of which we have no direct evidence. We
have seen evidence of the popularity of ghost and revenge
plays about 1599; and Marston's play may possibly have
had points of close stage resemblance to some unknown plays
as well as to the Spanish Tragedy and the original Hamlet.

Of the characters Maria has less individuality than Isabella
in the Spanish Tragedy ; she merely fills a conventional part
very similar to the queen's in the Fratricide Punished.1 Mel-
lida's character is developed in the first part, and her im-
prisonment and death in the second part are intended to sup-
ply abundant pathos. The villain, Piero, differs from Lorenzo
only in his passion for Maria, and in this respect he resembles
the king in the old Hamlet. The accomplice Strotzo is of the
same type as Kyd's accomplices though he has less humor
than Pedringano. Pandulpho with his philosophy is a little
like Corambus and Hieronimo (in the First Part) — that
is, he is one of the type of talkative old men. Feliche and,
later, Alberto supply the part of the faithful friend.

Antonio, like Hieronimo and the original Hamlet, is a
scholar and a clever deviser of masques. Like Hieronimo,
he is fond of philosophy and studies his Seneca. He is dis-
tinguished, also, by the same tendency to reflection. He
enjoys soliloquizing and struggles in solitary meditation at
each crisis in his course. Like Hieronimo and Hamlet he is
driven to the verge of insanity by the pressure of the horrible
crimes which he is to revenge ; but unlike them he does not

1 Where the queen is more obviously guiltless than in the final Hamlet.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPOEARY REVENGE PLAYS. 165

waste time in seeking additional proof of the murderer's guilt.
The loss of his father, the fickleness of his mother, the mur-
der of his friend, and the accusation against his betrothed,
have already driven him close to madness, when the revela-
tions of the ghost add fresh fuel to the fire. Though he does
not seek further proof, yet, like Hamlet, after the revelations
of the play, he becomes frantic and irresolute, neglects an
opportunity to kill the king, and wastes his vengeance on an
innocent child. Like Hieronimo he finally accomplishes his
revenge by dissimulation and stratagem according to the
counsel of the ghost. Unlike the other heroes, however, he
shows very little irony. His dialogue with his mother and
his talk as a fool blowing bubbles may be instanced as partial
exceptions,1 but in general he is wild and ranting and rarely
ironical. In his tendency to reflection, his overburdening
sense of wrong, and his cunning, he doubtless resembled the
old Hamlet as well as Hieronimo. Like both of them he
was a stage ranter, he tore a passion to tatters and appealed
to a taste that delighted in extravagant violence. To a greater
extent, however, than Kyd in the Spanish Tragedy, Marston
succeeded in endowing his hero with intellectual depth and
tragic power. Antonio's soliloquies have more philosophy and
less grotesqueness than Hieronimo's ; his insanity has more
that suggests the terrible and less that suggests the laughable.
With all his ranting and overdrawn passion, he has not a few
touches of real life. To see how much more vital his phi-
losophizing and his sense of wrong are made, we have only
to recur again to his speech on the fool's part.2 It was the
" stings of anguish," the " bruising stroke of chance," which
made him run mad " as one confounded in a maze of mis-
chief."

Mr. Bullen's 3 estimate of Marston's style leaves little to be
said. The quotations from Seneca and the talk of Nemesis

1 II, 2, pp. 137, 138. IV, 1, passim. » IV, 1.

8 The Works of John Marston. Edited by A. H. Bullen, B. A. Vol. 1.
Introduction, pp. xxvi and xxvii.

166

ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

as well as an occasional verbal similarity recall the Spanish
Tragedy • like Kyd, too, Marston shows a fondness for coup-
ling heaven and hell, for figures dealing with storms, ship-
wreck, prodigies, and for violent metaphors in general. In
the main, however, the style of the two parts of Antonio and
Mellida is decidedly individual. The scene between Andrugio
and Lucio,1 quoted by Charles Lamb, shows the style at its
best; and any page will furnish examples of its peculiar
atrocities. There is no question that it is strained, affected,
and ranting to the last degree ; there is also no question that
it is often vividly and picturesquely imaginative.

So far as our analysis has gone, this imaginative style seems
Marston's most original contribution to the revenge tragedy
type. In plot, motives, characterization, and even in indi-
vidual scenes and situations, Antonio's Revenge follows most
closely after the old models. It is not, indeed, likely that
Marston thought he was following as closely as our analysis
has indicated. He was a young man of twenty- four, who had
already made a considerable poetical reputation 2 by his satires ;
and a certain bombastic confidence in these plays adds to one's
suspicion that he thought he was doing something noteworthy.
Very likely he felt that he was replacing the old rant with a
lofty and tragic poetic diction. That this diction was some-
what deliberately acquired, is manifest from the closeness with
which it is modelled. Mr. Cunliffe3 has pointed out Marston's
obligations in detail and concludes that " of all Elizabethan
dramatists, Marston owed the most to Seneca and was the
readiest to acknowledge his indebtedness." In this reflective
philosophy we may further note a distinct development of
the revenge play. Consciously forming himself on Seneca,
Marston seems to have endeavored to secure at least the
appearance of profundity of thought.

1 Antonio and Mellida. Part 1. Ill, 1.

8 See Bullen's edition of Marston. Vol. 1. Introd., p. xxiv seq.
8 The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan Tragedy. J. W. Cunliffe, London ,
1893, p. 68 seq.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 167

In addition to a new tragic diction and a profounder moral-
izing, Marston shows some distinguishable development of the
material and construction of the revenge type of play. There
are, indeed, evidences l that he thought he was changing the
old methods of action more radically than we can perceive.
Among his perceptible alterations are the confining of the
comic element to the by-play of Balurdo and the presentation
of the chief characters more entirely in the tragic play of
crime and horror. The development of Antonio's character
and of the ghost scenes have also been noticed. Further, in
the emphasis placed on the romantic love story and on the
other hand, in his style of accumulating horrors and melo-
dramatic stage effects, Marston may fairly be said to mark a
step in the progress from Kyd to Webster.

The contributions to the development of the drama are not
intrinsically of much importance. For us the style is still
pretentious rant; the philosophy borrowed commonplaces; the
revenge tragedy an impossible convention. Antonio's Revenge
is certainly not a great artistic achievement ; but after looking
at it so long as a stage production, we may in closing look
at it a moment as an artistic effort. Emphasis may well be
placed on those qualities which indicate a serious and ambi-
tious effort to give poetical expression to the thoughts and

1 Introduction to A. and M.t 1st part. Matzagente, "a modern bragga-
doch," is thus ridiculed :

" Rampum, scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine !
What rattling thunderclap breaks from his lips ? "

In A. R., II, 2, Antonio says :

" Madam, I will not swell like a tragedian."
Again, A. R., I, 2, Pandulpho asks :

" Would'st have me cry, run raving up and down
For my son's loss? Would'st have me turn rank mad
Or wring my face with mimic action ;
Stamp, curse, weep, rage, and then my bosom strike ?
Away, 'tis aspish action, player-like."

Marston seems to be ridiculing the extravagancies of passion which his
own work exhibits in abundance.

168 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

passions which arise from the most dreadful situations. We
may recall how distinctly Marston avowed such a serious and
ambitious purpose in the prologue he addressed to his London
audience.

" Therefore we proclaim,

If any spirit breathes within this round,

Uncapable of weighty passion —

As from his birth being hugged in the arms
, And nuzzled twixt the breasts of happiness —

Who winks and shuts his apprehension up

From common sense of what men were and are,

Who would not know what men must be — let such

Hurry amain from our black visaged shows :

We shall afright their eyes. But if a breast

Nail'd to the earth with grief; if any heart

Pierced through with anguish pant within this ring ;

If there be any blood whose heat is choked

And stifled with true sense of misery ;

If ought of these strains fill this consort up—

They arrive most welcome." l

With this declaration of his in mind, we may remember how
Marston tried to give words to reflections on life's mysteries,
to the fierce pressure of a sense of wrong and evil, to the wild
outpourings of a mind driven almost to madness. We may
at least say that the old revenge situation vividly impressed
the imagination of an Elizabethan poet before it found final
expression from the genius of Shakspere.

VI. THE HAMLET OF THE FIRST QUARTO.2

We are to examine the first quarto on the hypothesis that
it represents a transition play, Shakspere's partial revision of
the original Hamlet. Such an examination will supply some
additions to our reconstruction of the old play from the fra-
tricide Punished and will also point to some additions and

1 Prologue to Antonio and Mellida. Part II.

2 New Variorum Edition of Hamlet. Vol. n. Appendix. All line num-
bers refer to this text.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 169

alterations which are almost certainly Shakspere's. Any
separation of his work from that of an earlier author must,
however, be performed with diffidence and a full appreciation
of its conjectural nature. The text of Qi is often so imper-
fect that it is devoid of any literary individuality, and any
particular passage may often be regarded either as a mangled
rendering of Shakspere's phrasing or as a survival from the
old author. Moreover, we have no sure canon for determin-
ing either Skakspere's work or the original author's. The
final Hamlet, to be sure, is Shakspere's, but much in that is
surely a survival from the old play, and even bits of phras-
ing, which we have come to look upon as entirely character-
istic of Shakspere, may conceivably be from the old author.
For a canon of the latter's work, we are still more at a loss,
since we have not gone to the extent of accepting Sarrazin's
conjecture that Kyd was the author. Still further, a difficulty
is presented in analysing Qx by the possibility that the wretched
text may present not merely Shakspere's partial revision but
emendations by players or other material additions. Despite
these difficulties the work of Shakspere seems to me in certain
instances to be clearly separable from that of his predecessor.
Intricate questions of authorship are, indeed, unimportant for
our purpose. However imperfect it may be, the first quarto,
according to our hypothesis, represents a play acted on the
London stage, and represents its plot, scenes, and situations
well enough to supply us with the material for our exami-
nation.

The plot is from the early Hamlet. It coincides in the
main with that of the Fratricide Punished, the important
additions being the scene at Ophelia's grave, the grave-diggers
scene, and the interviews between Hamlet, Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern. Hamlet's stratagem upon these gentlemen fol-
lows the story in Belleforest. The action is practically that
of the final Hamlet. There are some important differences,1

1Most important, perhaps, is the introduction of the scene in which
Hamlet repulses Ophelia in the middle of Act II, scene 2 of Qi.

170 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

which will be noticed in our discussion of the final Hamlet,
but in the main the play presents the same events, the same
order, and the same catastrophe as the final Hamlet.

Our examination of Q,!, therefore, has a value altogether
apart from our hypotheses in regard to the different Hamlets.
It is in fact an examination of the plot, scenes, and situations
of the final Hamlet, in connection with the Spanish Tragedy
and Antonio's Revenge.

All the motives of the Spanish Tragedy, Antonio's Revenge,
and the early Hamlet reappear ; and although they receive a
treatment very different from the comic rendering of the Ger-
man version, it does not differ greatly from that of the Span-
ish Tragedy and therefore probably not greatly from that of
the early English Hamlet. I. Revenge remains the dominant
motive, but a comparison with Antonio's Revenge as well as
with the Fratricide Punished will convince anyone that the
hero is less blood-thirsty and the ghost more dignified than
they could have been in the old play. This softening of the
revenge motive may certainly be credited to Shakspere, but
with all this softening the treatment differs little from Kyd's
or Marston's. II. Insanity has none of the rudely comic
treatment of the German play and little of the comic possi-
bilities of the Spanish Tragedy. Ophelia's insanity points
back to the early play and the Spanish Tragedy. Hamlet's
madness is more pronounced than in the final version and,
perhaps, less surely devoid of comic elements than that of
Antonio. IV and V. The intrigue and slaughter are surely
survivals of the old play. They reappear with their former
prominence, but Shakspere seems to have added nothing to
them. VI. The reinforcement of the principal by similar
secondary situations reappears in the story of the revenge of
Laertes for his father ; and (VII) the passion of the king for
the queen supplies another motive similar to that found in
Antonio's Revenge. So far as the dramatic motives go, the
play closely resembles the Spanish Tragedy and Antonio's
Revenge as well as the old Hamlet, and shows no marked
development by Shakspere.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 171

Like the Spanish Tragedy and Antonio's Revenge, and, in
all probability like the old Hamlet, the first quarto is a play
of soliloquies. To what extent they represent Shakspere's
work and to what extent that of the early author, can only
be determined by comparing them with the soliloquies of the
final Hamlet. The following enumeration will be convenient.

1. O that this too too solid flesh. Hamlet, I, 2, 129. Qi 1. 195.

2. O all ye host of Heaven— < I, 5, 92. Q, 1. 535.

3. O what a rogue and peasant— ' II, 2, 575. Q, 1. 1108.

4. To be or not to be— * III, 1, 56. Q! 1. 815.

5. 'Tis now the very witching— ' III, 2, 406. Q, 1. 1405.

6. Now might I do it pat— ' III, 3, 76. Q! 1. 1425.

7. How all occasions do inform — (in Qt, not in Folio)

Hamlet, IV, 4, 31. Not in QL

Mr. Richard Grant White has indicated reasons for sup-
posing that one and four are corrupted copies of soliloquies
already in the final form of Qa-1 At all events, like much of
the two first acts, they read like a corrupted form of Shak-
spere's work.2 The second and third soliloquies present by
no means so corrupt a text and seem to me likely to be as
near the early as the final Hamlet. The fifth and sixth solilo-
quies, one may hope, follow the old originals in matter, and
their form in Q! certainly does not recall Shakspere.3 The
fine seventh soliloquy does not occur in Qj. Only in the first
and fourth, then, is there much evidence of Shakspere's work.
In the less corrupted four remaining soliloquies there is nothing

1 The Two Hamlets. Atlantic Monthly, October, 1881. Eeprinted in the
Bankside Shakespeare. Vol. xi.

8 In Qi in soliloquy four, Hamlet is introduced " pouring upon a book "
just as Hieronimo and Antonio enter reading when they begin their solilo-
quies. The appearance of this theatrical convention (which is not in Qf)
suggests that it may go back to the early Hamlet and that the soliloquy
may have had an original form in the early play. In any case this intro-
duction of the soliloquy by Hamlet's reading is probably not as Mr. White
took it, a ridiculous mistake of a " Fluellen of Pirates." Cf. Bankside
Shakespeare. Vol. xi, p. cxxxiv.

3 Even the addition in Q«, "'Tis now the very witching time of night,"
etc., is a bit of conventional phrasing, if not suggested by the old play.

172 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

that might not be ascribed to a poet of Kyd's rank. The evi-
dence seems to indicate that Shakspere was revising the solilo-
quies of the early play but had given only the first and fourth
anything like the final phrasing of the second quarto.

As in the other revenge plays these soliloquies are not
altogether reflective in character, nor do they monopolize all
the reflective element. In Q1? however, there is very little
philosophy outside of the soliloquies. How little Shakspere
had yet done in developing the reflective element of the old
play, appears from Knight's list of reflective and didactic
observations in the final Hamlet which do not appear at all in
Q,!.1 On the whole,2 the reflective element in the first quarto
bears out the hypothesis that the play represents a transition
stage. There are few signs of the phrasing of the final ver-
sion and little that may not probably have had its origin in
the early play. So far as Shakspere had developed the reflec-
tive ^element, he had followed the traditions set by Kyd and
Marston.

In examining the situations, we will first take those which
our examination of Fratricide Punished has assigned to the
old Hamlet and note the parallels in the Spanish Tragedy and
Antonio's Revenge. The ghost scenes follow the outline of
those in Fratricide Punished. The two appearances of the
ghost to soldiers on the watch ; 3 the soldier's report to Hora-

1 Knight's Introductory Notice to Hamlet, quoted in the New Variorum Edi-
tion of Hamlet. Vol. ii, p. 18.

2 Another passage may be noted. The passage in the final Hamlet begin-
ning, "I have of late — but wherefore I know not — lost all my mirth,"
appears in Q! (11. 958-961) in this form:

" Yes, faith, this (great) world you see contents me not,
No nor the spangled heavens, nor earth, nor sea,
(No) nor man that is so glorious a creature,
Contents not me, no nor woman too, though you laugh."

The two omissions indicated and a slight change in the fourth line make
this into blank verse of a sort. One may surmise that the shorthand reporter
was trying to transcribe ver&e. He could hardly have been listening to or
recalling Shakspere's prose.

3 Q, 1. 33 and 1. 94. F. P., I, 1 and 2.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 173

tio;1 the interview of the ghost with Hamlet just after the
clock has struck twelve 2 and the trumpets have sounded the
carousal within ; 3 the ghost's story of the king's guilt and
objurations to revenge;4 Hamlet's avowal of revenge5 and
later his determination to put an antic disposition on ; 6 the
swearing on the sword/ the voice of the ghost in the cellar-
age 8 — all these were parts of the old play and many of them
are paralleled in the Spanish Tragedy and Antonio's Revenge.
So, too, the appearance of the ghost in his night-gown, dur-
ing Hamlet's talk with his mother, belongs to the old play
and is paralleled in Antonio's Revenge? The comic element
of the ghost in the German play has disappeared, but judging
from the other revenge plays, that probably formed no part of
the old Hamlet. The omission of the cry " Hamlet, revenge ! "
which was prominent in the old play, indicates that the part
of the ghost was altered ; and the dignified and poetical nature
of the ghost in Qx is doubtless due to Shakspere. The ghost
scenes in Act I are, in fact, practically the same as in the final
play.

The play within the play with its dumb show10 and pre-
ceding talk and advice to the actors,11 must have had its pro-
totype in the old Hamlet and is paralleled in the Spanish
Tragedy.12

1Q11.30. P. P., I. 3. »Q! 1.402. F. P., I, 4. A. E., 111,1.

3 Ql 1. 401. F. P., 1, 4. * Q, 1. 466 seq. F. P., 1, 5. A. E., Ill, 1.
5 Q, 1. 490. F. P., I, 5. A. K., Ill, 1. S. T.t IV, p. 124.
•Q, 1.612. F. P., I, 6. S. T., IV, p. 124.

7 Q! 1.591. P.P., I, 6. & T., II, 41.

8 Q! 592 seq. F. P., I, 6. A.R.,IIItI.
•Q» 1.1501. F. P., 111,6. AJ2.,III,2.

10 Q, 1. 1260 seq. F. P., II, 8. S. T., V, end.

11 Q, 1. 1018 seq. F. P., II, 7. S. T., V, p. 152.

12 One or two verbal similarities may be noticed. In the Fratricide Pun-
-Uhed (II, 9), Hamlet tells Corambus: "Their theatre is a little world
wherein they represent nearly all that happens in the great world." Ap-
parently the original Hamlet contained some passage to suggest the lines in
Qi(1084):

" I tell you they are the chronicles
And brief abstracts of the time."
4

174 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

Most of the Ophelia scenes probably follow the old play
pretty closely. The parting scene with Laertes is suggested
in the German play and paralleled in Jeronimo.1 The scene
in which Ophelia is used as a decoy to discover the secret of
Hamlet's madness is found in the German play and may even
contain some of the comic element of the old rendering.2 The
insane scenes are from the old play,3 and the queen announces
Ophelia's death as in the old play, and with a long speech as
in Antonio's Revenge* Just how far Shakspere had changed
these scenes, it is impossible to say ; they are incoherent and
imperfect, but at the same time they seem to me about as
coherent as similar scenes in Elizabethan plays.5 They cer-
tainly have little of the surpassing pathos of the final version,
though they contain nothing which does not reappear in the
second quarto. The matter is the same but the arrangement
is altogether different — facts which may suggest to some that
the scenes in Q,! are only garbled versions of scenes to which
Shakspere had already given the final form of Q,2. On the
other hand, the different arrangement may be a part of Shak-
spere's remodelling, and the immodest songs and the resem-
blances to the Fratricide Punished may fairly be taken to
indicate that in the play represented by the first quarto these
scenes were nearer to the original play than to Shakspere's.

The lines in Q! (1356):

" And if the king like not the tragedy,
Why then belike he likes it not, perdy."

recaU these in the Spanish Tragedy (V, 1, p. 190) :

" And if the world like not this tragedy
Hard is the hap of old Hieronimo."

"Comedy" is substituted for "tragedy" in the final Hamlet. In this con-
nection it may be mentioned that the allusion to feathers in the actors' hats
in Hamlet (III, 2, 85) occurs in F. P. (II, 7).

1 Q! 1. 329 seq. F. P., I, 7. Jer., I, 2. See also Atheist's Tragedy, I, 2.

8Qi 1. 837 seq. F. P., II, 4. See Mr. Corbin's The Elizabethan Hamlet.

» F. P., Ill, 9, 11. IV, 7. Cf. S. T., pp. 94 ff., 154 ff.

*Q, 1.1822. F.P., V, 6. AJ2.,IV, 1.

6 For an example of the mad girl ante-dating Qi, see Lyly's A Woman in
the Moon, Act V, where Pandora sings and talks incoherently and childishly.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 175

The scene in which Hamlet refuses to kill the king is in the
German play and is paralleled in Antonio's Revenge.1 The
succeeding scene between Hamlet and his mother * differs in
an important respect from Q2. In Qx the queen agrees to
join him in his revenge, as Maria joins Antonio and Bell'
Imperia joins Hieronimo.3 The final scene with its duel and
poisoned drinks and change of swords can hardly differ much
from the old play, and in its accumulation of deaths and final
dead march resembles the final scene in the Spanish Tragedy.
The killing of Polonius,4 resembling Antonio's murder of
Julio,5 the joking with a braggart gentleman (Osric),6 the
business of the two pictures,7 and the ambassador scenes,8 more
like those in Jeronimo than those slightly outlined in the Ger-
man play — all are from the old play. The banquet and tri-
umph,9 the allusions to the wearing of black,10 the premonition
of disaster,11 are also in the German play ; and bits of stage
business like the striking of the clock 12 and the reading of
a book 13 before a soliloquy are common enough in revenge
plays.

So much for scenes and situations which can be traced back
to the old Hamlet through the medium of the German play ;
these are so numerous that they warrant a presumption that
iscenes not to be found in the Fratricide Punished were also
'taken from the old Hamlet. There is some direct evidence to
strengthen this presumption. The scene at Ophelia's grave
bears a slight resemblance to the passage in Belleforest where
Hamlet appears at his own funeral.14 It may either have
occurred in the old Hamlet or have been first suggested to
Shakspere by Belleforest. The former alternative is strength-

1 Q, 1. 1424 seq. F. P., Ill, 2. A. R., Ill, 1.

« Q, 1. 1445 seq. 3 A. R., Ill, 2. S. T., V, 144 seq.

4Q, 1.1457 seq. 6 A. R., Ill, 1.

6 Q, 1. 2017 seq. 7 Q! 1. 1469 seq.

8 Q, 1. 140 seq. ; 1. 727 seq. 9 Q! 1. 140 ; 1. 2056.

10 Q! 1.173 seq. « Q, 1. 2050 seq.

12 Q, 1.400. 13Q, 1.809.

14 Cf. Corbin's The Elizabethan Hamlet, p. 15.

176 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

ened by the funeral scenes in Antonio's Revenge and by the
brutality and catholic coloring of the scene. So, too, the
scenes involving Rosencrantz and Guildenstern may have been
derived from Belleforest through the medium of the old play.
The scene with the grave-diggers, on the contrary, has no
parallel so far as I know, and must be credited to Shakspere's
invention.

Of the characterization and style of the transition play, few
conclusions can be drawn from the mangled text. All the
important characters must have been drawn in the rough in
the old play, but just how much they had been altered by
Shakspere, cannot be decided. Hamlet has the qualities we
have found in Hieronimo and Antonio, and in so much he
may have been outlined in the old play. In the first act
his sense of overpowering evil is, indeed, given almost final
vitality, but in general his reflections, his madness (more pro-
nounced than in Q2), and his irony reveal only the familiar
revenge hero, here and there retouched by Shakspere's phras-
ing. After the first two acts the play can hardly be said to
possess any style. Passages, however, seem nearer the style
of an earlier writer than of Shakspere in 1601. Sarrazin has
noted certain similarities to Kyd, and the abundance of rhym-
ing couplets surely points to an old play.1

Finally, out of the perplexities involved in discussing the
first quarto, we may come to a few definite conclusions. The
quarto, representing an old play retouched by Shakspere,
shows few variations from the revenge plays then in vogue.
So far as Shakspere had retouched it he had made it far more
poetical, more artistic than its predecessor ; he had replaced a
ranting ghost with a dignified ghost and had begun to give
the reflective passages a phrasing that should make them ever
significant. He had not added to the intrigue and murders,
but he had not lessened them. He had retained practically
all the scenes and situations of the old play and had intro-
duced no considerable changes in its leading motive or its

1 Cf. Boas., xlix seq.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORAEY REVENGE PLAYS. 177

general character. So far as the old play reappears, it seems
to have been a companion piece to the Spanish Tragedy • and
unless we are altogether mistaken in connecting the first
quarto with the original play, it shows that Shakspere was
working in response to theatrical necessities, and that he
frankly accepted a current conventional form. Not only may
the Hamlet of 1601-2 have seemed to the spectator to be little
more than a partial revision of a popular old play, it may
also have seemed very like the old Spanish Tragedy and the
new Antonio's Revenge.

VII. BEN JONSON'S ADDITIONS TO THE SPANISH
TRAGEDY.

The Additions l are distinct from the rest of the play and
can be summarized and numbered for convenience in discussing
them.

1. Act II, pp. 56-59. Scene between Isabella and Hieronimo after find-

ing the body of Horatio.

2. Act III, pp. 70-71. Hieronimo' s conversation with Lorenzo is enlarged.

3. Act IV, p. 103. A long speech by Hieronimo is added to the scene

with the Portuguese.

4. Act IV, p. 113. Scene between Hieronimo and two servants.

5. Act IV, p. 117. Scene with the painter, beginning with his entrance.

6. Act V, p. 166. Hieronimo and the two kings after the murders

[really two passages].

These additions do not represent a revision or recasting of
the plot, in fact they affect the proportion and movement of
the drama rather for the worse. They present few new situ-
ations, although two show notable resemblances to those in
other plays. In the fourth addition Hieronimo is running
about at night when Isabella enters in search of him and begs

1 Hazlitt's edition of Dodsley's Old Plays, Vol. 5, to which page numbers
refer. These additions are in a style very different from that of Jonson's
comedies written at about the same time (1601), hence some have ques-
tioned his authorship. The evidence of Henslow's diary, however, seems
decisive.

178 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

him to come in doors ; so Maria follows and entreats Anto-
nio.1 Again, the scene with the painter whom Hieronimo
asks if he can paint a tree or a wound — and " Canst paint a
doleful cry?" — must have been suggested by the scene between
a painter and JBalurdo in Antonio and Mellida.2 The greater
part of the additions deal with Hieronimo, and the develop-
ment of his part seems to have been their main purpose. His
irony is increased and made more effective ; his reflections are
more elaborate and more pregnant ; and above all, his mad-
ness gains enormously in reality and intensity. His madness,
indeed, receives a disproportionate development ; throughout
the additions he is either insane or on the verge of insanity ;
throughout Jonson is picturing a mind diseased by grief,
sometimes conscious of life's unrelaxing pain and again lost
in frenzied delirium. Let us look at Johnson's work with
these three points in mind, his development of the irony, the
reflective element, and the madness.

The first addition is occupied with Hieronimo's ravings.
He cries out that "Horatio must be living yet," sends Jacques
to look for him, and asks Pedro whose the body is. Isabella
thinks him mad and tries in vain to quiet him, while he calls
on night and death to fall upon him.

" Gird in my waste of grief with thy large darkness,
And let me not survive to see the light
May put me in the mind I had a son."

In the few lines of the second addition there is a telling
increase in Hieronimo's irony. Lorenzo says :

" Why, so, Hieronimo, use me."

He replies :

" Who, you, my lord ?
I reserve your favor for a greater honor.
This is a very toy, my lord, a toy."

1A. R., Ill, 1.

2 A. and M.t V, 1. The resemblance is unmistakable, but Johnson's
treatment is so much more elevated and elaborate that one would say the
scene in Antonio and Mellida was a burlesque on Jonson. The evidence,-
however, is decisive that Antonio and Mellida was the earlier.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 179

And later :

" In truth, my lord, it is a thing of nothing :
The murder of a son or so —
A thing of nothing, my lord ! "

The third addition consists of a long meditative speech. A
few lines will show how vital the meditative mood becomes
in Jonson's picture of the care-burdened, bewildered mind.

" My son I and what's a son ?

A thing begot within a pair of minutes — thereabout,
A lump bred up in darkness, and doth serve
To balance those light creatures we call women :
And, at nine months end, creeps forth to light.
What is there yet in a son,
To make a father doat, rave, or run mad ?
Being born, it pouts, cries, and breeds teeth.
What is there yet in a son ?

Well, heaven is heaven still !

And there is Nemesis and furies,

And things called whips ;

And they sometimes do meet with murderers ;

They do not always escape, that's some comfort

Ay, ay, ay, and then time steals on, and steals, and steals

Till violence leaps forth, like thunder, wrapp'd

In a ball of fire,

And so doth bring confusion to them all."

The meditation on revenge, it will be seen, was made imagina-
tively vital by another besides Shakspere.

The fourth addition represents Hieronimo " much dis-
traught," "lunatic and childish,"

" So that with extreme grief and cutting sorrow
There is not left in him one inch of man."

He enters seeking vainly for his son and starts at the sight
of the servants, crying " sprights ! sprights ! " When they
try to soothe him, he cries :

" Villain, thou liest and thou dost nought
But tell them I am mad ! Thou liest, I am not mad !
I know thee to be Pedro, and he Jacques
I'll prove it to thee; and were I mad, how could I ?"

180 ASHLEY H. THOENDIKE.

The fifth addition, the scene with the painter, is perhaps
the most notable of all. He, too, had a son who was mur-
dered ; and Hieronimo cries :

" I had a son

Whose least unvalued hair did weigh
A thousand of thy sons ; and he was murdered." l

Again in words which recall Hamlet's " the end is silence,"
Hieronimo cries :

" O, no, there is no end : the end is death and madness."

Throughout the scene, to quote Mr. J. A. Symonds ; " There
is a lionine hunger, blunt with pathetic tender-heartedness, a
brooding upon f things done long ago and ill done/ an alter-
nation between lunacy and the dull moodiness of reasonable
woe, which brings the old man vividly before us." 2 Or to
use the cant phrases of our analysis ; in spite of the fantastic
character of the scene, the meditative and insane elements in
the avenger's character are made impressively human.

The sixth addition depicts the maddened old man's exultant
revenge. It further illustrates Jonson's development of the
irony. The two kings are mourning over their murdered
sons — " But are you sure they are dead ? " asks Hieronimo —
" What, and yours too ? "

" Nay, then I care not ; come, and we shall be friends :
Let us lay our heads together.
See, here's a goodly noose will hold them all."

If this hasty examination fails in making our three points
clear, a reading of the entire scenes will surely convince any-
one of the increase in meditative speculations, and in irony,

1 Symonds suggests that Shakspere was thinking of this retort when he
wrote.

" I loved Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers
Could not with all their quantity of love
Make up my sum."

Shakespeare's Predecessors, p. 498.

2 Shakespeare's Predecessors, p. 494.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 181

and of the extraordinary vividness in the treatment of mad-
ness. When we come to the final Hamlet we shall find that
among other things these were precisely the developments
which Shakspere made to the early Hamlet.1 For the present
these additions of Jonson show that a great poet was working
with the same ideas and the same situations which Kyd and
Marston and Shakspere had handled. Jonson did not suc-
ceed in making a great drama out of the Spanish Tragedy ;
he added a few situations and supported others without im-
proving the structure of the play ; but he made the part of
Hieronimo notable in both thought and expression. Here,
more distinctly than in Antonio and Mellida, we have evi-
dence that the demand of the theatre for revenge plays was
accompanied by an imaginative impulse in the poets of the
time which attempted a new treatment of madness, a rehabili-
tation of the crude ravings of old Hieronimo and Hamlet in
a form distinctly more intellectual, more vitally human, and
of immensely greater imaginative power.

VIII. HOFFMAN.

Professor Delius submitted Hoffman to a careful examina-
tion in an essay published in 1 874,2 and concluded that it was
Henslow's rival production to Shakspere's Hamlet. In sup-
port of the view that as a rival it was to a large extent
an imitation of Hamlet, he cited a number of parallelisms.
According to our chronology, Hoffman preceded the final
Hamlet, and was almost exactly contemporary with the Ham-

1 1 think it is owing to this fact that passages here and there in Jonson's
additions recall Hamlet. I doubt if there was specific imitation or even
reminiscence on either side.

2 " Chettle's Hoffman und Shakspere's Hamlet." Nicolaus Delius. Shake-
speare Jahrbuch, ix, 166 ff. 1874., Reprinted in Abhandlungen zu Shakspere,
Elbenfeld, 1878. E. Ackermann, in a careful edition of the play, has also
briefly considered the connection between the two plays and agrees with
the conclusion of Delius. The Tragedy of Hoffman. Bamberg, 1894.

182 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

let of the first quarto ; and farther, most of 'the action of the
first quarto must have been familiar for years on the Eliza-
bethan stage in the original Hamlet. Whatever parallelisms
exist between Hoffman and Hamlet would consequently indi-
cate an indebtedness to the original play or to Shakspere's
first revision and not to the final version. Whatever chro-
nology or hypotheses, however, may be adopted, the conclu-
sions of Delius cannot be accepted, for he made no distinction
between the three forms of Hamlet, assuming that everything
in the final version is indubitably Shakspere's. In examining
Hoffman, then, we are obliged to attempt a new discussion of
the parallelisms which he noted.

He further supported his conclusion that Chettle imitated
Shakspere by citing numerous parallelisms between Hoffman
and some of Shakspere's early plays. In regard to this argu-
ment it may be said that there is an a priori probability that
Chettle imitated Shakspere's early work and particularly that
he adopted situations already used by Shakspere. Chettle
was a hack-writer, working with such dramatic material as
was common to the stage ; he was doubtless ready to borrow
where he could, and was influenced by Shakspere * even more
perhaps than by other dramatists. In our discussion it will
be impossible to consider Chettle's indebtedness to his con-
temporaries, except as such indebtedness directly affects the
revenge type.2

1 The fact that the closest parallelisms exist with King John and Titus
Andronicus suggests that Chettle was in the main using old conventions.
The trouble with the arguments of Professor Delius is that he constantly
relies on the assumption that whenever the slightest parallelism occurs
between Shakspere and another writer it indicates imitation of Shakspere.
For example, note his induction from the fact that in Hoffman Lorrique
proposes to strangle the duchess with a napkin — " This almost justifies the
conjecture (lasst beinahe vermuthen) that in December, 1602, when Chettle
was writing his drama, Shakspere's Othello may have been on the stage."

2 The use of disguises in the play is paralleled in many earlier plays, and
the disguise of a hermit seems probably suggested by two plays in which it
served an important part, the Blind Beggar of Alexandria, and Look About
You.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 183

Hoffman, or A Revenge for a Father,1 has its scene in Ger-
many.2 Hoffman's father has been killed by means of a red-
hot iron crown and his body hung up on a gallows. Hoffman
has stolen the skeleton, and the play opens with his speech
to this " sweet hearse " and his avowal of vengeance. Otho,
son of the murderer, is shipwrecked near Hoffman's cave and
is killed by Hoffman with the burning crown. Hoffman
takes Lorrique, Otho's servant, as an accomplice and proceeds
to Heidelberg, where he passes himself off as Otho, and the
Duke Ferdinand adopts him as his son in place of the booby,
Jerome. By one trick and another Hoffman now proceeds to
kill all who have any of the blood of his father's murderers
in their veins. Ferdinand and Jerome are poisoned; the
Duke of Austria and his son Lodowick are killed, the first in
a broil and the latter by his own brother through Hoffman's
deception. Lucibella, betrothed to Lodowick, is wounded at
the same time and becomes insane. Hoffman's career of
revenge is now checked by his falling in love with Martha,
mother of the murdered Otho. By a false account of Otho's
death, he induces her to acknowledge him as her son and then
proceeds in his wooing to the neglect of revenge. He finds
time, however, to put the accomplice out of the way. Mean-
while, in her wanderings, Lucibella has stumbled upon Hoff-
man's cave and found the body and clothes of Otho. This
leads to a detection of Otho's murder and Hoffman's identity ;
Martha is used as a decoy, and Hoffman is trapped and killed
by the red-hot crown.

Manifestly this plot differs widely from that of any of the
revenge plays yet considered. The most apparent differences
are in the character of the hero, the method of his revenge,

1 The Tragedy of Hoffman, etc. London, 1831. First quarto. The Trag-
edy, etc., ed. Kichard Ackermann. Bamberg, 1894. Line references are
given to Ackermann's edition, but my quotations were taken from the first
quarto, with some obvious corrections and modernizing I have not seen
the edition of 1851 by H(enry) B(arrett) L(ennard). It is described and
frequently quoted by Ackermann.

2 The sources have not been determined. See Ackermann, xvn.

184

ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

and the omission of the ghost. The principal motives of the
other plays, however, reappear, although with considerable
modification. (I) The revenge motive is dominant, but there
is no ghost to direct the revenge. (II) The hesitation motive
reappears; but the hesitation is not due to a tendency to
reflection and an overburdening sense of the obligation to
revenge; it is due to the passion for Martha, and a large
portion of Hoffman's revenge has been accomplished before
Martha appears on the scene. (Ill) Insanity appears in the
pathetic situation of Lucibella, but there is neither real nor
feigned insanity in Hoffman's case. (IV) Intrigue is an even
more important element than in the other plays. Deceit, dis-
guise, dissimulation are constantly at work. (V) Slaughter,
too, reigns supreme. Poison, stabbing, and the red-hot crown
make away with seven of the dramatis personae. (VI) Hoff-
man's situation is soon brought into contrast with that of his
victims, and we have too plots of revenge — Hoffman seeking
revenge for his father, and everyone else seeking revenge on
Hoffman. (VII) Hoffman's passion for the mother of his
victim, similar to that of Piero for Maria in Antonio's Re-
venge, is a prominent motive.

The play has little of the reflective element so prominent
in Antonio's Revenge and Hamlet. Hoffman has a number
of soliloquies, but they are mainly bragging speeches and have
none of the philosophizing which characterizes Hieronimo,
Antonio, and Hamlet. The nearest approach to the conven-
tional reflective soliloquy is by Martha, who, after reading
Latin verses, moralizes in this fashion.

"'Tis true; the wise, the fool, the rich, the poor,
The fair, and the deformed fall ; their life turns air ;
The king and captain are in this alike,
None have free hold of life, but they are still
When death, heaven's steward, comes tenants at will.
I lay me down and rest in thee, my trust.
If I awake never more till all flesh rise,
I sleep a happy sleep ; sin in me dies."1

^V, 1617ff.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 185

One other soliloquy, Hoffman's opening speech,1 reminds one
of Hamlet's speech (I, 1), but Hoffman's speech has equal
resemblance to those of Hieronimo and Antonio. It is merely
the conventional avowal of revenge by a son for a father.
Apart from its character as a soliloquy, its stage directions
are interesting in showing the usual accompaniments of such
a monologue 2

In discussing situations and bits of stage business we will
first consider those noted by Delius. Hoffman compels Lor-
rique to swear to be secret and to assist him.3 Delius notes
the swearing in Hamlet • it also occurs in the Spanish Tragedy
and the Fratricide Punished, and there is a solemn oath taken
in Antonio's Revenge* Jerome, the fool, supplies, as Delius
notes, the place taken by Hamlet's " antic disposition." In
this respect he more closely resembles Balurdo in Antonio's

*I, 1.

" Hence clouds of melancholy !
I'll be no longer subject to your schisms.
But thou, dear soul, whose nerves and arteries
In dead resoundings summon up revenge,

[Strikes open a curtain where appears a body.]
And thou shalt have't, be but appeased sweet hearse,
Thou dead remembrance of my living father !
And with a heart of iron, swift as thought
I'll execute (it) justly ; in such a cause
Where truth leadeth, what coward would not fight ?
Ill acts move some, but mine's a cause of right. /

[Thunder and lightning.]
See the powers of heaven, in apparitions
And frightful aspects, as incensed
That I thus tardy aim to do an act
Which justice and a father's death excite,
Like threatening meteors antedate destruction."

[Thunder.]

2 The suspended body recalls the corpses exhibited in the Spanish Trag-
edy, II, p. 52, and V, end ; and the similar exhibition of Feliche's body in
Antonio's Revenge, I, 2. Thunder and lightning interrupt Hoffman's speech ;.
so in Fratricide Punished, III, 6, it lightens when the ghost comes on the
stage.

»J3b/., I, l,72ff.

*&T.,II,p.41. F. P., I, 6. 4.jR.,IV,2.

186 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

Revenge ; Chettle follows Marston in separating the comic
part from the main plot and in using a booby to supply the
comedy. Like Hamlet, Jerome has "been at Wittenberg,
where wit grows." ] Wittenberg is mentioned in the German
play and in the Historie of Hamblet, so this can hardly be
taken as evidence of a reference to the later Hamlet.2 Lor-
rique's account of the shipwreck 3 reminds Delius of Hamlet's
account of his voyage, but the resemblance seems only in the
theme, a favorite one with Elizabethan dramatists. Jerome
calls on Stilt to sprinkle him with a casting bottle, and so the
queen wipes Hamlet's face.4 So in Fratricide Punishedj Ham-
let wipes his face because of the heat, and Phantasmo follows
suit.5 There is a constable scene as in Much Ado, Endymion,
the Spanish Tragedy, and other Elizabethan plays.6 There is
a procession bearing off the duke's body,7 as at the end of the
various Hamlets, the Spanish Tragedy and most Elizabethan
tragedies. There are poisoned drinks, as in all the Hamlets
and Antonio's Revenge. The account of the burial of Otho
recalls the burial of Ophelia and also the burial of Feliche.8
Martha lies down to sleep,9 and Delius notes the convention
of sitting down on the stage : this occurs in many plays, so
also does the business of kissing the earth.10 Hoffman's treat-

lHo/.t I, 2, 260.

2 Wittenberg is not infrequently referred to in Elizabethan literature.
See Lyly's Euphues, ed. Arber, p. 148 ; and Marston's Faustus, sc. 14.

3 Hoff., I, 2, 320. See also V, 1720.

4#o/.,II, 1,447. Hamlet, V, 2, 305. *F.P., V, 3.

6 Hoff., Ill, 2. Much Ado, III, 3. Endy., IV, 2. S. T., Ill, p. 79. The
Dumb Knight, Dodsley, X, p. 182. See also the Famous Victories of Henry
V, sc. 2, and the old Leir, act V. The scene in Ho/man with " the rabble
of poor soldiers" (III, 2) has a little similarity to the burlesque of Fal-
staff's army and to the insurrection of Laertes, as noted by Ackermann.
It is a comic treatment of a popular insurrection such as occurs in Julius
Ccesar and Henry VI, part 2.

''Hoff., IV, 2, 1556.

8 Ho/., V, 1. Hamlet, Qi, 1. 1962. A. R., IV, 2.

9 Hoff., IV, 3.

10 Delius notes King John, III, 1. Cf. S. T., I, p. 21. A. R., Ill, 2. I,
A. and M., IV, 1. Ho/man, I, 131 ; III, 1029.

HAMLET ANP CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 187

ment of the dead body of Lorrique1 reminds Delius of Ham-
let's treatment of the body of Polonius. But this is surely a
relic of the old play, and in none of the revenge plays is any
courtesy shown to the bodies of enemies.

These are all the instances of any importance,2 with the
exception of the insanity of Lucibella, in which Delius finds
resemblances between the two plays. In all these the resem-
blance is probably to the old as well as to Shakspere's Hamlet,
and often to the Spanish Tragedy and Antonio's Revenge and
other plays as well. Assuredly these instances make out no case
for supposing that Chettle borrowed from Shakspere's Hamlet.

Before considering Lucibella7 s relation to Ophelia, it will
be convenient to finish our consideration of the other scenes
and situations. There are scenes at the tomb of Lodowick
with tapers burning as at the tomb of Andrugio ; 3 Ferdinand
wears sable ornaments,4 and Martha reads a book before her
soliloquy,5 and Hoffman has the usual premonition of death.6
Disguises, plots, poisoned drinks, and stabbing affairs abound

2 Ackermann has noted that one of Delius' resemblances rests on a stage
direction added by H. B. L. in the edition of 1851. See Ackermann' s note
to 1. 957. Delius also notes the resemblance (certainly, very slight) between
Lodowick's placing his head on Lucibella's knee and Hamlet's conduct
before the play, and a few trivial verbal similarities. Ackermann has
added a number of other verbal parallels (p. xxii) which show the same
careful observation which he has applied with better effect to his editing
of the text. A few may be noted to illustrate the absurdities which usually
result from this kind of criticism.

" A little more than kin, and less than kind." .ETam/., I, 2, 65.

" But thou art even kilt after kind.'' Hoff., I, 4, 70.

"And what's untimely done." HamL, IV, 1, 40,

" In memory of his untimely fall." Hoff., V, 1874.

The occurrence in both plays of the words "hobby horse" and "strumpet"
is also noted as an indication of imitation. The latter word in Hamlet is
applied to Fortune, in Hoffman to Lucibella. The name Lorrique is also
paralleled with Yorick. As Ackermann says — "Diese Vergleichungen
liessen sich noch vielfach vermehren."

3 Hoff., IV, 1. A. R., Ill, 1. * Hoff., I, 2269.
6 So/., IV, 3. 6V, 2204.

188 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

as in the preceding plays. Hoffman's murder of his accom-
plice recalls the fates of Pedringano and Strotzo;1 and in the
audacity, abundance, and childishness of stratagems, the play
surpasses its predecessors. The scenes in which Hoffman
attempts the conquest of Martha recall, as Delius states, the
scene in Richard IIIj and still more definitely the wooing
of Maria by Piero.2 The love scene between Lodowick and
Lucibella recalls the love scenes between Horatio and Bell'
Imperia and Antonio and Mellida, though it resembles more
closely the scene in Midsummer Night's Dream where the lov-
ers are lost in the woods.

The insanity of Lucibella is of so much importance in its
relation to Ophelia that it must be examined at some length.
She first appears, " through her wounds and grief, distract of
sense," at the tomb of Lodowick, where Roderick, Mathias,
and Hoffman have gathered.3 She talks wildly ; says she is
going to gather flowers ; refuses to believe her lover is dead ;
and beats at the door, trying to enter the tomb. Then she
turns on Hoffman, and in her mad talk hits home at him
very pointedly.

" Ay, but a knave may kill one by a trick
Or lay a plot, or sigh, or cog, or prate,
Make strife, make a man's father hang him,
Or his brother, how think you, goodly Prince ?
God give you joy of your adoption ;
May not [such] tricks be used?"

Hoffman retains enough self-possession to say, "Alas, poor
lady ! " Then she breaks into a song,4 and after some more
wild talk takes leave of them.

1 Ho/., V, 2. & T., II, p. 85. A. R., IV, 1.

2 The scene (V, 3) has also, as Delius notes, a close resemblance to the
scene between Tamora and Aaron. Titus Andronicus, II, 3.

*Ho/., IV, 1. The reference to flowers recalls Ophelia in the German
play as well as in the Hamlets of the quartos. Cf. also S. T., IV, p. 94.
Cf. Ackermann, p. xxii.

* [sings] "I'm poor and yet have things

And gold rings, all amidst the leaves green, a —

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 189

. . . . " I'll run a little course

At base or barley break, or some such toy

To catch the fellow and come back again."

The lines recall Ophelia's chasing Phantasmo in the Fratri-
cide Punished • l and as the queen there describes Ophelia as
running up and down,2 so Roderick says,

" But Lucibella like a chased hind
Flys through the thickets."

Later on3 Roderick and Mathias are again together, and
are fearful lest she has killed herself, as she was last seen
climbing the cliffs. She enters in rich clothes ; they greet
her ; and after a while she tells them in her mad fashion that
she has discovered a cave where she found the rich clothes she
wears and two bones which she produces. Then she leads
the way toward the cave.

" Come, go with me. I'll show you where he dwells,
Or somebody ; I know not who it is ;
Here look, look here ! here is a way goes down
Down, down-a-down, hey down, down.
I sung that song when Lodowick slept with me."4

As they are going to the cave, they come upon Lorrique
and Martha and, standing to one side, overhear Lorrique's
false account of the burial of Otho. Lucibella, after some
asides directed at the villains, comes forward and shows her
fine clothes ; Martha recognizes them as Otho's ; and Lorrique
is forced to confess that Otho was murdered and stowed away

Lord, how d'y'e.— Well ? I thank God ! Why that's well !
And you my lord, and you, too ! — ne'er a one weep ?
Must I shed all the tears?"

Her method of addressing each in return may be compared with Ophelia's
manner in F. P., IV, 7. Of. also her talk with that of Isabella. & T.,
IV, p. 94.

!.F.P., Ill, 11.

*F. P., IV, 6. Ho/., 1537-8. 8.Hb/., V, 1.

*Cf. Hamlet, IV, 5, 170, and Q,, 1711, where Ophelia refers to this burden,
which seems to have been a familiar one.
5

190 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

in the cave. Lucibella partially regains her sanity and assists
in the final scene in which they entrap Hoffman at the cave.

In the Lucibella scenes, then, we have a girl driven insane
by grief, a situation found in the Spanish Tragedy and in the
three versions of Hamlet.1 In some of her mad talk, her
running up and down, her snatches of songs, and in the
attempts to make her situation pathetic, she is presented in
much the same way as Ophelia must have been in the early
Hamlet. Only in the familiar burden " down-a-down " i&
there a trace of verbal similarity with Ophelia. So much
resemblance exists to the Ophelia of the German play and the
first quarto, that there is nothing in Lucibella's part which can-
certainly be referred only to the final Hamlet.2 The resem-
blances only warrant us in saying that Chettle made use of a
character and situation long used on the stage, and that he
may have been led to do this by the popularity of Shakspere's
first revision of the old Hamlet.

There is further evidence, however, which somewhat modi-
fies this conclusion. The points of difference between Luci-
bella and Ophelia are as noticeable as the points of resem-
blance. Lucibella does not commit suicide; she does not
distribute flowers ; she does not sing songs unpleasant to
modern taste. In these three respects, all important in a
stage presentation, she differs from Ophelia. Still further
her madness is made the instrument for some telling hits at
the villain, hits which the audience, of course, appreciated ;

1 For another instance of the mad girl in an earlier play, cf. Pandora in
Act V of Lyly's The Woman in the Moon. She talks childishly and sings
snatches.

2 Neverthess, Delius says that Lucibella is a slavish copy of Ophelia.
His error comes, I think, from his point of view, which the following quo-
tation will sufficiently illustrate. " Die Frage, die allein hier zur Ent-
scheidung kommen muss, wenn wir, wie H. B. L. thut, einmal von alien
sonstigen Aehnlichkeiten zwischen Shakespeare's Hamlet und Chettle's
Hoffman absehen wollen, kann nur die sein : Welcher Wahnsinn, der der
Ophelia oder der der Lucibella, ist besser motivirt, mit feinerer psycho-
logischer Berechnung von dem betr. Dichter herbeigefiihrt worden ?"

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 191

and it is also made the means for the discovery of the villain's
iniquity. "While Ophelia's madness has no connection with
the main action, Lucibella's insanity directly leads to the
denouement.1 Dramatically this is a very important differ-
ence, and there is no evidence that it is not due to Chettle's
invention. In that case his treatment of the mad girl is, on
the whole, original rather than imitative. So great is this
original development that it leads one to suspect that in some
of the many non-extant Elizabethan plays there may have
been mad scenes which influenced Chettle's treatment of Luci-
bella.2 Such conjecture aside, we may assert that Chettle
owes comparatively little to Ophelia. When Shakspere came
to give final form to Ophelia's madness, he had been preceded,
according to our chronology, by Hoffman as well as the early
Hamlet and the Spanish Tragedy. In any case Chettle's
development of the type seems to have been original and cer-
tainly has its own importance.

In spite of the wide difference in plot, Hoffman has pre-
sented many points of similarity in stage situations to the

1 H. L. B. in his edition of Hoffman (quoted by Delius) thinks it hard to
decide whether Ophelia or Lucibella was the original. " While the char-
acter of Ophelia neither contributes to nor advances the progress of the
tragedy and is entirely episodical, Lucibella, in her fit of madness, is made
the unconscious instrument by which the denouement of the tragedy is
promoted."

2 The wide variation of his treatment from that of Lyly or Kyd or
Shakspere suggests that such mad scenes were not uncommon. At all
events the mad girl has had since then a notable career on the stage and
in fiction; and Chettle's lead has often been followed. For an example
of the insane girl in situations very similar to those in Hoffman, see The
Drunkard, or The Fallen Saved. Boston, 1847. This play was first pro-
duced at the Boston Museum, February 12, 1844; and is still sometimes
acted in this country. The mad girl, Agnes, like Lucibella, taunts the
villain, Cribbs (Act I, sc. 3), and later discloses his villany (V, 1) and
brings about the happy ending. She also sings and talks childishly. The
author especially disclaims any originality for Agnes or Cribbs ; and it is
my impression that situations closely paralleling those of Lucibella are
still rather common in melodrama. For a somewhat similar use of a mad
girl in modern fiction, compare Matilde in Mr. Gilbert Parker's the Seals
of the Mighty.

192 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

other revenge plays. Of the characters, Lucibella has been
sufficiently discussed. Lorrique is the conventional assistant
villain and like Pedringano supplies considerable grim humor;
Martha fills a place like Maria in Antonio's Revenge • the
other minor characters are not noteworthy. Hoffman is quite
different from the avengers of the other tragedies. He is
oppressed neither by thought nor want of resolution and he
is not driven to madness. He resembles Hieroiiimo, Hamlet,
and Antonio only in his use of stratagem and irony. In these
respects he is more like the villains, Lorenzo and Piero, than
the heroes, and much more like lago than Hamlet. His love
for Martha interferes with his revenge, but apart from this he
is ever tricky, unscrupulous, energetic, brave, and unrelenting
— in short, an absolute stage villain. Like Piero and lago
again, he is always hypocritically assuming virtue and sym-
pathy. An examination of some of these ironical assumptions
will show that this kind of irony was crudely effective on the
stage.1 He bears little resemblance to Hamlet ; he is merely
an effective stage villain with some of the ingenuity, if little
of the vitality, of lago.

The style of the play is in no way notable. Many passages
vaguely and a few distinctly suggest Shakspere, and a case
could be made out, I think, for some imitation of other six-
teenth century dramatists. There are the usual allusions to
Seneca and Nemesis and Elysium, an abundance of full-
mouthed declamations, and some passages of genuine tragic
power. The style has considerable fluency and not a little
grace and vigor,2 but little of that ambitious imaginative
effort which distinguishes the contributions of Jonson and
Marston to the revenge tragedies. Chettle turns everything

1Note his speech to Otho whom he is about to murder (I, 1) and the
speech in which he begs Ferdinand to pardon the people (III, 2); his
sympathetic replies to Lucibella's taunts (IV, 1); and his approval of
Mathias' determination to be Lucibella's guardian — " a virtuous and noble
resolution." In III, 1, he declares, "There is villany, practice, and vil-
lany;" the villany being, of course, entirely of his own manufacture.

2 See the dying speech of Lodowick, III, 1.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 193

into blank verse with the ease of a clever Elizabethan ; he
does not struggle with anything beyond his reach.

As a whole, Hoffman adds further proof of the popularity
of the " revenge for a father " story on the stage. We have
seen, too, that Chettle treated this story with a good deal of
dramatic ingenuity. So far is it from being a copy of Shak-
spere's Hamlet that it differs from that play more than any
of the other tragedies we have to consider. The old Hamlet
may have suggested the main plot and Lucibella's madness
and some other situations ; many other situations, and indeed
the main story, may likewise have been suggested by Anto-
nio's Revenge or the Spanish Tragedy or some lost revenge
play; or the subjects and situations may have been so much
matters of theatrical convention that Chettle had no sense of
direct borrowing. We have no reason to deny him originality
in constructing his plot, in the development of situations, and
particularly in the Lucibella scenes. Unlike Marston, Jon-
son, and Shakspere, he made little effort to give the story
either imaginative intensity or philosophical significance. He
took the common theatrical motives and situations, added
much and changed much, and constructed a good acting play,
not without some grace of verse. A play that was still popu-
lar thirty years later1 must certainly have successfully met the
stage demand; we must remember that Shakspere's Hamlet
must have possessed qualities to satisfy the same demand.

IX. THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY.

The Atheist's Tragedy ; or, the Honest Man's Revenge?
differs as much as Hoffman from the early revenge plays.
Leaving the entire comic underplot out of consideration, the
main story is as follows.

1See title-page of 1631 quarto, which states that it was acted with great
applause at the Pbcenix.

2 The Mermaid Series. Webster and Tourneur. Page references will
be to this edition.

194 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

Charlemont, son of Montferrers, is encouraged by his uncle
D'Amville to go to the war at Ostend and so is parted from
his betrothed, Castabella. D'Amville proves to be a villain
and an atheist ; he publishes through an accomplice a false
report of Charlemont's death ; marries Castabella to his own
sickly son ; manages to have himself made Montferrers' heir
and then kills the old man. Later he attempts to ravish
Castabella. The ghost of Montferrers appears to Charlemont,
reveals the murder, commands him to return to England, but
bids him leave revenge to heaven. Charlemont upon meet-
ing the villain loses control of himself and fights with the
villain's son. He is consequently imprisoned by D'Amville,
and after his escape is assaulted by the accomplice Borachio,
whom he kills. He and Castabella are charged with the
murder, convicted, and are about to be executed. They sub-
mit with joy, desiring death. Meanwhile one of D'Amville's
sons has died and the other has been killed in a duel ; conse-
quently D'Amville begins to lose faith in his atheistic creed
and is finally driven distracted. He takes the bodies of his
sons to the place of execution and raves and cries for judg-
ment. Finally he ascends the scaffold, displaces the execu-
tioner, and seizes the axe in order to kill Charlemont, but in
lifting it he strikes out his own brain. Convinced by this
exhibition of God's revenge that his atheism is at fault, he
confesses his guilt. Charlemont is freed and declares :

" Only to Heaven I attribute the work,
Whose gracious motives made me still forbear
To be mine own revenger. Now I see
That patience is the honest man's revenge." l

The play has for its basis, then, the old "revenge for a
father " story and some of the old accompaniments, such as a
ghost and a graveyard. The five old motives appear, but
changed and accompanied by new elements. (I) The revenge
is for a father murdered by an uncle as in Hamlet, and is

M. T., V, 2.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 195

directed by a ghost. The revenge, however, is left to provi-
dence. (II) The revenging son not only hesitates, but after
a little irresolution overcomes his inclinations to revenge and
resignedly awaits the judgment of Heaven. (Ill) Insanity
appears only in the distraction of the villain, owing to the
inflictions sent by a revenging providence. (IV) Intrigue is
confined to the villain, but occupies a very prominent part in
the play. (V) There is the usual accumulation of murders
and one suicide; seven of the dramatis personae dying on
the stage. (VI) The situation of the hero is contrasted with
that of the villain, who experiences grief at the loss of his
sons and tries to revenge himself on the innocent. (VII)
The lustful passion of D'Aniville for Castabella introduces
an element only slightly developed in Hamlet and Antonio's
Revenge. Here it receives as great a prominence as in Hoff-
man. Further, we may note that, as in Hoffman, the villain
takes the chief place in the play, although here he is the
object not the agent of revenge ; and that the development
of the idea of a revenge carried on by providence, which
seems to have been original with Tourneur, causes an entire
ohange in the character of the leading motive.

This change in the revenge motive is manifest in the
soliloquies and other reflective passages. The discourses of
D'Amville, indeed, constitute a sermon on providence, begin-
ning with his avowal of an atheistic fatalism l and progress-
ing through his terrified speech on the death's head 2 and his
reflections on the power of gold and human wisdom 3 to his
final death speech 4 in which he confesses the power- of God
over nature. Charlemont supplies three soliloquies : one at

1 1, 2, p. 250-251 (Mermaid ed.)-

" We have obtained it — ominous ! in what ? " etc.
* IV, 3, p. 314-315.

" Why dost thou stare upon me ? Thou art not — "

3 V, 1, 323 seq.

" Cease that harsh music. We are not pleased with it."

4 V, 2, p. 336.

" There was the strength of natural understanding."

196 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

his father's grave ; l one in the prison, where he moralizes on
"our punishments" and "the sacred justice of my God";
and the third in the churchyard, where he reflects on the
sweet rest that death brings :

" Since to be lower than
A worm is to be higher than a king." 2

Even Levidulcia,a woman whose character appears contempt-
ible throughout, resolves to die in twenty-six lines of moral-
izing. Thus there appears plenty of rhetorical philosophizing
here as in other revenge plays ; moreover, in this case, all the
reflective passages and soliloquies unite in a fairly well con-
nected argument which points to the moral of the action, the
omnipotence of God's providence. This kind of unity in the
meditative element is new and shows a deliberate attempt to
embody a philosophical conception in a revenge tragedy.

The scenes which most resemble those in other revenge
plays are the ghost and graveyard scenes. The ghost of
Montferrers first appears to Charlemont.3 It is one o'clock
instead of twelve, as usual ; the night is very dark ; there i&
thunder and lightning;4 while on watch with a fellow soldier,
Charlemont is strangely overcome with sleep.5 The ghost
appears, commands him to return to England,

" But leave revenge unto the King of kings."

Charlemont wakes, but half persuades himself that the appa-
rition was an idle dream.6 The soldier declares that he saw
nothing ; then the ghost re-enters, the soldier shoots a bullet
through him without effect, and Charlemont is convinced of
the ghost's genuineness. Later, when Charlemont forgets the

1HI, l,p. 292.

" Of all men's griefs must mine be singular ? "
2 IV, 3, p. 307, 308.

" How fit a place for contemplation is this dead of night."
3 A. T., II, f>.

* See Ho/., I, 1. F. P., Ill, 6. 5 See Ho/., IV, 2.

6 His speech, II, 6, p. 286, recalls some of Hamlet's meditations.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 197

injunction of patience1 and fights with Sebastian, the ghost
appears again and commands him to leave revenge to God.
Once more, after D'Amville has fallen asleep over his gold,2
the ghost appears and contradicts the atheist's boasting.

Tourneur's ghost, then, is no fierce, revengeful stalker like
Marston's, and he shows far more Christian morality than
Shakspere's. He is a messenger of Providence if not a
prophet of God : and if he is also funny, it is only because
Tourneur intended him so seriously. In his appearance to
his son at night on the watch and in his second appearance
to check his son's purposeless rage, he is like the ghost in
Hamlet. Apart from his views on revenge, he was, no doubt,
a good, ordinary, conventional stage ghost.

The churchyard scene is of a sort that hardly permits
description. Three couples wander into the churchyard for
very different purposes : Charlemont and Borachio, D'Am-
ville and Castabella, Snuffe, the puritan, and Soquette. The
two latter furnish the comic element, which culminates when
the puritan mistakes Borachio's dead body for Soquette.
There is also tragic action enough among the graves. Charle-
mont kills Borachio ; and disguised as a ghost, rescues Casta-
bella from D'Amville. More important for our purpose are
the soliloquies of Charlemont and D'Amville. Like Hamlet,
Charlemont reflects that death will bring us all to an equality,
but, unlike Hamlet, he hails death as a sure and welcome
rest.3 D'Amville, terrified by the supposed ghost of Mont-
ferrers, finds, like Hamlet, a cause for reflection in a death's
head.4 Skulls play a different part from that in Hamlet, but
one no less prominent. In entering the charnel house, Charle-

1 A. T.t III, 2. » A. T., V, 1. 3 IV, 3.

4 IV, 3, p. 314.

a Why dost thou stare upon me ? Thou art not

The soul of him I murdered. What hast thou

To do to vex my conscience ? Sure thou wert

The head of a most dogged usurer,

Th' art so uncharitable . . ." etc.

198 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

mont takes hold of a death's head ; it slips and he stumbles ;
and later Charlemont and Castabella, with heavy souls, lie
down to rest, each with a death's head for a pillow. A
churchyard scene with an accompaniment of skulls must
have been familiar on the stage in the first quarto Hamlet,
if not in the original play, and possibly in other revenge
plays * as well. Tourneur's development is at least original.

The intrigue Scenes need little consideration in detail ; the
skilful nature of his machinations is set forth sufficiently in
D'Amville's talk with Borachio.2 The intrigue is of the same
general sort as in the early plays, but, as in Hoffman, it shows
considerable stage development beyond the crude tricks of the
Spanish Tragedy and the old Hamlet.

The remaining incidents of the stage performance which
show resemblances to the other revenge plays are not very
numerous, nor do the resemblances often extend beyond the
mere situation to the handling. There are a wedding banquet
scene 3 as in Antonio's Revenge, watch scenes,4 as in the Span-
ish Tragedy and Hoffman, three sword fights,5 as in Jeronimo,
Hamlet, and Hoffman, and a suicide,6 as in Hamlet and the
Spanish Tragedy. Castabella7 mourns at her lover's grave
as does Lucibella in Hoffman* and there is a parting scene9 as
in Jeronimo and Hamlet. More trivial likenesses appear in
the clock striking twelve,10 the thunder and lightning,11 the
scaffolds,12 and the death's heads.13

This soliloquy of D'Amville's is at least boldly imaginative ; for example :
" The trembling motion of an aspen leaf
Would make me, like the shadow of that leaf,
Lie shaking under 't."

I The churchyard scene in Antonio's Revenge, III, 1, offers some resem-
blances. *A. T., II, 4, p. 278 seq.

3 A. T., II, 1. A. -B., V, 1. See also wedding celebration at end of
Spanish Trugedy and banquet scenes in Hamlet.
*A.T., IV, 3, and IV, 5. 5 A. T., IV, 2 ; IV, 3 ; and IV, 5.

9 A. T., IV, 5. M. T., Ill, 1.

8JHb/., IV, 1. 9AT.,I,2. Jer.,1,2. Ham., 1, 3.

10 A. T., IV, 3.

II In II, 4, p. 279, as well as on appearance of ghost, II, 6.
"AT., V, 2. 13A T.,IV, 3.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPOEARY REVENGE PLAYS. 199

Of the characters, the most noticeable is the villain, whose
intellectual self-sufficiency and outspoken revolt against God
give him a distinction which his greed for gold and conven-
tional employment of trickery do not altogether destroy. His
hypocrisy is of the most accomplished character, and his ob-
servations contain a good deal of fatalism. His accomplice,
Borachio, is of the usual type. Snuffe is a savage attack on
the puritans dragged into a revenge play, and like the rest
of the people in the underplot, he is out of tune with the
moral which the main action points. Sebastian is obviously
one of the many successors of Shakspere's Mercutio — witty,
profligate, and generous, — he dies with merely a " I ha't i'
faith." The hero, Charlemont, from the altered conception
of revenge, is reduced to a subordinate position. His dis-
traction at his father's death and Castabella's marriage dis-
appears in his submission to the will of God. Only for a
moment, in the presence of the murderer, does he become
furious like Antonio ; only in his marked tendency to medi-
tation and his eagerness to die and be rid of life's burden,
does he resemble Hieronimo and Hamlet.

The style is very unequal. While distinguished by passages
of magnificent imaginative power, it ordinarily fails to raise
the horrors described to the point of impressive reality. Like
Marston, Tourneur is fond of strange and violent figures and
is constantly reaching beyond his grasp.

As a whole, the Atheist's Tragedy may fairly be taken as
further proof of the vogue of " revenge for a father " plays ;
and the originality of its treatment of the subject only goes
still farther to prove the extent of this vogue and the impres-
sion which the theme made on poets of the time. In the
accumulation of horrors, in the development of the villain's
character, in the emphasis of new motives at the expense of
revenge, and finally in the more elaborate handling of the
intrigue, this play may be said to carry the general develop-
ment of the tragedy of blood a step farther than Marston and
Chettle had carried it, and a step nearer to Webster. On the

200 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

other hand, in its definite attempt to present an intellectual
conception of moral grandeur, the play sometimes, more closely
than any yet considered, approaches Hamlet. Tourneur seems
to have written this tragedy when a young man, and he was
struggling with conceptions quite beyond him. Artistically,
the play is a bad failure. But in its abandonment of the
brutal theory of revenge, in its definite moralizing, in the
more certainly intellectual quality shown in its reflective
passages, we may see how Tourneur sought to supply the old
conventional revenge tragedy with moral significance. Here
and there, indeed, in occasional finely imaginative passages,
in the realization of certain mental aspects,1 his conceptions
become vital and suggestive, and one feels for a moment that
the Atheist's Tragedy is, after all, not so far from Hamlet.

X. THE FINAL HAMLET.

Before considering the final Hamlet, we may pause a mo-
ment to determine what conclusions we have already reached
and what problems remain before us. We have found that
revenge tragedies appeared on the stage as early as 1588 and
that for a few years after 1598 they were decidedly popular.
During this latter period two old plays of the type were
revised, the Spanish Tragedy by Jonson and Hamlet by Shak-
spere, and other writers wrote new plays of the same general
sort. Our discussion has shown that all these plays are of
one fairly definite type and has enabled us to formulate the
characteristics of this type. Shakspere, we have seen, neither
invented the type, for Kyd must be credited with that ; nor
did he set the fashion from 1599 on, for Marston almost cer-
tainly preceded him ; nor was he the first to try to invest the
old conventions with new imaginative vitality, for Marston's

1 See IVAmville's two speeches in the last scene, beginning
" Whether it be thy art or nature, I

Admire thee, Charlemont."
And " There was the strength of natural understanding."

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 201

play is surely an ambitious effort to do that. The revenge
tragedy would have had an origin, a revival, and an imagina-
tive development without Shakspere.

In the light of these facts some of the minor questions of
chronology become unimportant. It makes little difference
for our purpose whether Ben Jonson's Additions to the Span-
ish Tragedy preceded or followed Shakspere's revisal of the
old Hamlet-, and so it makes little difference whether Hoffman
and the Atheist's Tragedy were acted before or after the final
Hamlet • for although in our analysis we have sought to point
out the elements in these plays common to the revenge type,
these three plays are clearly independent and original develop-
ments of that type. They do not imitate Shakspere's Hamlet,
nor does Hamlet imitate them. At least, we have found no
evidence of such imitation; we have found that all these
authors were working with similar dramatic motives, similar
material, and to some extent under similar artistic impulses.
We are to ask to what extent these conditions appear in Ham-
let ? how far was Shakspere doing these same things ? With
such questions before us we only need to know that Jonson,
Chettle, and Tourneur were writing revenge plays at about
the time that Shakspere was writing Hamlet.

In the same way the questions of Shakspere's exact indebt-
edness to the old play, of the date of the first quarto, and of
its relations to the early and final versions, also become ques-
tions of minor importance. Answers to these questions have
been necessary to give any definiteness and completeness to
our discussion, but had they been left unanswered, our atti-
tude toward the final Hamlet would not be essentially different.
It is practically certain that Shakspere was indebted to the
old play ; it is just as certain that he was using dramatic
material and stage conventions which were common property.
However much he kept from the old play, however much he
added or altered, whenever he first began to revise it, how-
ever gradual the revision may have been, the final Hamlet is
undoubtedly to be judged as Shakspere' s. Some of it may be

202 ASHLEY H. THOENDIKE.

a survival of the old play ; some of it entirely new in situa-
tion as well as phrasing ; most of it is certainly transformed
by his genius ; the whole is the Hamlet which Shakspere
finally put upon the Elizabethan stage, a competitor of other
revenge tragedies.

It is this Hamlet, certainly the successor of some of the
revenge tragedies, the contemporary and rival of others, that
we are to consider. Through the course of our investigation
we have come to the final Hamlet on an entirely different
aspect from the one with which we have been familiar from
our earliest school-days. For our purpose we must still keep
our attention abstracted from the familiar poem which has
wrought itself into our imaginations, and must keep rigidly
to the historical aspect. We must look upon Hamlet as a
play which suited an Elizabethan audience,1 the reconstruction

1 It is interesting to glance at the opinions held by Shakspere' s contem-
poraries about Hamlet. Allusions to Shakspere have been fortunately col-
lected in Shakespeare's Centurie of Prayse (N. S. S., series IT, 2) and Fresh
Allusions to Shakspere (N. S. S., iv, 3). Fifteen allusions to Hamlet before
1642 are noted in the first volume, and thirty additional allusions in the
second; of these forty -five, twenty-one (C. of P., pp. 73, 171, 185; F. A.,
pp. 12, 27, 31, 32, 33, 35, 36, 39, 53, 61, 99, 105, 112, 113, 116, 120, 130,
151 (?) ) are verbal reminiscences, some of them very doubtful, some cer-
tainly familiar phrases, all very slight. Taken together they may illus-
trate the undoubted popularity of Hamlet, but they do not bear any definite
testimony in regard to contemporary appreciation of the play. Three
others (F. A., pp. 41, 85, 98*) are bits of Ophelia's songs, and one (F. A.,
p. 26) a similar bit of talk about rue and rosemary. Curiously the editors
seem to have overlooked Hoffman, which would have furnished similar
parallelisms ; we have already seen that Ophelia's songs and bits of mad
talk cannot be surely credited to Shakspere's invention. Three other
references (C. of P., p. 187, F. A., 11, 72), including the scene in the
AtheisCs Tragedy, are churchyard scenes: two (C. of P., pp. 67,79) are
mere mentions of the play; one (F. A., p. 80) is a quotation; and one
(F. A., p. 135), "A trout, hamlet with foure legs," is hard to explain.

Thirteen allusions are left to supply us with evidence of the character
of the contemporary estimate of the play. Of these, five (C. of P., pp.,
66, 69, 72, 117, F. A., 29) are burlesques of passages in Hamlet] six (C. of
P., pp. 66, 72, 135, 159, 160, .F. A., p. 102) allude to the ghost, four in
particular to the business in the cellar; three (C. of P., 64, F. A., 52, 55)

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 203

of an old play that had been familiar to theatre-goers for fif-
teen years. In order to get some understanding of Shakspere's
methods we are to examine it in connection with other plays
and in the light of what other men did with the revenge
tragedy. We are to ask to what extent Hamlet belongs to the
now familiar type, how far its origin and characteristics can
be explained by the same conditions that explained the other
plays. As we discussed the other dramatists, we are to dis-
cuss Shakspere's development of the revenge tragedy ; only
we need not dwell overlong on the extent and nature of his
transformation. Everyone knows how complete that was;
we may therefore dwell on the less recognized features of his
work, its relations to the work of his contemporaries. We
have seen what the other dramatists were doing ; we are to
ask, did Shakspere use the same material they were using?
did he use it in the same way ? how far did he adopt the same
conventions ? did he avail himself of their experience ? was
he impelled by the same artistic impulses ? in short, to what
extent was he doing what they were doing ?

He retained the old plot almost without change. The plot
of " revenge for a father," which had been familiar on the
stage in the early Hamlet and with few important changes
in Antonio's Revenge, received few alterations from the form
already considered in the first quarto. Such alterations as
were made will be discussed later ; but so far as the action
goes, the spectators saw little that was new in the final
Hamlet.

allude to Hamlet's madness; and three (C. of P., 131, 160, F. A., 55)
couple Hamlet with Hieronimo. In these allusions, Hamlet was looked
upon as a popular ghost play, in which the dodging about of the ghost was
especially noticeable ; as a play to be placed beside old Hieronimo ; and as
a play whose popularity warranted a little pleasant burlesque. So far as
Hamlet's character is touched upon at all, his salient features seem to have
been his madness and furious action.

The evidence of these few allusions is not very conclusive. They do,
however, indicate that Hamlet was famous as a play dealing with revenge
and a ghost, and they do not hint that it seemed to differ greatly from
other revenge plays. There is no appreciation of its artistic significance.

204 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

The dramatic motives familiar in the other revenge plays
reappear. The revenge motive is softened by the poetical
character given the ghost and by the greater truth to life
of the hero. The ghost does not shriek revenge, nor the hero
rave as blatantly as in the days of Hieronimo and Antonio,
but the ghost does excite to revenge as relentlessly as then,
and the hero's end in life is still blood-vengeance. Revenge
is still the dominant motive of the play, and it appears in a
form much less altered from the old plays than in the new
conception which Tourneur tried to express in the Atheist's
Tragedy.

The hesitation motive also reappears. As Hieronimo sought
new proof and questioned fate and delayed ; as Antonio was
lost in bewilderment, missed an opportunity for revenge, and
wasted energy in a cruel murder ; so Hamlet, overpowered
with the burden of his task, struggles to its accomplishment
through the same weaknesses and delays. Again, though in
a different fashion, Hamlet's love, like Hoffman's, proves only
an impediment. Again he is so burdened with doubt and irreso-
lution, that as with Hieronimo and Charlemont, life becomes
the thing with which he would most willingly part. The
development in the subtlety and vitality of the characteriza-
tion makes the hesitation immensely more real to life, but
hardly adds a single new dramatic element to the motive as
treated in the other revenge plays.

Madness, real and feigned, appears again as in the Spanish
Tragedy. Hieronimo pretended madness with many ironical
jibes, Antonio chose the habit of a fool, and so Hamlet dis-
simulates, is ironical, merry, and idle. Charlemont lost con-
trol of himself when his betrothed seemed false and again in
the presence of the murderer, and Hamlet loses himself in
sore distraction in the terribly affecting scene with Ophelia
and in his struggle with Laertes. As in old Hieronimo, real
and assumed madness blend together in a state of mind which
we puzzle our brains for words to express. Whether Hamlet
was insane or not, is no question for our discussion ; the word

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 205

madness will stand for his mental state as well as another.
Tremendously vital this madness surely is — far removed in
point of artistic expression from that of the Spanish Tragedy —
it affects us with lasting human suggestiveness. Yet even this
vitalization of the old raving revenger is not characteristic of
Shakspere alone, for it was the most prominent element in
Jonson's additions to the Spanish Tragedy, where the insanity
of Hieronimo often became so vividly human that we were
directly reminded of Hamlet. The madness of Ophelia is
also paralleled in the Spanish Tragedy and Hoffman as well
as in the early Hamlet; and if Shakspere gave it a new pathos,
he made no attempt as did Chettle to integrate the part of
the mad girl with the plot. Like the other leading motives
of the old play, madness was a popular theme both with the
audiences and poets of the time ; and Shakspere adopted it.

Intrigue remains, but is subdued by the greater prominence
given to other motives. Shakspere did not enlarge the intrigue
element after the fashion of Marston or Chettle or Tourneur.
We like to fancy that he had little taste for that sort of
business, but he seems to have retained all the intrigue there
was in the old Hamlet. The king's trick of sending Hamlet
to England, Hamlet's rejoinder to Rosencrantz and Guilden-
stern, Hamlet's trick of the play, and the final intrigue of the
king and Laertes, all come under this head.

The slaughter element also reappears : Shakspere certainly
did not see fit to alter the prevailing fashion in this respect.
Blood flows as freely as in the other plays : Polonius, Guild-
enstern, Rosencrantz and Ophelia disappear before the final
scene, which carries off the rest of the principal actors.

The minor motives are similar to those in other plays.
The passion of the king for the queen, which gains reality
through the characterization, is not given the extensive rep-
resentation which similar guilty passions receive in Hoffman
and the Atheist's Tragedy; but it is given in the dumb show
a presentation very similar to that which Piero's love for
Maria receives in Antonio's Revenge. We have, too, the sub-
6

206 ASHLEY H. THOKNDIKE.

ordinate situation contrasting with the main situation, the
minor revenge motive contrasting with the main motive. In
the Spanish Tragedy the painter and senex, mourning for their
murdered sous, heightened Hieronimo's grief; in Antonio's
Revenge Pandulpho's mourning is contrasted with Antonio's ;
and so Laertes' situation is contrasted with Hamlet's. As the
painter's grief maddens Hieronimo, so Laertes' grief maddens
Hamlet. As in the Atheist's Tragedy the death of the vil-
lain's sons is contrasted with the death of the hero's father,
and as in Hoffman the vengeance of Mathias is contrasted
with Hoffman's, so Laertes' losses and his revenge are con-
trasted with Hamlet's.

We may conclude that in building on an old story and
reconstructing an old play, Shakspere used the old dramatic
motives because they were still popular on the stage and
because they stirred him as they did other poets to imagina-
tive expression. He developed these motives without funda-
mental change but with a power of expression and character-
ization which they tried in vain to attain.

We come next to the soliloquies and reflective element.
In the first quarto two of the soliloquies appeared in mangled
form, but the others here seem at least immensely developed
from any form which the first quarto can represent, and the one
after meeting Fortinbras' army is a total addition. The reflec-
tive element throughout is greatly developed in the final play.

Reflective passages and soliloquies have been abundant in
most of the revenge tragedies. In the work of Marston,
Jonson, and Tourneur, these were the parts of the plays which
the dramatists apparently finished with greatest care. They
tried to infuse the old type of tragedy with an intellectual
suggestiveness ; they attempted to give artistic expression to
meditations on life and death and fate and evil — in short, on
the everlasting problems of philosophy. In the same way
Hamlet is suffused with philosophical reflections. In the same
way it became intellectually the most suggestive of Shakspere's
plays. What he made of the soliloquies everyone knows ; a

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 207

close comparison of them with soliloquies in these other plays
must suggest the conclusion that he has only succeeded in
doing what the others had tried to do.

Marston, to be sure, rarely got beyond a turgid rhetorical
Reclamation, which is often ridiculously affected; but we can
hardly deny that the declamations of Shakspere's king,1 great
character though he be, are sometimes just as distinctly rhe-
torical attempts. We may ask how far the Elizabethan taste
for moralizing and reflective philosophy was verbal and how
far psychologic, and in the end we must ask the same ques-
tion in regard to Shakspere. His power is, possibly, in mas-
tery of words even more than in profundity of thought. The
" to be or not to be " soliloquy deals with no deeper or more
subtle truths than the reflections of Andrugio ; its superiority
is in the phrasing. And with all its perfection, one fancies
that the finish is a little palpable. In that soliloquy and the
reflections in the graveyard, one is often reminded that the
master who in his youth with an astonishing verbal facility
quibbled over the repartee of polite society, is now with the
same verbal facility finding words for the mysterious facts of
life. To say that Hamlet's reflections are to this extent rhe-
torical, is not to deny that their expression required intellectual
and imaginative activity of the highest degree. In admiring
their verbal finish, we none the less recognize their profound
intellectual suggestiveness and their imaginative power. Over
them, perhaps, Shakspere exercised the greatest care; at all
events they remain the most significant part of the play.
Blood-revenge ceases to be the theme that rests in the mind,
and one seems to feel all of life's mystery and tragedy. We
may remember, however, that in dealing with the same story
of revenge Tourneur tried to build up a philosophical argu-
ment on the relation of God's providence to man. However
trifling its argument may seem, certainly it bespeaks, quite
as much as Shakspere's philosophy, a conscious intellectual
conception.

1 See Act I, sc. 2.

208 ASHLEY H. THOBXDIKE.

To compare anyone in any way with Shakspere is, at best,
to provoke incredulity ; but take the lesser men at their best.
Take old Andrugio in his lonely meditations on the marshes ;
take stray passages which express momentarily the conception
which Tourneur tried in vain to vitalize; take the reflections
which Ben Johnson put into the mouth of a stage-hero whom
he elsewhere laughed at ; and we have convincing evidence
that the reflective and moralizing vein of the revenge plays
had already brought to its service both intellectual capacity
and imaginative reach. The convention of reflective solilo-
quizing was by no means lifeless when Shakspere breathed
into it immortality.

Coming now to the different scenes and situations, we find
those of the first quarto for the most part retained. Since we
have already considered them in detail and noted that they
were in the main taken from the old play and that many
were paralleled in other revenge plays, we need not examine
them again. Among the most noticeable changes are : (1)
the omission of the scene between the queen and Horatio,
where she is distinctly a confederate of Hamlet, and the sub-
stitution of the letter from Hamlet to Horatio ; (2) the shift
to the third act of Hamlet's scene with Ophelia and his
soliloquy; (3) the enlargement of the scenes with Roseiicrantz
and Guildenstern to whom is given some of the ferreting out
of the secret of Hamlet's madness, which in the first quarto
is assigned to Ophelia ; (4) the addition of the insurrection of
the people ; (5) the enlargement of the scene with Fortinbras
and his army and the addition of the soliloquy. The first
and third involve distinct changes in characterization, and the
rest, dramatic improvement. Besides these noticeable differ-
ences, there are many slight changes in the theatrical presen-
tation. Such, for example, are the one which Mr. Wendell
notices in the first scene l and the addition of the love-song
in the scene with the grave-diggers: these we feel are the
touches of a dramatic artist. More distinctly masterful is

1 William Shakspere, p. 255.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 209

the re-arrangement of the Ophelia scenes. There are other
changes, however, such as the addition of some very idle talk
between Hamlet and Ophelia before the play and the enlarge-
ment of Polon ius' discourse with her, which are the touches
of an Elizabethan rather than of a great artist and which one
would willingly assign to the early play. We must remem-
ber, too, that Polonius' long euphuistic talk with Laertes and
his instructions to his servant and Hamlet's famous speech on
acting and the talk on theatrical abuses are matters essentially
foreign to the general emotional effect of the play. These
call attention again to the fact that Shakspere was an Eliza-
bethan playwright.

There can be no doubt that Shakspere vastly improved the
old Hamlet as an acting stage play. By 1602-3 he excelled
his contemporaries in making a good acting play almost as
much as he did in creating character or writing blank verse.
If we could trace his revision accurately we should doubtless
find evidences not only of dramatic skill but also of theatrical
ingenuity in handling the various situations ; but we should
probably also find that his skill and ingenuity were exercised
in improving situations that were old. An examination of the
final Hamlet certainly does not alter the conclusions reached
from an examination of the first quarto that Shakspere was
working in response to theatrical necessities and within con-
ventional limits. Poisoning, murders, suicide, insanity, and
a ghost occur as in other revenge plays. The refusal of an
opportunity to kill the villain, the songs and wild talk of the
mad girl, the murder of an innocent intruder, scenes in a
churchyard, banquets, reception of ambassadors, funerals, the
appearance of the ghost to soldiers on the watch, the play
within the play — all these had appeared in other plays as well
as in the old Hamlet. In other plays, too, there were such
minor conventionalities as the swearing on the sword hilt, the
descriptive announcement of the death of the heroine, the
carrying off of the bodies, the voice of the ghost in the cellar,
the reading of a book, the midnight scene with the clock

210 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

striking, and the business of death-heads. We cannot tell
how much Shakspere owed to the early Hamlet ; but what-
ever he omitted, retained, or added, he was certainly using the
same material that other dramatists were using. In recon-
structing an old play he was guided in his selection of situ-
ations as in his treatment of motives by contemporary revenge
tragedies.

The characterization far transcends that of the other plays.
There is no comparison in individuality or human significance.
The villains in the other plays are little more than pieces of
stage furniture, but Claudius is a man with a complexity of
nature which has attracted the study of centuries. Hieronimo
and Antonio have long since ceased to have any reality or
meaning, but Hamlet is immortal. Nevertheless the char-
acters retain traces of the roughly drawn originals of the early
play and resemblances to their companion types in contem-
porary plays. Shakspere's consummate development of these
types has a value out of all proportion to his indebtedness to
them, but his indebtedness is none the less worth considera-
tion. In adopting an old story he naturally borrowed certain
types of character, but his obligation does not end there. His
own observation and experience of life, his intuitive knowl-
edge of human nature, were not his only guides in the treat-
ment of these types. They had become familiar on the stage,
they had been developed by other dramatists ; and Shakspere's
creations are, no less truly than theirs, developments of the
same types under the limitation of theatrical conventions and
in the light of contemporary practice. It certainly will not
lessen our understanding of Shakspere's methods if we examine
some ways in which the personages of the other revenge plays
directed and limited his transforming genius.

Claudius is the representative of the villain type. Dra-
matically he is still the source of all evil, but he is no longer
preeminently a machinating devil. He has intellectual dig-
nity where Piero, Hoffman, and D'Amville have only cun-
ning. He is touched, too, by remorse though to a less extent

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 211

than D'Amville. Shakspere made him a real being but
followed the outlines of the old type. In the king's intrigues
against Hamlet, in his passion for the queen, and in his cun-
ning use of Guildenstern, Rosencrantz, and Laertes, he pos-
sesses the characteristics of the ordinary villain of the revenge
plays. The accomplice appears in a more altered form. The
type of character presented by Kyd and developed by Marston,
Chettle, and Tourneur, and later so notably by Webster, seems
to have found little favor from Shakspere. The lack of all
plausible motives, the utter depravity, and the diabolical
humor of Pedringano and Lorrique do not appear in Guild-
enstern, Eosencrantz, and Laertes. Still these three do the
work of the accomplice ; they are the tools of the chief vil-
lain, and like all the other accomplices they are finally " hoist
on their own petar." The faithful friend, the Horatio of the
old Jeronimo and Feliche and Alberto of Antonio and Mellida,
reappear in Horatio. The queen is considerably changed from
the first quarto. There she is expressly declared innocent,1
and she joins Hamlet in his work of revenge. Here she
becomes more real, especially in her passion for Claudius, but
her part is very like that of Maria. Like Maria, she is a
somewhat easy conquest for the villain, and arouses our inter-
est chiefly by her love for her son and for Ophelia. The
part of Ophelia, as we have noticed, seems to have had con-
siderable in common with other mad women of the stage.

Hamlet is not the Hamlet of the early play nor the Hamlet
of the first quarto. An attempt to imagine the exact nature
of Shakspere's development of the part would result in another
of the many essays on the interpretation of the character — a
task very diiferent from our present one. We are to look for
his resemblances to the other avengers. At the start we may
remember that as far as dramatic situations and the plot go,
Shakspere's Hamlet is the old Hamlet, and in these respects

iQ,, 1.1532.

Queen. " But as I have a soul I swear by heaven

I never knew of this most horrid murder."

212 ASHLEY H. THOKKDIKE.

he is very much like the other heroes of the revenge plays.
There are other resemblances not necessitated by the plot.
Like Hieronimo and Antonio, he is a scholar and interested
in philosophy ; and like Hieronimo again, he is fond of plays
and players. Like Horatio

"that died, ay, died a mirror in our days,"1

and Feliche, " the very hope of Italy," 2 and the earlier Ham-
let, " the only floure of Denmark," 8 Shakspere's Hamlet is :

" The expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form." 4

Even with all the development, of which these bits of
phrasing are not insignificant examples, he still retains the
leading characteristics of the earliest revenger. Like Hiero-
nimo, he is given to questioning meditations ; he is constantly
oppressed by the overburdening weight of his duty to revenge,
and this drives him to the verge of madness ; he employs
craft, dissimulation, and pretended madness ; and, finally, in
all this acting he is constantly ironical. After all, modern
criticism has hardly found a new subtlety which might not
be fairly considered a development of one of these traits. In
Hamlet, however, they are so blended in the vital complexity
of thought and feeling that we must resort to analysis to make
plain their relation to the conventional traits of the revenging
hero.

Enough has, perhaps, been said in discussing the soliloquies
to show how inseparable was this trait of meditation from the
character of the revenging hero. Let us see how it was rep-
resented on the stage. The hero enters, dressed in black, —
gloomy, passionate. He reads a few lines from his book and
then falls to meditating on his own evil days ; he turns to the
sky above or the earth beneath and reflects on the ways of
heaven or the mysteries of life. Or again he is wandering at

^S.T., II, p. 95. » A 12., 1,1.

8 Q,, 1.669. 4 III, 1, 160, 161.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 213

dead of night in a graveyard, perhaps — or he enters, half-dis-
tracted, dagger in hand. Heavy with the weariness of life,
he would gladly face death, but he must first face the multi-
tude of thoughts which death's image sends crowding to his
mind. Shakspere must have had such scenes in mind when
he was preparing the part of Hamlet to be acted by Burbadge
at the Globe theatre. Such on the stage were the soliloquies
of Hieronimo with their crudities and of Antonio with his
rant and of Charlemont with his melancholy ; and such on the
stage are the soliloquies of Hamlet with all their illimitable
suggestiveness. Moreover, we have seen that in much the
same way that Marston, Jonson, and Tourneur developed this
meditative faculty beyond the crude ravings of Hieronimo, so
Shakspere was developing it in Hamlet. As a trait of the
character he was doing no new thing in making Hamlet
" sicklied o're with the pale cast of thought." To have made
a revenging hero without that trait, would have been an
anomaly.

Let us take the second trait, the consciousness of an over-
burdening weight of duty, and first see how that is intro-
duced. It is the dead stillness of night, the hero is on the
watch or alone at his father's grave. The spirit of his father
comes and tells a story that sends his mind whirling aimlessly
through the infinities of thought. Bewildered, overwhelmed,
he sees only the blackness of wrong, he feels only the presence
of the duty commanded from the other world. He becomes
frantic, raves, and vows revenge ; or he becomes helpless and
laughs madly at himself.1 Henceforth the burden of the
revelation never leaves him for an instant. The picture of
some such representation on the stage was in the mind of
every author of a revenge play and governed his conception
of the hero.

Henceforth the duty of revenge and the overmastering sense
of evil battle in his mind and drive him toward madness.
Antonio is never distinctly insane, except possibly when he

lAt least, so Jonson's Hieronimo after discovering the murdered Horatio.

214 ASHLEY H. THOKNDIKE.

murders Julio ; Charlemont is only deeply melancholy ; Jon-
son's Hieronimo alternates between wild distraction and gloomy
sanity. In the first quarto Hamlet's madness is patent to the
king and Ophelia from the beginning and is altogether more
pronounced than in the final play. We have seen that Ben
Jonson dealt chiefly with this madness in Hieronimo and
gave it a new vitality. Similarly Shakspere's development of
the madness of the old Hamlet is most pronounced. As in
Marston and Tourneur, distinct insanity disappears ; and as in
Jonson, the distraction, melancholy — call it what you will —
becomes a predominant trait and exceedingly vital.

In discussing Hieronimo we called this second trait "an
overburdening sense of his obligation to revenge," yet, if you
will, there was something more than this in Kyd's conception.
The obligation to revenge was after all the one thing which
made life desirable, which kept Hieronimo sane and crafty;
^something of the overpowering passionate despair against fate
is mingled as well in the grief and ravings of the old ranter.
Something of this same wild feeling that everything is wrong
is not wanting in Antonio and is distinct enough in Charle-
mont's soliloquy in prison ; and Jonson gives vivid expres-
sion to this fierce despair at all things human. This passion-
ate sense of fate did not enter the revenger's character for the
first time in Hamlet. This passionate sense of fate together
with too much brooding on his wrongs drove Hieronimo to
doubt and hesitation and Antonio to irresolution and delay.
From these traits in his temperament, Charlemont found relief
only in utter self-abasement ; and in Hamlet they resulted in
a doubting irresolution already discussed as forming the basis
of an essential motive of the revenge tragedy. Whether or
not Shakspere was giving expression to his own mental agi-
tation in his portrayal of Hamlet's irresolution ; he was cer-
tainly guided to some extent by the plays of his predecessors
and was treating of the same motives, themes, and traits of
character which his contemporaries found interesting and
which they strove to make dramatically impressive.

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 215

Craft, the third trait ascribed to Hieronimo, reappears in
all of Hamlet's intercourse with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
and with Polonius and the king. It was the most marked
trait of the Hamlet of Belleforest and very likely of the
Hamlet of the early play. It also appears in Antonio's dis-
guise as a fool and his eagerness for a stratagem, and it is
developed to the last degree in Hoffman's villany. Hamlet,
v to be sure, is not represented as essentially crafty — neither
were Hieronimo and Antonio — but that he took delight in
the use of craft we have stated in his own words :

" For 'tis the sport to have the enginer
Hoist with his own petar: and't shall go hard
But I will delve one yard below their mines,
And blow them at the moon : O, 'tis most sweet
When in one line two crafts directly meet." l

In Hieronimo we found this craft accompanied byjrojjy.
Hoffman, too, with all his lust for blood, plays the kindly,
virtuous man with telling theatrical irony. Antonio in his
fool's disguise and old Pandulpho in his talk with Piero and
again in his laments at the burial of Feliche, exhibit some-
thing of the same trait. In Jonson's hands, Hieronimo's
irony is one of the characteristics especially developed. Even
more than a bit of effective theatrical characterization, irony
becomes at times a dominant factor in the hero's view of life.
The world seems worth no more than a mock, and Hieronimo
laughs madly at his own cruel situation. If Shakspere had
made Hamlet without flashes of cynical wit he would have
lost an opportunity for a well-recognized bit of stage-effect;
if he had not made him constantly ironical, he would have
neglected an opportunity of developing one of the old reveng-
er's traits which Ben Jonson was endeavoring to make the
most of.

Thus far we have been discussing traits of character which
modern critics have often emphasized in Hamlet, we must not

1 III, 4, 205-210. Not in 1623 folio, nor in QL

216 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

forget some traits which in the refinement of modern criticism
have been pushed into the background. Hamlet's repulse of
Ophelia has seemed brutal and inexplicable except by the
explanation that a portion of the scene had a telling comic
effect on the Elizabethan stage. So his leaping into the
grave and his ranting with Laertes seem brutal and archaic
and explainable only by the nature of the old play which
Shakspere was revising. Sarrazin has pointed out that with
all of Shakspere's refinement of the old play he was careless
in retaining some such incongruous details : perhaps even
more scientifically, we may say that he was developing an
old stage hero already conventionalized by succeeding imi-
tators into a type. When, for example, Hamlet refuses to
kill the king and when he is so unconcerned over the death
of Polonius, he is distinctly like Antonio ; and though he is
very unlike Hoffman and D'Amville, he has lapses when he
talks as they talk. To see that he is by no means altogether
removed from the ranting, half-mad, stage revenger, we have
only to recall the words of the soliloquy which appears for
the first time in the second quarto.

"'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world : now could I drink hot blood
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on." x

Wild and ranting at times, crafty and dissimulating at
others, cynical and ironical, given to melancholy meditation,
hesitating in bewilderment, harassed by an overpowering sense
of the unavoidable " whips and scorns of time " — so far as
we can analyze the final Hamlet, we find his characteristics
already used by contemporary dramatists in their efforts to

1 III, 2, 405. Cf. The Atheists Tragedy, IV, 3. I^AmyiHe in the midst
of a midnight soliloquy says :

" I could now commit
A murder were it but to drink the fresh
Warm blood of him I murdered. .

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 217

depict a human being as the instrument of revenge. Shak-
spere's Hamlet is final, not only in the sense that he is made
for all time, but also in the sense that he is the complete and
final representative of a type that grew up among peculiar
stage conventions and was developed by poets of no mean
imaginative power. The final Hamlet is the result of a
growth which other men than Shakspere planted and which
others fostered.

Any analysis, however, leaves us short of the final Hamlet.
The potency of Shakspere's phrasing and his intuitive knowl-
edge of human nature have endowed the character with the
eternal suggestiveness of the most complex human being.
What the final Hamlet will be, we can hardly guess. Gener-
ation after generation finds in him still more of truth and of
tragedy. Studied in the light of the experience of a new
nation or a new century, he seems to reveal new aspects and
still to remain as unsearchable as before. Whatever was only
of time or place has dropped away — and as the soul frees
itself from the body, Hamlet has left the old stage type and
risen into that ideal sphere where imagination and reflection
dwell alone. Shakspere made the revenging hero an incar-
nate expression of life's inexpressible tragedy.

All this is merely to say that Hamlet — the character or the
play — is a great work of art, one that each man will interpret
according to his own thought and feeling. Primarily, how-
ever, we are not now concerned with the Hamlet which lodges
itself in each man's mind ; we are concerned with the Hamlet
which William Shakspere wrote at about the time of the
accession of James I and which was played in the Globe
theatre in London. We have been trying to discover how
Shakspere went about his work.

We have been led to conclude that he worked in much the
same way as his contemporaries. During the years 1601-
1603 dramatists were turning from romantic comedy to real-
istic or tragic themes; there was also a renewed popular
interest in revenge plays. The old Spanish Tragedy and

218 ASHLEY H. THOKNDIKE.

Hamlet had not lost their hold on the stage ; and a year or
two before, Marston had made a success of a play following
closely their model. This was played by the " little eyases "
of Pauls; Ben Jonson wrote additions to the Spanish Tragedy
for the Fortune, and Shakspere undertook to revise Hamlet
for the Globe. The plot, situations, types of character and
leading motives were already familiar on the stage in several
plays. Dramatic ingenuity was all that was required to make
a new play out of the old material. Chettle succeeded in
doing just this. Shakspere was content to retain much of the
old material, but he also made a new play and one very
much more effective on the stage than the old one had ever
been. Perhaps in his first revision he tried to do little more
than this, but his final version was directed by other aims.
Marston, Jonson, add Tourneur had been endeavoring to give
the old story of revenge a philosophical significance and a
highly imaginative expression. Insanity, philosophical medi-
tations, bewilderment under a burden of responsibility, an
ironical temperament, a Christian conception of revenge, a
passionate sense of fate — these were some of the themes sug-
gested by the old plays, and they appealed strongly to the
imaginations of other dramatists as well as Shakspere. Such
themes stirred their artistic moods as well as his. They had
dreams of revenge plays which they never produced, of a
passionate expression of the unavailing strife against fate, in
which they saw themselves surpassing Marlowe. They had
glimpses of the possibilities which lay in the old revenger,
and at moments they succeeded in realizing these. With a
genius vastly greater than theirs, Shakspere set himself to
their task. Naturally enough, he was in many ways limited
and directed by their efforts. 'It was perfectly possible for
him to change the plot completely, or to omit the ghost in the
cellar, or to remove the blood-thirsty and intriguing elements
from the part of Hamlet, or to give a more Christian inter-
pretation to the revenge ; but in these and other matters he
followed the practice of earlier plays. There was no dramatic

HAMLET AND CONTEMPORARY REVENGE PLAYS. 219

need of so many long soliloquies; the meditative avenger
need not have been ironical ; insanity might have received
less elaboration ; but in these respects Shakspere was again
in agreement with his contemporaries. The themes which
stirred their minds inspired him.

In some such fashion as this it seems likely that Shakspere
went to work on Hamlet. He may have been in the depths
of personal suffering, or his intellect may have been perilously
over-active, or the dark lady and his friend of the sonnets
may have had something to do with the matter; we may
adopt what theories we please concerning the subjective pro-
cesses which entered into his creation of Hamlet, but must
we not also admit that his selection and treatment of material
were to a considerable extent directed by stage conditions and
contemporary practice ?

The indebtedness of the play to these influences is so small
in comparison with Shakspere's individual contribution that
such a historical study as ours may appear still to need justi-
fication. Surely, however, it may find enough in the expla-
nation of puzzling incongruities in Shakspere's work by refer-
ence to old conventions and stage conditions, or it may find
enough in the light it throws on Shakspere's methods of work
and the nature of his art. Or yet again a study of the cir-
cumstances in which Hamlet was created may seem to some
to help us to a better appreciation of its lasting significance.
At all events, our investigation of the contemporary revenge
plays in connection with Hamlet has brought us — as it seems

to me — to three reasonable conclusions.

First : an examination of the stage history and of the char-
acteristics of the plays popular from 1568 to 1603, indicates
that the final Hamlet owed its existence primarily to a marked
stage fashion for revenge tragedies.

Second : in responding to this stage demand Shakspere
used a plot, motives, scenes, situations, and types and traits
of character which not only in the main part belonged to the
old Hamlet, but which were also for the most part familij

220 ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

in the other revenge plays. We may remember, too, in this
connection that he followed the original type of revenge
tragedy much more closely than his contemporaries, Chettle
and Tourneur.

Third : in the other revenge plays we have found attempts
to deal with the same themes to which Shakspere gave final
expression. The other men were in some degree struggling to
express similar artistic moods and a similar range of thought
and feeling. The artistic impulses which moved them seem
also to have moved Shakspere.

In order to make the last conclusion plausible, we have
repeatedly emphasized the imaginative efforts of the other
dramatists, just as, in order to make Shakspere's relations to
them more patent, we have emphasized the respects in which
he clearly followed them. If we have been fair in this effort
to view the great man and the smaller men from the point
of view of their contemporaries, we are safe in saying that
Shakspere took the material which other men had used and
were using, followed the fashion other men had set, developed
the material in many respects as other men were developing
it, strove to express what they were striving to express —
and succeeded. He created an immortal work of art by his
transcendent genius, but also in some considerable measure
by availing himself of the experience of others and by doing
the same things which other men were doing at the same
time.

ASHLEY H. THORNDIKE.

VI.— THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE
IN FRANCE.

At the end of nis entertaining biography, Mr. Percy Fitz-
gerald1 scouts the vogue alleged by Sterne of his Tristram
Shandy in France. " Such men us D'Holbach and Diderot
might have it on their tables and affect to read a few pages,
but to the mass of even educated foreigners, it must have
been a book of cabalistics." " It is very different/' resumes
Mr. Fitzgerald,2 " with the Sentimental Journey. It has been
received with delight by all Europe. The French have openly
made it their own,3 and translated4 it over and over again."

Contradicted by the facts, this easy surmise of the influence
of Tristram Shandy, as has been amply shown by M. Texte.
On the other hand, the assumption concerning the Sentimental
Journey carries conviction. That book has almost as its
essential character traits to win an instant way in France.
Besides, M. Texte here supports Mr. Fitzgerald. " Le Voy-
age Sentimental .... charma toute la France par la sensibilite
que Sterne y a repandue, et suscita toute une 6cole d'imita-
teurs." 5 Yet if Mr. Fitzgerald means literary influence, as

1 Life of Laurence Sterne, vol. ii, p. 436. 2 Ibid., vol. ii, p. 438.

3 Cf. Diderot : Oeuvres Completes, ed. Asse'zat, vol. vi, p. 7.
4 The French translations of Tristram Shandy are as follows:

I. Frdnais, 1776, 2 vols. (only the first part, cf. Texte: Jean Jacques
Rousseau, etc., p. 343) ;

II. Fre"nais, 1784 (? noted by the Dictionary of National Biography and
the British Museum Catalogue, not by M. Texte) ;

III. De Bonnay and de la Baume, 1785 (the latter part, cf. Texte, p. 343) ;

IV. i. and in. printed together, 1785, 4 vols. (cf. Texte, p. 343) ;

V. L. de Wailly, Paris, 1842 (noted by the Dictionary of National
Biography) ;

VI. He"douin, 1890, 1891 (sic, noted by the Dictionary of National
Biography).

5 Jean Jacques Rousseau et les Origines du Cosmopolitisme litteraire, etc., par
Joseph Texte : Paris, 1895 ; p. 349.

7 221

222 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

M. Texte seems to mean, I cannot but think him as wrong
here as there. For only one French book, so far as I know,
shows unmistakably the literary influence of the Sentimental
Journey. The first translation1 often misses its distinctive
traits, and perhaps the only French critic to express ade-
quately these distinctive traits, the difference in art between
Iristram and the Journey, is M. Emile Montegut.*

Evidently there is need of some agreement as to what the
characteristics of Sterne are in general, what habits of his
expression might be supposed to have influence, and secondly,
as to what separate characteristics shall be assigned to the
Sentimental Journey. Sentimentality is easily set down first
as the mark of all Sterne's work. " II prom&ne son dme" as
has been wittily said by M. Texte.3 But so, notoriously, does
Rousseau ; and how shall we disengage clearly the influence
of this sentimentality from that of Richardson, whose hold on
France had a tenacity little short of amazing? If we differ-
entiate it by its objects, by its dithyrambs over dead asses and
its moralities upon starlings, we find very little until the time
is so late that we cannot be sure. The imitation by Mile, de
Lespinasse4 in her story of Mme. Geoffrin's milkmaid, not
only seems too slight for more than mention, but, even if it
had much greater literary importance of its own, would show
at most only the vogue of Sterne's sentimentality. wjfiSre
emu ou il faut" says M. Texte, " el mdme ou il ne faut pas,
sans en rougir jamais, c'est tout le secret de Sterne." l Not at
all. If that were the whole secret of Sterne, the Sentimental
Journey would have been buried long ago. I fear the French
critics in tracking this particular sentimentality are some-

lLe Voyage Sentimental, Fre*nais, Amsterdam and Paris, 1769 (Texte, p.
343) ; Liege, 1770 (Dictionary of National Biography). This was often
reprinted. Other translations noted in the British Museum Catalogue are :
Michel, 1787; Wailly, 1847; Janin, 1854; He*douin, 1875. Fitzgerald
mentions another, by Michot (Life of Sterne, vol. ii, p. 437).

2 Essais sur la litterature anglaise, cap. Sterne.

3Jean Jacques Rousseau, etc., p. 351.

4 Ibid., p. 349. 6 Ibid., p. 350.

THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 223

times at fault; but even supposing them to be infallible,
something more and something more definite is needed to
constitute a literary influence.

There is safer ground in Sterne's humour, in his pervasive
equivocation, in the character of his incidental creations — Mr.
Shandy, Corporal Trim, Uncle Toby. Safest measure of all
is Sterne's form — his constant use of gesture,1 his random
progress, his method, conversational and expository rather
than narrative, narrative, indeed, only so far as to fool his
readers.

This is the " ceuvre decousue " of which M. Texte speaks,
41 sans plan, sans ordre." 2 " 11 cause toujours et ne compose
jamais" says M. Walcknaer.3 This is Sterne, or rather this
is the effect that Sterne sought and achieved ; but even this is
not all Sterne, for it is not yet the Sentimental Journey. The
Shandy style does recur in the Journey, but only as the
incorrigible trickery of a man who has found his art. Instead
of the mad breaks and the elaborate digression of Shandy ,
the Journey has transitions of consummate delicacy. The
Shandy passages of description are only hints of Sterne's
skill in miniature. The Journey, as M. Montegut points
out, is a Dutch painting of French manners. It is much
more ; it is the art of pure description at its finest. Nothing,
I venture to think, has ever surpassed the concentration, the
brilliancy and the delicacy of these tiny chapters, where there
is not a word too much and not a word amiss. In a litera-
ture not habitually tolerant of description, and swinging from
the large, long landscape style to the large, short poster style,
these pictures of Sterne's are almost alone.

For observe that the Sentimental Journey, though it is
beautifully coherent, is hardly more than Tristram Shandy
narrative. It has no narrative unity ; it has very little nar-
rative progress. Sterne has narrative incidents, narrative

1 "Le roman de geste," Texte, ibid., p. 346.

2 Ibid., pp. 351, 353. 3 Biographic Universelle, art. Sterne.

224 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

digressions, even in Shandy • but he never has as his object
the conduct of a story. Call him, if you will, a novelist —
I will not quarrel with Maupassant ; l but remember that he
is not even, except by the way, a story-teller. If we call
Tristram Shandy story because of Uncle Toby, we may almost
as well call the Spectator story because of Sir Roger de
Coverly. In Tristram Shandy Sterne is a whimsical, satirical
essayist romping in narrative forms ; in the Sentimental Jour-
ney he is much more a describer of men and women, seeking
description only, and for itself, and colouring it habitually
with drama.

Dramatic description, if a label be desired, might well be
pasted on the Sentimental Journey. The book is full of situ-
ations, but situations that lead uowhither, that are there
merely for themselves. The snuff-box, the desobligeante, the
gloves, the theatre passage — no wonder it has been a prize
for the illustrators, though "indeed there was no need."

'« I looked at Monsieur Dessein through and through ; eyed him as he
walked along in profile — then en face — thought him like a Jew — then a
Turk — disliked his wig — cursed him by my gods — wished him at the devil —

" — And is all this to be lighted up in the heart for a beggarly account of
three or four louis d'ors, which is the most I can be overreached in ? —
' Base passion ! ' said I, turning myself about as a man naturally does upon
a sudden reverse of sentiment; 'Base, ungentle passion! thy hand is against
every man, and every man's hand against thee,' ' Heaven forbid ! ' said
she, raising her hand up to her forehead ; for I had turned full in front
upon the lady whom I had seen in conversation with the monk: she had
followed us unperceived. ' Heaven forbid, indeed ! ' said I, offering her my
own — sne had a black pair of silk gloves, open only at the thumb and two
forefingers — so accepted it without reserve, and I led her up to the door
of the remise" 2

The conclusion of these differences is that Tristram Shandy
is trick, the Sentimental Journey is art.

With the essential traits of Sterne in mind, general and
particular, it is easy to dispose of some minor claims to his

1 Cf. the preface to Pierre et Jean : le Roman. * Cap. ix.

THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 225

influence on French literature. Saintine's Picciola, says Mr.
Lee in the Dictionary of National Biography,1 acknowledges
a debt to Sterne. Of this acknowledgment one must say that
it is the more generous since without it the debt would never
have been suspected. Picciola was written in 1836, published
in 1843. It is essentially what Sterne is not at all, romantic.
This appears not only in the large use of natural scenery and
in the remarkable coincidences of the action, but especially in
the Byronic hero. Indeed, if we must derive Picciola, let us
look rather to the Prisoner of Chilian. There is none of the
Sterne wit, none of the Sterne form, and, since the emotion
throughout is deeper and more human, none of the Sterne
tone. The main idea — the misanthropic philosopher brought
by adversity and by affection for the sole plant in his prison-
yard to faith, resignation and domestic love — is utterly foreign
to Sterne. Even the sentimental dilation over the plant is
not in the Sterne key ; it is too deep and too sincere. The
only resemblance is in the dominance of emotion as ruling
motive and trusty guide. Who would venture to assign that
to Sterne?

It is even easier to reject La Biblioth&que de mon Oncle.
Again there is an essential difference in both degree and kind.
Sterne was as insensible to the schwdrmerei of youth as to
the happiness of domestic love. The dutiful propriety of
Topffer's Henriette or Lucy he could not have appreciated,
except, perhaps, as motive for an equivocal sarcasm. If the
affectionate whimsicality of Uncle Tom should suggest Uncle
Toby, if a rustic scene has a hint of a similar one in Tristram
Shandy,2 it requires an abnormal taste for derivation to mag-
nify these into echoes. They seem infinitely more likely to
have come from life or from Topffer's own fancy. What is
much more to the point, the form of meandering reflection has
but slight claim ; certainly not enough to establish, or even
plausibly to suggest, a connection.

xArt. Sterne.

2 La Bibliotheque de mon Oncle, ed. Taylor, p. 1 24.

226 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

What the critics had in mind who suggested Sterne in con-
nection with Saintine or Topffer seems to have been nothing
more than reminiscence. Even reminiscence is hardly visible
in these books ; but it does appear in unexpected places. M.
Texte finds it in Victor Hugo's youthful Bug Jargal, in
Charles Nodier's Histoire du Roi de Bohdme et de ses sept
Chdteaux.1 These are cases — there are doubtless others — of
deliberate borrowing. Are they what we mean by literary
influence ? They show that Sterne was still read ; they show
that French men of letters found their account in Tristram,
not in the Journey- and they show nothing more. Goethe
said once to Eckerman, anent the tiresome cry of plagiarism
(I paraphrase from memory), " You might as well ask a well
fed man to give account of the oxen, sheep and hogs which
he has eaten and which have passed into his blood." Did
Dumas even take a whole plot from an author that had failed
to handle it? That is an interesting fact in the life of
Dumas ; it is a comparatively uninteresting fact in the history
of literature, as we all know from many futile studies of so-
and-so's indebtedness to so-and-so. It is not literary influence.
It does not affect the forms of art.

And so one searches Diderot's Jacques le Fataliste2 with
misgiving, because the critics 3 have pointed out that it opens
with a passage from Tristram Shandy, that it has toward the
end a scene very similar to one in the Sentimental Journey,
and that in at least one other place Diderot borrows from
Sterne. Here, however, is much more than borrowing. Here
is imitation, and imitation consistent enough to pique inquiry
into its limits and character. At first the imitation seems too
consistent ; it looks like a mere paraphrase of Shandy, as in
fact it has been called.4 Here are the Shandy dialogue, which
Diderot prints like a play; the Shandy pauses, digressions,

1 Texte : Jean Jacques Rousseau, etc., p. 346. I have been unable to pro-
cure a copy of the latter.

2 Translated from the manuscript into German, 1792; first printed in
French, 1796 (sic). Diderot: Oeuvres, ed. Ass^zat, vol. vi, p. 4.

3 Ibid., p. 6 ;' and Texte, pp. 345, 346. 4 Ibid., p. 6.

THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 227

wheels within wheels, interpolations by the author to tease the
reader, dialogue between author and reader.1 Here, occasion-
ally and for satire, is even the elaboration of gesture,2 as in
the master's repeated taking of snuff and looking at his watch.
In short, Diderot has tried most of Sterne's narrative gym-
nastics.3 Superficially, Jacques le Fataliste is a French Tris-
tram Shandy.

The Shandy style naturally pleased a mind of Diderot's
superabundance. It gave free rein to philosophizing on every-
thing and nothing. For Jacques is the work of a burning
mind, throwing off sparks fit to kindle a score of stories. If
Sterne's method was the pleasure of Sterne's fancy, it was
for Diderot rather a vent for his prodigious fertility. He
absorbed like a glutton, but he wrote always. It has been
said of him that he cared only to write; to publish was a
minor consideration.4 Jacques shows him writing what he
chose, as, at the moment, he chose, without stint, without
husbandry. The book is a quarry for any romancer that has
Diderot's scent for suggestion in the work of others.

But, after all, Jacques h Fataliste has greater consistency
of form than Tristram Shandy, and, after all, a strong sense
of narrative. True, the freakish progress of Shandy is adopted
in toto. The postponement of Tristram's birth and then of
his breeching has its parallel in the story of the amours of
Jacques, announced in the earlier part, consistently interrupted
at every stage, sometimes at half-stages or even half-sentences,
by the other tales that make the bulk of the volume, and
finished never. But there is much more narrative in Jacques.
The separate stories are more numerous, and, in general, more
developed, and the interpolation of essay and dialogue, though
frequent, is a far smaller fraction of the whole.

Besides, though Goethe's opinion of the whole 5 as a whole

1 Of. ibid., p. 106. 2 Cf. ibid., p. 48.

3Cf. especially ibid., p. 123, an incident, by the way, actual in the life
of Sterne's father.

*Lanson: Histoire de la Litterature Fran$aise, p. 726.

6 " Un chef d'oeuvre," Diderot, Oeuvres, vol. vi, pp. 4, 7, 8.

228 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

seems extreme, the threads are dropped and picked up, if not
in a fixed order, at any rate with much more regularity than
in Tristram. And not only is there a great deal of mere
"yarn" of the Yankee sort1 told one to cap another, but
Jacques the valet has more than a suggestion of the valet
picaresque. There are decidedly picaresque adventures ; and
though these are sometimes interrupted by the author's
satirical " Now I might make them do so-and-so, or so-and-
so," Diderot gives some value to the adventure as such. In
Sterne the incidental adventure counts almost as little as the
whole fable.

Diderot's narrative interest and narrative force are best
exhibited in the episode of the landlady's tale of Mme. de
Pommeraye. Schiller translated this into German,2 and it
has been selected since for separate publication. No wonder.
It is not only pure narrative, slightly interrupted ; it is nar-
rative of the highest order ; it is, at the end of the eighteenth
century, a short story done with nineteenth-century French
art.3 Here is no hop-skip-and-jump, but a strong plot well
complicated 4 and brought to a striking solution of character.
It may be said that the denouement is not satisfying, not con-
sequent on the character of one of the actors — in fact, Diderot
acknowledges this by appending a clumsy explanation ; 5 but
observe that the objection presupposes plot and character.
This otherwise admirable narrative occupies one-fourth of
the book.6

The story of Mme. de Pommeraye points a contrast also in
in tone. It deals with passion, and passion is unknown to
Sterne. His emotion is sentimental, and of this Diderot has
hardly a trace. There is, to be sure, the touching incident of
the woman with the broken jug;7 but the beaten horse8

1 Ibid., pp. 88, 89. 2 In 1785 ; ibid., p. 3.

3Cf. Faguet: titudes Litteraires, XVIII' Stede, p. 298.
* Of. the complication of the venal confessor, Diderot, Oeuvres, vol. vi.,
p. 148.

8/&w£.,pp. 161,162. « Ibid., p. 4.

'Ibid., p. 85. *Ibid., p. 266.

THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 229

inspires no sentiment, and it is possible that this incident, like
that of the landlady's pet dog,1 is meant as satire on Sterne.

Still more strikingly different is the tone of the satire in
general. Diderot catches some of the Sterne wit, and he has
some dialogue of delicate cynicism ; but there are no asides so
fanciful as Mr. Shandy's disquisition on the irregular verbs,
and in general the essay-dialogue parts have more substance
and seriousness than Sterne's. The moralizing is often rather
deep; the satire, often serious, always hits harder, and is
sometimes bitter to virulence. The clergy, in particular, are
pursued with intent to kill.2 It is not merely sneer and jeer,
but open and foul abuse. The hatred of the cloth is so un-
controlled as quite to o'erleap itself. The artist is lost in the
revolutionist. There is none of this animus in Sterne, whose
game was always to trifle. Diderot, though he has some
pleasant trifling, was anything but a trifler.

That Sterne, for all his trifling, created a few characters
far more distinct and human than even Mme. de Pommeraye
will be accepted without elaboration, and is the most marked
difference. In the matter of morality Sterne is despicable and
Diderot is outrageous. With these characteristic differences,
then, Jacques le Fataliste is an imitation of Tristram Shandy,
an imitation not of the tone, but of the method and manner ;
only there is somewhat more method and much less manner.
Of the Sentimental Journey there is nothing. The possible
connection of one of the closing scenes 3 with a similar scene
notorious in the Journey is hardly worth mentioning. In
spite of its mimic pranks, Jacques is story ; and if Tristram
Shandy is not story, much less is the Sentimental Journey.

Many years later another French story-writer not only
knew his Sterne too, but was preoccupied, as M. Faguet 4 in-

p. 109. Cf. p. 206.

2 Cf. t&ic?., pp. 131, 132, and the whole episode of Father Hudson, pp.
183 et seq.

3 Ibid., p. 279.

4 fitudes Litteraires, XIXe Stick, pp. 303 et seq.

230 CHARLES SEAES BALDWIN.

sists, with description. Here surely the Sentimental Journey
should have borne fruit. But Theophile Gautier saw not so
much men and women and their drama of attitude and gesture
as gorgeous hangings and outlandish scenery. He indulges
extravagantly in furniture and dressmaking where Sterne
passes with a hint, like the black silk gloves at Calais or
the waiting-maid's purse. He riots in colour and light, and
Sterne manages wonderfully in his Journey with very little
of either. Still, that Gautier remembered Sterne seems evi-
dent in Fortunio. Without listening for more than an echa
read the opening and the close of Chapter in in Fortunio : l —

" Nous croyons qu'il n'est pas inutile de consacrer un chapitre special a
la chatte de Musidora, charniante b£te qui vaut bien apr§s tout le Horr
d'Androcles, Taraigne'e de Pe"lisson, le chien de Montargis et autres ani-
maux vertueux ou savants dont de graves historiens ont e'ternise' la me"-
moire."

" Ceci paraitra peut-6tre un hors-d'oeuvre & quelques-uns de nos lecteurs ;
nous sommes tout & fait de 1'avis de ces lecteurs-la.— Mais sans les hors-
tfceuvre et les episodes comment pourrait-on faire un roman ou un poe'me, et
ensuite comment pourrait-on les lire?"

and then the whole of Chapter v : 2 —

11 Musidora est assur^ment fort contrarie'e, mais nous le sommes bien
autant qu'elle.

" Nous comptions beaucoup sur le portefeuille pour donner & nos lecteura
(qu'on nous pardonne cet amour-propre) des renseignements exacts sur ce
proble'matique personnage. Nous espe"rions qu'il y aurait dans ce porte-
feuille des lettres d'amour, des plans de tragedies, des romans en deux
volumes et autres, ou tout au moins des cartes de visite, ainsi que cela doit
£tre dans le portefeuille de tout he'ros un peu bien situe*.

" Notre embarras est cruel ! Puisque Fortunio est le he'ros de notre
choix, il est bien juste que nous prenions inte"r6t a lui et que nous ddsirions
connaltre toutes ses demarches; il faut que nous en parlions souvent, qu'il
domine tous les autres personnages et qu'il arrive mort ou vif au bout de
nos deux cent et quelques pages. — Cependant nul he'ros n'est plus incom-
mode : vous 1'attendez, il ne vient pas ; vous le tenez, il s'en va sans mot
dire, au lieu de faire de beaux discours et de grands raisonnements en prose
poe'tique, comme son me'tier de he'ros de roman lui en impose F obligation*

1 Gautier : Nouvettes, ed. Charpentier (1884), pp. 39, 41.
2J6id,pp. 45-46.

THE LITER AEY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 231

" II est beau, c'est vrai ; mais, entre nous, je le crois bizarre, malicieux
comme une guenon, plein de fatuit6 et de caprices, plus changeant d'humeu1"
que la lune, plus variable que la peau d'un came'le'on. A ces deTauts, que
nous lui pardonnerions volontiers, il joint celui de ne vouloir rien dire de
ses affaires a personne, ce qui est impardonnable. II se contente de rire, de
boire et d'etre un homme de belles manie'res. 11 ne disserte pas sur les
passions, il ne fait pas de me'taphysique de cceur, ne lit pas les romans a la
mode, ne raconte, en fait de bonnes fortunes, que des intrigues malaises ou
chinoises, qui ne peuvent nuire en rien aux grandes dames du noble fau-
bourg ; il ne fait pas les yeux doux a la lune entre la poire et le fromage,
et ne parle jamais d'aucune actrice. — Bref, c'est un homme mediocre a qui,
je ne sais pourquoi, tout le monde s'obstine a trouver de 1'esprit, et que
nous sommes bien fache* d'avoir pris pour principal personnage de notre
roman.

" Nous avons m£me bien envie de le laisser 1&. Si nous prenions George
& sa place ?

" Bah ! il a 1'abominable habitude de se griser matin et soir et quelque-
fois dans la journ^e, et aussi un pen dans la nuit. Que diriez-vous, madnme,
d'un heros qui serait toujours ivre, et qui parlerait deux heures sur la
difference de 1'aile droite et de 1'aile gauche de la perdrix?

"—Et Alfred?

"—II esttropb6te.

"— EtdeMarcilly?

" — II ne 1'est pas assez.

"Nous garderons done Fortunio faute de mieux : les premieres nouvelles
que nous en aurons, nous vous les ferons savoir aussitdt. — Entrons done,
s'il vous plait, dans la salle de bain de Musidora."

Is it not an echo, but an echo of Tristram Shandy ?

Are there no French children, then, of the Sentimental
Journey ? There is at least one child. It is hard to mistake
the parentage of Xavier de Maistre's Voyage aulour de ma
Chambre.1 And let me say at once that I lay no stress on the
eloquent tear dropped in Chapter xvm, and noted for Sterne's
by Sainte-Beuve.2 That tear, and the repentance in Chapter
xxviii, may be drawn from Sterne's reservoir, or they may
be a coincidence. Mere borrowing, as I have urged, means
very little; and Maistre frankly recognizes Sterne, even alludes
to him as of course familiar to his readers. " C'est le dada de

Published at Turin, 1794.

2 Oeuvres Completes du Comte Xavier de Maistre, etc. (1 vol.), pre'ce'de'e d'une
notice ... par M. Sainte-Beuve: Paris, Gamier, 1839; p. xii.

232 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

mon oncle Toby." x Form learned from Sterne is the quest,
and it is here — trick learned from Tristram, but also art
learned from the Journey.

For trick, chapter xxxin, consists of two sentences ; chap-
ter xin, of one ; chapter xii, of asterisks. The opening of
chapter vi is like Tristram, and it is like Tristram to have
this chapter sixth instead of first.

CHAPITRE VI.

" Ce chapitre n'est absolument que pour les m^taphysiciens. II va jeter
le plus grand jour sur la nature de 1'homme : c'est le prisme avec lequel
on pourra analyser et decomposer lew faculty's de 1'homme, en separant la
puissance animale des rayons purs de 1'intelligence.

" II me serait impossible d'expliquer comment et pourquoi je me brulai
les doigts aux premiers pas que je fis en cornmencant mon voyage, sans
expliquer, dans le plus grand detail, au lecteur, mon systeme de fdme et de
la bete. — Cette de"couverte me'taphysique influe d'ailleurs tellement sur mes
ide*es et sur mes actions, qu'il serait trSs-difficile de comprendre ce livre, si
je n'en donnais la clef au commencement.

" Je me suis apercu, par diverses observations, que 1'homme est compose*
d'une &me et d'une bete.

" Je tiens d'un vieux professeur (c'est du plus loin qu'il me souvienne)
que Platon appelait la matiere Vautre. C'est fort bien ; mais j'aimerais
mieux donner ce nom par excellence a la b£te qui est jointe a notre ame.
C'est re"ellement cette substance qui est Vautre, et qui nous lutine d'une
manidre si etrange.

" Messieurs et mesdames, soyez fiers de votre intelligence tant qu'il vous
plaira ; mais de"fiez-vous beaucoup de Vautre, surtout quand vous £tes en-
semble."

CHAPITRE VII.

" Cela ne vous parait-il pas clair ? voici un autre example :
" Un jour de l'e"te" passe", je m'acheminai pour aller a la cour. J'avais
peint toute la matinee, et mon ame, se plaisant & me"diter sur la peinture,
laissa le soin & la b6te de me transporter au palais du roi.
" Que la peinture est un art sublime I pensait mon ame ;

" Pendant que mon ame faisait ces reflexions, Vautre allait son train, et
1 Cap. xxiv.

THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 233

Dieu salt ou elle allait ! — Au lieu de se rendre a la coar, comme elle en
avait recu 1'ordre, elle de"riva telleruent sur la gauche, qu'au moment ou
mon ame la rattrapa, elle e"tait a la porte de madame de Ha.utca.slel, a un
demi-mille du palais royal.

" Je laisse a penser au lecteur ce qui serait arrive", si elle e"tait entre"e
toute seule chez une aussi belle dame."

But the movement, though whimsical and interrupted, is
never random or violent. It is like that of the Journey, now
fast, DOW slow, flitting apparently, but always nicely calcu-
lated, and always by such delicate transitions as are almost
the hall-mark of the Journey. Hardly one of these minia-
ture chapters, miniature like Sterne's, but shows how closely
Maistre had studied Sterne's form, how sympathetically he
realized it, how skilfully he followed. Mark that artistically
abrupt introduction of Mine, de Hautcastel, just quoted, and
the Sterne manner even to the final equivocation. Of all this
a typical instance is Chapter xi : —

CHAPITRE XI.

" II ne faut pas anticiper sur les e've'nements : 1'empressement de com^
muniquer au lecteur mon systeme de 1'ame et de la b£te m'a fait abandon-
ner le description de mon lit plus t6t que je ne devais ; lorsque je 1'aurai
termin^e, je reprendrai mon voyage a 1'endroit ou je 1'ai interrompu dans
le chapitre pre'ce'dent. — Je vous prie seulement de vous ressouvenir que
nous avons laisse" la moitie de moimeme tenant le portrait de inadame de
Haulcastel tout pres de la muraille, a quatre pas de mon bureau. J'avais
oublie", en parlant de mon lit, de conseiller a tout homme qui le pourra
d' avoir un lit de couleur rose et blanc: il est certain que les couleurs influ-
ent sur nous au point de nous egayer ou de nous attrister suivant leurs
nuances. — Le rose et le blanc sont deux couleurs consacre"es au plaisir et a
la felicite". — La nature, en les donnant a la rose, lui a donn6 la couronne de
1'empire de Flore ; et lorsque le ciel veut annoncer une belle journe"e au
monde, il colore les nues de cette teinte charmante au lever du soleil.

" Un jour nous montions avec peine le long d'un sen tier rapide : 1'aimable
Rosalie e"tait en avant ; son agilite" lui donnait des ailes : nous ne pouvions
la suivre. — Tout a coup, arrive'e au sommet d'un tertre, elle se tourna vers
nous pour reprendre haleine, et sourit a notre lenteur. — Jamais peut-£tre
les deux couleurs dont je fais 1'e'loge n'avaient ainsi triomphe". Ses joues
enflamme'es, ses l£vres de corail, ses dents brillantes, son cou d'albatre, sur
un fond de verdure, frappdrent tous les regards. II fallut nous arr£ter pour

234 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

la contempler : je ne dis rien de ses yeux bleus, ni du regard qu'elle jeta
sur nous, parce que je sortirais de mon sujet, et que d'ailleurs je n'y pense
jarnais que le moins qu'il m'est possible. II me suffit d'avoir donne* le plus
bel exernple imaginable de la superiority de ces deux couleurs sur toutes les
autres, et de leur influence sur le bonheur des hommes.

" Je n'irai pas plus avant aujourd'hui. Quel sujet pourrais-je trailer qui
ne fut insipide? Quelle ide"e n'est pas eflace'e par cette ide"e?— Je ne sais
m6me quand je pourrai me remettre & 1'ouvrage. — Si je le continue, et que
le lecteur desire en voir la fin, qu'il s'addresse & 1'ange distributeur des
pense*es, et qu'il le prie de ne plus m61er 1'image de ce tertre parmi la foule
de pense*es decousues qu'il me jette a tout instant.

" Sans cette precaution, e'en est fait de mon voyage."

Clearest mark of all is the delicacy in transition, as in the
opening of Chapter xv, gauged at once to bring the servant
on the scene swiftly and to explain the previous allusion to
the wet sponge, that not a word may be displaced or wasted.

The fulness and minuteness of gesture is not only charac-
teristic in itself; it also shows that Maistre grasped as char-
acteristic in this form that it should be applied to the most
insignificant incidents and the smallest objects — a portrait, a
house-dog, a bed, a coat, a rose, — and that it should be applied
sentimentally. Maistre may have his passing sarcasm on
sentimentality;1 but his whole book is steeped in it. In form
and in tone his Voyage is a sentimental journey. In form
and in tone there is the same subtle unity — not a unity of the
fable, for the Voyage has no more narrative unity than the
Journey, but a descriptive unity. No wonder it closes like
the Journey, but how much more delicately !

For the Voyage autour de ma Chambre is not a copy. It
has not a single detail demonstrably borrowed, and as a whole
it is original. That is what makes its imitation at once so
interesting to study and so profitable. This is literary influ-
ence, that an author, in adopting a form, should use it for
himself. Thus, for instance, that Maistre should so have
modified the form as to present less drama and more essay
follows from the temper of Maistre. From the temper of

xCap. ix.

THE LITERARY INFLUENCE OF STERNE IN FRANCE. 235

Maistre also comes the occasional tone of oratory,1 the larger
use of natural scenery, the very slight use of manners, the
comparatively indistinct presentation of persons, the serious
reflections philosophical and religious.2 And the nobler soul
had also the freer fancy ; he is less concrete, or, to put it con-
versely, more abstract, more purely fanciful.3 In a word, he
is always himself. He learned from Sterne precisely as one
painter learns from another.

One book, then, in 1794, appears to sum up the influence
of Sterne's best form on French literature. For the rest, one
direct imitation of Tristram, and perhaps a score of passages
here and there, reminiscent possibly of his sentimentality,
possibly of someone else's. Yet " Sterne is so French."
After all, is he ? He has the quickest sensibility to French
habits of expression, but not so much to manner in word as
to manners, to attitude. He seems to like the language ; but
his sympathy is not from mastery. In mastery Sterne is at
the first reader, without vocabulary, without syntax, and espe-
cially without idiom. The idioms of manners he read at
sight ; but it is at least doubtful that he knew enough French
to appreciate French style.

So there is no promise for inquiry whether Sterne, teaching
so remarkably little to France, may on the other hand have
learned something from her. One looks again in his Provost,
the very man of men for Sterne ; but ten pages of Manon
bring him to a stand ; a story always in motion, a story of
passion, above all a style that is what Sterne's at its best
never is — artless, a lovely simplicity. Not all the tears o'er
faithless Manon shed persuade me that Sterne had anything
from the Chevalier des Grieux; and on M. Brunetiere's
presentation of Prevost's later stories 4 I will risk the asser-
tion that he had nothing from them either. M. Jusserand5

1 Capp. v, xl. aCapp. xxi, xxix, xxx.

3 Cf. Cap. xxxiv, on old letters, which is somewhat in the strain of Donald
G. Mitchell.

* Etudes Critiques, vol. iii.

8 English Essays from a French Pen, page 147.

236 CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

suggests Scarron : I cannot find even a clear reminiscence.
Nor is it probable that he had anything from Crebillon fils.
He visited that worthy; he alludes in the Journey to his
figarements du Cceur et de I' Esprit; he concocted with him
the precious plan by which each was to attack the morality
of the other's books; but nothing beyond these personal
relations has been suggested by the hardy explorers of Cre"-
billon fils.

Sterne's best art, then, seems underived and almost uncom-
municated. There is some colour for calling Tristram Shandy
Rabelaisian ; but the Sentimental Journey, as it is one of the
most exquisite pieces in literature, is also one of the most
truly unique.

CHARLES SEARS BALDWIN.

VII.— THE HOME OF THE BEVES SAGA.

The question of the original home of the Beves saga has
often been discussed, but no satisfactory conclusion has been
reached. The conjectures regarding it have been various, but
as yet unconvincing.

Amaury Duval l places the scene of the story in France at
Antonne, but without giving definite grounds for this sup-
position. Turnbull2 and Kolbing3 both adopt this view
without argument. Pio Rajua4 was the first to suggest a
Germanic home for the saga, locating Hanstone (Hamtoun)
on the continent near the French border of Germany. The
arguments given are unimportant, but this view of the
origin has been accepted by Gaston Paris,5 although he takes
exception to Rajna's wildest suppositions as to the name
Hanstone. Albert Stimming6 has exposed the weakness of
Rajna's reasoning, but even he leaves the question still un-
settled. Later in his introduction, he gives impartially the
arguments in favor of French as well as those in favor of
Germanic origin, but does not regard them as sufficient ground
for forming an opinion. These comprise the conjectures thus
far advanced, and all are weakly supported and inconclusive.

A resemblance between the Beves and the Horn seems to
me to furnish at last the key to the complete solution of the
problem. If the Beves can be shown to be but a romantically
developed form of the Horn saga, its ultimate origin must
at once be acknowledged to be the same as that of its more
primitive base. Since such a relation can be proved, I pre-

1 Hist&ire Litteraire de la France, xviii, pp. 750 ff.

2 Sir Beves of Hamtoun, pp. xv ff. (1837).

3 Sir Beves of Hamtoun (E. E. T. S.), p. xxxiv (1885).
*IEeali di Francia, pp. 123 ff. (1872).

5 Romania, II, 359.

6 Der Anglonormannische Boeve de Haumtone, pp. clxxxi ffi (1899).

8 237

238 PEENTIS8 C. HOYT.

sent the proposition that the Beves, like its prototype, the
.Horn, is Anglo-Saxon and insular — not French, nor German.

The Beves romance is obviously a hotch-potch of adventures
formed about a simple story. This simple base may be given
briefly as follows : — A young man, driven from home, wins
power in the service of a foreign king, gains the love of the
king's daughter, returns home, and takes revenge on his ene-
mies. This summary will be seen to serve admirably as an
outline of the story of King Horn. Upon this relation, which
has not been noticed heretofore, I base the proposition just
given.1

A closer examination of the two poems shows that this
resemblance is not merely that of two "expulsion and return"
romances, but that the central story of the Beves parallels the
Horn, incident for incident. Naturally, this parallelism is
not exact, nor would we have it so. The differences, how-
ever, can be explained in accordance with the method of the
J3eves-writer, who was developing a long romantic story, zeal-
ously religious, from the Horn, which is itself simple and
almost savage in its roughness.

Even a brief examination of the two romances will make
clear the close resemblance in their essential elements, although
they have always been regarded as entirely unlike.

The first incident — the expulsion — is the one most changed
and developed in the Beves. In the Horn, the hero and his
companions are set adrift by the " Saracens," who have con-
quered his father's land. The Beves, however, uses an entirely
different motive — the cruel mother. Beves, after his father's
murder, wildly accuses his mother of instigating the crime, and
opposes her marriage with the murderer. Her first attempt

1 Stimming, in his list of parallels, notices a resemblance in episodes only,
not in the whole outline, and draws no conclusions. He says : " Das Liebes-
verhaltnis zwischen Boeve und Josiane beriihrt sich in mehreren Punkten
mit dem zwischen Horn und Rimel. Auch Horn wird von Winkle, gegen
dem er sich freundlich bewiesen, verleumderischerweise angeklagt, Kimel
beschlafen zu haben, und letztere soil gegen ihrem. Willen gewaltsam ver-
heiratet werden." (p. cxc.)

THE HOME OF THE BEVES SAGA.

on Beves's life is frustrated by the faithful old man, Saber,
to whom she has given the boy to be put to death. He spares
him, and shows the mother his coat dipped in the blood of a
goat. Beves is too much enraged, however, to tend sheep
quietly for his friend, and, rushing back to court, denounces
his mother before them all. This time Saber is powerless to
save him, and he is taken to the seashore and sold to some
foreign merchants.

In this incident the Horn is absolutely simple, using only
the conquest by the Saracens and the subsequent setting adrift
of Horn and his noble friends. Such a situation would be
obviously unfitted to the highly religious tone of the Beves ;
Saracens could not be permitted to destroy the hero's land,
even in his youth. The author, therefore, in seeking an
induction more suited to his purpose, made use of a well-
known type of expulsion incidents, which had the additional
advantage of giving him an opportunity for a wide romantic
development later. This is exactly the treatment we should
expect in the case of a late romance, developed from a simple
early form. Any feature, not in accord with the author's
time, would be changed to fit the later conditions. We seek,
then, a similarity of fundamental elements only, and this we
find in the retention of the " expulsion " itself, although the
method employed is entirely different.

In the second incident — the reception at the foreign court —
the two stories are closely parallel. Horn is at once received
into favor by Aylmar, king of Westernesse, who is struck by
the lad's beauty (1. 161 ff.). The king has him instructed
in all arts and makes him his cupbearer (1. 229 ff.). In the
Bevesy also, the hero, by his beauty, wins immediate favor
with King Ermin of Ermonie, to whom the merchants have
presented him. Ermin at once appoints him chamberlain
(1. 534 f. and 571 ff.1). The slight difference here is due to
the difference in age of the two heroes. The numerous inci-

1 References in the Beves are to the A text of Kolbing's edition.

240 PKENTISS C. HOYT.

dents of the expulsion in the Beves necessitate a youth oF
riper years than in the simpler Horn.

In the court, Horn is beloved by all who know him (11.
245 ff.) and especially by Rymenhild, the daughter of the
king. As soon as he learns of her love, Horn loves her in
return, but seeks knighthood and honor that he may be
worthy of her. In the Beves, religion plays a much more
important part. Beves is loved by all who know him, as in
the Horn, and especially by Josiane, the daughter of King
Ermin (11. 578 ff.). Beves, however, unlike Horn, will have
nothing to do with Josiane for a long time, and only after
her promise to embrace Christianity does he become her
lover. The change is characteristic of the religious tone of"
the whole Beves, the author of which could not allow his
Christian hero to love a Saracen, until she had offered to
renounce her false faith. The marriage, in the Beves as in
the Horn, is not consummated until long after, when ven-
geance has been taken upon the youth's enemies in his native
land. It is noteworthy in this episode that the hero in each
case is knighted by the king at his daughter's request, in
order to defend the country against foreign foes.

The banishment, which forms the third incident, is also
closely paralleled in the motiving. The meetings of the lov-
ers are falsely reported to the king in each case. Beves is
betrayed by two knights, whom he had rescued in battle ;
Horn, by Fikenild, one of his twelve chosen comrades (Horn,
680 ff. ; Beves, 1206 ff.). In the Horn, the king straightway
banishes the hero, but, in the Beves, the incident is skilfully
worked over to give an opportunity for the long episodes of
Beves's imprisonment and his return adventures. This ia
accomplished by means of a sealed letter, which is given him
to carry to Damascus. This letter contains instructions for
Beves's instant death, but Brandimond, to whom it is delivered,
throws him into prison instead. The difference in develop-
ment is again perfectly characteristic ; the author of the Beves,.
feeling the necessity of changing from the simple banishment.

THE HOME OF THE BEVES SAGA. 241

of the Horn in order to lengthen his story, drew upon this
well-known device of mediaeval fiction, — the Uriah or Belle-
rophon letter.

The fourth incident in the Horn, which occurs during this
banishment, although not found in a corresponding place in
the Beves, is nevertheless closely paralleled. Horn journeys
to the land of King Thurston, and, by his valor in battle,
wins the offer of the kingdom after the king's death, and of
the hand of the princess. The corresponding episode in the
Beves occurs during the wanderings of Beves and Terri (11.
3759 ff.). They come upon the land of Aumberforce, and in
a tournament — a natural change for the romantic author —
Beves wins the hand of the Lady of Aumberforce and the
promise of the succession after her father's death. Horn
refuses King Thurston's offer, but promises to remain and
serve him for seven years. Beves likewise refuses to accept
Aumberforce and its princess, but is retained by her as her
4t lord in clene manere " for seven years.

It is to be noticed, also, that the ultimate outcome of the
adventure is the same in both cases. Terri, Beves's foster-
brother, gains the Lady of Aumberforce when Beves finds
Josiane ; Athulf, Horn's most intimate and faithful friend,
marries Reynild, the daughter of King Thurston, when Horn
returns to Ryinenhild.

The fifth incident — the first marriage — shows the same
close resemblance. During Horn's absence when banished
by King Aylmar, Rymenhild is wooed by King Modi of
Reynes and at last forced to wed him. Horn, however,
returns just in time to prevent the consummation of the
marriage. This differs little from Josiane's experience dur-
ing Beves's imprisonment by Brandimond. She is forced
to marry King Yvor, but preserves her virginity by means
of a charm. Horn, on his opportune return just alluded to,
disguises himself in a palmer's weeds to gain admittance to
his love's presence. He is served by her own hands and
reveals himself by means of a magic ring she had given him.

242 PBENTISS C. HOYT.

Beves also returns after the same term of absence — seven
years — although his adventures have been very different, as
we are prepared to expect by the change in the method of
banishment. He, too, gains admittance to his love's presence
by adopting a palmer's weeds. Within the castle he is served
by his mistress's own hands and reveals himself by his horse
Arondel, which is endowed with supernatural powers. The
parallel here is carried even into the replies which the assumed
palmer makes to his lady's inquiries, granting always the
partial rationalizing of the magic ring element by the substitu-
tion of the wonderful horse Arondel (cf. Horn, 1007 if. with
Beves, 2041 ff.). The plan of action after the recognition in the
two stories is eminently characteristic. Horn straightway kills
off most of his enemies ; Beves, however, contrives to escape
with Josiane in a highly romantic manner, well-calculated to
bring in other adventures.

The second marriage forms the last important incident,
and is, like the others, closely parallel in the two romances*
Beves, before marrying Josiane, must set out from Cologne —
where a long series of adventures has landed them — to relieve
his foster-father Saber and to avenge himself upon his father's
murderer. Horn in Westeriiesse will, also, neither marry nor
rest until he has regained his hereditary kingdom. During
Horn's absence, Eymenhild is again persecuted by Fikenild,
whom Horn had unwisely spared. Horn a second time
returns at the right moment ; he assumes a harper's disguise
to gain admittance to his enemy's castle, and this time makes
his revenge more complete. After thus gaining his love
again, Horn lives peacefully upon his own lands, crowning
Arnoldin king of Westernesse and wedding Athulf to King
Thurston's daughter. In the other story, Josiane, during
Beves's absence, is importuned by Miles of Cologne and com-
pelled by force to marry him. In desperation she succeeds in
hanging him on the marriage-bed on the wedding evening.
For this act she is condemned to be burned, and thus there is an
opportunity for a romantic rescue. The Beves is then carried

THE HOME OF THE BEVES SAGA. 243

on, page after page, by means of incidents varying in the
different versions. The end, however, resembles the ending
of the Horn. The conquered territories are distributed among
the hero's intimate friends, or relatives, and Beves and Josiane
grow old in peace upon their own possessions. The final
touch in the Beves is of course the more elaborate. Beves
and Josiane die at the same time and are buried together ; the
Horn simply says " Nu are hi both ded," and commits their
souls to God.

In the second marriage episode, it is noteworthy that, in
the Horn, the repetition is an exact one — the opportune return,
the disguise, and all. This shows a much more primitive stage
of development than the Beves, where the story is artistically
varied by the incidents of the murder in the bed chamber, the
trial, and the rescue.

These parallels account for everything in the central story
of the Beves — the story with which the author worked as his
original. The omitted parts are non-essential elements. An
examination of these plus-incidents shows that, without excep-
tion, they are repetitions or romantic commonplaces, and hence
cannot be relied upon as giving any definite evidence for the
original home of the saga.

Of these plus-incidents, three can be at once dismissed.
These are important in the English Beves, but are not found
in the Anglo-Norman version, which Stimming has proved to
be the source of our English form. These late additions are
Beves's fight with fifty Saracens over a question of religious
belief (11. 585-738), the dragon fight (11. 2597-2910), and the
encounter with the burghers of London (11. 4287-4538).

Another class among the plus-incidents may be set aside
also as unimportant in our discussion. There is no method
of developing or enlarging a romance better recognized than
that of repeating in a modified form one of the original inci-
dents. This appears in the Beves in Josiane's second marriage.
This very repetition is seen in the Horn as well. There, how-
ever, as I have already noted, it is an exact repetition — the

244 PRENTISS C. HOYT.

simplest form of development. In the Beves, the repeated
incident is carefully developed and this accounts fully for the
changes. In the first marriage, Josiane preserves her vir-
ginity by means of a charm ; in the second, the author gains
variety by employing the well-known romantic feature of the
murder in the bed chamber.

Other important repetitions may be seen in the numerous
military expeditions (11. 3303-3458, 3967-4004, 4109-4252).
These repeat, with more or less variation, Beves's great battle
against Brandimond immediately after being knighted (11.
989-1068). This incident parallels, in its motiving, Horn's
fight with the pagan freebooters, in which he proves his right
to the knighthood just conferred upon him (Horn, 623-682).

A third class among the plus-incidents may comprise those
features which are the direct outgrowth of feudal and chivalric
conditions. Such features, unless they are parts absolutely
essential to the story, are of course not portions of the simple
original, which must have been formed in more primitive times.
The sealed letter, the long imprisonment, the escape, and the
many adventures of the return may safely be classed in this
group. Here, too, we may place Beves's expedition in aid of
Saber, and his subsequent journey to London to sue his estates.

Finally, there is a class of episodes which will at once be
recognized as commonplaces of romance. The boar-fight, the
encounter with the lions and the giant, Josiane's delivery in
the forest, her capture by the treacherous page, and her search
in minstrel's garments may be grouped here. No one of
these is an essential part of the story, and each can be easily
explained as a characteristic addition, or a change to fit the
style of a more romantic writer.

These four classes include all the plus-incidents of the
Bevesf which therefore have no weight against the propo-

1Two episodes — Beves's swimming the sea on Trinchefis (1811-1818),
and the island duel (4137-4239) — may, at first thought, be excluded from
these classes. When considered in connection with their setting of com-
monplace romantic material, they show at once that they are elements quite
unessential to the main story, and chosen by the author for variety only.

THE HOME OF THE BEVES SAGA. 245

sition that the central story of the Beves is equivalent to the
Horn. There is no essential incident in the Beves which is
not found in the -Horn, and, conversely, the Horn incidents
reappear in the Beves, though with many romantic changes
and developments. A more exhaustive study than is possible
in this article shows that the close resemblance between the
Beves outline and the Horn extends often to matters of minute
detail.

The contention that the Horn is equivalent to the main
story of the Beves, is strengthened by observing that the
Horn shows a repetition which reappears in the Beves. This
is the second marriage episode, which, in the Horn, is simplj
repeated, as I have shown. In the Beves, though more
highly developed, it follows the outline of the Horn so
closely as to be practically a proof of the correctness of the
proposition. It is not held, of course, that the Beves is neces-
sarily from the extant text of the Horn, but that it goes
back to some form of the Horn saga, and is therefore Anglo-
Saxon or Anglo-Danish — insular, and not continental. That
the original was a developed form of the saga, the repetition
of the marriage episode shows, and it may well have borne
the name of Horn, although the mere name is of little im-
portance.

The Anglo-Saxon origin thus contended for fits well with
what has already been proved regarding the Beves. Stim-
rning has shown that the Anglo-Norman is the oldest extant
version, and that this Anglo-Norman form is an insular
product. His thesis is strengthened when we prove that
the original story was also of insular origin.

The theory of an insular home for the saga explains well
the nautical character of the Beves, which is quite unlike the
air of the French chansons, and associates the romance rather
with English and Germanic material.

It suits, too, the name Hamtoun, which, in the earlier
versions, is unquestionably English, despite the efforts of
JDuval and Rajna to prove it French or German.

246 PRENTISS C. HOYT.

Finally, it fits the historical Beves l mentioned by Elyot,2
Fuller3 and others. This Beves lived in the time of William
the Conqueror, and, with a few followers, resisted ineffectually
the power of the invaders. Whether this is real history or
fiction, our proposition agrees well with it, especially as this
Beves lived at first near Southampton, and nothing would be
more natural than to group a series of adventures about a
local hero.

Because we have seen that the central story of the Beves
is equivalent to the Horn, and that its plus-incidents are
easily accounted for as the work of a later romantic writer,
and because all external evidence strengthens this proposi-
tion, we may confidently place the Beves in the rank of the
Guy, the Horn, and the Havelock as insular and not conti-
nental material.

PRENTISS C. HOYT.

1 This is probably what is alluded to as " a kernel of genuine English
tradition " by Prof. George H. McKnight, p. vii of the introduction to his
edition of King Horn, just published in the E. E. T. S. series (1901).

2 Sir Thomas Elyot, The Boke named the Governour, H. H. S. Croft's
edition, 1. 184.

3 Thomas Fuller, Worthies of England, under Souldiers of Hantshire.

VIII.— THE FIRST RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF.
I.

There are few questions concerning Anglo-Saxon literature
which have been more widely discussed than the interpretation
of the so-called First Riddle of Cynewulf. The subject was
introduced by Heinrich Leo in 1857, in his celebrated mono-
graph Quae de se ipso Cynewulfus Poeta Anglosaxonicus tra-
diderit. Before that time the line s(iad attracted little atten-
tion. As is well known, they occur in the Exeter Book, the
collection of verse left by Bishop Leofric to his cathedral
church in the eleventh century. Thorpe, in his edition of
this manuscript, did not venture to translate them, which is
scarcely to be wondered at, since both language and gram-
matical construction are unusually obscure. The investigations
of Leo, however, with those of his followers and opponents,
at once gave great interest and importance to the almost un-
noticed lines. It may be well to mention briefly the principal
theories l which have been founded on this bit of verse, some
of which rival in ingenuity the familiar attempts to establish
a Baconian cypher in the works of Shakespeare.

The Riddles of the Exeter Book are divided into three
groups. The poem under discussion stands at the beginning
of the first group. This circumstance, added to its brevity
and obscurity, led to the conclusion that it might itself be Or
riddle. Such was Leo's view, and his solution was nothing
less than the name " Cynewulf." This discovery, if correct,
was obviously of great significance. Kemble and Grimm had
already shown that the runes of the Juliana and the Elene
were to be interpreted as the signature of the poet, and Lea

1 For a more detailed review of these theories, and a bibliography, see
Professor Cook's edition of Cynewulf 's Christ, The Albion Series, Boston,
1900, pp. lii ff.

247

248 WILLIAM WITHERLE LAWRENCE.

believed that Cynewulf had inserted his name here in the
form of a charade. Dietrich's 1 solution of the last riddle as
" the wandering singer " agreed well with the biographical
details in the concluding lines of the Elene. So it was not
unnatural to infer that Cynewulf might be the author of the
whole series of riddles, since he had apparently concealed his
name in both the first and the last one. Riddle 86 (90) was
thought to bear out this view, lupus being taken as a reference
to Cynewulf.

In order to translate these lines to accord with his hypo-
thesis, Leo was obliged to treat the meanings of words and the
principles of Anglo-Saxon syntax in a rather high-handed
fashion. Even after the translation had been established, an
elaborate explanation was necessary to make the solution clear,
the whole being a process which would certainly have required
extraordinary powers of deduction in an Anglo-Saxon hearer
or reader. These difficulties did not, however, prevent wide
acceptance of Leo's thesis. Dietrich, Eduard Miiller, Grein,
Sweet, ten Brink, Hammerich, Wiilker, Lelevre, D'Ham,
Sarrazin and others gave it their approval.2 But there were
some dissenting voices in the chorus. Rieger3 found flaws in
Leo's reasoning, although he regarded the lines as a riddle.
Trautmann4 published in 1883 a convincing destructive criti-
cism of Leo's arguments, and tried to show the lines to be a
charade on athe riddle." This he regarded as the solution also
of the riddle which Dietrich had interpreted as " the wandering
singer." He was supported by Holthaus5 and Ramhorst,6
and opposed by Nuck 7 and by Hicketier,8 who presented an
elaborate defence of Leo's interpretation. At this point a step
was taken in an entirely new direction.

xFor Dietrich's views, see Haupt's Zs., xi, 448 &., and cf. xn, 232 ff.;
Lit. Centralbl., March 28, 1858, p. 191 ; Jahrb. f. rom. u. eng. Lit., I, 241.
2 Cf. Cook, p. Ivi. 3 Zs. f. d. Phil., i, 215 ff.

4 Anglia, Anz. 6, 158-169. 5 Anglia, vn, Anz. 120 ff.

6 Das Altenglische Oedicht vom HeUigen Andreas, pp. 2, 23.

7 Anglia, x, 390 ff. 8 Ibid., 564 ff.

THE FIRST RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF. 249

In the Academy for March 24, 1888, Mr. Henry Bradley
suggested that " the so-called riddle is not a riddle at all, but
a fragment of a dramatic soliloquy, like Deor and The Ban-
ished Wife's Complaint. . . . The speaker, it should be pre-
mised, is shown by the grammar to be a woman. Apparently
she is a captive in a foreign land. Wulf is her lover and an
outlaw, and Eadwacer (I suspect, though it is not certain) is
her tyrant husband." This view was accepted, in the main,
by Herzfeld,1 and apparently by Biilbring,2 in his criticism
of Herzfeld. Professor Cook3 seems to favor Mr. Bradley's
theory. Mr. Israel Gollancz,4 in a paper read before the
Philological Society, modified Mr. Bradley's interpretation,
making the poem " a lyric yet highly dramatic poem in five
fittes, a life-drama in five acts.'7 His interpretation has not been
published in detail, so far as I am aware, but Mr. Stopford
Brooke refers to it 5 as being " a little story of love and jeal-
ousy between two men, Wulf and Eadwacer."

Leo's theories received a final blow in 1891, when Professor
Sievers showed,6 by a critical examination of the language,
that it is impossible to regard the poem as a charade on the
name " Cynewulf."

Mr. Bradley's explanation is the most reasonable one that
has thus far been offered. It rests, however, entirely upon
considerations of spirit and subject. The poem is indeed far
more like a lyric fragment than a riddle, but no reasons have
yet been presented which make the old hypothesis absolutely
untenable. What the origin and literary history of this " life-
drama in five acts " may be, are questions which still remain
to be answered.

1 Die Ratsel des Exeterbuches, pp. 64 ff.

2 Lileraturbl., 1891, No. 5, p. 157. 3 Christ, p. lix.
4 Academy, 44, p. 572.

*Eng. Lit. from the Beg. to the Norman Conquest, 1898, p. 160.
- *Anglia, xm, 19-21.

250 WILLIAM WTTHERLE LAWRENCE.

II.

The theory which I wish to present is that the so-called
First Riddle of Cynewulf is a translation from Old Norse.
For convenience in analysis, it is well to reprint the poem.

I Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife ;

2 willaft hy hine a]?ecgan gif he on J?reat cyme's.

3 Ungelic is us,

4 Wulf is on lege, ic on 6J>erre ;

5 fsest is j>set eglond, fenne biworpen ;

6 sindon wselreowe weras J?ser on ige ;

7 willaft hy hine a]?ecgan gif he on J>reat cymeft.

8 Ungelice is us.

9 Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode ;

10 }>onne hit waes renig weder ond ic reotugu sset,

11 }?onne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde;

12 wses me wyn to J?on, wses me hwaej^re eac la$.

13 Wulf, mm wulf, wena me )?ine

14 seoce gedydon, J?Iue seldcymas,

15 murnende mod, nales meteliste.

16 Gehyrest ]>u, Eadwacer? Uncerne earne hwelp

17 bireS wulf to wuda.

18 pset mon eafe toslite^ Jwtte nsefre gesomnad wees —

19 uncer giedd geador.

A careful examination of the lines before us reveals certain
significant features in their arrangement. The short repeated
line ungetic(e) is us marks a natural division after the third and
eighth lines. Then come four more verses (9-12). The thir-
teenth line and those following seem to belong apart on account
of the abrupt change to impassioned address, Wulf mm wulf!

THE FIRST BIDDLE OP CYNEWULF. 251

Again, the last seven lines may be divided into two sections
of three and four lines, the second division, which introduces
a new appeal (Gehyrest }m, Eadwacer?) being composed of
alternating long and short lines.

Mr. Bradley assumed the poem to be fragmentary ; he sup-
posed that something had been lost at the beginning and at
the end. It will be seen, however, that it is not necessary to
supply anything to complete the sense of the first line. It is
perfect in itself. Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife, " It
is to my people as if one give to them a gift (or, gifts)." I
should regard the lacuna as coming between lines 1 and 2.
For hine and he of the second line an antecedent is necessary,
and this is not found in the first line. We should expect that
the antecedent would immediately precede line 2, at least
without the intervention of line 1, which appears to deal with
other matters than those in which the he of the second line
is concerned. It seems reasonable, then, to assume a loss be-
tween lines 1 and 2. If we supply two lines, we shall have
a group of four followed by a short line, which will form a
perfect counterpart to the second group beginning with 4, and
which will also end with the short line ungellce is us. Let us
assume this to be the case.

The four short lines 3, 8, 17, 19, must arrest attention, such
verses being unusual in Anglo-Saxon poetry. They might be
considered as the first halves of ordinary long lines, the remain-
der having beep lost.1 There seems to be no good reason for this
assumption, however, since there is no break in the sense, and
since they occur at regular intervals in the structure of the
stanza, 3 and 8 at the end of the first and second divisions
respectively, and 17 and 19 alternating with ordinary long
lines in the last division. These short lines, each of which
contains two alliterating words, represent a type of line com-
mon in Old Norse poetry.

The obvious conclusion, when we look at the poem thus
divided, is that it presents traces of strophic formation.

1 Of. Biilbring, loc. cit.

252 WILLIAM WITHEELE LA WHENCE.

The most characteristic feature which distinguishes Old
Norse verse from that of the West-Germanic dialects is its
strophic structure. It has been held by some that the Saxon
folk-epic is at bottom strophic. But this theory, which
has found its most ardent champion in H. Moller, has been
shown to be inadmissible by the researches of Sievers and
other metrists. The development is peculiar to Scandinavian,
reaching its greatest perfection in the later artistic poetry. In
Anglo-Saxon, on the other hand, strophic form is exceedingly
rare. While admirably in accord with the terser style of
northern verse, it is unsuited to the parallelism and variation
so characteristic of Anglo-Saxon. The presence of stanzas in
the poem before us thus creates a strong presumption that
foreign influences have been at work.

It has already been noted by others that the Riddle shows
this peculiarity, although no particular significance seems to
have been attached to the matter. Hicketier, in his defence
of Leo, comments in substance as follows : J The four short
lines may have three hebungen, and be a relic of strophic
formation. The strophes are indeed irregular, but the Anglo-
Saxon lyric was obliged to conform to the metrical structure
of the epic. In this riddle the attempt to make strophes out
of unlike divisions is explained by the abrupt changes in the
subject-matter, the charade being presented for solution in
various ways. Irregularity in construction is also due to the
fact that the poetry which served as models for this Anglo-
Saxon strophic verse had almost disappeared. — It is scarcely
necessary to remark that Hicketier's belief that the word
"Cynewulf" was concealed in the lines prevents us from
accepting his reasons for the presence of strophic structure.

Sievers 2 mentions the First Riddle and the Gnomic Verses
as closely approaching true strophic form. " In den Gnomica
Exoniensia und im ersten Ratsel [wird] der glatte ablauf der
in halbzeilen gegliederten langzeilen widerholt durch unge-

1 Anglia, x, 567. 2 Altgerm. Metrik, § 98, p. 145.

THE FIRST RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF. 253

gliederte vollzeilen unterbrochen, dergestalt dass strophen-
ahnliche gebilde oder wenigstens strophenahnliche gliederung
entsteht. Das Ratsel hat ausser dem zweimal widerkehrenden
schaltvers ungelice is us am schlusse vier zeilen welche genau
das bild einer nord. Ijoftshdttr strophe geben."1 This, it will
be seen, is an extremely significant point. Here in these
Anglo-Saxon lines we find not only a distinct division into
stanzas, but also a metrical form peculiar to Old Norse poetry.
Professor Sievers draws no inferences from this, however, nor
has the presence of strophic formation led thus far to a con-
nection of the Riddle with Scandinavian sources, so far as I
have been able to ascertain.

The irregularity in the length of the stanzas and the com-
bination of two different metres need not disturb us. Compare,
for example, the Eiriksmdl and the Hdkonarmdl. The former
was composed in the tenth century by command of Queen
Guunhild in memory of her husband Eric Bloodaxe, the son
of Harold Fairhair. It begins with long lines divided by
caesura (mdlah6ttr\ then changes, as do the lines in the Riddle,
to lj6^ah6Ury long lines alternating with shorter " full lines "
without caesura. It will be noticed that strophes 6 and 7 vary
from the prevailing type. The Hdkonarmdl shows a similar
blending of metres.

It should be remembered that we possess no Old Norse
monuments composed at a date as early as the Riddle from
which to draw conclusions in regard to style and metre. The
Riddle is generally held to be a work of the latter part of the
eighth century, but Professor Sievers, followed by Professor
Cook, puts it and the other riddles earlier. Contrast the age

/ r O

of extant Old Norse material. "The so-called Eddie lays are
preserved in Icelandic manuscripts, the oldest of which are
from the thirteenth century. But these manuscripts are only
copies of older codices. No one of the poems is older than
the end of the ninth century. The majority of them belong

1 The italics are mine.

254 WILLIAM WITHERLE LAWRENCE.

to the tenth century, and some are still later." l The Lay of
Guthrunf for instance, a poem which forms a striking parallel
to the Riddle in spirit and subject, dates from the eleventh
century.

The repetition in lines 7 and 8 is striking in as short a
poem as the Riddle. It is noteworthy, also, that this group
of two lines forms the close of both the first and the second
strophes, as reconstructed above :

willaft hy hine aj>ecgan gif he on )>reat cyme's.
Ungelice is us.

May not this be regarded as a kind of refrain ? Refrain is
a common stylistic device in Old Norse.3 In Anglo-Saxon,
however, it is extremely rare. A familiar instance of it is in
Dear's Lament, which Wiilker4 calls "das einzige uns erhaltene
[angelsachsische] Gedicht in Strophenform und mit Kehr-
reim." There the poet, while reviewing the misfortunes of
others, exclaims at intervals ]>ces ofereode, pisses swd mceg !
"That he endured, this also can I!" Here the cry is "They
will a]>ecgan him ! Unlike is our lot ! " The repeated lines
in both poems seem to serve a similar purpose, — to express
what is uppermost in the speaker's mind.

Attention has already been drawn to the fact that some
three centuries must lie between the time of the composition
of the Riddle and that of extant Old Norse poetry of similar
character. The futility of forming conclusions in regard to
refrain by comparison with this late verse must be evident.
It proves nothing that poems like the Lay of Guthrun or the
Lament of Oddrun? which resemble the Riddle in spirit and
style, contain no similar refrain. All authorities agree that
the repeated line in Dear's Lament must be a refrain, yet no

1 Bugge-Schofield, Home of the Eddie, Poems, Introd., p. xvi.

2 GuftrunarkvfiSa II (Sijmons-Gering, AelL Edda, I, 395 ff.).

3 Cf. Meyer, StU der Altg. Poesie, pp. 340 ff.

4 Grundriss, I 327, p. 334.

5 Sijmons-Gering, Adi. Edda, i, 413 ff.

THE FIRST RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF. 255

parallel of precisely the same sort can be indicated in Old
Norse.

It is interesting to notice that the only Anglo-Saxon poem
in which true refrain has been shown to occur stands in
close relation to sagas with which we are familiar through
Scandinavian sources. The author of Dear's Lament knew
the story of Geat, of Wayland, of Hermanric, and the early
form of the Guthrun saga. Wilhelm Grimm1 noted that the
treatment of the Wayland episode is similar to that in the
Edda, and Wiilker2 points out that the material in general
shows no distinctively English coloring. In the early days of
Anglo-Saxon scholarship, Conybeare 3 postulated a Northern
origin for the poem. The questions of the date and place of
composition are much disputed, and a discussion of them
would lead us too far afield. The metrical structure is note-
worthy. Miillenhof, ten Brink, Sweet, and Wiilker agree in
considering that it is strophic, while Sievers 4 denies that the
divisions of the poem are to be regarded as strophes "im
strengen sinne des wortes." It is not without significance,
perhaps, that Dear's Lament and the First Kiddle, which are
similar in so many ways, stand in juxtaposition in the Exeter
Book, the one following the other.

If this riddle be a translation from the Old Norse, it is
natural to expect traces of its origin to appear in the language.
It should be borne in mind, however, that there are only
nineteen lines upon which to base conclusions of this sort,
and that two of these are repeated and four are practically
only half-lines. The fact that extant Old Norse poetry is of
so much later date further complicates the matter. A careful
examination, however, reveals a number of signs of Scandi-
navian idiom.

The meaning of the word \rlai in lines 2 and 7 is ambi-
guous. It was translated by the riddle-guessers as would
best accord with their theories, generally being taken in its

1 Deutsche Heldensage, No. 8. 2 Grundriss, \ 327.

3 Illustrations, p. 244. *AUg. Metrik, g 97.

256 WILLIAM WITHERLE LAWBENCE.

literal sense of " throng." Mr. Bradley was the first to call
attention to the Old Norse at \roium koma, a common idiom
which he renders "to come to want." Professor Cook ob-
jects that Cleasby-Vigfusson translates it otherwise, — "to
come to one's last gasp, be worn out from exhaustion." The
difference appears to be one of degree rather than of kind.
The general sense in the Norse is plain. Compare the fol-
lowing passage from the Fornmanna Spgur : l " matt-dregnir
af matleysi ok kulda, ok mjok at ]>roturn komnir" — "ex-
hausted by lack of food and cold, and come into heavy straits."
On ]>reat cuman is found nowhere else in Anglo-Saxon,2
while at ]>rotum koma is common in Old Norse.3 This inter-
pretation of Mr. Bradley's, which is the most probable one yet
advanced, points unmistakably to Scandinavian influence.

It is not easy to give a satisfactory rendering of to ]>on in
line 12 in accordance with Anglo-Saxon usage. Professor
Cook translates " it was joy to me to that extent." Mr. Brad-
ley omits it altogether. The two possible meanings of the
phrase as it occurs elsewhere are given in Bosworth-Toller
as (1) "to that degree," (2) "to the end that." The second
makes no sense here, and the first does not fit the passage
well. "It was joy to me (I had pleasure) to that degree."
One would expect rather " I had pleasure in that." May it
not be an attempt to render the Norse at \m ? Compare the
following line from the Gripesspd : 4 " H vat's mik at ]>vi ? "
Gering 5 translates " Was geht das mich an ? "

Particularly noteworthy is the word ig in lines 4 and 6,
the Old Norse equivalent of which is ey. The use of ig in

1 Ed. Copenhagen, 1826, u, 98.

2 It is of course difficult to state with certainty that a given word or
phrase does not occur elsewhere. Such a statement should be taken to
mean that a search through the lexicons has failed to reveal other refer-
ences.—Compare also the rare sddcymas in line 14 with its Norse relative
sjaldkvcemr, and meteliste in line 15 with the Norse malleysa.

3 Cf. Cleasby-Vigfusson, under \>rot.
*Sijmons-Gering, Edda, i, 293 ff.

6 Glossar zu den Liedern der Edda, 2nd ed., 1896.

THE FIRST RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF. 257

Anglo-Saxon is extremely restricted. It appears to occur
uncompounded only here.1 The common term for " island "
was egland. In Old Norse the case is reversed. There the
word ey was the familiar one, eyland being only occasionally
used. The inference is plain. We must assume Scandinavian
influence, else why should the common Saxon term be dis-
placed by the rare form Ig ?

The question immediately arises, however, why the form
eglond should be used in line 5. As has been said, we find in
Norse the word eyland rarely used instead of ey. Since land
meant " land " and ey alone meant " island," it is natural to
suppose that to a Norseman the compound eyland would have
had the sense of " island-land." It is of course difficult to
determine how far this difference in meaning actually existed.
Compare a sentence from the Konungsskuggsjd : 2 " forvitnar
mer ok J>at, hv&rt J>er setlit, at J?at s6 meginland e|?a eyland" —
" I am curious to know whether you think that is the main-
land, or the land of an island." Again, in the Saga of Mag-
nus Barefoot3 we find, in a skaldic verse, "oil hefir I6ta fellir
eylaud farit brandi." This instance of the use of eyland is
glossed in the Lexicon Poeticum as "terra insularis." Pro-
fessor Cook translates the line "Firm is the island, surrounded
with bog," while Leo, Trautmann, and Bradley take fcest as
an adverb, the latter's rendering being " The island is closely
surrounded by fen." Whether fcest is an adverb or an adjec-
tive is not of great consequence for the matter under dis-
cussion. But the mention of the fen suggests that the land,
the earth of the island, was emphasized by way of contrast
to the marsh around. Hence it would have been quite
natural for a Scandinavian to use eyland here, rather than
the common word ey. We may well believe that eyland was
the form in the original line, since a poet would scarcely have
used the same word for " island " in three successive lines.

1 Elsewhere as ig~biiend} ig-land, and as the last half of compound proper
names like Meres-ig.

2 Ed. Christiania, 1848, 42, 7. s Konunga Sogur of Snorri, Cap. xi.

258 WILLIAM WITHERLE LAWRENCE.

One of the most disputed words in the poem is earne, in
line 16. Biilbring rejects Mr. Bradley's proposal to take it
as the accusative of earh, "cowardly," on the ground that
the h of the nominative represents an older g, and that only
words with original h may lose it before the ending. The
form is usually derived from earn, " swift." But Professor
Cook points out a grammatical difficulty, that earone would
be the regular form, although this objection, as he admits, is
not necessarily conclusive.1 Earn is the equivalent of the
Old Norse prr, with similar meaning. I would suggest that
it was this word which the translator had before him, in the
form prvan, which, being dissyllabic, caused the use of earne
in Anglo-Saxon, instead of the trisyllabic earone.

For the explanation of Eadwacer in line 16 as a translation
of an Old Norse epithet, see Dr. Schofield's article, p. 267,
note, below.

in.

We have seen in the preceding pages that the so-called
First Kiddle plainly shows the influence of Old Norse in
strophic structure, refrain, and language. It seems most
reasonable to conclude that it was originally written in Norse
and later translated into Anglo-Saxon. Some might contend
that it was produced by a Norseman writing Anglo-Saxon
and showing traces of his mother-tongue in his work. This
is, however, unlikely, apart from the antecedent improbability
of such an occurrence. Under this hypothesis we should be
obliged to suppose that a man sufficiently familiar with Anglo-
Saxon poetry to write it on his own account would deliber-
ately introduce stylistic peculiarities so foreign to its tech-
nique as strophic structure and refrain, neglect its character-
istic parallelism, and violate its alliteration.2 He must have
known the usual Saxon expression for so common a word as

1 Cf. Sievers, Ags. Gram., \ 300, Anm.

2 In regard to faulty alliteration compare the following paragraph, and
also Herzfeld, loe. cit. p. 67.

THE FIRST RIDDLE OF CYNEWULF. 259

" island," yet he deliberately employs a term not found in the
whole range of Anglo-Saxon poetry. The same is true of
the use of to ]>on. This is not the habit of a man writing in
a foreign tongue. The tendency is rather to use well-estab-
lished idioms.

On the other hand, tha peculiarities of the poem become
perfectly natural on the theory that it is a close translation.
We may infer from the retention of such distinctively Norse
traits as strophic formation, a perfect lj6$ah6Ur verse, and
refrain, that we have to deal with no free rendering, no
retelling of the story in different words. The transcription
will be made as nearly as possible word for word, with due
regard to metre. It will sometimes happen that the literal
rendering of a line will destroy the alliteration, and no con-
venient substitution of synonymous words can be made.
Under these circumstances the translator has two choices, to
strain the alliteration or to change the sense of the lines.
Every one familiar with the ways of medieval writers will
recognize that the former alternative would have been chosen.
We have an instance of precisely this sort in line 12, in
which hwatyre alliterates with wyn. Faulty alliteration has
been urged by ten Brink in another connection, as a test of
determining translation in Anglo-Saxon poetry.1 The desire
to preserve the same number of syllables may explain the
occurrence of the shortened form earne, as has already been
suggested. In short, all signs point to the conclusion that
the poem was first written in Old Norse by a Norseman, and
that it was later rendered literally into Anglo-Saxon.

It is not possible, however, to dogmatize about the matter,
for absolute proof that the poem is a translation can at present
not be offered. In any case, the lines are clearly connected
with Scandinavian, and must have been composed by a man
whose mother-tongue was Old Norse.

The celebrated controversy over the authorship of the inter-
polated portion of the Anglo-Saxon Genesis is an analogous

1 History of Eng. Lit., I, 378.

260 WILLIAM WITHERLE LAWRENCE.

case. Although familiar to scholars, it may be reviewed with
profit at this point. In 1875, Professor Sievers presented the
theory that certain lines in the Genesis were translated from
a Biblical paraphrase written in Old Saxon by the poet of the
Heliand, and later inserted into the Csedmonian Genesis, The
arguments which have been brought forward here in connec-
tion with the Riddle are not unlike those upon which Pro-
fessor Sievers based his views. It was, however, maintained
by some distinguished authorities, notably ten Brink, that
the lines were not translated, but written in Anglo-Saxon by
a man whose mother-tongue was Old Saxon. A fortunate
occurrence settled the question. In 1894 there was discovered
in Rome a portion of an Old Saxon paraphrase of the Bible,
twenty-six lines of which were found to agree perfectly
with a passage of the interpolation in the Genesis. Professor
Sievers could scarcely have desired a more complete vindica-
tion of his hypothesis.

We cannot hope to discover the poem from which we may
believe the lines before us to have been translated, but it is
possible to show that this dramatic lament is an incident of a
tale familiar to the early Scandinavians and preserved to us
at the present day. Mr. Bradley, it will be remembered, was
unable to throw any light upon the literary origin of the
poem. He says : " Whether the subject of the poem be drawn
from history or Teutonic legend, or whether it be purely the
invention of the poet, there seems to be no evidence to deter-
mine." The identification of the situation here described with
one in an Old Norse saga, and a discussion of the important
bearings of the subject upon the history of early Scandinavian
literature will be found in the accompanying article by Dr.
Schofield. This furnishes a substantial proof of the correct-
ness of the general theory of Scandinavian influence in the
Riddle advanced above. It will be seen that we have in all
probability in these lines a bit of Old Norse verse at least a
century older than the earliest extant monuments, — a fact which
is not without interest to students of Scandinavian literature.

THE FIRST RIDDLE OP CYNEWULF. 261

The inferences to be drawn from the preceding analysis
are of particular significance for Anglo-Saxon. The old and
widespread conception that the lines form a riddle must now
be definitely abandoned. It has indeed been shown by others
that the solution " Cynewulf " is impossible, but not that the
poem may not be a charade of some sort. Mr. Bradley's
theory of a dramatic soliloquy, while plausible, lacked direct
proof. Arguments based on style and spirit alone are not
absolutely convincing. All that Professor Cook ventures to
say is that " in all probability " the poem is not a riddle at all.
We now see that the probability must be regarded as a cer-
tainty. The lines cannot be a riddle. Examination of the more
formal elements of the poem confirms the correctness of Mr.
Bradley's literary judgment.

It is worth while to call attention to the fact that there is
nothing to connect the poem with Cynewulf. He cannot
have been the author, and there is no reason to think that
he, more than any other man, was the translator. Indeed,
there is no convincing ground for thinking that any of the
riddles are the work of Cynewulf. Sievers says : l " Aber was
fuhrt denn iiberhaupt zur annahme der identitat des ratsel-
dichters mit Cynewulf? Im grunde doch nichts, als Leos
unmogliche deutung des ersten ratsels auf den namen Cyne-
wulf" Yet the old idea that Cynewulf was the poet of the
riddles has not been completely abandoned. If this discussion
may incidentally furnish additional proof of the falsity of the
argument underlying this assumption, it will perhaps be of
service in settling the vexed question of the authorship of the
poems ascribed to Cynewulf.

WILLIAM WITHERLE LAWRENCE.

1 Anglia, xm, 19.

IX.— SIGNY'S LAMENT.

In the preceding article my friend Mr. Lawrence has shown
clearly that all indications point to an Old Norse source for
the Anglo-Saxon poem usually termed The First Riddle of
Cynewulf. After he had come to a conviction on this point,
he communicated his theory to me in private conference, in
the hope that I might perhaps be able to supply confirmatory
evidence by showing what that source was. It was my fortune
to make what I believe scholars will agree to be the correct
identification of the material, and, with the new light thus
thrown on its meaning, to interpret the poem more satis-
factorily, I think, than has hitherto been done.

In my opinion we have here to do neither with a riddle l nor
with " a little story of love and jealousy between two men
Wolf and Eadwacer," 2 but with an ancient Norse lay of the
Vclsungs, which may properly be entitled " Signy's Lament."

The narrative necessary to an understanding of the situa-
tion is extant only 3 in certain introductory chapters of the
Vplsungasaga* a work composed in the second half of the
thirteenth century, and preserved in a parchment manuscript
of the end of the fourteenth. Of these chapters it seems well
to give first a detailed summary.

lrThe prevailing view from the time of Leo (1857) to that of Mr. Brad-
ley (1888), and not even now entirely abandoned. For a review of previous
opinion, see Mr. Lawrence's discussion, above, pp. 247 ff.

2 Mr. Gollancz's interpretation, according to Mr. Stopford Brooke (Eng.
Lit. from the Beg. to the Norman Conquest, 1898, p. 160). In the Academy,
44, 572, Mr. Bradley is said to have accepted Mr. Gollancz's view.

3 Unless we include the late Icelandic Rimur frd Vb'lsungi hinum oborna,
ed. Mobius, Edda, Leipzig, 1860, pp. 240 ff. ; ed. Finnur Jonsson, Fernir
Fornislenskir Rimnafiokkar, 1896.

*Ed. Ranisch, "nach Bugges Text," Berlin, 1891, chs. 3-8.
262

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 263

Volsung, king of the Huns, has ten sons and one daughter, of whom the
most distinguished are the two eldest, the twin brother and sister, Sigmund
and Signy. Siggeir, king of Gautland, presents himself as a suitor for
Signy's hand. Notwithstanding her disinclination, the marriage is ar-
ranged; but the day after the ceremony Siggeir, feeling himself insulted
by certain remarks of Sigmund, determines to return immediately to his
own land. Signy begs her father to let her remain at home, for she dis-
likes Siggeir and foresees misfortune from the marriage. Volsung, how-
ever, will not hear of a covenant's being broken, and insists that the bride
shall accompany her lord. Before Siggeir leaves, he invites King Volsung,
his sons, and as many retainers as he may wish to bring, to a feast in Gaut-
land at a respite of three months — thus appearing to compensate for his
discourtesy in leaving so abruptly the marriage feast which his father-in-
law has prepared.

At the appointed time Volsung and his followers set sail for Siggeir's
land. They arrive late in the evening, and are met at once by Signy, who
warns her father and brothers that her husband has collected a large army
and intends to deceive them. She urges them to depart without delay,
assemble men, and return with power to defend themselves. But Volsung
has never before fled from any man and swears he will not now ; he will
abide whatever fate has in store for him. Thereupon Signy weeps bitterly
and begs that she may not be sent back to Siggeir. " Volsung the king
answers : ' Thou shalt certainly go home to thy husband and dwell with him,
howsoever it fare with us.' " And she obeys her father's command.

The next day, after a valiant defence against the hosts which the treach-
erous Siggeir has assembled, Volsung and his followers are all slain, except
Sigmund and his brothers, who are taken prisoners. Signy asks that they
be not then put to death but set in the stocks, where they will perish
more slowly. Siggeir marvels that she should desire for her brothers this
added torment, but accedes to her request. On nine successive nights a
she-wolf devours one of the brothers, until only Sigmund remains. By a
device of Signy's, he gains his freedom and escapes to the forest. Trusted
messengers acquaint Signy with what has happened. " She goes now and
meets her brother, and they agree that he shall make himself an earth-
house in the forest ; and for a while Signy conceals him there, and pro-
vides him with what he needs to have ; but Siggeir the king thinks that
all the V9lsungs are dead."

Signy bears her lord two sons. When the elder is ten years old, she sends
him to Sigmund to aid him in avenging their father. But the boy's courage
being tested, he is deemed unworthy by both, and at Signy's request is slain.
So it fares with the second son when he too shows himself a coward.

Signy now decides upon a desperate plan to accomplish her secret pur-
pose of revenge. Disguised as a witch, she makes her way alone to her
brother's retreat, represents herself as lost in the forest, and begs for shel-
ter. Thinking her simply a poor unhappy woman, Sigmund allows her to
come in ; but pity for her soon becomes desire, and he finally shares with

264 WILLIAM HENEY SCHOFIELD.

her his bed. Unrecognized she returns home. "And when her time
comes, Signy gives birth to a boy, who is named Sinfjotli ; and when he
grows up, he is both big and strong and fair in face and much like the
Volsungs, and he is not yet ten years old when she sends him to Sigmund's
earth-house." Already, before she commits him to her brother's care, she
tests his spirit and finds him brave according to her hopes, and Sigmund's
test proves the boy admirably bold. Still the hero considers him as too young
then to undertake revenge, and in order to accustom him to hard trial takes
him to the woods, where together the two lead a life of adventure and
" perform many deeds of might in the realm of Siggeir the king."

" And by the time Sinfjotli is grown up, Sigmund thinks he has tested
him well. Now it is not long before Sigmund will attempt to revenge his
father, if so it may be ; and so on a certain day they depart from the
earth-house and come to the court of Siggeir the king." By accident they
are discovered and captured, but with Signy's aid regain their freedom the
same night, and set fire to the hall while all within sleep. The king
awakes and asks who has made the fire. " ' Here am I, and SinfJ9tli, my
sister's son,' said Sigmund, ' and we intend that thou shalt know that all
the Volsungs are not dead.' He bids his sister go out and receive from
him good consideration and great honor, and he will thus atone for her
griefs. She answers : c Now thou shalt know whether I have remembered
to Siggeir the king the slaying of Volsung the king ; I had our children
killed because they seemed to me too slow to revenge my father, and I
went into the forest to thee [Sigmund] in the likeness of the witch, and
Sinfjotli is our son ; great bravery he has from this that he is both the
son's son and daughter's son of Volsung the king ; I have done all these
things that Siggeir the king should get his death ; so much have I done
to accomplish revenge that it is now nowise possible for me to live ; I will
now die gladly with Siggeir the king, though I married him by compul-
sion.' Thereupon she kisses Sigmund her brother and Sinfjotli and goes
into the fire and bids them farewell ; so she dies with Siggeir the king and
all his court."

II.

Before offering a new interpretation of the Anglo-Saxon
poem as based on an old version of this story of Sigmund and
Signy, I would first explain that Sigmund, the Vglsung,1 was
also head of the race of the Wolfings2 (O. N. Ylfaigar, A.-S.

1 That is, " the descendant of Vols," Wcelses eafera, according to Beowulf,
896. The Saga by confusion gives Vokungr as the father's name. See
Symons, Paul's Grundriss, 2nd ed., in, 653.

3 In the prose introduction to H. H., n, we read : " Sigmundr konungr
ok hans settmenn he*tu Volsungar ok Ylfingar." Cf. H. H., I, sts. 35, 51 ;
H. H., u, sts. 4, 8, 46.

SIGKNY'S LAMENT. 265

Wylfingas) and therefore correctly called Wolf. How this
name arose in the beginning, there is insufficient evidence to
determine, and for our present purpose it is a matter of little
moment. Sigmund's ancestor Sigi, it may be said, was "called
wolf" (i. e., outlawed) according to the saga before us, be-
cause he murdered a thrall, and might not afterwards remain
at home with his father.1 The words ulfr and vargr, meaning
wolf, were both used in Old Norse as the designation of an
outlaw,2 and among the Anglo-Saxons when a man was pro-
claimed an outlaw he was " called wolf's head." 3 The term
" Wolf" was suitable to Sigmund, then, if only from his out-
lawed condition. Still another reason some will find for the
appellation Wolf as applied to Sigmund in the fact that,
according to the saga just mentioned, he and SinfJQtli are
said to have lived for a while as werewolves in the forest ;
but this seems to me a late addition, introduced probably to
explain the name of the race, Wolfings, or the obscure refer-
ences in certain Eddie poems to SinfJQtli as a companion of
wolves, and not likely to have been a part of the story in the

1 Volsungasaga, ch. I : " ba kalla >eir hann varg i vdum, ok ma harm nti
eigi heima vera met? fe$r sinum."

2 Examples are cited in Fritzner's Ordbog : " Bjorn ok ulfr skal hvervetna
titlagr vera" ; " Eyvindr hafSi vegit i ve'um, ok var hann vargr orftinn " ;
" sa er gengr a gorva ssett — hann skal sva vi'Sa vargr heita sem verold er
bygft, ok vera hvarvetna rsekr ok rekinn um allan heim, hvar sem hann
vei"Sr stadinn a hvjera doegri" (Gragas) ; "skal sa rekinn vera fra guiSi
ok fra allri gufts kristni sva vifla vargr i ve"um." In the Rune-Poem we
read (st. 1): "fe vseldr frsenda r6ge; fo^esk ulfr i sk6ge" (ed. Wimmer,
Die Runemchri/t, pp. 276 ff.). See also examples in Cleasby-Vigfusson,
Dictionary, s. v. vargr, ulfr. Ulf- is very commoa as a component part of
proper names of persons. — Cf. H. H., u, st. 32.

3 The laws of Edward the Confessor (£ 6) speak as follows of one who has
fled justice : " Si postea repertus fuerit et teneri possit, vivus regi reddatur,
vel caput ipsius si se defenderit ; lupinum enim caput geret a die utlsega-
cionis, quod ab Anglis wluesheved nominatur. Et hsec sententia communis
est de omnibus utlagis " ; see Thorpe, Ancient Laws, etc., i, 445. The phrase
" to cry wolf's-head," as synonymous with outlawry, is several times used
in the Middle English Tale of Gamelyn (ed. Skeat, 11. 700, etc.; cf. p. 45,
where the above passage from the laws is quoted).

266 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

eighth century.1 Without this consideration, it is clear that there
was sufficient reason for Signy to address Sigmund as Wolf.
Here follows a translation of the Anglo-Saxon poem :

Signy's Lament.

1. It is to my people as if they are to be given (or, are being

given 2) gifts (or, a gift) ;

They will oppress 3 him if he comes into straits.
Unlike is our lot.

2. Wolf is on an island, I on another;
Firm is the island, surrounded by fen ;
Cruel men are there in the island ;

They will oppress him if he comes into straits.
Unlike is our lot.

3. I thought 4 of my Wolf with far-reaching hopes ;
When it was rainy weather, and I sat sorrowful,
Then the hero took me in his embrace ;

There was joy to me from that, yet to me

was there also loathing.

1 For a discussion of this matter, see below, pp. 280 ff.

2 For the difference in the rendering of the passage, see the commentary
on stanza 1 below.

3 The word afrecgan in the text has much disturbed scholars. Mr. Brad-
ley, interpreting it as the causative of fyicgan, translates " to give food to."
}>ecgan> however, without the prefix, means " to trouble, to consume," e. g.
hine \>ege^ \>urst (Lchd., n, 60, 7). The prefix a-, according to Bosworth-
Toller, " is often used to impart greater force to the transitive meaning of
a single verb," as in dbeodan, dslean. Therefore, d\>ecgan would seem to
be best translated "oppress." Compare also the force of the compound
ofbecgan, e. g., ecgum ofkegde willgesityas (Gen., 1. 2002), "destroyed, slain
by the sword."

* The text reads dogode ; but there exists in Anglo-Saxon no verb *dogian
of which this can be a part. Hicketier (Anglia, x, 579) amends to hogode,
which is doubtless the correct reading, hogode occurs in the Battle of Mai-
don (1. 133) governing a genitive: «p>er hyra oftrum yfeles hogode.

267

4. Wolf, my Wolf, hopes for thee

Have made me sick, thy seldom-coming,
[My] mourning mind, not at all lack of food.

5. Hearest thou, Very Vigilant One?1 The brave whelp

of us two

Wolf bears to the wood.
One easily severs what never was joined —
Our fellowship together.2

Commentary.

1. The first stanza is evidently fragmentary, and it is
therefore impossible to determine exactly the situation. If
it were not for the fact that the verbs in the first line are in
the present tense, I should regard it as containing an allusion
to the deception of Vojsung by Siggeir. The latter had
given his father-in-law a very pressing invitation to visit him
together with his ten sons and as many followers as he cared

1 Eadwacer, I interpret, not as a proper name, which is nowhere else
found, but as a translation of an Old Norse epithet AvfSvakr, i. e., " The
Easily (or, Very ) Vigilant One." Vakr is a name of Odin ; see Grim-
nesmql, st. 54. Arvakr (" Early- Awake") is the name of one of the steeds
that draw the chariot of the sun ; see Grimnesmql, st. 37 ; Sigrdrifomnl, st.
15; Gylfaginning, ch. 11. — AtfS- is an extremely common adverbial prefix
in this sense; cf. auftmjukr, auftviss, aufttryggr, aufttruinn, avfSginntr, av?8-
mildingr, etc.; also A.-S. eadhrdftig, eadmod (ea$mod). The O. N. proper
name Auftunn, Vigfusson derives from Aufivinr, "a charitable friend" ; cf.
A.-S. Eadwine.

Likewise, on a similar occasion (see below, p. 294), Guthrun addresses
her husband, not by his actual name, but by varioas epithets: bengill, sverfta
deilir, moftugr, gulls mtiSlendr (Allakm}>a, sts. 36, 39, 40). Here, it should
be observed, the epithet " Very Vigilant One " is especially applicable to
Siggeir.

2 The text reads giedd geador, " song together." This makes good sense,
metaphorically considered ; but Herzfeld ( Die Rdtsd des Exeterbuches, Ber-
lin, 1890, p. 66, note 1) is probably right in emending to gced geador, which
phrase occurs in another A.-S. poem, Salomon and Saturn (ed. Kemble, 11.
899 ff.), where we read: nolde gced geador in godes rice, eadiges engles and
>ces ofermodan.

268 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

to bring. Despite Signy's suspicions expressed in advance,
her people came expecting fair treatment and the gifts which
were always provided by the host for distinguished guests at
a festival. In the two lines which we assume to be necessary
to make the stanza correspond in length to the second, Signy
might be thought to recall afterwards the death of her father
and the escape of Sigmund. But since such statements would
naturally be made in the past tense, I would not urge this
interpretation. It is worth while, nevertheless, to compare
the opening of the story of Guthrun and Atli in the AtlaJcvifta,
which follows throughout the same course. When with evil
purpose Atli invites his wife's brothers to his court, his mes-
senger offers them as inducement rich gifts, which are enu-
merated at length.1

Whatever be the meaning of the opening line,2 the last part of
the stanza is clear. Signy's anxious thought is for her brother
out in the lonely forest, in perpetual fear of discovery by his
enemies. With his sad circumstances she contrasts her own
position at the king's court in luxury and power.

1 AUakvtiSa, sts. 4, 5 (ed. Sijmons-Gering, I, 424) :

skjoldo knegoj> [>ar] velja ok skafna aska,
hjalma gollhrojma ok Htina menge,
silfrgyld so>olklae)>e, serke valrau>a,
dafar ok darra>ar, drosla me*lgreypa.

Voll le*zk [ykr ok] gefa muiado vf>rar GnitaheiJ>ar,

af geire gjallanda ok af gyldom stofnom,

sl6rar mei>mar ok sta>e Dan par,

hris >at!et msera es [me>r] Myrkvih kalla.

Cf. also Atlamol, st. 13, where Hpgni, in reply to Kostbera's objections to
their journey, remarks: "okr mon gramr golle reifa glo>rauj>o." Seethe
paraphrase of the first passage in Volsungasaga, ch. 33.

2 It may be, as Mr. Lawrence suggests, that the first line refers to the
immediate situation. Signy has reared Sinfjotli in the hope of seeing her
relatives revenged by his aid. She now sends him forth to her only sur-
viving brother, the best gift she can offer her race, a gift she has bought at
a terrible price. Thus the keynote of the poem would be struck in the
opening line.

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 269

2. This contrast is enforced in the second stanza, where
she pictures more definitely Sigmund's dwelling. The island
which he occupies is, of course, not in the sea, or in a river,
but a fastness u surrounded by marsh." It was like Athelney
(The Aetheling's Island) to which the royal fugitive Alfred
withdrew when in danger from his enemies. Athelney was a
hill surrounded by marsh in Somersetshire. Asser l describes
it- as " a place surrounded by impassable marshes and rivers
which no one can enter but by boats or by a bridge." The
dangers which Sigmund and SinfJQtli encountered from hostile
men are emphasized in the eighth chapter of the Vplsunga-
saga.

3. The third stanza refers to the most tragic incident in
Signy's life, namely, the conception of SinfJQtli. Coming to
the conclusion that no son she bore to Siggeir would ever
have courage to achieve revenge for the V<?lsungs7 betrayal,
she determined to do what only the direst necessity would
ever have caused to enter her mind, to lie with her own twin
brother and conceive by him a son, who, when he grew to
manhood, might perhaps accomplish the revenge which to her
was more than life. These " far-reaching hopes " she natur-
ally could not share with Sigmund. He, she well knew,
would never have agreed to his sister's shame, even as a last
resort to bring about an end he eagerly desired. So Signy
resolved on deception, and in disguise went one stormy night
to his secret dwelling. He did not refuse her admittance,
and she lay beside him unrecognized.

The last line of the stanza becomes now an utterance of
anguish. In attaining her end without Sigmund's knowl-
edge, Signy had joy ; but she dearly bought her satisfaction,
for it was secured by an act she loathed — physical union
with her twin-brother.

lDe Rebus Oestis ^El/redi, A. D. 888, trans. Giles, Six 0. E. Chrons., p.
79. Note that the -ey of Athelney is the same word as that used in the
poem before us. Sigmund might well have been called Eyjolf, i. e., Island-
wolf.

270 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

4. The fourth stanza is an extenuating plea for her con-
duct. In imagination she converses with Sigmund and urges
with passionate earnestness that she had reasons for her offense.
In all her doings, she had thought not of her own happiness
but of his, not of her husband but of her father and brothers.
Siggeir provided for her well ; she had no need to complain
of physical discomfort; but her heart was sad thinking of
her brother's sorrow, of the cruel fate by which they were
kept apart except on rare occasions, till at last she could bear
the temptation no longer : her grief made her willing to shame
herself for his sake.

5. Having thus offered her vindication to him whom she
feels she has most offended, she imagines her husband before
her, and addresses him boldly, throwing away for the first
time the mask of friendliness which she has long worn in his
presence in order the better to work out her schemes. She
exultingly bids him observe that, though very vigilant, he
has not thwarted her purpose. Sigmund is now conducting
to the woods, to train in warlike accomplishments, the "whelp"
(so called because he was doubly of the race of the Wolfings)
which the two have had together. Her mission is fulfilled.
The end approaches.

Her apology to her husband is scant. She was married to
him against her will. She remained with him after she dis-
covered his treachery, first in obedience to her father's com-
mand, then to honor her race by revenge. Their married life
was a mockery. " One easily severs what never was joined."

Thus we must imagine the moment when this soliloquy was
uttered to have been just after Signy learns that Sinfjgtli,
having valiantly submitted to the various tests of his worth
by her and her brother, is being taken to the woods for the
training that Sigmund thought the boy needed before he could
undertake the Vglsungs' revenge. Into Sigmund's hands
Siguy has now committed this precious life for which she has
suffered agony and shame. She has reached the limit of her

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 271

power to aid. Sigmund and SinfJQtli together will give her
treacherous husband his due. Now her life's work is done.
She pours forth her lament. She is ready to die. The climax
of the poem is indeed powerful.

Attention has been frequently directed by scholars to the
scene in the Saga between Sigmund, Siggeir, and Signy as
unquestionably poetic in foundation.1 In " Signy's Lament"
we may perhaps have an early form of the very lay on which
it is founded. Signy's words are, as we have seen, a soliloquy,
in which she is represented as addressing Sigmund and Siggeir,
whom in imagination she conjures up before her. In the
Saga similar speeches are represented as delivered by Signy to
the same persons ; yet now not simply imaginatively but as
if she were actually in their presence. On no occasion except
when Sigmund and Siggeir came together in the final struggle,
could Signy be pictured as thus addressing both at once. It
was an impressive moment, when the royal palace was burn-
ing and King Siggeir's doom was sealed, just before the queen
herself, the implacable avenger, desperate, but exultant, in
death, went willingly to perish in the flames with the husband
whom she had so long striven to involve in calamity.2

1 Cf., for example, Symons's statement (Paul's Grundriss, 2nd ed., 1898,
m, 652) : " Die schonen letzten Worte der Signy, bevor sie sich in das
Feuer der brennenden Halle stiirzt, sind unverkennbar Wiedergabe eines
Liedfragments." Professor Bugge, commenting long ago on the poetic
basis of the story, remarked justly that in general it is only where the
characters speak in person that the author has followed his sources ex-
actly; where, on the other hand, events are merely related, the prose
account varies more from the lays on which it is based. ( Norraen Fornkvafii,
Fortale, p. xxxvi).

2 As Symons says (1. c.): "Der Verlust dieser Lieder aus der Sigmund-
sage ist aufs tiefste zu beklagen ; noch im Prosagewande der Saga verraten
sie eine kernige epische Haltung und eine Altertumlichkeit des Stils,
womit nur wenige der erhaltenen eddischen Heldenlieder sich messen
konnen. Und auch die Sage selber wird, wie kaum eine zweite, vom

des germanischen Alter turns getragen."

272 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

III.

It is obvious that if this interpretation of the Anglo-Saxon
poem is correct a very significant fact has been brought to
view, namely, that an Old Norse poem, which may perhaps
have been one of the ancient lays used in a later form by the
compiler of the Vplsungasaga, existed in England in the eighth
century, when it was translated into Anglo-Saxon verse. The
story of Sigmund and Signy, further, is thus attested in an Old
Norse version at least five hundred years earlier than any
hitherto thought to exist, earlier by over a century than the
oldest of the Eddie poems in its present form ; and literary
contact between Englishmen and Norsemen, at a period ante-
dating the extensive Scandinavian settlements in the West,,
is evident beyond a doubt.

These results are important as throwing new light on the
vexed questions of the home and nature of the Eddie poemsr
and of the Vplsungasaga.1

The story of Sigmund and SinfJQtli, all scholars agree, is
of Frankish origin and was carried from Germany northward.
But how it reached Scandinavia is still a matter of dispute-
Professor Bugge has recently expressed the opinion that "the
V<,>lsung stories in the poetic Edda and in the Vplsungasaga
were first composed by Scandinavians in the West, partly with
Anglo-Saxon poems as models." 2 The existence of " Signy's
Lament" would seem to support this view, since it affords
evidence of the treatment of primitive Teutonic material by
Northerners in Northumbria long before there is any trace of
the same material in Scandinavia. An important passage in

1 Keaders will, I hope, recognize that the following part of this investi-
gation is of a different character from what precedes. There are some
distinguished scholars, I am well aware, who have a rooted aversion to
the " Western hypothesis." Naturally, they will not incline to the views
here expressed. Whether these are right or not, however, is a matter
quite independent of the interpretation of "Signy's Lament."

3 See my translation of Professor Bugge's Home of the Eddie Poems, Grimm*
Library, XT, London, 1899, p. 374 (original edition, p. 340).

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 273

JZeowulf, which we shall examine more minutely presently,
attests the familiarity of Englishmen with the Sigmund story
at a still earlier date. There is nothing specifically Norse
about the material in the " Lament," and there is no reason
to doubt that the poem was composed in England. At all
events, its author was a Norseman,1 and by him, or by some
other Norseman in England, the poem was communicated to
the Anglo-Saxons. If one Old Norse poem containing primi-
tive Germanic material was current in Northumbria as early
as the eighth century, more of the same sort were doubtless
also in circulation there at the same time, and naturally still
others later when large numbers of the most enterprising and
enlightened Scandinavians resided in the British Isles and
brought up families there. Now, the Norsemen who repeated
the stories of Sigmund and his kin at this early period in
Northumbria were in constant association with the people of
unlike strain who then occupied that land. And if an Anglo-
Saxon understood their language well enough to translate their
poetry into his own tongue, he could easily communicate to them
native stories in return. Not only could, I believe, but almost
certainly would- for since the world began there has always
been a " give and take " of popular tradition whenever races
joined in fellowship of any kind. And when, as in Britain
later, intermarriage between Scandinavian, Saxon, and Celt
was very common, a blending of legend and belief accom-
panied inevitably a blending of blood. Old Norse poets in
the West, under the abiding influence of foreigners, must have
gradually assimilated foreign ideas, developed a modified habit
of thought and come to accept British traditions as if they had
always been theirs. Unconsciously they became westernized,
and then expressed themselves in a manner different from that
which would have been natural to them had they remained in
isolation at home. It may, indeed, be doubted whether the
Norse poets, had they not thus come into stimulating contact

1 This is true even if it be held that the Anglo-Saxon poem is not a
translation, which is a very improbable view.

274 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOPIELD.

with outsiders, would have attempted to make permanent record
of even native traditions. One thing at least is certain : such
of their lays as were produced or repeated in the West could
have been kept wholly pure from outside elements only by a
miracle of chance.

Indisputable proof of foreign influence in any particular
instance is difficult to present to the satisfaction of all, because
the early material at hand is unfortunately so scant. And
therefore much of the evidence that has been offered in the
past, has, from the very nature of the case, been so hypo-
thetical and uncertain, that it has not been generally accepted.
Yet we must not be content to sit down in darkness while-
there is a chance to grope our way into the light. Constantly
new texts are appearing and new researches in many quarters-
illuminate our path. Vigfusson and Professor Bugge, both
men of broad vision, have, I believe, turned us in the right
direction, and, whatever be the final opinion on details in their
theories, time will surely establish the correctness of their
general point of view. It is not my intention to enter at
large into this question. The story of Sigmund and SinfJQtli,
as preserved particularly in the opening chapters of the Vol-
sungasaga, does, however, claim present attention. With the
new evidence that " Signy's Lament " contributes to the elu-
cidation of the problem, we can now more intelligently study
the nature of the material there curiously combined.1 Per-
haps we may thereby come to a conviction as to the place
where it was most probably brought together.

1 Symons sums up as follows the results of his thorough researches re-
garding this part of the Saga (Paul-Braune, Beitr.,m, 302) : " Diese ersten,
die vorgeschichte behandelnden capitei unserer saga sind also — dies ist das
resultat unserer untersuchung — nicht als reine, ungekiinstelte niederschrift
eines stiickes alter sage aufzufassen, sondern als ein conglomerat von halb
zerstorten liederresten, dunkler iiberlieferung verschiedenster einzelsagen,
ausgeweiteten andeutungen der Eddalieder und tendenzioser erdichtung.
Fur die kenntnis der alteeten gestalt unserer heldensage sind sie im grossen
und ganzen ohne gewicht, denn das achte, das sie bieten, ist uns in den
haupsachlichsten punkten auch anderwarts iiberliefert; ihre eigenen anga-
ben aber unterliegen dem berechtigtsten verdachte."

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 275

IV.

At the outset, it is important to examine carefully what still
remains the oldest witness to the tradition of Sigmund and
SinfJQtli. In affirming the familiarity of the English with
this tradition, we are fortunately not limited to the evidence
here first offered, convincing though that is in itself; for as
early as in Beowulf twenty-six lines are occupied by references
to the same heroes. In King Hrothgar's hall the gleeman,

se >e eal-fela eald-gesegena
worn gemunde (870-1),

told with enthusiasm of Sigmund's career, and was apparently
acquainted with more primitive traditions concerning him and
Sinfjgtli than any that are now clearly preserved.1

J>set he fram Sigemundes secgan hyrde
ellen-dsedum uncuftes fela
Wselsinges gewin, wide siftas,
>ara >e gumena beam gearwe ne wiston,
faehfte ond fyrena, buton Fitela mid hine,
>onne he swylces hwset secgan wolde
earn his nefan, swa hie a waeron
set nifta gehwaem nyd-gesteallan :
hsefdon eal-fela eotena cynnes
sweordum gesaeged (876 ff.).

This passage will be found presently to have considerable
significance in helping us to determine the form of the orig-
inal saga. As a seventh-century record it deserves peculiar
prominence.

Here, it should be observed, SinfJQtli (Fitela) is repre-
sented as Sigmund's nephew, not as his son. And, in truth,

1 The author of Beowulf knew Sigmund, and not his son Sigurth (Sieg-
fried), as the slayer of the dragon. In this adventure he expressly states
that Fitela was not with Sigmund. In the Eiriksmql, composed soon after
950 in honor of a prince of Northumbria, Sigmund and Sinfjotli are men-
tioned together as both occupying a prominent position in Valholl, being
designated by Odin to go to welcome Eric. On the Volsung story in Eng-
land, see Binz, Paul-Braune, Bntr., xx (1895), 190-192.

276 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

while the two performed the deeds of which mention is made,
both thought that no other relationship existed between them.
On the other hand, references to SinfJQtli in the Elder Edda
as " the son of Sigmund " and " the step-son of Siggeir," indi-
cate the familiarity of the Norsemen with the circumstances of
the boy's birth.1 But first in the " Lament " have we the incest
of Sigmund and Signy plainly stated : Signy there confesses
that on a rainy night she lay with her brother in his lonely
retreat, and she acknowledges SinfJQtli as her son as well as
his. Still, there is nothing to prove that the circumstances
of their union were as described in the Saga. Usually in such
tales of incest brother and sister unite by mutual misappre-
hension, or by the deliberate device of one, under the cover of
darkness, and there is no question of shapeshifting by super- No ,
natural means. In the Saga the original situation is obscured
by the introduction of unsuitable elements. Into connection
with the primitive tale of incest, which never perhaps was told
in detail, appears to have been brought a widespread story, —
similar enough to make the combination easy, but nowhere
else so connected, and of entirely different origin, — namely, the
Irish tale of The Sovereignty, the basis of the narrative ascribed
by Chaucer to the Wife of Bath. The history of this tale has
recently been carefully studied by Dr. Maynadier,2 who has
discussed the incident in the Saga as one of many parallels,
of which the most primitive are clearly shown to be Celtic,
and doubtless of very early origin, though not preserved in
manuscripts older than the twelfth century.

In all but one of the English versions of the story we
have the common feature that " a man whose life depends on
answering correctly the question, ' what women most desire/
is saved by a loathsome hag on condition that he shall marry
her. She turns into a fair young woman after getting all her

H. H., I, 43; H. H., n, prose after st. 16; Frd Davfra Sinfjotla.
In Skdldskaparmol, ch. 64, we are told that Siggeir was " m&gr Volsungs."

2 The Wife of Bath's Tale, Its Sources and Analogues, Grimm Library, xm,
London, 1901, pp. 49 flf.

277

•will." * In the ballad of " King Henry," 2 however, there is
no introduction like that in the others ; a hag simply visits a
king when he is sitting alone in his hunting-hall, induces him to
let her share his bed, and is thereupon transformed to beauty.
She was, it appears, under a spell, which was thus broken.

In an Old Norse saga of the fourteenth century, the Hrdlfs
Saga Kraka? we have a similar story told of King Helgi.
This parallel deserves here more careful attention. One Yule
evening, we read, when King Helgi is in bed, and the weather
is ill without, there comes to his retired dwelling a poor,
tattered creature who craves admittance. Considering that it
would be unkingly to turn her away in her wretchedness he
decides to incur whatever risk her coming may cause, and
lets her in. Soon she begs leave to lie beside him, declaring
that her life depends on his acquiescence. He is loath to
consent, but finally yields, and permits her to rest in his
bed with her clothes on, for that, he concludes, can do him no
harm. At first he turns his back on her, but after a while,
looking over his shoulder, and observing to his astonishment
that she has become extraordinarily fair and is clad in silk,"
he turns towards her quickly with gladness. She explains
that he has dispelled a stepmother's curse laid upon her, and
makes as if to leave him without delay ; but Helgi, now
charmed by her appearance, detains her and they spend the
night together. In the morning she tells him that she shall
bear a child as the result of their meeting, and bids him
receive it when it is sent him. Then she goes away, and
Helgi forgets about the affair; but after three years she
brings him the child one night and leaves it with him to
care for. " Skuld grows up there, and soon reveals a fierce
(grimm^Sug) disposition."

1 See Maynadier, ]. c., p. 15. 2 Child, Ballads, I, 297 ff.

3 Fornaldar Sogur Nordrlanda, ed. Rafn, Cop., 1829, I, 30, chap. 15. It
should be observed that this saga also contains material apparently bor-
rowed from the English Beowulf story ; see ten Brink, Beowulf, p. 188, and,
for other references, Symons, Paul's Grundriss, in, 649.

278 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

The account in the Vqlsungasaga is strikingly similar.
Signy appears at Sigmund's lonely dwelling, says that she has
lost her way in the forest, and asks shelter. He considers a while
before letting her in, but finally decides to do so, because, he
argues, she is a woman in distress, and it is unlikely that she
will reward his hospitality by betraying him. When she
enters, she is no doubt repulsive in appearance, for she has
shifted shapes with a witch and come to Sigmund in this
disguise; but apparently she is soon transformed, for after
a while he discovers her to be fair and beautiful (" v£n ok
frty"1) and then, but not before, suggests her sharing hi&
bed. On this occasion Sinfjgtli is begotten, and at an early
age he is sent to his father to be reared. The boy speedily
betrays an extraordinarily fierce disposition.

The situation here is unintelligible unless we postulate the
influence of a story in which the transformation of a woman
from ugliness to beauty is effected by her being granted a
man's favor. Such a story, as we have seen, is more clearly
told in the Hr6lfs Saga Kraka, a work of later date. What-
ever the exact relationship that the two sagas bear each other,
they undoubtedly both show in this episode foreign influence.

It is expressly stated in the Hr6lfs Saga that the ugly
woman was a fay (alf-kona 2), which points back to the primi-
tive situation in the Irish stories, where the hideous woman is
a fay in disguise, who simply assumes ugliness the better to
test her mortal favorite. That fays could shift their shapes
at will, was something which in the beginning everybody
understood ; but later this was not obvious to all, especially
to such as were unfamiliar with Celtic tradition, and the
loathly appearance of the lady was explained as due to a
stepmother's curse, a much overworked mediaeval explana-

1 Cf. the words of the Hrolfs Saga, where the king suddenly discovers the
former hag " sva vcen at eigi bikist hann aftra k6nu frffiari sett hafa."

2 This is the word used to translate the French fee in Strengleikar, p. 12,
1. 4 f . : " funndu >seir >ar seina fritSa fru saem alf kona vsere ; " see other

in Fritzner's Ordboy.

279

tion of any deformation. In the Vqlsungasaga both the shape-
shifting and the transformation are preserved, but the former
is represented as due to an outside agency and the latter is
so slurred over as to be obscure. That no external reason
could be given for the second alteration of shape, from ugli-
ness to beauty, doubtless troubled the writer and he left the
matter dark. Signy was not represented as an alf-kona, eager
to test a hero she loved ; nor was she thought of as under a
spell, which could only be broken by intercourse with a man.
She was simply pictured as a mortal lady who determined if
possible to conceive a son by her brother, and to bring it about
went alone one rainy night in disguise to his solitary hut and
returned home without being discovered.1 There is no likeli-
hood that the features of the shapeshifting by the hag or the
transformation in the hut were connected with the story when
"Signy's Lament " was written. These features were bor-
rowed directly or indirectly from a Celtic tale.

In Beowulf, in the passage above quoted, it is distinctly
stated that Sigmund and Sinfjgtli (Fitela), uncle and nephew,
together performed many deeds of might, of which the par-
ticulars were little known. In wide journeys of adventure

1 In the '* Wooing of Emer," an Irish tale of the eleventh century, but
belonging, in the opinion of Prof. Kuno Meyer, to " the oldest, or heroic,
cycle of early Irish literature," to a body of tales which were "written
down perhaps as early as the sixth century," we have a strange parallel to
this situation, in the account of how Queen Macha deceived her enemies,
the sons of Dithorba, who were then living as exiles in the wilds of Con-
naught: — "Macha went to seek the sons of Dithorba in the shape of a
leper, viz. : she smeared herself with rye-dough and . . . She found them
in Buirend Connacht, cooking a wild boar. The men asked tidings of her
and she gave them. And they let her have food by the fire. Said one of
them : ' Lovely is the eye of the girl, let us lie with her.' He took her
with him into the wood. She bound that man by dint of her strength, and
left him in the wood." In like manner she made captive all the rest one
after another. (Translated by K, Meyer, Archeological Review, 1, 152; cf. p. 68.)
For this parallel I am indebted to Prof. Kittredge.

280 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

they encountered feud and enmity, but when in difficulty
assisted each other with mutual devotion and slew with
swords many gigantic foes. From the " Lament " we learn
that Sigmund took his nephew to the woods to prepare him,
it is to be inferred, by hard trial for revenge on Siggeir, and
Signy knew that there cruel men would oppress them if they
came into straits. In the Volsungasaga the situation is the
same. The eighth chapter begins as follows : " Now is this
to be told, that Sinfjgtli seems to Sigmund too young to
undertake revenge with him, and he will now first accustom
him to some hard trial ; they go now in the summers on wide
journeys in the woods, and slay men to get provision/' They
live continuously in this fashion until " when SinfJQtli is
grown up, then Sigmund thinks that he has tested him much,"
and he determines to delay no longer the revenge he has
planned. During the period of their association in conflict,
" they performed many deeds of might in the realm of
Siggeir the king." Of this period of dangerous adventure,
however, little is said, probably because there was " uucu'Ses
fela" in connection with them. Of the "wide journeys"
of Sigmund and SinfJQtli the author of Beowulf took occa-
sion to remark that children of men knew but little, and
the author of the Volsungasaga had surely no fuller sources
of authentic information. Certain elements in his narrative
of the hero's wanderings seem late and unwarranted addi-
tions.

Of these the most important is the account of how the two
heroes became werewolves. "Now it happened one time
when they were going about in the forest procuring provision
for themselves, that they discovered a house in which two
men were sleeping, with heavy gold rings; they had [evi-
dently] fallen under enchantment, because wolf-cloaks hung
over them ; every tenth day they might remove the cloaks ;
they were kings' sons. Sigmund and SinfJQtli put on the
cloaks and might not remove them, and acted as the others
before : they also emitted wolf-cries ; they both understood

281

the cries." In my opinion,1 this feature was not present in
the early saga of Sigmund.

In Beowulf, not only is there not the slightest hint that
Sigmund and Sinfjgtli were werewolves when they associated
together, but every indication is opposed to that view. The
heroes, for example, slew their opponents with swords, and
their exploits are obviously those of men in the full vigor of
manhood, not of unhappy creatures cursed by fate. The same
may be said of their conduct in the Saga itself. The arrange-
ments they made for mutual assistance when in difficulty are
not what we should expect of afflicted werewolves. They
desired struggle, and fought willingly with overwhelming odds..
Sigmund was solicitous about his nephew because he was "young
and rash " and warned him not to fight alone with more than
seven men ; because that was as many as he even cared to*
engage. But the youth was daring. Before SinfJQtli had been
long in the forest, he encountered eleven men and fought with
them ; and it turned out that he killed them all ; being on
this account much exhausted, he went under an oak to rest. A
defect in the manuscript here obscures the story ; but it appears
that when Sigmund reproved him for his rashness, the youth
answered boastfully, and his uncle in anger knocked the boy
down so violently that he lay long ill. Sigmund, filled with
remorse, then bore him on his back to their dwelling, sat
beside him where he was prostrate, and finally effected his
cure. All this is strikingly unlike the procedure of were-
wolves in any clime. The situation of two werewolves to-
gether, uncle and nephew, both seeking adventure, each ready
to slay seven men without aid, able to understand each other,
is surely unparalleled anywhere, and would in itself make us
suspect the story to be a late addition ; but there is one con-
sideration which alone shows conclusively that the motive is
here introduced without warrant and clumsily united with
the rest. It is an invariable law with werewolves that though
they can assume human shape at fixed intervals, they can

1 Cf. above, p. 265.

282 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

never free themselves of the curse of their own accord. An
outside agency is absolutely required. If the cloaks are to be
destroyed it must be by another person on some occasion when
they have been taken off by the unfortunate wearer. Yet in
this instance Sigmund and SinfJQtli burn their own, as soon as
it pleases them, after they have got tired playing werewolves,
when Sigmund thinks his nephew sufficiently trained in war-
like accomplishments to aid him in revenge.

The werewolf story connected with Sigmund and SinfJQtli
is evidently not based on early tradition.1 It was an after-
thought of some one who, not understanding why Sigmund
and his kin were called Wolfings, not understanding perhaps
certain obscure references in the Helgi-lays 2 to SinfJQtli as a
companion of wolves, ventured upon an explanation such as
was intelligible to people of his time. No reference in the
Poetic Edda to either SiufJQtli or Sigmund points back, I
believe, to this episode, which, it should be observed, is not
introduced even in the late Rimur. It may well be doubted
whether it antedates the present redaction of the Saga. As
all are aware, werewolf stories were familiar the world over,
and this feature might as easily have been introduced in Ice-
land as in Britain. It is worth while noting, however, that
the most famous tales of the kind are preserved in the " Breton
lays" of Bisdavret, and Mellon, the former by Marie de France.3

Connected with the werewolf episode in the Saga is another
folklore feature, which is even more easily recognized as extra-

1 Since the above was written, my attention has been called to the fact
that Golther has expressed a similar opinion (Handbuch der Germ. Myth.,
1895, p. 102) : " Die Sage mag auf einem alten Missverstandniss beruhen.
Warg, Wolf hiess der Geachtete in der germanischen Rechtssprache. Warg
wurde wortlich als Wolf verstanden, und so bildete sich die Werwolfs-
geschichte."

2 See below, p. 287.

8 Marie's lay of "Bisclaret" (" Norftmandingar kallaflo hann vargulf")
was translated into Old Norse about the middle of the thirteenth century ;
but this was not the source of the material in the Volsungasaga. The author
drew rather from a floating tale.

283

neous to the original narrative, namely, the account of how
Sigmund restored SinfJQtli to health. "Sigmund observed
one day two weasels, one of which bit the other in the throat.
Thereupon it ran to the forest and got a leaf and placed it
over the wound and the weasel sprang up hale. Sigmund
went out and saw where a raven flew with the leaf and bore
it to him; he placed it over the wound of SinfJQtli, who
sprang up immediately as if he had never been wounded
(ch. 8)."

The raven perhaps is Odin in disguise, who appears several
times in the Saga to direct his favorite's career ; but the rest
of the story is an extremely common tradition as old as
Apollodorus, Hyginus, and Pliny. Reinhold Kohler, in his
notes on the lay of Eliduc l by Marie de France, cites nearly
thirty examples, of which this is the only one in Scandina-
vian. He points out that of all these only in the Breton lay
and in the Saga is a weasel 2 the animal whose actions indicate
the plant of healing. It is, therefore, not unreasonable to
attribute a Western origin to the motive as it appears in Old
Norse.

1 See Die Lais der Marie de France, Warnke, 2nd ed., Halle, 1901.

2Fritzner observes (Ordbog, s. v.) that hreysikottr is regularly used to
translate the Latin mustela. In Eliduc (1. 1032) the animal is named
musteile. Professor Kittredge has kindly called my attention to the follow-
ing interesting passage, "De mastelis, earumque naturis," in the Topographia
Hibernica (i, 27) of Giraldus Cambrensis, which shows that the story was
familiar in Wales :

" Item fetus haec teneros, laesione quacunque mortificatos, crocei cujus-
dam floris beneficio, refocillare solet et vitse restituere. Ut enim perhi-
bent qui viderunt, et catellos peiculi istius causa morti dederunt, primo
laesurse, postmodum ori et naribus quasi inspirando, ceterisque per ordinem
corpusculi fenestris omnibus allatum ore florem apponit. Et sic demum
tarn floris illius quam oris spiraculo, vel potius herb* virtuosissimse tactu,
qui penitus expirasse videbantur, aliquo forte vitse vestigio adhuc manente
licet occulto, respirare compellit." (Opera, ed. Dimock, Bolls Series, v,
60-61.)

284 WILLIAM HENEY SCHOFIELD.

VI.

That the saga of Sigmund agrees with that of Arthur in
certain striking features has long been known. As early as
1871, Liebrecht1 noted, among other points of resemblance,,
that both heroes had as it were a double parentage. Ygerne,
the wife of the Duke of Tintagel, conceives Arthur unwit-
tingly by intercourse with King Uter Pendragon. Sigmund
is the son of Vglsung by a valkyrie who is said to be the
beloved of Odin. Odin is represented as the head of Sig-
mund's race, and interposes regularly in his aid. Again^
Arthur proves his right to rule by being the only one able to
draw a sword from a stone ; Sigmund in like manner shows*
his distinction by being the only one able to draw a sword
from a tree. In both cases the weapon thus secured is of
special virtue and contributes largely to the hero's success in
his later career. The sword-test in the Arthur story 2 as we
have it now is apparently an arrangement of the mage Merlin^
in that of Sigmund it was planned by Odin. Arthur's last
battle is signalized by the return of this sword to its super-
natural owner. Sigmund recognizes Odin's hand determining
his end when his sword falls before him broken, and he
arranges for the preservation of the pieces until such time as
by supernatural agencies they shall again be joined, and serve
his heroic son.

Professor Bugge has emphasized3 the agreement of the
Norse account of the sword-proof with that of Arthur as
showing the influence on the former of a Celtic tale. Both
Sigmund and Arthur resemble the classical Theseus in respect
to this feature, as well as in their so-called double parentage.

1 Germania, xvi, 214.

2 See Le Roman de Merlin, ed. Sommer, London, 1894, pp. 84 ff. ; Huth
Merlin, ed. Paris and Ulrich, 1886, S. A. T. F., i, 135 ff.; Malory, Morte
Darthur, bk. I, chs. 3, 4.

*Arkivfor Xordisk Filologi, v (1889), 38 ff.; xvn (1901), 53.

285

But the Sigmund story agrees with that of Arthur, and is
unlike that of Theseus, in the important circumstance that the
hero's success in getting possession of the famous sword is
preceded by the failure of many others, — that he shows his
peculiar power in a test in which all participate, while Theseus
has no rival for the honor.

In the matter of their incest, the stories of Sigmund and
Arthur show, I think, greater similarity than has hitherto
been observed. An account of Arthur's incest is preserved
only in versions of the French prose Merlin of the thirteenth
century, earlier, it appears, than the Volsungasaga, but by
no means to be regarded as originating in that period. The
discovery of part of the Sigmund story in perfected form five
centuries before it has hitherto been thought to exist, should
surely make us less prone to confuse the date of origin of a tale
with that of its preservation. In the Merlin, Arthur's union
with his sister, the wife of King Lot of the Orkneys, is
attributed entirely to chance, and brother and sister are said
not to have recognized each other. But it is of course not
necessary to regard this as the original situation. At the
time of the record, to picture the great Christian king (for as
such he had come to be regarded), or his sister, as committing
wilful incest, would not have been tolerated by the public.
The whole incident, though represented as accidental, was
considered as sadly discreditable, the great blot on Arthur's
scutcheon, and moralists found it easy to attribute the final
collapse of the fellowship of the Round Table to this
offense. Therefore, the way it was brought about is seldom
related in detail. Enough is said, however, to show that
the material is ancient, that it was an abiding tradition
the romancers could not get rid of and treated as best they
could.

Just what form this tradition, early connected with Arthur,
assumed in primitive times, we cannot now say, for even in
the extant versions of the story there is inconsistency. In
11

286 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

the so-called Vulgate Merlin1 the incest is represented as
happening while Arthur is still a young man, before he has
been crowned ; and Arthur was then ignorant of his relation-
ship to his paramour. It is interesting to observe the attitude
of his sister towards him and her husband, as recorded in the
following words : " Quant ce vint al terme que li enfes fu nes,
et la nouele fu par tout le pais qui cil seroit rois qui fu fiex
Uter Pandragon, si Parna miex la dame en son cuer que nus
ne poroit dire, mais ele n'en osa faire samblant, por le roy
Loth son seignor, et mult li pesa de la guerre qui fu leuee
entre lui et eels du pais." She induces her children by King
Lot to join her brother Arthur and fight with him in his
strife against her husband, their father. Mordred, her child
by Arthur, later also joins the king, who, thus aided by his
sister's children, is represented as completely destroying the
host of his brother-in-law.2

There is one aspect of the incest which is particularly em-
phasized in the Suite de Merlin? namely, that Mordred, the
fruit of it, is to have an evil nature and bring untold harm
to the land of Logres (England). Mordred, it is predicted,
will be a " chaitive personne," who will cause " grant dolour "
to all — " grant maus " will happen " par ses oevres." Merlin
thus addresses the king : " Artus, tu as fait si tres grant
desloiaute que tu as geu carnelment a ta serour germainne que
tes peres engenra et ta mere porta, si i as engenre un fil qui
iert teuls conme Dieus set bien, car par lui verra moult de
grant mal en terre " ; and again : " tous chis roiaumes en
sera destruis, et li preudomme et li boin chevalier dou roiame

1 Roman de Merlin, ed. Sommer, London, 1894, pp. 136-137 ; cf. p. 218.
Merlin assumes various disguises in this romance to help Arthur ; cf. p.
219. The account of "The Birthe and Engendrure of Mordret" in the
French prose, and in an English metrical version of it by Lonelich Skynner,
a writer of the 15th century, may be found in an edition of Lonelich's Sank
Ryal, by Dr. Furnivall, Koxburghe Club, 1863, n, Appendix; cf. ch.
Hi, 11. 1145 ff.

2 Cf. the Huth Merlin, ed. Paris and Ulrich, S. A. T. F., I, 261.
*Huth Merlin, I, 154 ff.

287

de Logres en seront detrenchiet et ochis. Et li pais en
remanra orphenins de boins chevaliers que tu i verras a ton
tans. . . . Ensi remanra ceste terre deserte par les oevres de
lui pecheor."

These statements regarding Mordred, the fruit of incest,1
may perhaps throw light on some very obscure remarks con-
cerning SinfJQtli in the Helgi-lays. Guthmund, who there
engages him in a coarse word-combat, addressing him as
"step-son of Siggeir," declares2 that he has made himself
" notorious for evil deeds " (frcegjan of firenverkom), and was
" everywhere hated " (hvarletyr) ; " all crimes fell to his lot "
(kvdrno ]>er 6gogn oil at hendi). According to the Volsungasaga
(ch. 8), Sigmund observes that SinfJQtli has an ill disposi-
tion, and concludes that he must have got it from Siggeir,
and not from Signy. He marvels how it has come about
that the youth appears so little " considerate of his rela-
tives " (frcendrceJcinn). His fierce disposition SinfJQtli shows
later at Siggeir's hall, when he kills unhesitatingly his
mother's two children who have betrayed him, a deed which
Sigmund, horrified at the mere suggestion of it, refuses to
commit.

It was because of his evil deeds that SinfJQtli was repre-
sented in the North as an outcast from society, an exile in the
forest, where he lived in association with wolves.

In the First Lay of Helgi Hundingsbani (in the same
stanzas from which the quotations above are taken) SinfJQtli
is said to have slain his brother ; but we have no account of
such an occurrence. The reference can hardly be, as some
have suggested, to the incident of the killing of Signy's two

1 According to Sievers and Koegel, the very name of Fitela (O. H. G.
Fizzilo, Fezzilo) reveals his incestuous origin (See Paul-Braune, Beitr.,
xvi, 363, 509; cf. Kluge, Engl Stud., xvi, 433; Symons, Paul's Grundriss,
2nd ed., in, 653). For a discussion of "The Sister's Son" in medieval
literature, see an important article by Prof. F. B. Gummere in An Eng.
Miscellany, presented to Dr. Furnivall, Oxford, 1901, pp. 133 ff.

2 H. H., i, sts. 38, 43.

288 WILLIAM HENBY SCHOFIELD.

children, which has just been mentioned.1 It may, however,
be noted that the rhetorical Geoffrey of Monmouth in 1136
represents Mordred, to whom his uncle entrusted the king-
dom in his absence, as indulging in " corrupt and treasonable
practices," and as slaying his half-brother Gawain (who oifers
the same contrast to Mordred as Helgi to SinfJQtli) shortly
before he himself was slain in the battle of Camlan. (Bk.
XI, ch. 1-2.)

The description in romance of this last great battle of
Arthur is strangely like that of Sigmund in the Saga (chs.
10-12). In Malory's words (bk. xxi, chs. 4, 5): "Then
they blew beames, trumpets, and horns, and shouted grimly.
And so both hosts dressed them together. And King Arthur
took his horse, and said, alas this unhappy day, and so rode
to his party : and Sir Mordred in like wise. And never was
there seen a more dolefuller battle in no Christian land. For
there was but rushing and riding, foining and striking, and
many a grim word was there spoken either to other, and
many a deadly stroke. But ever King Arthur rode through-
out the battle of Sir Mordred many times, and did full nobly
as a noble king should ; and at all times he fainted never."
The fight continues fiercely all day, but, as if by miracle,
Arthur escapes harm. "Then was Arthur wroth out of
measure, when he saw his people so slain from him. Then
the king looked about him, and then was he ware of all this
host, and of all his good knights, were left no more on live
but two knights, that was Sir Lucan de Butlere, and his brother

1 In the Saga (ch. 10) the circumstances of Sinfjotli's murder of Borghild's
brother are told as follows :

" SinfjJ9tli leggz nu i herna> af nyju ; hann se*r eina fagra konu ok girniz
mjok at fa hennar; beirrar konu baj? ok brojnr Borghildar, er atti Sig-
mundr konungr. ^eir breyta J>etta mal mej> orrostu, ok fellir Sinfjoili
>enna konung ; hann herjar nti vi>a ok a margar orrustur ok hefir avalt
sigr, geriz hann manna frsegstr ok agsetastr ok kemr heim um haustit mej>
morgum skipum ok miklu feV'

There is no more question of Mordred's than of Sinfjptli's power. Geoff-
rey calls Mordred " the boldest of men."

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 289

Sir Bedivere. Jesu mercy, said the king, where are all my
noble knights becomen? Alas that ever I should see this
doleful day. For now, said Arthur, I am come to my end."
Thereupon he encounters Mordred and slays him, but is him-
self wounded. Lucan dies helping the king. Arthur, aware
of his approaching departure, gives his good sword Excalibur
to Bedivere, to be returned to the Lady of the Lake, and bids
the sole survivor of his host a noble farewell.

With this we may compare the following words in the
Saga : " King Sigmund and Eylimi set up their standards,
and then trumpets were blown. King Sigmund now let
blow his horn, which his father had had, and incited his men.
Sigmund had a much smaller host. Now began there a hard
battle, and though Sigmund was old yet fought he now
valiantly and was always foremost among his men ; no shield
or byrny held against him, and ever he went through the
ranks of his foes on that day, and no one might see how it
would fare between them. Many spears and arrows there
were in the air; but his protecting-spirits so guarded him
that he got no wound, and no one knew the tale of the men
that fell before him." The battle continues fiercely until
Odin appears, and causes Sigmund's sword to fall. " Then
the slaughter turned, for the good-fortune of King Sigmund
had departed from him, and his people fell fast from him.
The king did not spare himself, and urged on his people.
But, as goes the saying, no might [prevails] against many :
in this battle fell King Sigmund and King Eylimi, his kins-
man, in the forefront of his company, and the greater part of
his host." HJQrdis, Sigmund's wife,1 remains alone with him
on the battlefield, and thus he addresses her : " Many a man
lives when there is little hope; but my good fortune has
departed from me, so that I shall not be healed ; Odin wills
not that I draw my sword again since it is now broken; I have

1 She is the cause of the dispute which led to this battle, even as Gui-
nevere that which occasioned Catnlan. On the possible confusion of HJ9rdis
and Sigrlin, see Home of the Eddie Poems, pp. 273 f.

290 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

fought while it pleased him." He commits to her the broken
sword for her unborn child, who with its help will achieve
fame. These are his last words : " But now I grow weary
from my wounds, and I will now visit our kin who have gone
before."1

The manner of Arthur's forthfaring also deserves notice.
"Alas, said the king [to Sir Bedivere], help me hence, for I
dread me I have tarried over long. Then Sir Bedivere took
the king upon his back, and so went with him to that water
side. And when they were at the water side, even fast by the
bank hoved a little barge, with many fair ladies in it, and
among them all was a queen, and all they had black hoods,
and all they wept and shrieked when they saw King Arthur.
Now put me into the barge, said the king: and so he did
softly . . . And so then they rowed from the land ; and Sir
Bedivere beheld all those ladies go from him . . . And as
soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge, he wept
and wailed, and so took the forest, and so he went all that
night."

It would be fitting were the same account given of Sig-
mund's end. In truth, we do find a very similar situation
described in the Saga 2 in the chapter preceding that narrating
the last battle; but strangely enough, probably by confusion,
it is Sinf JQtli, the murderer and criminal, who receives this
special mark of divine favor. Sigmund is represented as

1 We may note also the appearance of pillagers on the battlefield. In
Malory (xxi, 4), it is said of Lucan : " And go as he went, he saw and
hearkened by the moonlight, how the pillers and robbers were come into
the field to pill and to rob many a full noble knight of broaches and beads,
of many a good ring, and of many a rich jewel," — with which compare the
following from the Saga (ch. 12): "She [Hjordis] sees that many ships
are come to land ; ... the vikings behold the great slaughter of men . . .
and they find abundant treasure, so that the men deem they have not seen
equally much together in one place, or more jewels : they bear it to the
ship of King Alf."

2 The same story is told in the prose passage Frd Davfta Sinfjotla, which
follows the Helgi-lays in the Poetic Edda.

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 291

carrying the dead SinfJQtli alcme to the waterside. There he
observed a little boat, in which, as bidden, he put the hero.
Immediately the boat and its inmates disappeared, and Sig-
mund made his way solitary along the shore, burdened with
grief.1 In this Old Norse account Odin evidently takes the
place of the Celtic fairy queen and in a like mysterious boat
conducts his favorite to the other world.

The judgment of the saga- writer upon Sigmund (not
SinfJQtli) with which he concludes his account of this epi-
sode is that he " appears to have been the greatest warrior
and king in olden times." Even such was the attitude of
the British towards King Arthur.2

We need not attempt to define the exact relationship between
the stories of Sigmund and Arthur. No filiation can certainly
be established between the late versions now alone extant in
both cases. We do not know for certain when either Arthur or
Sigmund was fashioned in his present likeness. But we can
safely assert that they present kindred conceptions. Inasmuch
as in the North Sigmund was for the first time brought into
connection with Helgi and Borghild, and represented in a
light different from that in primitive Germanic saga regarding
him, it is natural to suppose that the features in which he
agrees with Arthur are due to the influence of Celtic tales.
These tales may or may not have been then attached to
Arthur; but it is likely that they were, for he very early
was pictured as the greatest hero of Britain, and drew irre-
sistibly to him current myths. It would be absurd, of
course, to suppose that Arthur was conceived in the image
of Sigmund.

1 Ok gekk harmr sinn ncer bana.

3 In early saga Arthur, like Sigmund, was famous for his physical prowess.
In Beowulf it is Sigmund who is said to have slain the dragon in an adven-
ture attributed later, according to a common shift in mediaeval romance, to
his son. Already in Nennius's Hisloria Eritonum, mention is made of Arthur's
famous fight with the wild boar Troynt ; and one of his most celebrated
achievements was his struggle against the demon-cat of Lausanne.

292 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

VII.

Thus in the Volsungasaga we have found foreign material
connected with the primitive story of Sigmund and SinfJQtli.
All of this appears in its purest form in British tales. The
shape-shifting and transformation of Signy apparently show
the influence of a Celtic narrative. Werewolf stories were
indigenous in Britain, and the most famous extant versions
reveal their Celtic descent. Only in Britain has as yet been
noted a weasel-guide in the resuscitation feature. And the
striking similarity of Sigmund and Sinf jgtli with Arthur and
Mordred l in features peculiar to the latter seems more than
accidental. No one, of course, can deny that all the foreign
matter in the Saga may have been introduced at home in
Iceland or in Norway by men, or under the influence of men
who had sojourned in the West ; and it is not susceptible of
proof that the composition of the Saga, or of the poems on
which it is based, actually took place abroad. But neverthe-
less, it must be conceded, that this is most likely. The hypo-
thesis of Professor Btigge, that the Northern tales of the
Vojsungs took their present shape in the British Isles,2
explains best, I think, the obvious combination that confronts
us, for there the various elements could most naturally be

1 To say nothing of Odin and Merlin, of King Siggeir and King Lot, of
their respective queens, or of Helgi and Gawain, all of whom are in cer-
tain respects parallel. Lot, it may be observed, was very early represented
as a king of the Orkneys, and no doubt his history was familiar to the Scandi-
navian settlers there.

2 In a recent number of the Arkiv for Nord. FUologi, xvii (1901), 52,
Professor Bugge argues that the story of Sigi, Skathi, and Brethi, in the first
chapter of the Saga, was composed, not earlier than the ninth century, by
a West-Norwegian poet in Britain, most likely in Ireland, under the in-
fluence of narratives accessible there. (Professor Finnur J6nsson states
his unbelief in Litt. Hist., n, 843 note). Professor Bugge thus expresses
himself in conclusion : " Den norske Digtning om Sigurd Faavnesbanes
Forfaedre opstod tidligst hos Normsendene i Britannien ved en Omdigtning
af angelsaksiske Sagn og kvaeder om Waelsingerne under Inflydelse fra andre
vesterlandske, germanske og celtiske Sagn."

SIGNY'S LAMENT. 293

joined. The new evidence contributed by " Signy's Lament "
will, I believe, be taken by unprejudiced scholars to confirm
a view in itself so reasonable and attractive. At all events
(and this, in truth, is the most important matter) there can
be little doubt that the influence of British tales is manifest
in the introductory chapters of the Saga which we have been
discussing. When this influence was exerted remains unset-
tled. There is no reason to suppose that all the foreign ideas
were introduced at once. In the thirteenth century much of
the " matter of Britain " was familiar to Norsemen in literal
translation. But five centuries before, we are now aware,
Vo.lsung lays were subjected to foreign influence, and no one
can now tell just when, during this long intervening period of
continuous intercourse, any particular motive was gathered
in. Some combinations may be due to the Icelander who
fashioned the Saga in its present form as an introduction to
that of Ragnar Lothbrok, but others were no doubt already
old in his time.

It is true that the story in the late redaction is at times
obscured by the presence of foreign elements. Certainly, we
should prefer to have the saga of Sigmund and Signy in its
primitive form. But it is well to remember at the same time
that its record in any Old Norse literary form may perhaps
be largely due to the very circumstances that occasioned
the combination. Had it not been, I believe, for the
intellectual awakening of the Norsemen in the West, we
should hardly have preserved so many excellent poems,
which, whatever be the conditions of their origin, bear the
final impress of Scandinavian thought. Never has any nation
had an hegemony in literary affairs while isolated from others.
If in the Middle Ages, for example, French writers set the
fashion of literary production in Europe and were slavishly
imitated in all lands, it was not because they treated only
subjects of native origin. On the contrary, they won much
of their success in redacting Celtic, classical, and Oriental
stories to which they had but slender claim. In truth, when

294 WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

the authors of any land become narrow in outlook, provincial
in sympathy, inhospitable to foreign ideas, the knell of signifi-
cant literature in that country speedily sounds. The associa-
tion of Norsemen with Britons in early times, the interchange
of thought, and the stimulus to literary production thereby
occasioned, are matters for great gratitude and little regret.

VIII.

Before bringing this paper to a close, I would make hasty
reference to the story of Gtithrun and Atli as recorded in two
splendid poems, one of which we know to have been written
in Greenland, the AtlakvtiSa and the Atlamol. No one familiar
with these lays can have failed to observe the striking likeness
they present in narrative to the tale of Signy and Siggeir
now before us.

Guthrun has been married against her will to Atli, king of
another land. Apparently in all friendliness, but with evil
intent, Atli invites his wife's brothers and kin to come to his
court, promising them unusually rich gifts. They arrive, a
goodly company, and Guthrun hastens forth to meet them.
Before they had left their home, she had communicated to them
her suspicions of Atli, but they had paid no heed. Now she
again warns them of her husband's treachery, earnestly urging
them to return and collect an army strong enough to cope
with his. But Gunnar and HQgni, her brothers, are not
minded to withdraw, and a fierce fight ensues. The visitors
are completely overpowered. Gunnar is taken prisoner and
placed for torture in a serpent-pit, where he is finally pierced
to the heart by an adder1 before the young queen can render
assistance. Like Signy, Guthrun has but one object after her

1 This adder is represented as Atli's mother in disguise. Likewise the
she- wolf who devoured Signy's brothers is said in the Vplsungasaga (ch. 8)
to have been the mother of Siggeir. But the writer only reported it as
the "spgu sumra mpnna" and this feature of the Saga is best regarded as a
borrowing from the' Guthrun story. Cf. Symons, JBeitr., in, 351.

SIGXY'S LAMENT. 295

kin are slain, namely, to get revenge on her husband. Remorse-
lessly she sacrifices the two sons whom she has borne Atli, and
sets fire to the royal hall, in which he and his men perish.

That one of these stories influenced the other is obvious.
But it is not easy to decide which is the older. In the light
of " Signy's Lament," this question of long dispute 1 must be
examined anew. To me it looks now as if in the main the
Signy account were the more primitive, though I would
admit the possibility of a reactionary influence apparent in
the Saga.

Whatever be their kinship, whatever be their origin, the
stories of Signy and Guthrun are both magnificently dramatic.
They are of the best that Germanic heathendom has bequeathed
us, possessions of enduring worth. Over eleven hundred
years ago men of England were moved by " Signy's Lament,"
and to-day in like manner we their descendants are stirred
by its power.

WILLIAM HENRY SCHOFIELD.

lSee Symons, Edir. in, 296 ff; id., Paul's Grundriss, 2nd ed. in, 653;
cf. Finnur J6nsson, Lit. Hist., n, 843.

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA,

19O2.
VOL. XVII, 3. NEW SEKIES, VOL. X, 3.

X.— THE AMELIORATION OF OUE, SPELLING.

Let me first of all account for the title of this paper by
quoting a few words from a recent editorial of the New York
Evening Post :

" If time-worn phrases prevent a calm scrutiny of the facts, and a clear
perception of the best fiscal policy for this nation .... let us abandon
them for some fresher and truer form of words. . . . Instead of taking
free trade for a watchword, if that offends any, we may say that we stand
for freer trade. Instead of talking about protecting American industry, let
us talk about facilitating it."

The indications are that spelling reform is one of those
time-worn phrases the use of which tends to prevent a calm
scrutiny of the facts. It seems to excite in many minds on
both sides of the ocean a psychical reaction which is unfavor-
able to sober discussion. It calls up images of a dear mother-
tongue mutilated and made hideous by soulless vandals ; of a
demand that men and women who have once learned to read
and spell shall acquire these useful arts over again. We hear
talk of cranks, humbugs, etc. All of which is unfortunate,
not because it hurts the feelings of reformers — for they can
always ease their minds by reviling their opponents — but
because it pulls the discussion into unprofitable channels and

297

298 CALVIN THOMAS.

tends to obscure the really important phase of the subject,
namely, its educational phase.

Wishing, now, to charge upon this question boldly and yet
circumspectly, I have thought best not to hang out the
banner of "spelling reform," which is to many the red
ensign of anarchy, but to substitute therefor a sort of pink
flag of truce. Let us consider the amelioration of our spelling.

And first, a brief historical recapitulation. It was about a
quarter of a century ago that the American Philological As-
sociation took up the large problem of improving our so-called
English orthography. Having worked at it for ten years, in
conjunction with the Philological Society of London, they
adopted, in 1883, a joint report which recommended a set of
rules for amended spelling and embodied a list of some 3500
words amended in accordance with the rules. In respect of
the scholarly eminence of its promoters the movement could
not have had a more distinguished and authoritative sanction.
In 1892 our own Association passed a resolution recommend-
ing the rules and the word-list. In 1893 an account of the
movement was incorporated in the Introduction to the new
Standard Dictionary, and the amended words were printed as
alternative spellings in their proper alphabetical position. A
very few of them, especially such as had previously had some
currency, have been adopted by certain journals. In general,
however, so far as immediate and striking results are con-
cerned, the movement appears, at this date, to have been
futile. I say appears; for there is some evidence after all
that the leaven is working. But the three associations have
never printed their proceedings in the amended spelling —
excepting the contributions of Prof. March — nor do their
individual members use it in their books and other publica-
tions. There are of course good reasons for this, but it is not
very surprising that many regard the movement as a pious
counsel of perfection, which its very promoters do not take
seriously.

More recently the educators have taken the matter up. In

THE AMELIORATION OF OUR SPELLING. 299

1898 the directors of the National Educational Association
passed a resolution, by a vote of eighteen to seventeen, author-
izing the the secretary to adopt in the proceedings of the asso-
ciation such amended spellings as Commissioner Harris, and
Superintendents Soldan and Balliet might agree upon. These
three gentlemen selected, to bear the brunt of a preliminary
skirmish, the twelve words : altho, catalog, decalog, demagog,
pedagog, prolog, program, tho, thoro, thorofare, thru, thru-
out. Since then these twelve words, in the amended form,
have been used regularly in the official proceedings of the
National Educational Association and have also been adopted
by a number of educational journals, notably the Educational
Review. The object of this little experiment was to put out
a feeler ; to familiarize a part of the public, especially teach-
ers, with the idea that usage is another name for fashion, and
that fashions do not grow out of the ground nor fall from
heaven, but are created by some one's initiative. It should
be noticed, however, that the twelve scouts were sent out by a
very close vote. Dr. Harris has lately said that it would not
surprise him to see the vote reversed at some future time —
especially if too much fuss is made in public about the tri-
umph of reform.

The last chapter in this brief chronicle takes us to the
meeting of the Department of Superintendence of the National
Educational Association, which was held at Chicago, in Feb-
ruary, 1901. On that occasion a resolution was introduced
by Mr. E. O. Vaile, an Illinois editor who has long been a
spelling reformer, proposing the appointment of a National
Commission of twenty, which should concern itself with the
subject of spelling in its relation to education. The proposed
commission was to be independent of the Educational Associa-
tion, except for a financial subsidy, and to have complete dis-
cretion to go ahead in its own way. After a very animated
debate the proposal of a national commission was indefinitely
postponed by a vote of 105 to 77. How far this vote was
a test of sheer hostility or indifference to the object ultimately

300 CA.LVIN THOMAS.

aimed at I do not know ; but it is reasonable to suppose that
some of the adverse majority may have been actuated, in part
at least, by doubt whether the proposed commission could
accomplish anything worth while, and whether, in the present
condition of public sentiment, the plan was a proper one for
the Educational Association to take up and spend money on.
At any rate the scheme was voted down.

So then, there we are ; and the prospect is bright or gloomy
according to the view one takes as to the desirableness of
improving our spelling at all, and the practicability of improv-
ing it through some kind of joint public effort. For myself
I say frankly that if the matter concerned only the taste and
convenience of adults, I should take but a feeble interest in
it — an interest comparable to that I take in the attacks that
are sometimes made on high hats and swallow-tail coats.
One who has once learned to read and spell, who has
acquired the fixed visual associations which, for better or
worse, have become endeared to him, will always find it
easier to go on as he has been going than to change his prac-
tice even in small particulars. And this is true not only of
the hostiles and indifferents, but of those who are friendly to
the idea of an improved spelling. It is easy to see why the
distinguished scholars and men of letters who have enrolled
themselves among the detesters of our conventional spelling
nevertheless continue to employ it in their books. It is not
merely cowardice, the dread of obloquy, of being called a
crank ; there are always men enough who are willing to
suffer in a good cause, but they need to be upborne by the
conviction not only that the cause is good but also that they
are accomplishing something worth while by the steps taken.
Where this conviction is lacking, it is not to be wondered at
that men, even men of good will, shrink from the incon-
venience and the bother which attend any serious change of
fixed habits. It is a trial to spell in accordance with the
rules of the Philological Association. One who has not him-
self had a hand in drafting the rules must continually con-

THE AMELIORATION OF OUR SPELLING. 301

suit his word-list to make sure that he is in harmony with a
code which itself admits numerous inconsistencies and half-
remedies and leaves a multitude of anomalies untouched. It
is as if one were required to change any other habit that has
become second nature ; as if one were required, for example,
in walking, to pause at every tenth step and draw a deep
breath. That might possibly be a good thing for a large
part of our hurrying population ; but to induce one actually
to do it, one needs not only a conviction that it would be a
good thing but also a well-grounded hope that one's example
will soon be widely followed and that one's personal contribu-
tion to the change will be worth the trouble that it costs.

And other considerations of course come in. One who writes
for the public usually wishes before all things to establish
cordial relations with his reader, that he may please him or
convince him. He does not wish to divert attention to a side
issue of spelling or to offend his reader by thrusting upon his
eye bizarre-looking word-pictures to which he is not accus-
tomed. Authors and publishers, who depend on popular
favor for their reputation and their income, and to whom
reputation and income are primary considerations, can not be
expected to sacrifice the greater to the less.

These are commonplace reflections and I have set them
down merely to bring into relief the simple thought that if
this spelling question concerned the adult only, it would
hardly be worth while to bother our heads about it seriously,
or to attempt to counteract the overwhelming power of that
conservatism which, unintelligently, irrationally, but all the
more strongly for that very reason, attaches the English-
speaking population to the familiar forms of our conventional
printed language. We could leave the matter to the free
play of the tendencies inherent in human nature, content to
exert our individual influence quietly on behalf of common
sense and sound reason, but with no particular anxiety for
the future and with a cheerful confidence that our printed
language, no less than the spoken, will always express the

302 CALVIN THOMAS.

character of the stock that uses it and be as good as that is.
There would be no need to worry.

As it is, there is need to worry. For there is the question
of teaching children to spell — a grave question, an ever-press-
ing question, which will not down when some one has said
that his religious feeling is offended when he sees the word
Savior printed without its British u. Tastes may differ as to
the relative beauty and dignity of particular word-pictures,
but the educational problem is not a matter of taste. It is
not open to question among intelligent and fair-minded per-
sons that a grievous burden is imposed upon childhood by the
necessity of mastering, or attempting to master, the intricacies
of our English spelling. Parents complain, editors, school-
inspectors, college-examiners complain, and the higher teachers
complain of the lower. Many have come to see that there is
something somewhere seriously wrong ; but only a few of the
more enlightened have come to understand that the fault is
not with the schools, and can not be corrected either by a
return to the tools and methods of fifty years ago or by any
devices of the newest new education ; for it is inherent in that
which Lord Lytton called, aptly enough, our accursed spelling.

Here is a condition which is no joke and will not relieve
itself in the lapse of time. It cries aloud to us to do some-
thing if possible ; to use our best wit and get together if we
can, even if in the process we must abrade somewhat the
sharp angles of personal prejudice.

How heavy is the burden as a matter of sober fact ? To
this question it is difficult to give a strictly scientific answer,
because there is no perfectly satisfactory way of attacking the
problem. Literature teems with estimates and computations
of the time and money wasted in one way and another because
of our peculiar spelling ; but from the nature of the case they
can only be roughly approximative. Speaking broadly, it
appears that children receive more or less systematic instruc-
tion in spelling throughout the primary grades, that is for
eight years. If now we suppose that they pursue on the

THE AMELIORATION OF OUR SPELLING. 303

average five subjects simultaneously, and that spelling receives
equal attention with the others, we get one and three-fifths
years as the amount of solid school time devoted to this
acquirement. This, however, does not tell the whole story ; for
many begin the struggle before they enter school, many con-
tinue to need instruction in the high school and even in col-
lege, and not a few walk through life with an orthographic
lameness which causes them to suffer in comfort and reputa-
tion. Probably two years and a half would be nearer the
mark as a gross estimate of the average time consumed in
learning to spell more or less accurately.

We have now to ask, How much of this time is wasted ?
How much must we deduct for the reasonable requirements
of the case ? Zealous reformers often assume that it is practi-
cally all wasted. They tell us that if we had a proper system
of spelling, the acquisition of the art in childhood would take
care of itself after a little elementary instruction. This may
be so, but we have no means of proving positively that it is
so. If any people in the world had an ideal system of spell-
ing, we might go to them and find out how long it takes their
children to learn spelling. But there is no such people ; and
so we are forced back upon such rough and general state-
ments— perfectly true in themselves — as that German and
Italian children learn to spell much more easily and quickly
than do our own children. Meanwhile, it is hardly fair to
take as one term of comparison an ideal condition which
never existed and never will exist. An alphabet must always
be a rough instrument of practical convenience. Very cer-
tainly our posterity will never adopt any thorough-going
system of phonetic spelling. Nothing is going to be changed
per saltum. The most we can hope for is a gradual improve-
ment, accelerated perhaps by wisely directed effort. This means
that spelling will always have to be learned and taught, and
that considerable time will have to be devoted to it.

On the other hand, keeping strictly within the limits of the
practicable, in view of what other peoples no less conservative

304 CALVIN THOMAS.

than ourselves have actually done, I think it reasonable to
calculate that we might save, not in a year or a decade, but in
the lapse of two or three generations, say a half of the time
now consumed in learning to spell. Certainly we might save
a year ; and that is much when we consider the indefinite future
of four score million people. Here is an argument in the
presence of which the delicate emotions of the literary ex-
quisite who is pained by a change of spelling do not seem to
be prodigiously important.

And then it must be remembered that the loss of time con-
stitutes by no means the whole of the indictment. Right at
the threshold of school life, when the young mind is begin-
ning to ask for the reasons of things, and when every principle
of sound education requires that this propensity be developed
and strengthened by appropriate stimuli and discipline, — just
then we deluge the learner with an avalanche of irrationality.
It is strictly true that the foolishness of our English spelling
exerts a poisonous influence on our whole primary education.
The mass of people, even of the educated, do not know this.
Having themselves gone through the misery long ago, they
look upon the struggle with spelling as a necessary evil of
childhood — like chicken-pox and whooping-cough. We know,
— scholars know who have an international scope of vision, —
that it is not altogether necessary, any more than are the con-
tagious diseases. A large part of the evil is remediable.

And now, perhaps some of my hearers are saying inwardly :
"We have heard all this before ; the only interesting question
is, What do you propose to do about it? Well, I have a
practical suggestion to offer, and the making of that sugges-
tion is the real object of this paper. Before I come to that,
however, I must spend a little more time on preliminary
considerations.

The official attitude of this Association toward spelling
reform is one of passive approbation. We have said to the
reformers, Made virtute, but have declined to follow in their
footsteps. I have already given reasons for this attitude, but

THE AMELIORATION OF OUR SPELLING. 305

there is another reason which has no doubt all along been
operating upon many minds besides my own. We have felt
that it would be of comparatively little use to work on the
minds of adults. Learned gentlemen who are already per-
suaded, or almost persuaded, may get together in associations
and bombard each other with arguments and with documents
in improved spelling, but this does little good. Some, per-
haps, but not much. Nor does it avail much to support with
an annual subscription the little organs which are published
here and there by enterprising apostles of reform. All this
is like the resolutions of a ladies' sewing society on the evils
of man's addiction to alcoholic stimulants. It does not go
to the right spot. Somehow or other you have got to work
upon the minds of children during the plastic time when
visual associations are giving rise to sentiment. And this
has seemed hopeless because a requirement that children, who
must in any event continue to learn the conventional spelling,
be taught at the same time any considerable number of revised
spellings — say those proposed by the Philological Associa-
tion,— would result simply in increasing the burden that we
wish to lighten. So there we are again ; and it must have
seemed to many that we are hopelessly entangled in the net
of our evil inheritance.

This, however, is not quite so. Notwithstanding appear-
ances to the contrary some progress has been made during the
last quarter of a century, and I at least believe that still
further and more rapid progress is possible hereafter, and
possible by a process of evolution and natural selection, with-
out any cataclysm more violent than that whereby we have
got rid of the k in music and traffic. When I speak of pro-
gress I mean first of all that the intellectual battle, so far as
there ever was any, has been completely won. The various
arguments which used to be advanced by the supporters of
the conventional spelling — by arguments I mean reasons
based on knowledge, or the appearance of knowledge, and
meant to convince the intellect of thinking men — have been

306 CALVIN THOMAS.

completely riddled to pieces. There is simply nothing left
of them. The sematic argument from the supposed impor-
tance of distinguishing homonyms, the etymological argument,
the historical argument, the literary argument, have all been
passed in review by distinguished scholars and men of letters —
men who by no twist of the imagination could be accused of
indifference toward aught that is noble or precious in our
inheritance — and have been shown to have little or nothing
in them.

If anyone thinks that I am over-stating the case let him
use his first leisure in calmly reviewing the discussion. Let
him read what has been written by Max Miiller, Murray,
Whitney, Haldemann, March, Lounsbury and, more recently,
by Brander Matthews. The opposition he will have to get
mainly from the newspapers. When he has finished his
review, he may still say that what is called spelling reform is
foolishness or is an idle dream that can never be realized ;
but he will not be likely to say that the obstacle in the way
is sound reason. What attaches us to our conventional spell-
ing is not a body of convictions, but simply habit and feeling.
A different habit would beget a different feeling. Our devo-
tion may be compared with that of the wealthy Chinese to
women with deformed feet. By habit his ideas of feminine
loveliness and desirability are associated with that particular
deformity. To him it is beautiful. We are under no illusions
concerning his superstition, but call it a degrading bondage.
We can see clearly that if he only could get rid of it some-
how, it would be better all around. Our own case is
quite similar.

But while the intellectual battle has been won the conserva-
tive sentiment remains about as strong as ever and will con-
stitute, for a long time to come, an insuperable obstacle to
all sweeping and schematic changes. That sentiment is
non-rational in its origin and but slightly amenable to reason.
It is of small use to attack it directly, or to attack the
unsound arguments which it invents to justify its existence.

THE AMELIORATION OF OUK SPELLING. 307

And the sentiment is in itself deserving of respect. If a
man says that he loves the printed forms of English, just as
they are, with all their imperfections, one can not blame him
any more than for loving his wife or his country. All we
can say is that his children will love their language just as
well if they become accustomed to certain of its words in a
form slightly different from those familiar to him. We are
all creatures of feeling and habit rather more than of intelli-
gence ; nevertheless it is precisely the character of the rational,
civilized man to wish to bring his feelings and habits into
harmony with that which his reason approves as good.

What is needed is to prepare the way for a generation
whose feelings shall be somewhat different from ours, — a
generation that shall have less reverence than we have for
what is called usage. During the last hundred and fifty
years we have become a race of dictionary worshipers : and
we have gone so far in our blind, unreasoning subserviency
to an artificial standard that the time has come for a reaction.
We need to reconquer and assert for ourselves something of
that liberty which Shakspere and Milton enjoyed. We need
to claim the natural right of every living language to grow
and change to suit the convenience of those who use it.
This right belongs to the written language no less than to
the spoken. We have the same right to make usage that Steele
and Addison and Dr. Johnson had ; and there is just as much
merit in making usage as in following it. The tendency, or
Trieb, which leads a people continually to refashion its inherit-
ance is just as august, just as worthy of respect, as the con-
servative tendency. Indeed it is more worthy of respect;
for it is the sign of a living language, and life is better
than death.

There are signs that the reaction desiderated a moment ago
is beginning. We seem to be entering upon an era of asser-
tive individualism in this matter of spelling, and that is
precisely what is needed. It is to be hoped that in the next
few years variant spellings may continue to spring up in a

308 CALVIN THOMAS.

luxuriant crop and compete with one another for acceptance.
It is to be hoped that good dictionaries may multiply, each
claiming to be the best and each giving you a liberal choice
for your money. Let editors and publishers show that they
have a mind of their own and dare to use it — not to the
extent of attempting radical and schematic reforms, but to
the extent of trying experiments and adopting the more
rational of competing forms. Let literary men be brought
to see by an infinite series of slight shocks, that spelling was
made for man, and that a change of spelling is no more an
attack upon literature than an improved musical notation, if
we could invent one, would be an assault upon music and an
insult to the memory of Beethoven. In this way we shall
gradually recover for our children's children the lost criterion
of common sense.

Some one will say, perhaps, that this means chaos, con-
fusion, the undoing of the work of the great and good Samuel
Johnson. I reply : Yes, a little chaos will do us good. It
is just the thing we need as a transition-stage toward a better
regulation hereafter. No great interest of society is bound
up with the use of a uniform spelling. So long as we keep
within the limits of easy intelligibility it is no more important
that we spell alike than that we pronounce alike or dress
alike. We have always allowed ourselves some latitude in
the spelling of particular words, and no damage has been
done. Shakspere had no Unabridged to consult and he spelt
very much as the spirit moved him ; yet literature can hardly
be said to have languished in his hands.

As a literary scholar I am not insensible to the advantages
of a standard literary language. It is very convenient for
printers and proof-readers, but it is not the life of literature.
We have come to regard it as if it were, and many people
imagine that our standard was created long ago by the poets
and men of letters. Scholars know that this is not so ; that
it was created rather by London printers, beginning with those
of Caxton, who were Dutchmen unacquainted with English.

THE AMELIORATION OF OUR SPELLING. 309

It is time for us to set deliberately about the reconquest of
our liberties.

In matters pertaining to the spoken language I hold that
the scholar will do his duty best if he lean somewhat heavily
toward the side of conservatism ; for there the influences that
make for rapid and often undesirable change are in the
ascendent, and the scholar best knows what is noble and
precious in our heritage. When we come to the written
language, however, the case is entirely different. There the
influences that make for conservatism are already strong
enough and too strong ; and the scholar may wisely exert his
influence for a gradual loosening of the tension of our ortho-
graphic superstition ; for he best knows how large a part of
our standard is and was in the beginning fortuitous, capricious,
absurd and based on pedantic blundering.

And now for my promised practical suggestion. I think
that we need teachers' courses on the history of English
spelling. I mean courses to be given in normal schools,
high schools, colleges and universities, — wherever primary
and secondary teachers are preparing for their work. If you
please, we need a new style of spelling-book, one whose
object should be to show the coming teachers of children just
how we got into our present muddle. I would take the
schoolmaster, or more properly the schoolma'am, by the hand
and lead her up close to the idol that we have set up for
worship under the name of USAGE. I would gently draw
aside the wrappings and give her a glimpse of the sawdust
and the cotton and the paint. I would call her attention to
the glass beads that she has mistaken for diamonds and rubies.

The history of English spelling is a legitimate and digni-
fied branch of scholarship, and if properly presented could be
made of fascinating interest to prospective teachers. The
book that I have in mind would be somewhat difficult to
prepare, but not hopelessly so. It could almost be compiled
from the extant writings of Prof. Lounsbury. It would be
very simple and elementary. It would not presuppose a

310 CALVIN THOMAS.

knowledge of Anglo-Saxon, but it might make use of easy
Anglo-Saxon illustrations. It would be strictly scientific ;
no partisanship, no spelling reform in it — at least none visi-
ble to the naked eye. The object of it would be simply to
mediate between the scholar's knowledge and the minds of
those who are to teach children. But you say, peradventure,
What good would it do ? The teacher who had learned all
that could be learned in that way would still be obliged to
teach the conventional spelling. Yes, but it would no longer
be the same thing. She would do her work — occasionally at
least — with a wild gleam of intelligence in her eye. Instead
of a blind, unreasoning subserviency to a big book of mys-
terious and awful authority ; instead of a dogmatic and cate-
gorical imperative, Thus shalt thou spell and not otherwise,
— there would be little schoolroom discussions about the
reason and the propriety of things ; and that sort of thing,
going on in many thousand places, would contribute to what
I called a moment ago the recovery of the lost criterion of
common sense. And occasionally something like this would
happen : The teacher whose pupil had misspelled, say the
word foreign, instead of reprimanding and marking him
down, would say to him : " Well, Johnny, the fashion is to
spell it f-o-r-e-i-g-n ; but the ig got there by mistake, there
is no reason why they should be there, and I think that if I
were beginning life as you are, I should unload them." And
Johnny would go out into life with a hundred orthographic
" ideas " in his head ; and in one way and another he would let
them out upon the community — to the great advantage thereof.
To speak a little more seriously, my thought is this. When
any inherited fashion or custom has become inconvenient and
needs to be changed, but cannot be changed directly because
of a superstitious reverence for tradition as such, the best way
to prepare a change is to let in the light of knowledge upon
its origin. At present, so far as spelling is concerned, this
light shines only for scholars. We need to diffuse it through-
out the community.

THE AMELIORATION OF OUR SPELLING. 311

I commend this suggestion to our own English scholars
and also to the National Education Association. Let the
latter, instead of agitating for a national commission on
spelling reform, which at the best could accomplish but little,
call for and insist upon the instruction of primary and second-
ary teachers in the simple outlines of the history of English
spelling. To that no one could reasonably object, since what
it is proposed to teach is simply the truth, and is in itself
worth knowing, if any history is worth knowing. It would
work no sudden miracles, but it would lead gradually, and
more speedily, I believe, than any other kind of effort, to the
amelioration of our spelling.

CALVIN THOMAS.

XI.— THE KELATION OF SHAKESPEAKE TO
MONTAIGNE,

That Shakespeare read Montaigne's Essays is made prob-
able by the fact that they were well-known to his con-
temporaries. He was only sixteen when the first two books
were published in Paris. By the end of the century, before
he had begun to write his greatest tragedies, the popularity
of the work had already spread to England. Of this fact
there still remain many signs : " Seven or eight of great wit
and worth," Florio tells us,1 had made attempts to translate
the Essays; two separate entries of such a translation had
been made in the Stationers' Kegister ; " divers of his peeces "
in English, Cornwallis writes, were going from hand to hand
in manuscript ; and Bacon had published Essays, in which
not only the name, but several appropriations of thought,
acknowledged and unacknowledged, show the indebtedness of
their author to Montaigne. A little later, in 1603, the year
of the first quarto of Hamlet, there was published with all
the pomp of the day the translation of John Florio ; and after
four more years, Jonson, wishing to predict great popularity
for Guarini, said :

" All our English writers,
I mean such as are happy in the Italian,
Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly,
Almost as much as from MontaignieV' 2

Even if Shakespeare had not been a widely curious observer,
he must, merely as an intelligent man of the world, have been
familiar with a book so generally popular.

To prove this, moreover, one piece of direct evidence has
long been known. In 1671, Capell3 pointed out in the

1 In his To the courteous Reader, prefixed to the first edition of his trans-
lation of the Essays, 1603. 2 Volpone, Act III, ec. 2.
3 Notes and Various Headings, London, 1671, pt. IV, p. 63.

312

THE KE.LATION OF SHAKESPEAEE TO MONTAIGNE. 313

Essays a close parallel for the following description, from
the Tempest, of an ideal commonwealth :

" I ' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things ; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ;
Letters should not be known ; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none ; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none ;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ;
No occupation : all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure ;
No sovereignty."

(Tempest, II, 1,148 ff.)

The parallel which Capell found for this passage is from the
essay Of the Caniballes. Montaigne is describing, by the
way, the blissful state of nature which he supposed was
enjoyed by our American Indians :

" It is a nation, would I answer Plato, that hath no kinde of traffike, no
knowledge of Letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magistrate,
nor of politike superioritie ; no use of service, of riches or of povertie ;
no contracts, no successions, no partitions, no occupation but idle ; no
respect of kindred, but common, no apparell but naturall ; no manuring
of lands ; no use of wine, corne, or mettle."

( JTbrio, I, xxx, p. 94, Eoutledge edition.)

Shakespeare's indebtedness is of course clear ; he has followed
Montaigne almost phrase for phrase, changing each only just
enough to suit it to the new context, and to fit it into the
blank verse.

In spite of the probability created by so striking a case of
indebtedness, it has been only within the last thirty years
that the critics have taken up in earnest the problem of
Shakespeare's relation to Montaigne. During these years
several eager theories upon the subject have been advanced,
and a number of passages in the Essays have been pointed
out as the sources of certain more or less similar passages
in the plays. Of the theories, that of Stedefeld, propounded

314 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

in 1871,1 claims that Shakespeare, representing Montaigne
in the character of Hamlet, writes his play as a protest against
Montaigne's skepticism. The theory of Mr. Feis, pub-
lished in 1884,2 which also considers Hamlet as a representa-
tion of Montaigne, flatly contradicts that of Herr Stedefeld in
the charge which it supposes Shakespeare to bring against
the Frenchman ; according to Mr. Feis, the accusation is, that
he " preached the rights of nature whilst yet clinging to dog-
matic tenets," 3 which, in words used elsewhere in the book,
" have come from the narrow cells of a superstitious Christi-
anity." 4 A third theory, that advanced by Mr. Robertson
in 1897,5 claims that all the greatness of Shakespeare, both
in thought and in style, was due to the influence of Mon-
taigne. Theories like these need no discussion.

When, however, we turn to the parallel passages that have
been advanced both by Mr. Feis and Mr. Robinson in support
of their theories, and also by Professor Elze 6 and Mr. Henry
Morley,7 we may find, among unimportant coincidences, several
interesting cases of resemblance. Scarcely one of them, how-
ever, in its isolation, is sufficiently striking to prove the like-
ness other than accidental. It would take too long to consider
them separately here ; as we meet them in the process of our
discussion, each will of course be credited to its discoverer.

The investigation of Shakespeare's relation to Montaigne
is accordingly little more than begun. Far more parallels
must be pointed out, — parallels convincing by their number,
by their close correspondence, or by their grouping in the
Essays and in the plays, before we can decide how well
Shakespeare knew the Essays, and what relation, if any, he

1 Hamlet : ein Tendenzdrama Sheakspeare's [sic] gegen die skeptische und
kosmopolitische Weltanschauung des Michael de Montaigne, Berlin, 1871.

2 Jacob Feis, Shakspere and Montaigne, London, 1884.
s Op. cit.y p. 43. * Op. cil, p. 90.

6 Montaigne and Shakspere, London, 1897.

6 Karl Elze, Life of Shakespeare, Berlin, 1872 ; and Essays on Shakespeare^
1872.

7 In preface to Koutledge Florio.

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 315

bore to their author. These questions are not unimportant ones ;
Shakespeare's relations to many of the other great men of
the sixteenth century, from Rabelais to Marlowe, have been
the subject of eager investigation ; and of all the men of that
wonderful age, there is none, — not, perhaps, excepting even
Shakespeare himself, — who has had a greater influence on the
thought of other men than has Montaigne. Hal lam says that
the "school of Montaigne .... embraces, in fact, a large
proportion of French and English literature." l It is im-
portant to know whether Shakespeare in any sense belonged
to that school ; and if not, just what relation he does bear to
' the earliest of French philosophers."

In attempting to decide this question, the first thing to do
is to remind ourselves what are the different elements and
qualities by virtue of which this important book of essays has
attracted so many men, and might therefore be expected to
attract Shakespeare; and what different relations it has,
through these characteristics, established between these men
and its author, and might therefore be supposed to have estab-
lished for Shakespeare. The next step must be to collect and
examine so many close parallels in the plays and the Essays
as may prove that Shakespeare did really bear to Montaigne
some appreciable relation. This part of the investigation
must necessarily, because of the meagreness of our present
data, be disproportionately long and minute. Finally, by
comparing all these parallels, it may become possible to deter-
mine which, among the relations we find men to have borne
to Montaigne, was that borne by Shakespeare.

Montaigne's Essays, at first reading, give the effect of being
a succession of fresh observations concerning all things in
heaven and earth. They present in modern and intelligible
form the various doctrines of the ancient schools of philoso-
phy. They collect interesting anecdotes, queer customs, and
strange beliefs ; extracts from books new and old ; unhack-

1 Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the 15th, IGth, and 17th Centu-
ries, vol. II, ch. iv, Beet. 1, g 6.

316 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKEE.

neyed statements about all the facts of every-day life, — about
food, clothes, fashions, — and, especially, about the workings
of the human mind. Their titles range from Thumbs to The
Worthiest and Most Excellent Men. The observations made
upon all these subjects are disconnected and fragmentary, but
always acute, original, and suggestive. The inconsistency
which is also characteristic of them, Mr. Owen makes very
clear when he says : " Had he [Montaigne] been a dramatist,
and assigned his manifold opinions to individual and appro-
priate characters, varying from a Roman Pontiff to a debauchee
and from a Stoic philosopher to a low buffoon, what a large
picture gallery we should have had ! " l This, then, is the
more obvious aspect of the Essays ; they may appear, in the
phrase of the time, as a " commonplace book," as a collection
of disconnected observations, each interesting and new, and
therefore suitable for the free appropriation of those days.
Considered in this way, Montaigne's thoughts are valuable
merely as shining fragments, to be used — consciously or uncon-
sciously, with or without credit being given, it did not matter
much, — to adorn the work of the first admirer. The relation
of such an admirer to Montaigne, that of a canny reader using
over again the material so lavishly displayed, was one very
commonly borne toward Montaigne by Shakespeare's contem-
poraries. It is plainly to this sort of indebtedness that Jonson
referred when he spoke of "stealing mainly." Bacon held
this relation to Montaigne ; so did others whose borrowings
are not yet so well-known. To a dramatist we can see that
the Essays might be especially serviceable as a treasury of
dramatic points of view.

No one can read these Essays attentively, however, without
soon finding out that they represent more than a wealth of
useful detail ; they are informed throughout by the person-
ality of the author. It is because Montaigne was constantly
but mildly curious, that his subjects are so varied, and change

1 The Skeptics of the French Renaissance, London, 1893, p. 487.

THE KELATION OF SHAKE8PEAKE TO MONTAIGNE. 317

so unexpectedly. It is because he took nothing as a matter
of course, seeing time-honored customs and trite facts as if
they had just come into existence, that his remarks on all
subjects are so new and vital. And it is because he liked ques-
tioning more than answering, because he had that in him which
Guillaume Guizot, taking him as usual a little too seriously,
calls " ce parti pris de tourner le manage pour ne point tirer
d'cau," l — that his various remarks about a subject are so inde-
cisive and so irreconcilable. These three qualities, — universal
curiosity, the power of putting to himself frank questions on
all subjects, and an antipathy toward any persevering eifort
to solve these questions, — are the traits by virtue of which
Montaigne has received his title of sceptic. By unconsciously
imposing upon other minds the brilliant but unstable ideas
naturally thrown out by a man of this type, and still more
by passing on with his ideas, through a sort of contagion, his
characteristic habits of thought, Montaigne has exerted his
more widespread and powerful influence. The corresponding
relation to him, that of disciple to master, is that which has
been held by many of his countrymen, such as Charron, Des-
cartes, and Pascal ; it was that held for a time by Emerson.

The problem before us, then, is this : did Shakespeare use
Montaigne's Essays, providing he can be shown to have used
them at all, as an independent worker makes use of a mere
storehouse of material ; or, on the other hand, did he submit
to the influence of Montaigne's sceptical doctrines and habits
of thought, in such a way as to become in any sense his
disciple?

Before we can discuss this question, it is necessary, as we
have seen, to pile up many parallels on which to base our
judgment. Let us consider first a group of passages in the
Essays, each of which has a parallel in Shakespeare's plays.
The essay in which they occur is called That to Philosophise is
to learn how to die, and is chiefly made up of those adaptations
from the classics which are so frequent in Montaigne. I shall

1 Montaigne : etudes et fragments, Paris, 1899.

318 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

quote throughout from Florio's translation, not only because
that was the one current in Shakespeare's time, but because, as
Mr. Henry Morley has shown, it was actually the version
from which Shakespeare appropriated the passage in the
Tempest} The paging refers to the Routledge edition. Eather
more than half-way through the essay we find this sentence :

" Herein [i. e., in freedom from the fear of death] consists the true and
soveraigne liberty, that affords us meanes wherewith to jeast and make a
scorne of force and injustice, and to deride imprisonment, gives or fetters."

(Florio, I, xix, p. 33.)

With this compare the following passage in " Julius Csesar : "

" Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat :
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
If I know this, know all the world besides,
That part of tyranny that I do bear,
I can shake off at pleasure."

(Julius Ccesar, I, 3, 90 ff.)

Of course the similarity here is not at all striking : nor is the
thought novel ; it is just what would naturally be ascribed to
a Roman. Now read in the essay from the next sentence but
one:

" . . . . Since we are threatened by so many kinds of death, there is no
more inconvenience 2 to feare them all, than to endure one : what matter
when it commeth, since it is unavoidable?" (Florio, I, xix, p. 33.)

In the second act of the play in which we found the first
coincidence, Csesar expresses the same idea as follows :

1 For a discusssion as to the version habitually used by Shakespeare, see
Appendix A.

2 This is a mistranslation for "il n'y a pas plus de mal" ; but the right
sense is easily perceived.

THE KELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 319

" Cowards die many times before their deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear ;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come."

( Julius Gxsar, II, 2, 32 ff.)

There is a curious fact about this case of resemblance. The
first part of each quotation is similar to a passage in a differ-
ent connection in Plutarch's " Life of Julius Caesar," l from
which Shakespeare was drawing material for his play, and
with which Montaigne also was familiar. The common con-
clusion, however, is not in Plutarch. Now did Shakespeare
and Montaigne each take Plutarch's thought and develop it
independently in the same way? The little evidence we
have so far discussed does not justify us in saying that this
was not the case. Let us, however, look a little farther down
the same page of the essay. "We read :

"But nature compels us to it. Depart (saith she) out of this world,
even as you came into it. The same way you came from death to life,
returne without passion or amazement, from life to death . . . " ; (Florio.
I, xix, p. 33.)

And on the next page :

" It consisteth not in number of yeeres, but in your will, that you have
lived long enough."

These two extracts together suggest Edgar's speech to Glou-
cester in King Lear :

" Men must endure

Their going hence, even as their coming hither :
Kipeness is all."

(Kmg Lear, V, 2, 9 ff.)

Just before the sentence last quoted we find this passage:

" Moreover, no man dies before his houre. The time you leave behind
was no more yours than that which was before your birth, and concerneth
you no more Wheresoever your life ended, there is it all."

Mr. Feis 2 has pointed out that these two sentences, in con-

1 See Shakespeare's Plutarch, London, 1875, p. 92.
^Shakspere and Montaigne, London, 1884, p. 111.

320 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

nection with the one last quoted from our essay, afford
several points of resemblance to a speech in Hamlet :

" Not a whit, we defy augury : there's a special providence in the fall
of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be
now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all ; since no man
has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?" (Hamlet, V,
2, 230 ff.)

" Since no man has aught of what he leaves " is the reading
of the folio, to which some critics have objected on the ground
that it is absurd, as all unite in considering the version of
the quarto. The parallel from Montaigne makes the folio
reading so clear as to render any attempt at emendation
unnecessary. A fifth passage from this same essay, namely :

" Why fearest thou thy last day ? He is no more guiltie, and conferreth
no more to thy death, than any of the others. It is not the last step that
causeth weariness; it only declares it. All daies march towards death,
only the last comes to it." (Florio, I, xix, p. 35.)

has also a parallel in Shakespeare, this time, as twice before,
in Julius Ccesar. It consists of Brutus7 welcome to death :

" My bones would rest,
That have but labor* d to attain this hour."

( Julius Oesar, V, 5, 41 f.)

In two and one-half pages of one essay, then, we have found
five passages parallels to which exist in Shakespeare's plays.
Three of these parallels, furthermore, occur in the same play,
the other two in plays written in somewhere near the same
period of Shakespeare's life. There is already some pre-
sumption that so many coincidences grouped in such a way
are not purely accidental. These ideas, however, are neither
vital nor characteristic parts of Montaigne's thought; but
simply examples of his own numerous borrowings. If
Shakespeare, as seems rather probable, appropriated them in
his turn, whether or not he thereby accepted them as his own
opinions is a question to be discussed later. In either case,
he cannot be said to show himself under the influence of ideas

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 321

or habits of thought that were distinctly Montaigne's. At
first thought the more natural supposition is that these pas-
sages may have served Shakespeare as illuminating expres-
sions of the stoic attitude toward death which he wished his
Romans to exemplify, and his Hamlet and Edgar to assume.
Another case of agreement between passages expressing
similar classic reasoning about death may be given here. In
an essay devoted chiefly to a discussion of suicide, Mon-
taigne says :

To extreme sicknesses, extreme remedies God giveth us sufficient

privilege, when he placeth us in such an estate, as life is worse than death
unto us." (Florio, II, in, p. 174.)

A parallel is found in Rodrigo's despairing words to lago :

" It is silliness to live when to live is torment ; and then have we a pre-
scription to die when death is our physician." ( Othello, I, 2, 308 ff.)

This conception of death as a physician is strangely combined
with the conception already noticed of death as a release from
captivity, in the following passage from Cymbeline :

" .... Be cured

By the sure physician, death, who is the key
To unbar these locks."

(Oymbdine, V, 4, 6 ff.)

Another of Montaigne's classical ideas which can be paralleled
in the plays, is the one frankly borrowed in the following
extract :

" Plutarke saith in some place that ' he findes no such great difference
betweene beast and beast, as he findeth diversitie between man and man.' "

(Florio, I, XLII, p. 128.)

The passage in Plutarch to which Montaigne refers is found in
the essay The Beasts have the use of Reason,1 which is naturally

1 See Plutarch's Morals, ed. W. W. Goodwin, Boston, 1870, vol. 5, p. 233.

322 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

not a part of the North's translation of Plutarch's Lives with
which Shakespeare was familiar. It is to Montaigne then, if
to either writer, that Shakespeare is indebted when he makes
Macbeth say :

" Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ;
As hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,
Sloughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves are clept

All by the name of dogs "

(Macbeth, III, 1,92 ff.)

Other passages in Shakespeare that express thoughts found
in the Essays, but not thoughts characteristic of Montaigne,
are certain remarks which express the stoical ideal of endur-
ance. Take Brutus' speech concerning his wife's death :

" Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala :
With meditating that she must die once,
I have the patience to endure it now."

(Julius Oesar, IV, 3, 190 ff.)

This is a practical application of the ideal implied in these
two passages found on successive pages of the essay Of Soli-
tarinesse :

" Our death is not sufficient to make us afraid ; let us also charge our-
selves with that of our wives, of our children, and of our friends and
people." (Florio, I, xxxvm, p. 110.)

" It sufficeth me, under fortunes favour, to prepare myselfe for her dis-
favour; and being at ease, as far as imagination may attaine unto, so
represent the evill to come unto myselfe : Even as we enure our selves
to Tilts and Tourneyes, and counterfeit warre in time of peace." (Florio,
I, xxxvm, p. 111.)

Compare again the reproach made to Brutus by Cassius, who
is ignorant of the bad news :

" Of your philosophy you make no use,
If you give place to accidental evils, — "

(Julius Ccesar, IV, 3, 145 f.)

with the following characterization of a philosopher from the
Essays :

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 323

" But forsomuch as he [Solon] is a Philosopher, with whom the favours
or disfavours of fortune, and good or ill lucke have no place, and are not
regarded by him ; and puissances and greatnesses, and accidents of qualitie,
are well-nigh indifferent : " (Florio, I, xvm, p. 26.)

Still again, read Leonato's words when rebuked for his grief
over Hero :

" For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the tooth-ache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a push at chance and sufferance ; "

(Much Ado About Nothing, V, 1, 35 ff.)

and then read the following passage by Montaigne :

" . . . . The sense of feeling .... which by the effect of the griefe or paine
it brings to the body doth so often confound and re-enverse all these goodly
Stoicall resolutions, and enforceth to cry out of the belly-ache him who hath
with all his resolution established in his mind this doctrine, that the
cholike, as every other sicknesse or paine, is a thing indifferent, wanting
power to abate anything of soveraigne good or chiefe felicity, wherein the
wise man is placed by his owne vertue." (Florio, II, xu, p. 304.)

The similarity, being in each case of substance only, and
not being in any instance unique and striking, simply makes
it conceivable that the ideas may have been suggested by a
general remembrance of such passages in the Essays. In each
case, moreover, any indebtedness to Montaigne is again for
transmitted material only ; and, as before, we may easily con-
sider that Shakespeare is indebted merely for serviceable
dramatic points of view. Such are the words of Stoics;
Shakespeare wishes to reproduce the talk of Stoics ; and it
may well be in this sense that we accept, if at all, the hypo-
thesis that he is indebted to Montaigne.

Let us now turn to cases of resemblance where the subject
matter consists of thoughts more characteristic of Montaigne's
peculiar doctrines and tendencies of mind. His power of see-
ing well-known things as new and wonderful, and his fancy
for unlimited questioning without attemps at conclusive
answers, had for one field of exercise the world of nature.
He often expresses his disdain of

324 ELIZABETH EOBBIKS HOOKER.

" . . . . a rabble of men that are ordinarie interpreters and controulers of
God's secret desseignes, presuming to finde out the causes of every accident,
and to prie into the secrets of Gods divine will, the incomprehensible
motives of his works." (Florio, I, xxi, p. 99.)

In Lear's plans for his life with Cordelia in prison, we find
the same thought, where he declares that they will

" take upon's the mystery of things,
As if we were God's spies."

(King Lear, V, 3, 16f.)

The resemblance was pointed out by Mr. Robertson.1 A
similar idea is also common in Montaigne, — that is, that

"Wee neede not goe to cull out miracles, and chuse strange difficulties : mee
seemeth, that amongst those things we ordinarily see there are such incom-
prehensible rarities as they exceed all difficulty of miracles." (Florio, II,
xxxvn, p. 388.)

This thought, combined with the one just spoken of, is also
found in a passage from All's Well that Ends Well.

" They say miracles are past ; and we have our philosophical persons, to
make modern and familiar, things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it
that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming knowl-
edge, when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear." (All's Well
thai Ends Well, II, 3, 1 ff.)

In these cases it is rather the thought than the expression,
rather a conception frequently expressed in the Essays than
these precise extracts, that we may conceive Shakespeare to
have followed. In the case of two closely associated passages
in Hamlet, on the contrary, we are perhaps justified in assign-
ing a more definite source. One is the end of Hamlet's speech
to his father's ghost, where he talks of the spirit as

" Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature
So horridly to shake our disposition
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ; "

(Hamlet, I, 4, 54 ff.)

the other consists of these well-known lines :
1 Montaigne and Shakespeare, p. 66.

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 325

" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

(Hamlet, I, 5, 166f.)

Now this latter passage might well sum up an essay called
It is fottie to referre Truth or Falsehood to our sufficiencie. In
this essay, moreover, we find a passage parallel to the former
quotation. Montaigne says he once felt a " kinde of compas-
sion " when

" I heard anybody speake, either of ghosts walking, of fortelling future
things, of enchantments, of witchcrafts, or of any other thing reported

which I could not well conceive, or that was beyond my reach Reason

hath taught me, that so resolutely to condemne a thing for false and impos-
sible, is to assume unto himselfe the advantage, to have the bounds and
limits of Gods will, and of the power of our common mother Nature tied

to his sleeve We must judge of this infinite power of nature, with

more reverence, and more acknowledgement of our owae ignorance and
weaknesse." (Florio, I, xxvi, p. 80.) ]

Beside noticing the coincidences of grouping in each author and
of general likeness of thought, we should observe that the essay
speaks of marvellous things, including ghosts, as " beyond my
reach," thus using the same figure as Hamlet when he says
" beyond the reaches of our souls." It is interesting to notice
that this expression is not in the French, which reads oit je ne
peusse pas mordre. If, then, Shakespeare borrowed these
passages, as seems probable, he borrowed them, as he did the
passage in the Tempest, not from the original French, but from
the translation of Florio.

The same qualities of mind which Montaigne carried to his
observation of nature, are plain in what he says about human
life. He delights in pointing out its incomprehensibility. He
likes to show the inconsistency of man's thinking and doing,
the untrust worthiness of his perceptions, the lack of logic and
of stability in his institutions. His conclusion from it all, if
such a man may be said to have a conclusion, is the vanity
of man's estimate of himself, and of his own place in creation.
He writes, for example :

1 The italics are mine.

326 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

" Is it possible to imagine anything so ridiculous as this miserable and
wretched creature, which is not so much as master of himselfe, exposed and
subject to offences of all things, and yet dareth call himself Master and
Emperour of this Universe ?" (Florio, II, xir, p. 225.)

The whole essay from which this extract is taken, — the
longest and most nearly systematic essay of them all, — as
well as many passages in other essays, repeats and enforces
this thought. We may remember that the same idea was
expressed, though in a different spirit from the detached
observer's attitude of Montaigne, by Isabella in Measure for
Measure.

" But man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As make the angels weep."

(Measure for Measure, II, 2, 117.)

In the same play, the ghostly counsel which the Duke in
his disguise as friar gives to the condemned Claudio, seems to
collect many of Montaigne's remarks upon the paradoxical
and unsatisfactory nature of human existence. For some of
the charges against life parallels can be pointed out in the
Apologie of Raymond Sebonde, the essay just quoted from ;
and in several cases parallels occur within a few pages of each
other. The Duke, after his introduction,

" Keason thus with life :
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep,"

(Meamrefor Measure, III, 1, 5 ff.)

gives as his first objection to human existence the subjection
of man to the astrological influences of the stars :

"A breath thou art,
Servile to all the skyey influences,
That dost this habitation where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict."

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 327

In the Apologie, on the same page on which occurs the extract
quoted above, we find the same argument advanced to prove a
similar contention :

" To consider the power of domination these bodies have not onely upon
our lives and condition of our fortune .... But also over our dispositions
and inclinations, our discourses and wils, which they rule, provoke, and
move at the pleasure of their influences, as our reason finds and teacheth

us Seeing that not a man alone nor a king only, but monarchies

and empires ; yea, and all the world below is moved at the shaking of one

of the least heavenly motions We, who have no commerce but of

obedience with them ? "

(Florio, II, xu, p. 225 f.)

Both the Duke and Montaigne, however, express a platitude
of mediaeval astrology ; and accordingly the coincidence, if
solitary, would count for little. The Duke's second charge

is this:

" Merely, thou art death's fool ;
For him thou labor'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'st toward him still."

This passage might have been adduced as a sixth parallel
to passages in the nineteenth essay of the first book. For the
thought, though common with Montaigne, is nowhere, per-
haps, expressed more fully or with more reiteration than in
that essay. Several sentences from it have been suggested by
Mr. Robertson,1 among other passages, as affording the sug-
gestion for the Duke's argument. No one extract, however,
could be assigned, even tentatively, as the definite origin, if
we could not find in that essay, closely associated with the
other passages already quoted from it, the following sentences :

" The end of our cariere is death ; it is the necessarie object of our aime :
if it affright us, how is it possible we should step one foot further without

an ague ?" (Florio, I, xix, p. 28) "To what end recoile you from

it, if you cannot goe backe." Ibid., p. 35.

The Duke gives as his next argument :

" Thou art not noble ;

For all the accommodations that thou bearst
Are nurst by baseness."

1 Montaigne and Shakspeare, p. 52.

328 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

This, again, is a thought often expressed by Montaigne. Let
us read an expression of it that occurs in the Apologie of
Raymond Sebonde from which we have twice quoted before :

"... . No eminent or glorious vertue can be without some immoderate
and irregular agitation. May not this be one of the reasons which moved
the Epicureans to discharge God of all care and thought of our affaires :
forsomuch as the very effects of his goodnesse cannot exercise themselves
towards us without disturbing his rest by meanes of the passions which are
as motives and solicitations directing the soule to vertuous actions ? "
(Florio, II, xn, p. 290).

The next two arguments :

" Thou art by no means valiant ;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provokest ; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more, — "

are so trite that we need not consider Montaigne's frequent
repetition of the ideas. The objection following, on the contrary,

''Thou art not thy self;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust, — "

is far from trite ; and it seems even less so when its mean-
ing becomes more clear on comparison with another passage
in the Apologie :

" Is it our senses that lend these diverse conditions unto subjects, when
for all that the subjects have but one ? as we see in the Bread we eat : it is
but Bread, but one using it, it maketh bones, blood, flesh, haire, and nailes
thereof." (Florio, II, xn, p. 308.)

Without stopping to discuss the possible influence on modern
philosophy of this passage, let us read the next charge of the
Duke against human existence :

" Happy thou art not ;

For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
And what thou hast, forget'st."

The same thought had been expressed by Montaigne not many

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 329

pages after the last extract we have read, though in a different

essay :

" Our appetite doth contemne and passe over what he hath in his free
choice and owne possession, to runne after and pursue what he hath not."
(Florio, II, xiv, p. 315.)

The Duke's next argument :

" Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon."

is also found in the Apologie, near the last extract quoted from
it:

" . ... If we should ever continue one and the same, how is it then that
now we rejoyce at one thing, and now at another ? . . . . For it is not likely
that without alteration we should take other passions, and what admitteth
alterations continueth not the same ; and if it be not one selfe same, then
it is not : but rather with being all one, the simple being doth also change,
ever becoming other from other." (Florio, II, xn, p. 310.)

After two considerations which we need not consider because
of their triteness, the Duke adds one which the same objection
would keep us from noticing if it had not a parallel close to
the last three :

" Thou hast nor youth nor age,
But as it were an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both ; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant."

The similar passage in the Apologie reads as follows :

.... " Our reason and soule, receiving the phantasies and opinions,
which sleeping seize on them, and authorizing our dreames actions with
like approbation, as it doth the daies, why make we not a doubt whether
our thinking and our working be another dreaming, and our waking some
kind of sleeping ? " (Florio, II, xn, p. 306.)

Shakespeare's application of the idea to youth and age dream-
ing of each other, of course, leaves Montaigne's thought at a
tangent ; but taking into consideration the grouping of all
3

330 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

these parallels, the likeness is at least suggestive. For the
Duke's last argument :

"Yet in this life

Lie hid moe thousand deaths : yet death we fear,

That makes these odds all even,"

there is within the same few pages a more convincing parallel.
It was pointed out by Mr. Robertson : l

" And then we doe foolishly feare a kind of death, whenas we have already
past and dayly passe to many others ; . . . . The flower of age dieth, fad-
eth and fleeteth, when age comes upon us, and youth endeth in the flower
of a full growne mans age : childhood in youth and the first age dieth in
infancie ; and yesterday endeth in this day, and to day shall die in to mor-
row, And nothing remaineth or ever continueth in one state. (Florio, II,
xii, p. 309.)

Within this one speech, then, we have found eight passages
that have parallels, more or less close, in the Essays. Six of
them are in one essay, the seventh is only a few pages after
it, and the other is found in an essay in which we have
already found five parallels to passages in the plays. More-
over, of the eight extracts from Montaigne, five were within
a space of ten pages, and three within a space of three pages.
Besides the grouping of the passages from either writer, and
the striking likeness of uncommon ideas shown by certain
of the parallels, there is another argument in favor of a real
indebtedness of some kind on the part of Shakespeare, in
regard to which this set of parallels affords us sufficient
data to make its consideration opportune. The differences
exhibited by each pair of parallel passages have certain con-
stant tendencies. That in nearly every case the version of
Shakespeare is shorter, a glance back at the quotations is
sufficient to show ; if incisions had not been made in several
of the passages from the Essays, their greater length would
be even more apparent. That Shakespeare's version is
more easily understood, must have been apparent as the pas-

1 Montaigne and Shakspere, pp. 53 f.

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 331

sages were compared. That in a still more constant and
striking way Shakespeare's manner of expressing the common
ideas is more concrete, figurative, pictorial, will appear if we
read with our eyes open for concrete expressions a few lines of
the Duke's speech :

" A breath thou art, servile to all the skyey influences
That dost this habitation where thou keep'st
Hourly affect. Merely thou art death's fool
For him thou labour' st by thy flight to shun
And yet runn'st towards him still."

Not one of all these concrete and figurative expressions is
found in the Essays. The rest of the speech shows frequent
signs of the same concreteness. These three tendencies,
toward greater brevity, toward greater clearness, and toward
greater concreteness, the passages for which we had previously
found parallels in Montaigne also exhibit in varying degrees.
One instance of the greater brevity, for instance, is this :

" My bones would rest,
That have but laboured to attain this hour ; "

and an illustration of the greater concreteness is found in the
passage where, instead of Montaigne's "difference between
beast and beast/' Shakespeare puts the difference not merely
between dog and dog, but between "hounds and grey hounds,
mongrels, spaniels, curs, Shoughs, water-rugs and demi-
wolves." These same tendencies, though they will not always
be pointed out, may easily be remarked in many of the cases
of resemblance still to be presented. The frequency with
which the tendencies are manifested, and the fact that they
are in the direction of qualities characteristic of all Shakes-
peare's work, make it possible to consider them as elements of
the impress given by the mind of Shakespeare to ideas which
in some sense he appropriated.

Keeping in mind these tendencies of difference, let us return
to the discussion of parallels relating to the insignificance of
man. There is in the Apologie still another passage pointing

332 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

out a human disadvantage, which Shakespeare may be thought
to have borrowed. It reads as follows :

" . . . . Exclaiming that man is the onely forsaken and out-cast creature,
naked on the bare earth, fast bound and swathed, having nothing to cover
and arm himself withall but the spoile of others ; whereas Nature hath
clad and mantled all other creatures, some with shels, some with huskes,
with rindes, with haire, with wooll, with stings, with bristles, with hides,
with mosse, with feathers, with skales, with fleeces, and with silke, accord-
ing as their quality might need or their condition require." (Florio, II,
xn, p. 228.)

With this compare the speech of the mad Lear on seeing
Poor Tom :

" Is man no more than this ? Consider him well. Thou owest the worm
no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha !
Here's three on's are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccomo-
dated man is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art.
Off, off, you lendings ! Come, unbotton here." (King Lear, III, 4, 105 ff.)

Another passage in the pessimistic Apologie has been
suggested by Mr. Feis as the source for a part of the
soliloquy " To be or not to be." For the sake of definite-
ness, the lines referred to, well-known as they are, will be
quoted here :

" To die : to sleep ;

No more ; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep ;

To sleep : perchance to dream : ay, there's the rub ;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause

Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of? "

(Hamlet, III, I, 60 ff.)

This speech was long ago said by John Sterling to resemble

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 333

" much of Montaigne's writing." The passage adduced by
Mr. Feis l as its specific origin, is as follows :

"I know I have neither frequented nor knowne death, nor have I seen
any body that hath either felt or tried her qualities to instruct me in them. Those
who feare her presuppose to know ; as for me, I neither know who or what
she is, nor what they doe in the other world. Death may peradventure be
a thing indifferent, happily a thing desirable. Yet it is to bee believed that
if it be a transmigration from one place to another there is some amendment
in going to live with so many worthy famous persons that are deceased, and
be exempted from having any more to doe with wicked and corrupt judges.
If it be a consummation of one's being, it is also an amendment and entrance
into a long and quiet night. Wee finde nothing so sweete in life as a quiet
rest and gentle sleepe, and without dreames." (Florio, III, xn, p. 540.)

Whether the expressions I have italicized show enough likeness
to certain well known phrases of Hamlet's speech to have
afforded the starting point for the similar or contradictory
ideas there expressed, is made somewhat more doubtful by the
fact that the traveller to the undiscovered country may well
have been suggested by this passage in Marlowe's Edward II:

" Weep not for Mortimer
That scorns the world, and, as a traveller,
Goes to discover countries yet unknown." 2

(Edward II, V, 6.)

In favor of the hypothesis that Shakespeare took his ideas
from the passage in the Essays, there is, first, the agreement
between Hamlet and Florio in three ideas and in one uncom-
mon word ; and, secondly, an associated case of resemblance,
pointed out by Mr. Robertson.3 Only two or three pages
before the passage just quoted Montaigne, speaking, however,
of " tedious and irksome imaginations," writes as follows :

" Yet I sometimes suffer my selfe by starts to be surprised with the
pinchings of these unpleasant conceits, which whilst I arm my selfe to
expell or wrestle against them assaile and beate mee. Loe here another
huddle or tide of mischiefe that upon the neck of the former came rushing
upon mee." (Florio, III, xn, p. 537.)

1 Shakspere and Montaigne, pp. 87 ff.

2 See Robertson, Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 49.

3 Montaigne and Shakspere, pp. 45 ff .

334 ELIZABETH EOBBINS HOOKER.

May not a reminiscence of this passage be responsible for the
mixed metaphor in " take arms against a sea of troubles ? "
The association of the two passages in the plays and of the two
corresponding passages in the Essays, adds greatly, as in so
many other cases, to the convincingness of each. For these
two lines of this soliloquy, moreover,

" And makes us rather bear those ills we know
Than fly to others that we know not of,"

there is in another essay this parallel :

" The oldest and best known evill is ever more tolerable then a fresh and
unexperienced mischiefe." (Florio, III, ix, pp. 489 f.)

Finally, there is further on in Hamlet's speech, as we shall
see later, a passage expressing a thought very common in the
Essays. Before we turn for the moment from this speech, it
is well to notice that since the word " consummation " is
Florio's translation for the dissimilar aneantissement, and
" huddle or tide " his translation for the abstract rengregement,
ShakevSpeare would again be following the English version.

The convincingness of the final parallel dealing with human
life in its more objective and philosophical aspects must, like
that of many of the others, be weighed by the individual judg-
ment. It will be remembered that among the passages from
the Apologie quoted in connection with the Duke's speech in
Measure for Measure, there was one which seriously con-
sidered the possibility that waking life was only another kind
of dream. Let us keep this in mind while we read two more
passages from the same essay :

" For wherefore doe we from that instant take a title of being, which is
but a twinkling in the infinit course of an eternall night, and so short an
interruption of our perpetuall and naturall condition ? Death possessing
what ever is before and behind this moment, and also a good part of this
moment." (Florio, II, xu, p. 267.)

" Every humane nature is ever in the middle betweene being borne and
dying; giving nothing of it selfe but an obscure apparance and shadow,
and an uncertaine and weake opinion." (Florio, II, xn, p. 309.)

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 335

When we take these passages in connection with the one just
referred to, we must be forcibly reminded of the words of

Prospero :

"We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."

(Tempest, IV, 1,158 ff.)

Even more than by the world of nature or by man in his
relations with it, Montaigne's tireless curiosity was attracted
by the mysterious workings of the human mind. That he
might furnish data as to the one mental experience he knew
well, was, according to one of his less fanciful explanations,
the reason why in the Essays he said so much about himself.
Certainly such things as the untrustworthiness of the senses, the
tyranny of custom and habit over opinion, the diversity and
inconsistency of our ideas about right and wrong, the incon-
stancy and mixed nature of our feelings, the relation between
the reason and the will, — those questions which now-a-days
we include in psychology as distinguished from philosophy, —
such puzzling matters Montaigne in his rambling chat dis-
cussed again and again. In all he says upon these problems
there is shown the same unconventionality and indeterminate-
ness by which we have seen manifested, in other fields of
thought, his characteristically sceptical nature. He questions
everything, and that with shrewdness ; but far from deciding
anything, he delights rather in emphasizing inconsistency and
uncertitude.

One or two of these psychological ideas we have already
encountered in our discussion of the Duke's speech in Measure
for Measure. Besides these, there are passages expressing
several similar thoughts for which there is some reason to
consider Shakespeare indebted to Montaigne. Two of these
cases have to do with the distinction between right and wrong.
We often find in reading the Essays such passages as the
following :

" When I religiously confesse my selfe unto my selfe, I finde the best
good I have hath some vicious taint .... Man is all in all but a botch-
ing and party coloured worke." (Florio, II, xx, p. 345.)

336 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

The thought here is that of a passage in AWs Well that
Ends Well:

" The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our
virtues would be proud, if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes
would despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues." (All's Well that
Ends Well, IV, 3, 83 ff.)

That the resemblances here are great enough to prove that
Shakespeare is following this particular passage, we may not
assert. That Montaigne's idea, so frequently expressed in the
Essays, did perhaps give him his suggestion, another coinci-
dence between passages dealing with a similar theme may
help us to conclude. There is, for example, for Mariana's
pleading for Angelo in Measure for Measure,

" They say, best men are moulded out of faults ;
And, for the most, because much more the better
For being a little bad,"—

(Measure for Measure, V, I, 444 ff.)

this most suggestive parallel ; which, by the way, makes
Shakespeare's meaning far more easily understood :

" Now that it be not more glorious, by an undaunted and divine resolu-
tion, to hinder the growth of temptations, and for a man to frame himselfe
to vertue, so that the verie seeds of vice be cleane rooted out ; than by
mayne force to hinder their progresse ; and having suffered himselfe to be
surprised by the first assaults of passions, to arme and bandie himselfe to
stay their course and to suppresse them ; And that this second effect be not
also much fairer than to be simply stored with a facile and gentle nature
and of it selfe distasted and in dislike with licentiousnesse and vice, I am
persuaded there is no doubt. For this third and last manner seemeth in
some sort to make a man innocent, but not vertuous : free from doing ill,
but not sufficiently apt to doe well." (Florio, II, xi, p. 213.)

Another question that Montaigne likes to dabble in is the
importance of the imagination in modifying our experiences.
Mr. Elze,1 only to decide against the hypothesis of indebted-
ness, but followed more confidently by several other investi-
gators, suggested a case of resemblance between passages ex-

1 Essays on Shakespeare, 1872, p. 7.

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 337

pressing such an idea. It is between Hamlet's words to
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern :

"Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for there is no thing either good or bad,
but thinking makes it so," (Hamlet, II, 2, 249 ff.)

and the following passage in the Essays :

" If that which we call evill and torment, be neither torment nor evill,
but that our fancie only gives it that qualitie, it is in us to change it."
(Flario, I, XL, p. 117.)

The same idea Shakespeare has put into the mouth of Troilus :

" What is aught but as 'tis valued ?"

(Troilus and Cressida, II, 2, 52.)

There is in the essay just quoted a passage upon a kindred
subject which Shakespeare seems also to have used. Mon-
taigne has been discussing the pain of death. He then says
of pain in general :

" It may easily be seen, that the point of our spirit is that which sharpen-
eth both paine and pleasure in us. Beasts wanting the same leave their
free and naturall senses unto their bodies : and by consequence single well-
nigh in every kind, as they shew by the semblable application of their
movings." (Florio, I, XL, p. 121.)

These same ideas in a phrasing which, as usual, is shorter and
more concrete, are found is a passage from Measure for Measure,
a play in which we have already found several parallels :

" The sense of death is most in apprehension ;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies."

(Measure for Measure, III, i, 78 ff.)

Another subject of a similar kind, about which Montaigne
often speaks, is the power of habit. He says, for example :

"Both which ["custome and use"] have power to enure and fashion us,
not onely to what forme they please (therefore, say the wise, ought we to
be addressed to the best, and it will immediately seem easie unto us) but
also to change and variation." (Florio, III, xui, p. 556.) l

1 See Montaigne and Shakspere, pp. 24 f, for similar passages suggested
by Mr. Robertson as affording the suggestion for the lines quoted from
Hamlet.

338 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

Now this thought is neither abstruse nor new ; yet, considering
the number of parallels, it is interesting to notice that Mon-
taigne's idea is just the one that Shakespeare has expressed
in the following well-known passage :

" Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat,
Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and good
He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-night,
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence : the next more easy ;
For use can almost change the stamp of nature,
And either .... the devil, or throw him out
With wondrous potency."

(Hamlet, III, 4,160 ff.)

In connection with this parallel concerning habit we may
notice another on a question distantly connected with it, —
namely, fashion. Montaigne has concerning this subject the
following passage :

" . ... Then began he to condemne the former fashion [when a new
one came in] as fond intolerable and deformed ; and to commend the

latter as comely, handsome, and commendable you would say, * it

is some kind of madnesse or selfe-fond humor that giddieth his under-
standing ! ' " (Florio, I, xvix, p. 147. )

This association of giddiness with the changes of fashion
Shakespeare has expressed in the following fantastically literal
way :

" Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief this fashion is ? how gid-
dily a'turns about all the hot bloods between fourteen and five-and-thirty ?
sometimes fashioning them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reechy painting,
sometimes like god Bel's priests in the old Church window." (Much Ado
about Nothing, III, 3, 138 ff.)

We may notice in passing that the word " deformed," common
to the two passages, is, in Florio, the translation of inepte.
Another problem of the same psychological nature which
Montaigne has discussed, is the transitory and paradoxical
nature of emotion. Here are several sentences from his essay,
We taste nothing purely :

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 339

" Our exceeding voluptuousnesse hath some aire of groning and wailing.
Would you not say it dieth of anguish ? . . . . Excessive joy hath more

severity than jolity Travail and pleasure, most unlike in nature,

are notwithstanding followed together by a kind of I wot not what natural

conjunction And the extreamity of laughing entermingles it selfe

with teares." (Florio, II, xx, p. 344).

These sentences express the idea found in the following lines
from Hamlet :

" There lives within the very flame of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it ;
And nothing is at a like goodness still ;
For goodness, growing to a plurisy,
Dies in his own too much : "

(Hamlet, IV, 7, 115 ff.)

A psychological problem which perhaps attracted Montaigne
even more than any of those already considered, partly on
account of his own peculiar temperament, was the relation of
the reason and the will. It is naturally Hamlet whose words
furnish us with most of the coincidences upon this subject,
for in him there was the same conflict as in Montaigne, only
far more intense. This similarity of nature between Hamlet
and Montaigne was apparent to Sterling l years ago ; and, as
we have seen, has been made by Herr Stedefeld and Mr. Feis
the basis of elaborate and conflicting theories. Sometimes
both Montaigne and Hamlet uphold the reason as man's
guide. For example, Montaigne writes :

" Since it has pleased God to endow us with some capacitie of discourse,
that as beasts we should not servily be subjected to common laws, but
rather with judgement and voluntary wisdom ppply ourselves unto them ;
we ought somewhat to yield to the simple auctoritie of Nature, but not
suffer her tyrannically to carry us away : only reason ought to have the
conduct of our inclinations ; " (Florio, II, viu, p. 192.)

and Hamlet has the following lines :

" What is a man,

If his chief good and market of his time
Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more.

1 Westminster Review, vol. 29, p. 321.

340 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

Sure, he that made us with such large discourse,
Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused."

(Hamlet, IV, 4, 33 ff.)

For this passage Mr. Robertson l has suggested the parallel in
the Essays ; but only tentatively, as one among other possible
sources. In his speech in praise of Horatio, Hamlet extols at
length the same ideal of the judgment as man's sovereign
director. Here are his words :

" For thou hast been

As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing,
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and blest are those
Whose blood and judgement are so well commingled,
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please. Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and 1 will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in rny heart of heart,
As I do thee."

(Hamlet, III, 2,70 ff.)

" Passion's slave " is especially suggestive of Montaigne. One
of the numerous passages in which he uses similar expressions
is the following :

" It is not to be the friend (lesse the master) but the slave of ones selfe
to follow uncessantly, and bee so addicted to his inclinations, as he cannot
stray from them, nor wrest them." 2 (Florio, III, in, p. 416.)

Sometimes, on the other hand, Montaigne and Hamlet agree
in going to the other extreme, and praising rashness. Mr.
Henry Morley has pointed out a striking coincidence on this
subject.3 Hamlet, in relating how he exchanged the fatal let-
ters, speaks as follows :

"Rashly,

And praised be rashness for it, let us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well,
When our deep plots do pall : and that should teach us
There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will."

(Hamlet, V, 2, 6 ff.)

1 Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 35.

2 See also II, xvn, p. 338. 3 In preface to Routledge Florio.

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 341

The parallel which Mr. Henry Morley pointed out for this
passage is as follows :

" My consultation doth somewhat roughly hew the matter, and by its first
shew, lightly consider the same : the maine and chiefe point of the worke
I am wont to resigne to heaven." (Florio, III, vin, p. 476.)

It is interesting to note that there is nothing in the French
corresponding to the striking common figure, " rough hew ; "
so that here, again, Shakespeare must have been using Florio's
translation.

A third idea which is expressed by both Montaigne and
Hamlet refers to the way in which too much balancing of
reasons interferes with action. Here are a few of the sen-
tences in which Montaigne has treated the subject :

". . . . For the use of life and service of publike society there may be
excesse in the purity and perspicuity of our spirits. This piercing brightnes
hath overmuch subtil ity and curiositie. . . . Affaires need not be sifted so
nicely'and so profoundly. A man looseth himselfe about the considera-
tions Jof so many contrary lustres and diverse formes. . . . Whosoever
search eth all the circumstances and embraceth all the consequences thereof
hindereth his election." (Florio, II, xx, p. 345.)

Hamlet's similar statements are well known. There is the
passage from the famous soliloquy :

" Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action" ;

(Hamlet, III, i, 83 ff.)

and there is his even more unmistakeable outbreak on seeing
the^army of Fortinbras :

" . . . . Some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event,
A thought which, quartered, hath but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward."

(Hamlet, IV, 4, 40 ff.)

In Troilus and Cressida, by the way, there is another expres-
sion of the same idea :

342 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

" Nay, if we talk of reason,

Let's shut our gates and sleep ; manhood and honour
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat their thoughts
With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect
Make livers pale and lustihood deject."

(Troilus and Cres&ida, II, 2, 46 ff.)

One thought frequently expressed by Montaigne, both be-
cause it does not belong in any of those groups of his ideas
which we have been considering, and because it is, perhaps,
the most elevated of all his opinions, we may well consider as
our final example of thoughts in the Essays that can be paral-
leled in Shakespeare. It is the conviction of the practical
value of truthfulness ; expressed in the Essays, to take one
example, in the following extract :

" Our intelligence being onely conducted by way of the word : whoso
falsifieth the same betraieth publike society. It is the only instrument by
meanes whereof our wils and thoughts are communicated : it is the inter-
pretour of our soules : If that faile us, we hold our selves no more, we
enter-knowe one another no longer. If it deceive us, it breaketh al our
commerce, and dissolveth al bonds of our policie." (Florio, II, xvm, 341.)

In Measure for Measure, from which we have so often quoted
before, we find the same idea :

"There is scarce truth enough alive to make societies secure."

(Measure for Measure, III, 2, 239 ff.)

We have now finished the consideration of the parallels
between Shakespeare and Montaigne. That every one of the
passages quoted from the Essays is the source of the corres-
ponding passage from Shakespeare's plays it would be im-
possible to prove ; but that a majority of them (the list of
probable cases varying with the individual reader) did really,
at least through some reminiscence of their general trend,
have a vital connection with Shakespeare's lines, several cir-
cumstances, some of which we have already briefly considered,
combine to make probable. There is first of all the actual
close correspondence of many of the parallels quoted. There
is the number of parallels, each additional coincidence height-

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 343

ening the probability of indebtedness in an increasing ratio.
There is the grouping of the parallels in the same essay and
in the same play, or more closely, in the same scene or speech,
and in the same few pages ; and the grouping, by their dates
of composition, of the plays containing the greatest number
of parallels with the Essays, within a period of a few years.
And, finally, there is the fact that the differences between the
corresponding passages show tendencies that are both constant
and explicable. To begin with, Shakespeare's manner of ex-
pressing the common ideas constantly differs from that of
Montaigne, as we have already seen, in being briefer, clearer,
and more concrete. Perhaps the best single instance where
all three tendencies are shown is afforded by the famous lines in
which Shakespeare unites the suggestions of two or three vague
passages of the Essays :

" We are such stuff"

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep."

(Tempest, IV, 1,156 ff.)

Now these three qualities, brevity, clearness, and concrete-
ness, are characteristic of Shakespeare's style in general and
therefore to be expected in his expression of ideas suggested
by another. A fourth and even more constant class of differ-
ences consists of those necessitated by the transfer from essay
to drama. For one thing, slight changes are demanded, even
in that passage in the Tempest which is taken almost literally
from Montaigne's Of the Caniballes, by the fact that Shakes-
peare is writing in metre. The new circumstances and the
new context often occasion more noticeable differences. Mon-
taigne indulges in philosophical speculations about what
comes after death ; Hamlet debates whether or not he shall
commit suicide : and so the common ideas must be worded
differently. Again, because Shakespeare's characters are far
from having minds " with Mediterranean tides," as some one
aptly describes Montaigne's, their expression of the ideas of
the Essays is colored both by their habitual feelings and pre-
judices, and by the mood of the moment. In the case just

344 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

spoken of, Montaigne's placid wonder contrasts with Hamlet's

fear of

" what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil."

To Montaigne, again, it is only a pleasant intellectual exercise
to represent man as " a miserable creature naked on the bare
earth ; " with Lear the thought that man is a "poor bare forked
animal " intensifies his raving. To sum up, differences between
the parallel passages which consist of a greater brevity, clear-
ness, and concreteness in Shakespeare's version, combined with
an adaptation to the new context and to the new speaker, form
no objection to the theory of indebtedness on the part of
Shakespeare in the case in question. If, then, we consider the
striking likeness of many of the parallels cited, the number
and the grouping of these passages, and the constant tendencies
observable in those points in which they differ, we are justified
in accepting a large proportion of them as cases in which
Shakespeare is in some sort indebted to Montaigne.

We are accordingly at last ready to consider the important
question as to what was the nature of this indebtedness.
In deciding this question, the fact that Shakespeare has
put into the mouths of his characters thoughts appropriated
from the Essays, cannot be held to be conclusive. The opin-
ions he ascribes to Hamlet, to Troilus, or to Rodrigo, can be
considered his own with no more certainty than can their feel-
ings or their crimes. To this kind of argument it may seem
that the critics long ago applied the reductio ad absurdum.
Yet it is still so frequently used, that perhaps the question
needs discussion here. Some of the appropriated ideas, we
have seen, were not originally Montaigne's, but were ideas he
had himself reproduced from his classic masters ; so that if in
restating them Shakespeare is a disciple, he at least is not the
disciple of Montaigne. Furthermore, we have seen that some
of these ideas are introduced in the plays just where for dra-
matic purposes Shakespeare needed to express the classical
point of view ; so that the supposition that he consciously or

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 345

unconsciously appropriated fit means to his end, seems in such
cases more probable than any theory of discipleship. In
general, moreover, the purely dramatic character of each re-
mark is in many cases brought out by the fact that some other
character, often in the very next speech, takes a different, and
sometimes an opposite, point of view. When Rodrigo has
expressed Montaigne's idea in the speech ending " Then have
we a prescription to die when death is our physician," lago
exclaims, " Drown thyself ! drown cats and blind puppies !"
And as Gonzalo, in the description of the ideal commonwealth
which has been so long known to be borrowed from the Es-
says, speaks the words, " No sovereignty," the sailors break in
with " Yet he would be king on't." Sometimes, too, the ideas
borrowed from Montaigne are put into the mouths of charac-
ters under the influence of madness or of passion. Surely we
would not ascribe to Shakespeare agreement with the speech
of Lear when he is mad, or with that of Marianna when she
is making her desperate petition for Angelo. Another reason
that tells in this same direction, is that these characters do not
themselves always believe their borrowed remarks. Gonzalo
evidently talks of his ideal state simply to distract the king
from worrying about Ferdinand ; he says himself that his
words are " merry fooling." We might question, too, how
much the Duke in Measure for Measure really believed of
his long speech to Claudio on the evils of human existence.
The Duke knew that Claudio's life was not in danger, since
he, as duke, could interfere at any time to save him ; but in
his friar's disguise he must, under the circumstances, give
voice to a few moral observations. These may be sincere, or
they may be entirely perfunctory. If we thus refuse to be-
lieve that certain of the appropriated ideas were adopted by
Shakespeare as his own, we must refuse to accept as his
opinions, on such testimony alone, any of them whatever.

Plainly, then, the fact that Shakespeare's characters express
some of Montaigne's ideas, is no proof that Shakespeare him-
self accepted them ; still less does it imply that with them he
4

346 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

received the contagion of Montaigne's habits of thought. In
order to come to a conclusion about the matter we must
attack the problem in another way. All that has ever
been established about Shakespeare's personal opinions, has
been learned by observing the tendency of his plays as a
whole, and by so making sure what things were true of the
world as it appeared to him. Now, a comprehensive view of
the Tempest, showing as it does that the license of the drunken
sailors and the monstrosity of the savage Caliban had a part
in Shakespeare's conception of the world, is the best proof
that he was not dazzled by Montaigne's picture of an uncivil-
ized society. Studying in this way the whole body of plays,
we come to see that for Shakespeare most of the great ques-
tions of life were, as Professor Dowden says, " stupendous
mysteries." If at first his attitude would seem to resemble
that of Montaigne, a little comparison shows us that this is
not the case. Montaigne's habit is to make a little hypothesis
and then to balance it with another little hypothesis ; Shake-
speare's habit is resolutely and constantly to face the unknown.
Montaigne treated the mysteries of the universe, for all he
may say to the contrary, as matters upon which he could feed
his curiosity and exercise his clever intellect; Shakespeare
regarded them with awe. Montaigne wished only a chance
to be forever guessing and never finding anything out ; Shake-
speare was resigned to a necessary ignorance.

In regard to one question we do feel sure that Shakespeare
had a definite opinion : he believed that right and wrong are
eternally distinguished from each other, and that in a sense
far more fundamental than any chatter about " poetic justice,"
the following of the right is justified. Now Montaigne was
far from believing this. Indeed, it is inconsistent with his
Pyrrhonistic philosophy and with all his sceptical habits of
mind, to hold so definite an opinion on any subject whatever.
That Shakespeare did hold this belief is another reason to
prove that he was no disciple of Montaigne's.

We must accordingly accept the other hypothesis, and con-

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEABE TO MONTAIGNE. 347

sider that Shakespeare used the Essays as a mere store-house
of material. Whether or not he knew how many suggestions
he derived from it, must of course remain uncertain. In
either case, the manifold nature of its subjects, the fresh, in-
teresting, and popular quality of its ideas, and especially the
ever-varying character of its author, all made it well adapted
to the needs of the dramatist ; and whether or not he was
conscious of the fact, he put it to good service. He found
it most suggestive in that part of his life during which he
wrote Hamlet and Measure for Measure; but he continued to
draw upon it for material to the end. What Shakespeare
took, however, he transformed. He found expressions of
opinion that were keen, indeed, and new, but vague, diffuse,
and formless ; he transformed them into poetry.

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

APPENDIX A.

THE VERSION OF MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS USED BY
SHAKESPEARE.

In order to be prepared to decide whether Shakespeare
read Montaigne's Essays in the original French or in the
translation of Florio, let us collect all the parallels where
there is a difference between the two versions of such a nature
that we can be sure Shakespeare followed one rather than
the other. One such case Mr. Henry Morley has pointed out
in the Routledge edition of Florio. He has there1 shown
that "No occupation, all men idle, all"2 in the Tempest
represents Florio's ambiguous translation, i. e., "No occupa-
tion but idle " of the French "Nulles occupations quj oysifoes."
A second instance of such conclusive difference occurs in

1 See Routledge edition of Florio, glossary, under " idle."

2 Tempest, II, 1, 155.

348 ELIZABETH EOBBINS HOOKER.

the new parallel which Mr. Morley points out in the preface
of the same edition. In

" There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Hough-hew them how we will," l

the figure " rough-hew " is derived from the " roughly hew
the matter " of Florio,2 not from the vague " esbauche un peu
la matiere " of the original. Thirdly, " Thoughts beyond the
reaches of our souls " 3 follows Florio's " Which I could not
well conceive, or that was beyond my reach/7 4 rather than
the dissimilar French expression "Quelque aultre conte ouje ne
peusse pas mordre" Fourthly, "take arms against a sea of
troubles"5 resembles Florio's "another huddle or tide of
mischiefe," 6 not Montaigne's " Voicy un aultre rengregement
de mal qui m'arriva a la suitte du reste.'' Fifthly, the
expression, " 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished " 7
has the word " consummation," used, by the way, only three
times by Shakespeare, in common with Florio's "If it be a
consummation of one's being ; " 8 whereas the French word
so translated is aneantissement. Sixthly, the expression " de-
formed thief" 9 in the passage on fashion in Much Ado About
Nothing may have been suggested in part by the final adjective
in Florio's " Then began he to condemne the former fashion as
fond, intolerable, and deformed : " 10 but could not have come
from the corresponding French "II se moque de son aultre
usage, le treuve inepte et insupportable." In all these cases
Shakespeare is clearly following Florio rather than the French.
The only case where Shakespeare's version resembles the French
rather than Florio's translation is in that passage in Julius
Ccesar where Florio's carelessly inserted ' no ' in his translation
of " n'y a-t-il pas plus de mal" as " There is no more incon-
venience," Shakespeare may quite conceivably have simply

1Hamkl, V, 2, 10 f. *Florio, IV, vin, p. 476.

1 Hamlet, I, 4, 56. * Florio, I, xxvi, p. 81.

5 Hamlet, III, 1, 59. 6 Florio, III, xii, p. 537.

7 Hamlet, III, 1, 63 f. 8 Florio, III, xn, p. 540.

9 Much Ado About Nothing, III, 3, 147. 10 Florio, I, XLIX, p. 147

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 349

overlooked. This instance, then, affords no argument on
either side; so that all the actual evidence would lead us
to believe that the version Shakespeare used was the transla-
tion of Florio.

It may be objected, however, that that translation was not
published till 1603; and that, nevertheless, of the passages
having parallels in the Essays a number occur in a mutilated
form in the first Quarto of Hamlet, published in that same
year; others in Julius Ccesar, written not later than 1601;
and still others in Much Ado About Nothing -, probably written
before 1 600. These, it might appear, must have been suggested
by the French version. But the soliloquy in which occur the
"sea of troubles" and the "consummation devoutly to be
wished," both of which, we saw, come from Florio rather than
from the French, is found in a garbled form in the first quarto
of Hamlet • and the passage in which, in partial agreement
with Florio, fashion is called a "deformed thief" is found
in Much Ado About Nothing. We are therefore led to con-
clude that the translation of Florio, like so many other
works of that day, was circulated in manuscript ; and that
Shakespeare read it in that form. We know that some trans-
lation of Montaigne's Essays was so circulated; for Sir
William Cornwallis in his Essayes,1 published in 1600, but
itself previously circulated in manuscript, writes as follows :

"For profitable Recreation, that Noble French Knight, the Lord de
Montaigne is most excellent, whom though I haue not bene so much behold-
ing to the French as to see in his Originall, yet diuers of his peeces I have
seen translated : they that understand both languages say very well done, and
I am able to say (if you will take the word of Ignorance) translated into a
stile, admitting as fewe Idle words as our language will endure : It is well
fitted in this newe garment, and Montaigne speaks now good English : It is
done by a fellowe lesse beholding to nature for his fortune then witte, yet
lesser for his face then fortune; the truth is hee looks more like a good-
fellowe then a wise-man, and yet hee is wise beyond either his fortune or
education." (Essay 12, Of Censuring.) 2

lEssayes by Sir William Corne-waleys, the younger, Knight. Printed by
Edmund Mattes at the signe of the Hand and Plough in Fleet-street, 1600.
2 See Dedication to the Essayes.

350 ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

Two things implied in the extract about this manuscript
translation we need to notice : first, Cornwallis speaks of it
as if it were well advanced and generally esteemed ; it is
probably, then, no other than Florio's, the one actually pub-
lished a few years later. Secondly, Cornwallis gives of its
author such a description as would only be written by a com-
parative stranger. Now Shakespeare and Florio cannot have
been strangers, for they were both friends of Ben Jonson, both
proteges of Lord Pembroke, and both well known men in
London society. If Cornwallis could have access as a
stranger to a translation which was so probably Florio's, it
is less surprising that there exists, in plays written before
1603, evidence that Shakespeare had been reading Montaigne's
Essays in Florio's translation.

APPENDIX B.

TABULATION OF PARALLEL PASSAGES IN MONTAIGNE'S
ESSAYS AND SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS.

The order is that of the conjectural dates given for the
plays in Professor Dowden's Shakespeare Primer. The
references to Shakespeare are to the Globe edition ; those to
Montaigne, to the Routledge edition of Florio's translation.

MONTAIGNE. SHAKESPEARE.

Much Ado About Nothing.

I, XLIX, p. 147, f. Ill, 3, 138 ff.

" . . . . Then began he to con- " Seest thou not, I say, what a
condemne the former fashion [when deformed thief this fashion is ? how
a new one came in] as fond intoler- giddily a' turns about all the hot
able and deformed ; l and to com- bloods between fourteen and five-
mend the latter as comely, hand- and-thirty? sometimes fashioning
some, and commendable " . . . , them like Pharaoh's soldiers in the
you would say, " it is some kind of reechy painting, sometime like god
madnesse or self-fond humor that Bel's priests in the old church
giddieth his understanding." window."

1 French version : "II se moque de son aullre usage, le treuve inepte et insup-
portable."

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 351

MONTAIGNE. SHAKESPEARE.

Much Ado About Nothing.
V, 1, 35 ff.

" For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the tooth-ache

patiently,
However they have writ the style of

gods

And made a push at chance and
sufferance."

II, 12, p. 304.

". . . . The sense of feeling

which by the effect of the griefe or
paine it brings to the body doth BO
often confound and re-enverse all
these goodly Stoicall resolutions, and
enforceth to cry out of the belly-ache
him who hath with all his resolution
established in his mind this doctrine,
that the cholike, as every other sick-
nesse or paine, is a thing indifferent,
wanting power to abate anything of
soveraigne good or chiefe felicity,
wherein the wise man is placed by
his owne vertue."

Julius Ccesar.

I, xix, 33.

" Herein consists the true and sov-
eraigne liberty, that affords us
meanes wherewith to jeast and make
a scorne of force and injustice, and
to deride imprisonment, gives or
fetters."

I, 3, 90 ff.
:Cassius from bondage will deliver

Cassius :
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak

most strong ;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do

defeat :
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten

brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links

of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of

spirit ;
But life, being weary of these worldly

bars,

Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
If I know this, know all the world

besides,

That part of tyranny that I do bear
I can shake off at pleasure."

I, xiv, p.

II, 2, 32 ff.

". . . . Since we are threatened " Cowards die many times before their
by so many kinds of death, there is deaths ;

no more inconvenience to feare them The valiant never taste of death but
all,1 than to endure one : what mat- once.

1 French " n'y a-t-il pas plus de maL'

352

ELIZABETH EOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

Julius

ter when it commeth, since it is
unavoidable ? " l

SHAKESPEARE.

Of all the wonders that I yet have

heard,
It seems to me most strange that

men should fear ;

Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come."
IV, 3, 146 ff.
"Brutus. O Cassius, I am sick of

many griefs.
"Cassius. Of your philosophy you

make no use,

If you give place to acci-
dental evils :

"Brutus. No man bears sorrow bet-
ter. Portia is dead."
IV, 3, 189 ff.
"Brutus. Why, farewell, Portia. We

must die, Messala :
With meditating that she

must die once
I have the patience to en-
dure it now."

I, xvm, 26.

" But for as much as he [Solon]
is a Philosopher, with whom the
favours or disfavours of fortune, and
good or ill lucke have no place, and
are not regarded by him ; and puis-
sances and greatnesses, and accidents
of qualitie, are well-nigh indifferent."

I, xxxvin, p. 110.

"Our death is not sufficient to
make us afraid ; let us also charge
ourselves with that of our wives, of
our children, and of our friends and
people."
Ibid., p. 111.

"It sufficeth me, under fortunes
favour, to prepare my selfe for her
disfavour ; and being at ease, as far
as imagination may attaine unto, so
represent the evill to come unto
my selfe: Even as we enure our
selves to Tilts and Tourneyes, and
counterfeit warre in time of peace."

I, xix, p. 35.

" Why fearest thou thy last day ?
He is no more guiltie, and conferreth
no more to thy death, than any of
the others. It is not the last step
that causeth weariness : it only de-
clares it. All daies march towards
death, only the last comes to it."

1 Compare North's Life of Julius Ccesar: "And when some of his friends
did counsel him to have a guard for the safety of his person, and some
also did offer themselves to serve him, he would never consent to it, but
said: 'It was better to die once than always to be afraid of death.'" —
Shakespeare's Plutarch, London, 1875, p. 92.

V, 5, 41 f.

" My bones would rest,
That have but labour'd to attain this
hour."

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 353

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

AWs Wdl That Ends Well.

I, xxxi, p. 99.

". . . . a rable of men that are ordi-
naire interpreters and controulers of
Gods secret desseignes, presuming
to finde out the causes of every acci-
dent, and to prie into the secrets of
Gods divine will, the incomprehen-
sible motives of his works."

IT, 3, 1 ff.

" They say miracles are past ; and
we have our philosophical persons,
to make modern and familiar, things
supernatural and causeless. Hence
is it that we make trifles of terrors,
ensconcing ourselves into seeming
knowledge, when we should submit
ourselves to an unknown fear."

II, xxxvii, p. 388.

" We need not goe to cull out mira-
cles, and chuse strange difficulties :
nice seemeth, that amongst those
things we ordinarily see there are
such incomprehensible rarities as
they exceed all difficultie of mira-
cles."

II, xx, p. 345.

" When I religiously confesse my
selfe unto my selfe, I finde the best
good I have hath some vicious taint
.... Man is all in all but a
botching and party coloured worke."

IV, 3, 81 ff.

" The web of our life is of a mingled
yarn, good and ill together: our vir-
tues would be proud, if our faults
whipped them not ; and our crimes
would despair, if they were not
cherished by our virtues."

Hamlet.

I, xxvi, p. 81.

" So was I sometimes wont to doe,
and if I heard anybody speake, either
of ghosts walking, of foretelling fu-
ture things, of enchantments, of
witchcrafts, or any other thing re-
ported, which I could not well con-
ceive, or that was beyond my
reach .... Reason hath taught
me, that so resolutely to condemne a
thing for false and impossible, is to
assume unto himselfe the advantage,
to have the bounds and limits of
Gods will, and of the power of our
common mother Nature tied to his

I, 4, 51 ff.

" What may this mean,

That thou, dead corse, again in com-
plete steel

Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the
moon,

Making night hideous ; and we fools
of nature

So horridly to shake our disposition

With thoughts beyond the reaches
of our souls?"

I, 5, 166 f.

"There are more things in heaven
and earth, Horatio,

354

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Hamlet,

Than are dreamt of in your philoso-
phy."

sleeve : And that there is no greater
folly in the world than to reduce
them to the measure of our capaoitie
and bounds of our sufficiencie. If
we term those things monsters or
miracles to which our reason cannot
attaine, how many such doe daily
present themselves unto our sight ? "

I, XL, p. 117.

" If that which we call evill and
torment, be neither torment nor
evill, but that our fancie only gives it
that qualitie,it is in us to change it." x

III, xn, p. 537.

". . . . Yet I sometimes suffer my
selfe by starts to be surprised with,
the pinchings of these unpleasant
conceits, which whilst I arme my
selfe to expell or wrestle against
them assaile and beate mee. Loe
here another huddle or tide of
mischiefe, that on the necke of the
former came rushing upon mee."

Ibid., p. 540.

"I know I have neither frequented
nor knowne death, nor have I seen
any body that hath either felt or
tried her qualities to instruct me in
them. Those who feare her pre--
suppose to know ; as for me, I
neither know who or what she is,
nor what they doe in the other
world. Death may peradventure
be a thing indifferent, happily a

1 Suggested tentatively by Elze : Essays on Shakespeare, 1872, p. 7 ; and
later, positively, by Mr. Feis : Shakspere and Montaigne, p. 81 .

II, 2, 249 ff.

"Hamlet. Denmark's a prison.

Eosencrantz. We think not so, my
lord.

Hamlet. Why, then, 'tis none to
you ; for there is nothing either good
or bad, but thinking makes it so : to
me it is a prison."

III, 1, 56 ff.

" To be or not to be ; that is the ques-
tion

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to
suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of
troubles,

And by opposing end them ?

To die : to sleep :

No more ; and by a sleep to say we
end

The heart-ache and the thousand
natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consum-
mation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 355

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Hamlet.

thing desirable. Yet it is to be
believed that if it bee a transmigra-
tion from one place to another, there
is some amendment in going to live
with so many worthy famous per-
sons that are deceased, and be ex-
empted from having any more to doe
with wicked and corrupt judges. If
it be a consummation of ones being,
it is also an amendment and entrance
into a long and quiet night. Wee
finde nothing so sweete in life as a
quiet rest and gentle sleepe, and
without dreames." l

II, ix, p. 489 f.

". . . . The oldest and best known
evill is ever more tolerable then a
fresh and unexperienced mischiefe."

II, xx, p. 345.

". . . . For the use of life and
service of publike society there may
be excesse in the purity and per-
spicuity of our spirits. This piercing
brightnes hath overmuch subtility

and curiositie Affaires need

not be sifted so nicely and so pro-
foundly. A man looseth himselfe
about the considerations of so many
contrary lustres and diverse formes.
.... Whosoever searcheth all the
circumstances and embraceth all the
consequences thereof hindereth his
election."

To sleep : perchance to dream : ay,

there's the rub ;
For in that sleep of death what

dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mor-
tal coil,

Must give us pause

Who would fardels bear

To grunt and sweat under a weary

life,
But that the dread of something

after death,
The undiscover'd country from

whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the

will
And makes us rather bear those ills

we have
Than fly to others that we know not

of?

Thus conscience does make cowards
of us all ;

And thus the native hue of resolu-
tion

Is sickled o'er with the pale cast of
thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and
moment

With this regard their currents turn
awry,

And lose the name of action."

1 Pointed out by Mr. Feis : Shakspere and Montaigne, p. 87 ff. Compare,
however, the following lines from Marlowe's Edward II \ cited by Mr.
Eobertson, Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 49 :

" Weep not for Mortimer
Who scorns the world, and as a traveller,
Goes to discover countries yet unknown."

Edward II, V, last scene.

356

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Hamlet.

I, xvin, p. 26.

" But forsomuch as he [Solon] is a
Philosopher, with whom the favours
or disfavours of fortune, and good or
ill lucke have no place, and are not
regarded by him ; and puissances
and greatnesses, and accidents of
qualitie, are well-nigh indifferent."

Ill, m, p. 416.

"It is not to be the friend (lesse
the master) but the slave of ones
selfe to follow uncessantly, and bee
so addicted to his inclinations, as
hee cannot stay from them, nor
wrest them." l

III, 2, 70 ff.

". . . . For thou hast been

As one, in suffering all, that suffers

nothing,
A man that fortune's buffets and

rewards
Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and

blest are those
Whose blood and judgment are so

well commingled,

That they are not a pipe for for-
tune's finger
To sound what stop she please.

Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I

will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart

of heart,
As I do thee."

Ill, xm, p. 556.

"Both which ["customeanduse"]
have power to enure and fashion us,
not onely to what forme they please
— (therefore, say the wise, ought we
to be addressed to the best, and it
will immediately seeme easie unto
us) but also to change and variation."

Ill, 4, 160 ff.

"Assume a virtue, if you have it not.

That monster, custom, who all sense

doth eat,

Of habits devil, is angel yet in this,
That to the use of actions fair and

good

He likewise gives a frock or livery,
That aptly is put on. Refrain to-
night,
And that shall lend a kind of

easiness
To the next abstinence ; the next

more easy ;
For use can almost change the stamp

of nature,
And either .... the devil, or throw

him out
With wondrous potency."

1 See also II, xm, p.

THE EELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 357

MONTAIGNE.

Hamlet.

SHAKESPEARE.

II, vm, p. 192.

" Since it hath pleased God to en-
dow us with some capacitie of dis-
course, that as beasts we should
not servily be subjected to common
lawes, but rather with judgement
and voluntary liberty apply our-
selves unto them ; we ought some-
what to yeeld unto the simple auc-
toritie of Nature, but not suffer her
tyranically to carry us away : only
reason ought to have the conduct of
our inclinations." 1

II, xx, p. 345.

". . . . For the use of life and
service of publike society there may
be excesse in the purity and per-
spicuity of our spirits. This piercing
brightnes hath overmuch subtility

and curiositie Affaires need

not be sifted so nicely and pro-
foundly. A man looseth himselfe
about the considerations of so many
contrary lustres and diverse forms.
.... Whosoever searcheth all the
circumstances and embraceth all the
consequences thereof hindereth his
election."

II, xx, p. 344.

"Our exceeding voluptuousnesse
hath some aire of groning and wail-
ing. Would you not say it dieth of
anguish ? . . . . Excessive joy hath

more severity then jolity

Travail and pleasure, most unlike
in nature, are notwithstanding fol-
lowed together by a kind of I wot

not what natural conjunction

And the extreamity of laughing
entermingles it selfe with teares."

IV, 3,33 ff.

" What is a man,
If his chief good and market of his

time
Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast,

no more.
Sure, he that made us with such

large discourse,

Looking before and after, gave us not
That capability and god-like reason
To fust in us unused."

"Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven

scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the

event,
A thought which, quartered, hath

but one part wisdom
And ever three parts coward, I do

not know
Why yet I live to say ' This thing's

to do;'
Sith I have cause and will and

strength and means
To do't."

IV, 7, 115 ff.

" There lives within the very flame

of love
A kind of wick or snuff that will

abate it ;
And nothing is at a like goodness

still ;

For goodness, growing to a plurisy
Dies in his own too much : that we

would do,
We should do when we would ; for

this ' would ' changes."

1 Quoted as one of three possible sources by Mr. Robertson : Montaigne and
Shakspere, p. 35.

358

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Hamlet.

Ill, vm, p. 476.

" My consultation doth somewhat
roughly hew the matter, and by its
first shew, lightly consider the same :
the maine and chiefs point of the
work I am wont to resigne to
heaven » *

I, xix, p. 34.

" Moreover, no man dies before his
houre. The time you leave behinde
was no more yours than that which
was before your birth, and concern-
eth you no more Whereso-
ever your life ended, there is it all.
.... It consists not in number
of yeeres, but in your will, that you
have lived long enough." 2

V,2,4ff.

"Hamlet. Sir, in my heart there was

a kind of fighting,
That would not let me sleep :

methought I lay

Worse than the mutines in the bil-
boes. Kashly,
And praised be rashness for it, let

us know,
Our indiscretion sometimes serves

us well,
When our deep plots do pall ; and

that should teach us
There's a divinity that shapes our

ends,
Kough-hew them how we will."

V, 2, 230 if.

"Not a whit, we defy augury:
there's a special providence in the
fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not
to come ; if it be not to come, it will be
now; if it be not now, yet it will
come : the readiness is all : since no
man has aught of what he leaves,
what is't to leave betimes ?"

Measure for Measure.

II, xn, p. 225.

" Is it possible to imagine anything
so ridiculous as this miserable and
wretched creature, which is not so
much as master of himselfe, exposed
and subject to offences of all things,
and yet dareth call himselfe Master
and Emperour of this Universe ? "

II, 2, 117 ff.

" But man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most

His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before

high heaven
As make the angels weep."

Pointed out by Mr. Henry Morley, 1885. See preface to Koutledge
Florio, p. viii.

* Pointed out by Mr. Feis : Shakspere and Montaigne, p. 11.

THE RELATION OP SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 359

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Measure for Measure.

Ill, i, 5 ff.

" Reason thus with life :
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep : a

breath thou art,

Servile to all the skyey influences,
That dost this habitation,where thou

keep'st,
Hourly afflict :

id., p. 225.

"To consider the power of domi-
nation these bodies have not onely
upon our lives and condition of our

fortune But also over our

dispositions and inclinations, our
discourses and wils, which they rule,
provoke, and move at the pleasure
of their influences, as our reason
finds and teacheth us See-
ing that not a man alone, nor a
king, only, but monarchies and
empires; yea, and all the world
below is moved at the shaking of
one of the least heavenly motions.
.... We, who have no commerce
but of obedience with them ? " x

I, xix, p. 28.

" The end of our cariere is death,
it is the necessarie object of our
aime : if it affright us, how is it
possible we should step one foot
further without an ague ? " 2

p. 35. " To what end recoile you
from it, if you cannot goe backe."

Ibid., p. 290.

" . . . . No eminent or glorious
vertue can be without some im-
moderate and irregular agitation.
May not this be one of the reasons
which moved the Epicureans to dis-
charge God of all care and thought
of our affaires : forsomuch as the
very effects of his goodnesse cannot
exercise themselves towards us with-
out disturbing his rest by meanes
of the passions which are as motives
and solicitations directing the soule
to vertuous actions ? "

1 Pointed out by Mr. Robertson : Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 26.

2 Pointed out by Mr. Robertson : Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 53.

merely, thou art death's

fool;
For him thou labor'st by thy flight

to shun
And yet runn'st toward him still.

Thou art not noble ;
For all the accommodations that

thou bear'st
Are nurst by baseness

360

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Measure for Measure.
Ibid., p. 308.

"Is it our senses that lend these Thou art not thyself;

diverse conditions into subjects,
when for all that the subjects have
but one ? as we see in the Bread we
eat : it is but Bread, but one using
it, it maketh bones, blood, flesh,
haire, and nailes thereof."

II, xiv, p. 315.

" Our appetite doth contemne and
passe over what he hath in his free
choice and owne possession, to runne
after and pursue what he hath not."

II, xii, p. 210.

". . . . If we should ever con-
tinue one and the same, how is it
then that now we rejoyce at one
thing, and now at another ? . . . .
For it is not likely that without
alteration we should take other pas-
sions, and what admit teth altera-
tions, continueth not the same ; and
if it be not one selfe same then it is
not, but rather with being all one,
the simple being doth also change,
ever becoming other from other."

Ibid., p. 306.

" Those which have compared our
life unto a dreame, have happily
had more reason so to doe then they
were aware. When we dreame, our
soule liveth, worketh, and exerciseth
all her faculties, even and as much
as when it waketh .... Our waking
is never so vigilant as it may clearely
purge and dissipate the ravings
or idle phantasies which are the
dreames of the waking, and worse
then dreames. Our reason and
soule, receiving the phantasies and

For thou exist'st on many a thou-
sand grains
That issue out of dust.

Happy thou art not ;
For what thou hast not, still thou

strivest to get,
And what thou hast, forget' st.

Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange

After the moon.

.... Thou hast nor youth nor age,
But, as it were, an after dinner's

sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy

blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the

alms
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art

old and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection,

limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's

yet in this

THE RELATION OP SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 361

MONTAIGNE. SHAKESPEARE.

Measure for Measure.

opinions, which sleeping seize on
them, and authorizing our dreames
actions, with like approbation, as it
doth the daies, why make we not a
doubt whether our thinking and our
working be another dreaming, and
our waking some kind of sleeping ? "

Ibid., p. 309.

" And then we doe foolishly feare
a kind of death, whenas we have
already past and dayly passe to
many others ; . . . . The flower of
age dieth, fadeth and fleeteth, when
age comes upon us, and youth end-
eth in the flower of a full growne
mans age : child-hood in youth and
the first age dieth in infancie : and
yesterday endeth in this day, and
to day shall die in to morrow, And
nothing remaineth or ever continu-
eth in one state." l

I, xi, p. 120 f.

". . . Well, suppose that in death
we especially regard the pain. . . .
It may easily be seen, that the
point of our spirit is that which
sharpeneth both paine and pleasure
in us. Beasts wanting the same
leave their free and naturall senses
unto their bodies: and by conse-
quence single well-nigh in every
kind, as they shew by the semblable
application of their movings."

II, xviii, p. 341.

"Our intelligence being onely con-
ducted by way of the word : whoso
falsifieth the same betraieth publike
society. It is the only instrument

That bears the name of life ?

Yet in this life
Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet

death we fear,
That makes these odds all even."

Ill, 1, 77 ff.

" Barest thou die?

The sense of death is most in appre-
hension ;

And the poor beetle, that we tread
upon,

In corporal sufferance finds a pang
as great

As when a giant dies."

Ill, 2, 239 ff.

"There is scarce truth enough
alive to make societies secure."

1 Pointed out by Mr. Eobertson : Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 53.
5

362

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

Measure for Measure.

by meanes whereof our wils and
thoughts are communicated : it is
the interpretour of our soules : If
that faile us, we hold our selves no
more, we enter-know one another
no longer. If it deceive us, it
breaketh al our commerce, and dis-
solveth al bonds of our policie."

SHAKESPEARE.

II, xi, p. 213.

" Now that it be not more glorious,
by an undaunted and divine resolu-
tion, to hinder the growth of templa-
tions, and for a man to frame him-
selfe to vertue, so that the verie
seeds of vice be cleane rooted out ;
than by mayne force to hinder their
progresse ; and having suffred him-
selfe to be surprised by the first
assaults of passions, to arme and
bandie himselfe to stay their course
and to suppresse them ; And that this
second effect be not also much fairer
than to be simply stored with a facile
and gentle nature, and of it selfe
distasted and in dislike with licen-
tiousnesse and vice, I am perswaded
there is no doubt. For this third
and last manner seemeth in some
sort to make a man innocent, but
not vertuous; free from doing ill,
but not sufficiently apt to doe well."

V, 1, 444 ff.

"They say, best men are moulded

out of faults;
And, for the most, become much

more the better
For being a little bad."

Troilus and Cressida.

II, xx, p. 345.

". . . . For the use of life and
service of publike society there may
be excesse in the purity and per-
spicuity of our spirits. This piercing
brightnes hath over much subtility

and curiositie Affaires need

not be sifted so nicely and so pro-

II, 2, 46 ff.

" Nay, if we talk of reason,

Let's shut our gates and sleep : man-
hood and honour

Should have hare-hearts, would they
but fat their thoughts

With this cramm'd reason : reason
and respect

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEAEE TO MONTAIGNE. 363

MONTAIGNE. SHAKESPEARE.

Troilus and Gressida.

foundly. A man looseth himselfe Make livers pale and lustihood de-
about the consideration of so many ject."
contrary lustres and diverse formes.
.... Whosoever searcheth all the
circumstances and embraceth all the
consequences thereof hindereth his
election."

I, XL, p. 117.

" If that which we call evill and
torment, be neither torment nor
evill, but that our fancie only gives
it that qualitie, it is in us to change
it."

p. 119. "All doth not consist in
imagination."

II, 2, 52.
"Troilus.

Hector.

Othdlo.

What is aught, but as 'tis

valued ?
But value dwells not in

particular will;
It holds his estimate and

dignity

As well wherein 'tis pre-
cious of itself
As in the prizer : 'tis mad

idolatry
To make theservicegreater

than the god ;
And the will dotes that is

attributive
To what infectiously itself

affects,
Without some image of the

affected merit."

II, 3, p. 174.

"The common course of curing any
infirmitie is ever directed at the
charge of life: we have incisions
made into us, we are cauterized, we
have limbes cut and mangled, we are
let bloud, we are dieted. Goe we
but one step further, we need no
more physicke, we are perfectly
whole. Why is not our jugular or
throat-veine as much at our com-
mand as the mediane ? To extreme
sicknesses, extreme remedies. . . .
God giveth us sufficient privilege,
when he placeth us in such an
estate, as life is worse than death
unto us."

I, 3, 309 ff.

"Rodrigo. It is silliness to live
when to live is torment ; and then
have we a prescription to die when
death is our physician.

lago. Drown thyself! drown cats
and blind puppies ! "

364

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKEK.

MONTAIGNE.

King Lear.

II, xn, p. 228.

". . . . Exclaiming that man is
the onely forsaken and out-cast crea-
ture, naked on the bare earth, fast
bound and swathed, having nothing
to cover and arme himself withall
but the spoile of others; whereas
Nature hath clad and mantled all
other creatures, some with shels,
some with huskes, with rindes, with
haire, with wooll, with stings, with
bristles, with hides, with mosse,
with feathers, with skales, with
fleeces, and with silke, according
as their quality might need or their
condition require."

p. 229. "Such complaints are
false."

Ill, 4, 107 ff.

" Is man no more than this ? Con-
sider him well. Thou owest the
worm no silk, the beast no hide,
the sheep no wool, the cat no per-
fume. Ha ! here's three on's are
sophisticated ! Thou art the thing
itself: unaccommodated man is no
more but such a poor, bare, forked
animal as thou art. Off, off, you
lendings ! come, unbutton here."

I, xix, p. 33.

" But nature compels us to it. De-
part (saith she) out of this world,
even as you came into it. The same
way you came from death to life,
returne without passion or amaze-
ment, from life to death "

p. 34. " It consisteth not in num-
ber of yeares, but in your will, that
you have lived long enough."

I, xxxi, p. 99.

". . . . A rable of men that are
ordinarie interpreters and con-
troulers of Gods secret designs, pre-
suming to find out the causes of
every accident, and to prie into the
secrets of Gods divine will, the
incomprehensible motives of his
works."1

V,2,9ff.

" Men must endure
Their going hence, even as their

coming hither :
Ripeness is all."

V, 3, 16 f.

"And take upon 's the mystery of

things,
As if we were God's spies."

Pointed out by Mr. Robertson : Montaigne and Shakspere, p. 66,

THE RELATION OF SHAKESPEARE TO MONTAIGNE. 365

MONTAIGNE.

SHAKESPEARE.

Macbeth.

I, XLII, p. 128.

"Plutarke1 saith in some place
that he findes no such great differ-
ence betweene beast and beast, as he
findeth diversitie between man and

III, 1,92 ff.

"Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ;
As hounds and greyhounds, mon-
grels, spaniels, curs,
Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-

wolves are clept
All by the name of dogs : the valued

file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow,

the subtle,
The housekeeper, the hunter, every

one
According to the gift which beoun-

teous nature
Hath in him closed, whereby he

does receive

Particular addition, from the bill
That writes them all alike : and so

II, in, p. 174. V, 4, 6 ff.

'The common course of curing any " Secured

infirmitie is ever directed at the
charge of life : .... Goe we but
one step further, we need no more
physicke, we are perfectly whole.
.... To extreme sicknesses, ex-
treme remedies. . . . Godgivethus
sufficient privilege, when he placeth
in such an estate, as life is worse
than death unto us."

I, xix, p. 33.

" Herein [in freedom from fear of
death] consists the true and sover-
aigne liberty, that affords us meanes
wherewith to jeast and make a
scorne of force and injustice, and
to deride imprisonment, gives, or
fetters."

By the sure physician, death, who

is the key
To unbar these locks."

1 In That Beasts have the use of Reason. This was not, of course, included
in the North's Plutarch's Lives which Shakespeare knew.

366

ELIZABETH BOBBINS HOOKER.

MONTAIGNE.

The

I, xxx, p. 94.

"It is a nation, would I answer
Plato, that hath no kinde of traffike,
no knowledge of Letters, no intelli-
gence of numbers, no name of magis-
trate, nor of politike superioritie ; no
use of service, of riches or of pover-
tie ; no contracts, no successions, no
partitions, no occupation but idle;
no respect of kindred, but common,
no apparell but naturall, no manur-
ing of lands, no use of wine, corne,
or mettle." l

SHAKESPEARE.
Tempest.

II, 1, 147 ff.

"!' the commonwealth I would by
contraries

Execute all things ; for no kind of
traffic

Would I admit ; no name of magis-
trate ;

Letters should not be known ; riches,
poverty,

And use of service, none ; contract,
succession,

Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vine-
yard none ;

No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil ;

No occupation : all men idle, all ;

And women too, but innocent and
pure;

No sovereignty ; —

I would with such perfection govern,

sir,
To excel the golden age."

IV, 1, 156 ff.

" We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our

little life
Is rounded with a sleep."

Shortly before this passage comes
this:

". . . . Me seemeth that what in
those nations we see by experience,
doth exceed all the pictures where-
with licentious Poesie hath proudly
imbellished the golden age."

II, XH, p. 267.

" For wherefore doe we from that
instant take a title of being, which
is but a twinkling in the infinit
course of an eternall night, and so
short an interruption of our per-
petuall and natural condition?
Death possessing whatever is before
and behind this moment, and also a
good part of this moment."

p. 309. ". . . . Every humane
nature is ever in the middle be-
tweene being borne and dying ;
giving nothing of it selfe but an
obscure apparance and shadow, and
an uncertaine and weake opinion."

1 Pointed out by Capell: Notes and Various Readings, 1671, Pt. m, vol.
n, p. 63.

XII.— NOTES ON THE RUTHWELL CROSS.

It has commonly been supposed l that the first mention of
the Ruthwell Cross was in these words of Hickes, on p. 5 of
his edition of Jonas7 Icelandic Grammar, published in 1703
as Part III of Hickes7 Thesaurus : l Denique infra posui in
quatuor tabellis .... seri insculptum nobilissimum monu-
mentum Runicum, quod a se Ruthwelli, vulgo Revelli apud
Scotos, descriptum ad me misit in Septentrionali literatura,
prsesertim in Runica, singulariter eruditus, Reverendus Wil-
helmus Nicolsonus, Archidiaconus Carleolensis.' This must
have been written before June 14, 1702, since on that day
Nicolson was consecrated Bishop of Carlisle. No one seems
hitherto to have inquired when Nicolson himself discovered
the monument, nor what he thought of it. In the following
pages I shall present Nicolson's own statement concerning his
discovery, his references to the Cross at various subsequent
times, and finally his detailed account of a collation of his
transcript with the inscription on the Cross, made two years
after Hickes had published the earlier transcript. This
information is contained in the first volume of Nicolson's
Letters on Various Subjects, edited by John Nichols, London,
1809, and in his unpublished2 diary for the year 1705.

As early as February 8, 1691-2, Nicolson, in writing to
the antiquary Thoresby, refers to his forthcoming Essay on
the Kingdom of Northumberland, and adds : ' But, to give it
its last finishing stroke, it will be necessary that I visit a great
many of the remains of our Saxon ancestors in several parts
of this province.7 By at least this date, therefore, Nicolson
was interested in the inspection of antiquities ; but, indeed, we

1 Cf. Wulker, Orundriss zur Gesch. der Ags. Lit., p. 134.

2 Since writing the above, Part II of Bishop Nicolson's Diaries has been
published by Bishop Ware, in Vol. 2, New Series, of the Transactions
mentioned on page 374.

367

368 ALBERT S. COOK.

know that his interest was of earlier growth, since in Novem-
ber, 1685, he writes about the Runic inscriptions on the Bew-
castle Cross and the Bridekirk Font (Phil. Trans. 15. 1287-95 ;
Camden's Britannia, Gibson's 2d ed., 2. 1007-10, 1029-31).
Writing in 1693 to Edmund Gibson (1669-1748), the editor
to whom he had relinquished the Saxon Chronicle, he says
(September 9) : ' I have given you my thoughts of your coins ;
which (especially on that with the Runic characters) I hope
will be grateful .... [I] have sent you rude draughts
of some Roman and Runic monuments, which will be new to
you. I have ventured to write my reading of the several
inscriptions, in your father's book on the opposite (or the
same) page with every monument. Only that in your own
custody I cannot yet thoroughly explain ; but, as soon as I
am able, will give you some account of it.' These extracts
will suffice to show Nicolson's devotion to Runic and monu-
mental studies as one phase of his antiquarian activity, and
may serve as a preface to those which are to follow.

From the passages now to be presented we learn that Nicol-
son first saw the Ruthwell Cross between April 11 and 16,
1697 (since, writing April 22, which, as I calculate, was a
Friday, he says it was ' last week ') ; that he found the
inscriptions ' very fair and legible ' ; that he thought them
later than the tenth century ; that he considered the monu-
ment ' ravishing ' ; that, on his first visit, he heard the legend
of its transportation from the seashore ; that the Runes were
' the most fresh and fair ' that ever he saw, and the Cross the
largest, and most complete of the kind ; that he sent his copy
of the inscription to Hickes before September 11, 1697; that
before February 29, 1699-1700, he had sent copies to Char-
lett, Thwaites, Peringskiold, Winding, and ' most of my [his]
learned friends ' ; and that he hoped for elucidations of the
difficulties of the inscription from his Scandinavian corres-
pondents. He intimates (April 22, 1697) that he would have
liked to submit the inscription to his friend Worm, probably
Christian Worm (nephew of the famous Runic antiquary Ole

NOTES ON THE RUTH WELL CROSS. 369

Worm), who wrote one of the Testiinonia prefixed to Hickes'
Thesaurus on November 15, 1696, and who must have left
Oxford soon after, since Nicolson, writing on January 30,
1696-7 to Mr. Tanner, says : ' I am sorry to hear that Mr.
Worms [sic] is stepped off without finishing his book.'

So much for the correspondence. From his diary we learn
that he collated his Latin and Runic transcripts on Wednes-
day, July 5, 1 704 ; that he was accompanied by three gentle-
men, one of them probably a future archdeacon and bishop
of Carlisle; that the characters uung had been omitted in
Hickes' plate; that the lower part of the Cross, 12 feet 6
inches in length, lay in ' Murray's ' choir ; that fragments of
the Cross had been found in the churchyard, probably against
the wall of the church ( ' under Through-stones ') ; that the
legend concerning its removal was not identical with that in
Duncan's time (1833), or rather in Sinclair's (1791-9); that
there was another legend of the growth of the Cross after the
church had been built ; — besides the information to be directly
gathered from the corrected transcripts.

The epistolary passages which follow have, as already said,
been extracted from the first volume of Nicolson's correspond-
ence. The excerpt from the diary, on the other hand, which
has hitherto remained unpublished, I owe to the courtesy
of Rev. Henry Ware, D. D., Bishop of Barrow-in-Furness,
through the obliging mediation of the Dean of Carlisle, the
Very Rev. W. G. Henderson.

LETTERS.
To Edward Lhtoyd, April 22, 1697.

In one of the papers you sent me (that of Bridferth of Ramsey's book)
there is a specimen of an old Latin MS. of the Gospels ; whereof I must
desire a further account. Are those Gospels under the same cover with
Bridferth's Computus ? and do you believe the character to be as antient
as that writer's time ? the reason why I impatiently desire an answer to
these queries is this : I took a progress (last week) into Scotland, to view
a famous cross in a church near Dumfries. I was surprized with the
inscriptions, very fair and legible on all its four sides. They were Latin

370 ALBERT S. COOK.

and Eunic intermixed. The former are exactly in the same character wiiL
these Gospels : which (I confess) I judged to be later then the tenth cen-
tury ; and, therefore, surmised that here was an evident proof of the Runic
alphabets [sic] being continued in this Isle after the most of its Danish
inhabitants were gone. I should be better pleased to discover that this
noble monument (for such indeed it is) bears an elder date then I was
aware of. If you have any Danish gentleman in the University (now that
my friend Worm has left it) who are skilled in their antient language, I
should be ready and glad to communicate the whole to them, and my
thoughts upon it. It is the largest, and most complete of the kind, that I
ever met with ; and outdoes both ours in Cumberland.

Nicolson's Letters, ed. Nichols, 1809, 1. 62.

To Lhwyd, May 24, 1697.

I very well remember my answering of the last letter 1 had from you
before your leaving Oxford. When I received it, I was newly returned
from Scotland; where I met with a most ravishing Eunic monument,
whereof I gave you some account. I shall again do that more at large ;
sending you the inscription, which most affected me. It is on a square
stone-cross in Eevel church (or St. Euel's) within eight miles of Dumfries.
They have a long traditional legend about its being brought thither from
the sea-shore, not far distant. On the other two sides of the square there
are draughts of Christ and Mary Magdalen ; St. Paul and St. Anthony in
the Wilderness, &c. ; and a Latin circumscription, in the same charater
with that of the Gospels in Bridi'erth of Eamsey's book, whereof you sent
me a specimen. The old Danish letters are the most fresh and fair that
ever I saw. If, in your travels, you meet with any CEdipus that can per-
fectly unriddle them, it is more than I am yet able to do; though I hope
shortly to give some tolerable account of them.

Nicolson's Letters 1. 63.

To Dr. Hickes, Sept. 11, 1697.

I am glad to hear that we may shortly expect a new edition of your
Northern Grammars. I had lately a hint given me of it from Oxford, and
that Mr. Wanley had made some discoveries of the analogy between the
Greek and Gothic alphabets, which you would think worth communicating.
I hope he will do the Eunic that justice as to make it elder than either of
them. I have not had leisure to consider (not so much as to look upon)
the Scotch Inscription, since the day I sent it you.

Nicolson's Letters 1. 79-80.

NOTES ON THE RUTH WELL CROSS. 371

To Dr. Hickes, Feb. 29, 1699-1700.

The draught of the Scotch Monument which I sent to Dr. Charlett was
never intended to be published, either in the " Transactions " or any where
else, being drawn with far less exactness than another which Mr. Thwaites
had from me, and which was indeed designed for your Grammar, if you
thought it might deserve a place there, without the garniture of Notes, &c.
I could not foresee that I should have leisure to write any thing of that kind
before your book came abroad, that was fit to appear there ; and therefore
I afterwards allowed the Doctor to dispose of the paper he had from me in
what manner he pleased. I was desirous that the Inscriptions, some way
or other, might be preserved ; and, to that purpose, I dispersed copies of
them into the hands of most of my learned friends. If I shall live to finish
my Northumberland, this monument will chiefly belong to that work ; and
I would hope that, with the assistance of those that are better versed in
these Antiquities than myself, I might there publish as full an explanation
of the whole as would satisfy a curious reader. To this end I have sent my
conjectures on the Kunic part to Mr. Peringskiold (publisher of the Heims
Kringla) at Stockholm, and to Mr. Winding at Copenhagen ; and I shortly
expect returns from both of them. Till, with these helps, I can make
myself an absolute master of the whole legend, I could wish that a cut of
it were given ; with some such hint, as you mention, of the hopes we are
in of having it more perfectly accounted for hereafter. I confess, I had
rather (were the request modest) have this done in your book than in the
" Transactions ; " but I shall not be offended, I assure you, which way
soever you and Dr. Sloane agree to dispose of it.

Nicolson's Letters 1. 158-9.

DlARY.1

1704.

July 5th. Wednesday. At Three in ye morning (accompany'd with Mr
Fleming,2 Mr Christopher son, and Mr Benson) I set out for Revel3 in Annan-
dale. We cross'd ye Frith at Sourness * betwixt six & seven ; and got to

1 Cf. Bishop Nicolson's Diaries, Part II, pp. 195-7 ; I follow the written
transcript kindly sent me by Bishop Ware, which differs in a few typo-
graphical particulars from the above. The print has also: unwieldly (for
unyieldly) ; these words (for the words) ; Scarr (for Scarn).

2 This may have been George Fleming (1667-1747), domestic chaplain
(1699) to Dr. Thomas Smith, bishop of Carlisle; prebend of Carlisle
(1700) ; archdeacon of Carlisle (1705) ; dean of Carlisle (1727) ; bishop of
Carlisle (1734-1747) ; second baronet of Kydal (1736). Bishop Nicolson
made him vicar of St. Michael's, Stanwix, in 1703, and archdeacon in 1705.

3 Revel and St. Euel's are alternative names for Kuthwell.

4 This Bowness is 2£ miles south of Annan, and 12 miles northwest of
Carlisle.

372 ALBERT S. COOK.

Revel (about 20 miles from Rose] l at nine. I went directly to the Church
whither the parish clerk quickly brought me ye Key ; and having my former
Draughts of both ye Latine and Kunic Inscriptions, I compared my Tran-
scripts (once more) with the Original. I found there was one whole
word (H H X) omitted in ye fourth Legend; which might probably have

entangled ye Interpretation of the whole. The Characters (especially the
Runic) are much larger on ye stone itself than can be here expressed:
But these are the Faces of ye four sides so far yir Legends goe. [The
inscriptions follow.]

Besides these, there are some little Fragments of ym on ye heavy pedes-
tal of this Cross ; which lyes in Murray's Quire, the antient Burial place of
ye Murray's Earls of Annan 2 now extinct. This was so clumsy and unyieldly
that we could not (wthout Crows or Levers) remove it: But, on y* side
which lay to view, were the words

ET INQRESSVS ANGELVS

which seem to be part of ye History of ye Annunciation, Luc. 1. 28. This
pedestal is about two yards and a half long : and that part (which has been
broken fro this) whereon are ye foresaid Inscriptions is about 5 foot in
length.3 Some lesser pieces, which seem to have been in ye middle,4 we
found thrown under Thro ugh -stones in ye Church -yard. The common
Tradition of ye Original of this stone is this:

It was found, lettered and entire, in a Stone-Quarry on this Shore (a good
way within ye sea-mark ) call'd Rough Scant. Here it had laid long admired,
when (in a Dream) a neighbouring Labourer was directed to yoke four
Heifers 5 of a certain Widow y* lived near him ; and, where they stop'd

1 Rose Castle, the seat of the bishops of Carlisle, 7 miles southwest of
Carlisle, on the river Caldew.

2 The first Earl of Annandale was John Murray, created March 13, 1624,
keeper of the privy purse to James I, and groom of the bedchamber to
Charles I. He died in 1640, and was not buried at Ruthwell, but at Hod-
dam. His son, the second Earl, died in 1658 without issue. Duncan says
(Arch. Scot. 4. 317) of the Ruthwell Cross: 'It was preserved from demoli-
tion [i. e. after the Reformation] to the middle of the 17th century, prob-
ably by the influence of the Murrays of Cockpool [Sir Charles Murray of
Cockpool was the father of the first Earl of Annandale], the ancestors of
the Earl of Mansfield [this seems to be an error], who were the chief pro-
prietors as well as the patrons of the parish, and who had espoused the
cause of the Episcopal party, in opposition to that of the Presbyterians.'

3 These figures are confirmed by Duncan (Arch. Scot. 4. 320).

4 These pieces must have belonged to the upper part of the cross ; there
is no room for them between the two portions mentioned (see Duncan's
Plate xm).

5 Duncan in general confirms this (Arch. Scot. 4. 317) : 'In Sir John Sin-
clair's Statistical Account of the parish of Ruthwell, a report is mentioned

NOTES ON THE RUTHWELL, CROSS. 373

with yir Burthen, there to slack his Team, erect y« Cross and build a
Church over it: All which was done accordingly. I wondered to see
a company of modern presbyterians (as ye present parishioners profess
ymselves to be) so steady in this Faith : and even to believe, yet farther,
y* the Cross was not altogether so long (at its first erection) as it was after-
wards But that it miraculously grew, like a Tree, till it touched the Roof
of the Church.1

In our Return at Annan we were told of another Letter' d Stone (in y*
Town) which forsooth no body could read. When viewed, this prov'd only
ye arms of y9 kingdome with its mottoe in an old Gothic Letter In Defence.

As we pass'd the Sands we had time enough (before 'twas good Tide) to
see ye mode of Fishing here for Salmon. The men of the English and Scotch
sides stand intermix' d, all cross ye River's mouth, with yir nets planted
before them ; looking towards ye sea upon ye flowing of ye water, and to

of its having been set up in remote times at a place called Priestwoodside
(now Priestside), near the sea, from whence it is said to have been drawn
by a team of oxen belonging to a widow. This tradition is still common in
the parish, with some additional particulars. The pillar is said to have
been brought by sea from some distant country, and to have been cast on
shore by shipwreck ; and while it was in the act of being conveyed in the
manner described, into the interior, the tackling is reported to have given
way, which was believed, in that superstitious age, to indicate the will of
heaven that it was to proceed no farther. It was accordingly erected, if we
are to credit the report, on the spot where it fell, and a place of worship
was built over it, which became the parish-church of Ruthwell. It is not
improbable that this tradition may bear some vague reference to the period
when the alteration took place in the form, and perhaps also in the object,
of the column, at which time its site may possibly have been changed. It
is remarkable that the remains of an ancient road, founded on piles of wood,
leading through a morass to the Priestside (which is a stripe of arable land
inclosed between this morass and the shore of the Sol way Frith), were in
existence within the last thirty or forty years.'

Is this account perhaps due to contamination between two legends of St.
Cuthbert, the one related by Simeon of Durham concerning the loss of the
Lindisfarne Gospels at sea, and its recovery ou the shore at Whithorn
through the agency of a dream (see my Bibl Quot. in OE. Prose Writers,
p. xlvii), and the other being the tale of the building of Durham Cathedral
where the dun cow stopped with the relics of the saint? It must be
remembered that this is Cuthbertine country : Whithorn is not fifty miles
distant from Ruthwell in a straight line, and between lies Kirkcudbright-
shire, whose name commemorates St. Cuthbert. Perhaps the story of the
cows and the oxen which drew the ark (1 Sam. 6. 7-15; 2 Sam. 6. 3, 6)
may lie at the basis of these and similar stories.

1 This may be a reminiscence of the Yggdrasill story (cf. Bugge, Studien
Vber die Entstehung der Nordischen Goiter- und Heldensagen, pp. 407 ff.).

374 ALBERT S. COOK.

land-ward on an ebb. This amity is happily preserv'd by a notion they
have, that, upon any quarrel amongst ye Fishermen, the Salmon presently
forsake this coast,1

A great many Dead Cod-Fish are thrown up, every Tide, at this time of
the year : which makes rich provision for ye Gulls & other Sea-Fowl.

About 7 at night we made the English shore; and refreshing ourselves
at Drumbrugh 2 and Kirkbampton,s got back to Rose Castle at eleven.

It only remains to add, on this point, that the attention
of Nicolson was first directed to the Ruthwell Cross by a
Rev. James Lason, who had been Episcopal moderator of the
Presbytery at Dumfries under the Archbishop of Glasgow,
while the elder Church was still in power. This we learn,
with a precise indication of the date when the communication
was made, from Bishop Nicolson1 s Diaries [Part I], as published
by Bishop Ware in Vol. 16 of the Cumberland and Westmor-
land Antiquarian and Archaeological Society's Transactions,
bearing date this present year (1 901). The diary is written in a
queer mixture of English, Latin, and German (for Nicolson
had spent some time in Germany as a young man). One pas-
sage runs as follows (p. 35) :

[1690] Sep. 19. Mr. Lason inform'd me of two Runic inscriptions to
be mett wth in Scotland. 1. The Letter'd stone in Eskdalemoor (wthin
3 miles of Hutton Church) in ye County of Annan. 2. In ye Church at
Kothwald (alias Kevel) in ye road fro Annan to Dumfrese. He gave me
also ye inscription on Mac-Duff's Cross.

Just before, Nicolson had written :

Sep. 14. Gepredigete bey mir — zu Salkeld Mr. James Lason ; non ita
pridem Cordse Selgovarum (i. e. ut ipse me docuit, zu Dumfrese) Moderator
presbyterii sub Archiepiscopo Glasguensi. Before ye Church of Scotland
was run down by ye Kirk.

It follows that some six and a half years elapsed (Sept.,
1690- April, 1697) between the communication of Lason and
Nicolson's first sight of the stone.

1 An illustration of the imaginative temper which framed the legends
related above.

2 Drumburgh, 8£ miles northwest of Carlisle.

3 6* miles west of Carlisle.

NOTES ON THE EUTHWELL CEOSS. 375

The first historic mention of the Ruthwell Cross must
have been in the act published by the General Assembly which
convened at St. Andrews in 1642. This act, entitled 'Act
anent Idolatrous monuments in Ruthwell/ does not occur,
except for its title, in the published records of the General
Assembly, but I hoped that a search in the archives would
discover it. This search was obligingly made by the Rev.
Dr. Christie, Librarian of the General Assembly, at the in-
stance of Vice-Chancellor Story, of the University of Glasgow,
Principal Clerk of the Assembly, but to no effect. Dr. Story
writes : ' I think you may be satisfied that the iconoclastic
Act of 1642 does not exist, else Dr. Christie would have been
able to find it.' Through the kindness of these gentlemen,
however, I am enabled to present an earlier act of the same
general tenor, though not referring specifically to Ruthwell.
No doubt it was owing to local neglect, perhaps fostered by
admiration or reverence for the noble monument, that the
second act, now lost, was found necessary. The act of 1640
reads :

Act anent the demolishing of Idolatrous Monuments, passed by the General
Assembly held at Aberdeen in 1640.

Forasmuch as the Assembly is informed, that in divers places of this
Kingdome, and specially in the North parts of the same, many Idolatrous
Monuments, erected and made for Keligious worship, are yet Extant, Such
as Crucifixes, Images of Christ, Mary, and Saints departed, ordaines the
saids [sic] monuments to be taken down, demolished, and destroyed, and that
with all convenient diligence: and that the care of this work shall be
incumbent to the Presbyteries and Provincial Assemblies within this King-
dome, and their Commissioners to report their diligence herein to the next
Generall Assembly.

Turning now to the inscription on the Cross itself, let us
consider anew the old question of the relation between these
lines and the Dream of the Rood, and the question as to the
date of the Ruthwell inscription. These questions are neces-
sarily involved together, though we will separate them as
much as possible. They may perhaps be most conveniently
approached through an opinion recently expressed by Brooke,

376 ALBERT 8. COOK.

in which he adverts to a view presented by Vigfusson and
Powell in the Corpus Poeticarum Boreale. Brooke says (Eng.
Lit. before the Norman Conquest, p. 197): 'I not only think
it probable that Cynewulf wrote it, but I believe it to be
his last poem, his farewell to earth. It seems indeed to be
the dirge, as it were, of all Northumbrian poetry. But I
do not believe that the whole of the poem was original, but
worked up by Oynewulf from that early lay of the Rood, a
portion of which we find in the runic verses on the Ruthwell
Cross. That poem was written in the " long epic line " used
by the Csedmonian school, and I think that when in our Dream
of the Rood this long line occurs, it belongs to or is altered
from the original lay. The portions by Cynewulf are written
in the short epic line, his use of which is almost invariable in
the Elene.'

To this the following objections may be made :
The Ruthwell Cross Inscription1 can not represent an
original poem in long lines, from which the Dream of the
Rood was reworked, because :

1. The lines of the Inscription do not always correspond
to the long lines of the Dream, but in some instances to short
ones (44, 45 ; 56-58) ; out of the thirteen and one-half lines
of the Inscription, as usually printed, no fewer than four
represent short lines. Hence the original can not have been
written in long lines only, as Brooke supposes, if the Inscrip-
tion on the R. C. is virtually that original.

2. The question which is earlier, the Dream of the Rood or
the Ruthwell Inscription, may be determined in part by seeing
which conforms more nearly to the verse-technique of the
oldest dated verse. This comprises Ccedmon's Hymn, Bede's
Death-Song, the Leiden Riddle, and the Bonifatian Proverb.
These are all Northumbrian, and all earlier than 750, though
the last three are extant only in continental manuscripts of
the ninth century, and the latter two, especially, are more or

1 Of. the texts on pp. 381-2.

NOTES ON THE RUTHWELL CROSS. 377

less corrupt. If, now, we compare the Ruth well Inscription
with these verses, we find that while the former, for the most
part, represents long lines, the early poems contain not a
single one. On the other hand, such a poem as the Judith,
which no one pretends to date earlier than 856, does contain
several long lines, used, as in the Rood, with considerable
artistic effect. As to ' the long epic line used by the Caed-
monian school/ it is sufficient to say, then, that there is no
proof of such a thing, and that of it there is no sign in the
only bit of verse which by general acceptance is regarded as
Csedmon's.

3. If, as between the Inscription and the poem, we find lack
of alliteration, lack of metre, and imperfect sense in the one
case, and their opposites in the other, it can hardly be doubted
that the latter is the original. Now how is it with these two?

The only lines of the Inscription that can be questioned are
39-41, 58a, since the rest are practically identical with those
of the Rood. With respect to 39-41, it may be observed :
(1) That if the first and second lines of the Inscription are
not joined to make a single long line, neither is properly con-
structed, since (39a) hine can hardly bear the second stress, and
the first hemistich of 40 is without alliteration ; (2) if the two
are joined, then there is no conceivable alliteration for the
second line. Only the first hemistich is preserved, but the
beginning of the second allows us to conjecture how it would
have run. We should have had something like

modig fore allce men ; buga ic ni dorstce.

This would be doubly objectionable, because (1) it would
leave the line without alliteration in the second half; (2)
because the first hemistich would not scan; (3) because it
would too closely resemble 45b : hcelda ic ni dorstce.

The Rood poet obviates all three difficulties (1) by intro-
ducing modig and the alliterative equivalent for men (mancyri)
in different hemistichs; (2) by providing an alliterative partner
for bugan in the following line ; (3) by placing dorste before
6

378 ALBERT S. COOK.

bugan, so that the resemblance of the second hemistich to 45b
should be less marked.

If we now look at these same lines with reference to their
meaning and their diction, we shall find several peculiarities.
In the first place, the Rood poet never would have been guilty
of the indecorum of attributing to Christ the desire to mount
the cross courageously in the sight of all men. He does say
that Christ resolved to mount the cross (34), that he resolved
to redeem mankind (41), and that he did courageously ascend
the cross in the sight of all men (40, 41), but not that he
resolved to show himself courageous in the sight of all men
by mounting the cross. At once we are impelled toward the
assumption that the Dream of the Rood is more self-consistent,
more artistic, and therefore more likely to be, or to represent,
the original. On this hypothesis, if the Ruth well writer
adapted the Rood poem, how has he proceeded when he has
seen fit to change? He has shortened the first line to its
detriment, since geong Hcelefi is a phrase which a real poet
would have been at pains to preserve ; then, sacrificing part
of the second line, and shifting its alliteration to a word
which would chime with those already chosen to bear the
stress, he borrows from line 93, over 50 lines distant, the
phrase for(e) ecdle men, which seems to occur nowhere else in the
poetry, in order to patch up his verse. It might be maintained
in his defense that he was concerned to pack the utmost mean-
ing into the smallest possible space, and that therefore he was
bent on ridding the lines of all superfluous epithets, at what-
ever cost. Against this must be urged (1) that in other cases
he follows his original with considerable fidelity ; (2) that he
is not actuated by the desire to suggest only the pictorial or
sculpturesque scenes of the imagined crucifixion, since else-
where (45b, 59a) he reproduces sentences descriptive of the
feelings of the rood. We must therefore conclude that when
he sacrifices poetical epithets, it is partly, at least, because he
is incapable of feeling their full force and charm ; and that
when he attributes indecorous sentiments to Christ, it is

NOTES ON THE RUTHWELL CROSS. 379

because he does not perceive their impropriety. Again, the
first word, geredce, can only mean ' clothed/ as ongyrede can
only mean ' unclothed.7 In the Lind. Matt. 27.31, we have,
side by side, ongeredon and gegeredon, the former translating
exuerunt, and the latter indverunt. Unless, then, we are to
conclude that the prefix has been destroyed by time, we have
the Ruthwell writer making a statement contrary to fact, and
contrary to the statement of the Rood poet.

We are further confirmed in our view by an examination
of other lines. In 45b, where the Rood has hyldan me ne
dorste, the Ruthwell Inscription has hcelda ic ni dorste. Now
as each has ie in the preceding line, it might have been sup-
posed that this would suffice for the nominative of the new
verb, as it does in the case of the Rood, especially because
hyldan, in the poetry, prefers an object ; but the Ruthwell
writer thought otherwise. Note, too, the omission of 46 and
47, which would have lent themselves quite as well to
epigraphic purposes, one would have supposed, as 48 and 49 ;
at all events, the first half of 48 possesses no singular appro-
priateness for the inscription.

If now we turn to 58a, we find that for to \am ^Eftelinge of
the Rood, the Ruthwell writer substitutes cetyilce til anum.
The former occurs also Gen. 2636, Dan. 551, while the latter
is nowhere found, though we have in Andreas ceftele be ce&dum
(360a) and oeftele mid eorlum (1646a). This looks as though
the Rood poet were in the line of poetic tradition, and as if
the Ruthwell writer were not. Moreover, the two adjectives,
fusee and cetyilce, one of which must serve as a noun, look
suspicious. We may note, too, the alegdun hice hince lim-
wcerigne of the monument, where the poem has ftcer for hince.
Hine in this position is certainly uncommon, and quite as cer-
tainly unnecessary. To this it may be replied : The %cer is
unnecessary, and besides there are two in the next line, one of
which the Ruthwell poet has used. Perhaps, then, he may
have regarded this abundance of Acer's as a defect, and
endeavored to amend it by the substitution of hince for the

380

ALBERT S. COOK.

first one. But this, again, would merely tend to prove that
the Ruthwell writer had the Cross poem before him, and not
the reverse. Finally on this point, 48b has an ealt in the
Rood which it lacks on the monument. It is easy to imagine
this call left out by the carver or his patron ; but if we assume
that the inscription represents the earlier version, we have to
account, not only for the insertion of the call here, but also
in the parallel expression 62b (cf. 6b), and likewise for the
rhythmically equivalent forht ic woes (21a) and sare ic wees
(58b), the latter of which is reproduced on the monument.
These seem to be characteristic of the Rood poet in such a
way that no one of the instances can well be regarded apart
from the others.

So far, then, as the discrepancies are concerned, they all
point to the conclusion that the Rood poem was the earlier, a
conclusion which is in harmony with the view of Sweet
(OET. p. 125): 'The sculptor or designer of the Ruthwell
stone, having only a limited space at his command, selected
from the poem such verses as he thought most appropriate,
and engraved them wherever he had room for them.'

Having dealt with the question of meaning, and metre, and
diction, let us turn to linguistic considertions in the narrower
sense, in fact, to phonology. On this subject I may refer to
my letter in the Academy, Vol. 37, p. 153 (1890), in which,
proceeding on the principle that the date of an inscription will
not be earlier than that of its latest linguistic forms, and that
the occurrence of earlier forms, though in considerable num-
bers, does not invalidate this assumption, I endeavored to
show that the Ruthwell inscription must be as late as the
tenth century. Better readings and an improved science,
while they enable one or two corrections to be made (the
printing, as I had no opportunity to revise the proof, is
responsible for three or four gross blunders), on the whole
strengthen the evidence there presented. Proceeding along
the same general lines, I have now undertaken to examine
every word, presenting my results in an order rather con-

NOTES ON THE EUTHWELL CEOSS. 381

venient than inevitable. I shall tacitly assume that the early
Northumbrian poems are understood to belong, in general, to
the first half of the eighth century, the Vespasian Psalter to
the first half of the ninth, the Lindisfarne Gospels to about
950, and the Rushworth Gospels and Durham Ritual to a
period between 950 and 1000, all of these but the Vespasian
Psalter and the Rushworth Gospels being Northumbrian, and
these Mercian.

For convenience of reference, I print side by side the Ruth-
well Cross Inscription and the corresponding extracts from the
Dream of the Rood, the forms omitted in the Inscription being
placed in square brackets. To these is added a word-list con-
taining all the forms on the monument.

39 [On] gyrede hine [J?a geong HaeleiS — \>set wses] God aelmiht-

40 [strang and strSmod ;] gestah on gealgan heanne

41 modig [on manigra gesyhfte,] ]>a he wolde [mancyn lysan.]

42 [Bifode ic fa me se Beorn ymbclypte ; ne dorste ic hwa3$re]

bug[an to eorSan,]

geredae hinse God almehttig
>a he walde on galgu gistiga
modig fore allse men ;
bug ...

44 [Rod wees ic ara3red ; ahof] ic ricne Cyning,

45 heofona Hlaford ; hyldan me ne dorste.

46 [Jmrhdrifan hi me mid deorcan naeglum ; on me syndon

]?a dolg gesiene,

47 opene inwidhlemmas ; ne dorste ic hira senigum sce&San.]

48 Bysmeredon hie unc butu setgasdere. [Ball] ic wa3S mid

blode bestemed,

49 begoten of [fees guman sidan, srSSan he hsefde his gast

onsended.]

ALBERT 8. COOK.

ic riicnae kyningc,

heafunaes hlafard ; haelda ic ni dorstse.
Bismsersedu ungket men ba setgadre.
Ic wses mij> blodse bistemid,
bigoten of ...

Ill

56 [cwrSdon Cyninges fyll ;] Crist wses on rode.

57 Hwseftere ]>ser fuse feorran cwoman

58 to j?am JEftelinge ; ic J?set call beheold.

59 Sare ic WSBS mid (sorgum) gedrefed, hnag [ic hwae^re J?am

secgum to handa.]

Crist wses on rodi.
Hwe>rae >er fusae fearran cwomu
88»il83 til anura ; ic \>xt al biheald.
Sare ic wses mi> sorgum gidroefid,
hnag . . .

62 [standan steame bedrifenne; eall ic wses] mid straelum

forwundod.

63 Aledon hie ftser limwerigne, gestodon him set his lices

heafdum,

64 beheoldon hie ftser heofon[es Dryhten ; and he hine $ser

hwile reste.]

. . . mij> strelum giwundad.
Alegdun hise hinae limwoerignse,
gistoddun him cet his licsss heafdum,
bihealdun hice ]>er heqfun . . .

WOED-LI8T

set, setgadre, sebbilaa, al, alegdun, allse, almehttig, anum

ba, bigoten, biheald, bihealdun, bismsersedu, bistemid, blodse,

bug ...
Crist, cwomu
dorstse

fearran, fore, fusse
galgu, geredse, gidro3fid, gistiga, gistoddun, giwundad, God

NOTES ON THE KUTHWELL CROSS. 383

hselda, he, heafdum, heafun . . . , heafunses, hiss, him, hinse,

his, hlafard, hnag, hwe^rae
ic

kyningc

licses, limwoerignse
men, mi];, modig
ni

of, on
riicnse, rodi
sare, sorgum, strelum
til

J>a, }>set, J*jr
ungket
wses, walde

We may dismiss with a glance a list of words which are at
once West Saxon and Northumbrian, which are in fact com-
mon Old English. These are : cet, anum, ba, bug-, Grist, God,
he (his, him), heafdum, hnag, ic, men, sorgum, ]>a, ]>cet, wees.

Another class of forms will scarcely detain -HO- longer.
They contain a, unbroken in North, before I + cons. : al9
attce, almehttig, galgu, walde; and with them belong the
umlauted hcelda. These are common to all periods of North.
(Bulb.1 134). The same is true of mty ; of the radical vowels
in bistemid (Bulb. 184), strelum, and \er (Bulb. 96); of the
preposition til (CH. 6; Matt. 26.31); the g in alegdun; the
ce in gidroefid, limwcerignce (Bulb. 165); the e in almehttig ,
where i-umlaut has taken place (Bulb. ISO.b and Anm. 3), as
contrasted otherwise with -mcehtig (Bulb. 210); the -ad of
giwundad ; and the radical syllable of cwomu.

Forms which might at first glance seem old, but are found
till late, are such as these : the prefixes bi- and gi- (Rush.,1
and for the most part Rit. ; Bulb. 455, Anm. ; found also in
Lind.) ; bihealdun (Lind., Rit.) ; hwe]>rce, save for the ce (Lind. ;
the Leiden Riddle, still of the 9th century, has the ending -ce

1 Biilbring, Allenglisches Elementarbuch, I. Teil.

384 ALBERT S. COOK.

in the corrupt hudrce) ; the second vowel of bismcercedu (Bulb.
414 and Anm.), to which there is a sufficient parallel in bis-
marade(Vesp. Ps. 104.23), at least as late as the first half of
the ninth century ; galgu, which, paralleled by the foldu of
Ccedmon's Hymn, and the eorftu of the Leiden Riddle (cf.
Bulb. 366.1 ; 391.a; 557, Anm.) is equally so by the eorftu
which occurs twenty-two times in Lind., beside eorfto • foldu
and galgu, being both poetical, could not well occur in a gloss to
the Gospels. Of ni there are two instances in the archaizing
part of the Lind. John (19.36 ; 21.25). The syncopation in
cdgadre (Bulb. 439) points to a later rather than an earlier
period.

Another indication of lateness is the -un and ea of heafun,
heafunces (Biilb. 236 ; 369.1 . CH. has heben, hefcen (cf. hefene,
Beow. 1571 ; hefon, Lind. Lk. 4.25 ; hefenum, Sal. 60 A), and
these represent the earlier forms, as do metudces (CH.) and herut
(Napier's Glosses), Herut- (Moore MS. of Bede). The normal
eo, by li-umlaut from this earlier e, has here been replaced by
ea, which properly should occur only as the product of o-um-
laut. This substitution occurs four times in Rit. (against 37 eo)
and seven times in Lind. (against 169 eo).

The umlauting of a first syllable by a third is illustrated in
•Common OE. by cefoele, from * cfyali (Siev.1 50, Anm. 2) and
that form still persists in Lind. Here, however, the process
has apparently gone still further, and the second syllable
has become a full i (cf. Biilb. 413.b).

Ungket may be younger than the incit of Gen. 2880, if the
-et indicates the blurring of vowel quality in an unstressed
syllable.

The past participial ending of the weak verbs of the
First Class was anciently -id (thus we have doemid in Bede's
Death-Song) • but this occasionally persists till a late period :
gifyllid Jn. 19.28, 30 ; gifillid Jn. 19.28 ; gifcegid, Rit. 109.11.

Rodi is an especially interesting form. The earliest ending
for the dative of such a-feminines was -ce (Siev. 252, Anm. 1).

1 Sievers, Angdsdchsische Grammalik, Dritte Ausgabe.

NOTES ON THE KUTHWELL CROSS. 385

When i occurs, as it does just once in ccestri, on the Franks
Casket, it is supposed to be by analogy with an instru-
mental i of the o-declension (Siev. 237, Anm. 2), occurring,
e. g., in domi. But it is not strictly necessary to go so far in
search of an explanation. If we compare the closing chapters
of the Lindisfarne John, we shall find that gi-9 which had
occurred sporadically for ge- in 15.16 ; 18.28 ; 19.28, 30, now
becomes more frequent, appearing nine times in chap. 20
(vv. 2, 20, 23, 24, 25, 29 (4)), and no fewer than sixteen
times in chap. 21. But not only does i become conspicuous
in this prefix ; it also appears in datives like biscobi (18.22 ;
cf. cowm, Mk. 12.14), deigilnisi (p. 187 12), dcegi (21.14 (2)),
Petri 21.15, Cu%ber(h)ti (p. 187 8'10; in the ace. plur. of an
a- feminine, where the oldest texts would have -ce: glcedi
(21.9) ; in the foreign derivative segni (21.8, 11), for Lat. -a ;
in adjectives like giseni (20.20) ; syndrigi (21.25) ; in parti-
cles like %i (21.17) and tyti (21.25); in present tenses like
gisii (20.25; also as gesii, Mk. 10.51; 12.15; Lk. 18.41;
Jn. 5.19), mcegi (21.25), aueKi (21.18) ; in the imp. sg. or inf.
geuuni (21.22); in the infl. inf. to aurittenni (21.25); in weak
preterits like gircesti (21.20) and gihamadi (p. 1887); twice
in the opt. pret. ueri, for orig. -ce (19.28 ; 21.7) ; and in pres.
partt. likejylgendi (21.20), hlingendi, gen. plur. (21.12). If we
add that this same glossaton takes liberties with the very word
under consideration, rod, translating in oruce as on roda, while
otherwise the dat. of Lind. is always -e in fourteen instances,
we shall see, I think, than an itacizing archaizer, like Aldred,
or whoever finished the glossing of St. John, would make no
difficulty with the i of rodi. That this glossaton, the same
who gave us the account of the book and its makers at the
end, was an archaizer, is apparent, not only from some of the
forms adduced, but from the endings in -ce in these same dozen
lines on p. 188 ; cuKce (1. 3), oncrce (1. 4),fultummce (1. 6), and
milsce (1. 11). It would seem that when a man became con-
scious that he was penning an inscription, monumental or
otherwise, he was likely thus to archaize, or to manifest

386 ALBERT S. COOK.

peculiarities due to a high-strung condition, such as the
ymbwceson, apparently for ymbwceron, of the prologue to Mark
(I 1.3). We can thus the better understand, perhaps, the
psychology of the man who while writing three preterites
plural in -n, wrote two without the -n ; who wrote thirteen
forms with final ce, and three of the same sort with final e ;
and who perpetrated other inconsistencies of the kind in the
compass of thirteen and one-half short lines.

In the irregular geminations of ce]>]>ilce, almehttig, and gi-
stoddun (Bulb. 548, 549) we may perhaps discern a tendency
already at work in Lind. (cf. Fiichsel, p. 57), but not found
there in the case of any of these words.

Dorstce is not Northumbrian at all ; we should have darstce.
Yet dorstce is certified by Victor, and we must therefore
assume that our inscription mixes dialects, as well as periods.

A few forms which might seem indifferent, or perhaps Com-
mon OE., may next be examined, in order to discover their
significance in the history of Northumbrian.

Final b for / is found until the middle of the eighth century,
according to Sievers (Angl. 13.15), and we still have ob in the
Leiden Riddle; but here we have of. Medially, b persists
still later, according to the same authority ; we certainly have
heben, along with hefcen-, in Ccedmon's Hymn ; here / twice
in the same word, heafun-, besides hlafard, where Sweet still
has hlabard in a charter of 831 ; and gidroefid, not to speak of
heafdum.

The second a of hlafard is not necessarily old (Bulb. 367.a ;
411). We have seen it just now in the charter of 831, and
the form of our text occurs four times in the Vesp. Ps., and
five times in Lind., with hlafcerd twice.

Kyningc has the n of the second syllable (cf. Bulb. 561), but
so has Lind. in 26 instances. The go of the ending indicates
palatalization (Bulb. 495), like thefingcer of Lind. Jn. 20.27.

The second vowel of geredce, when we consider its deriva-
tion from i (Siev. 401.2; 408, and Anm. 3; Bulb. 416),
seems late as compared with the geride of Rit. 45.14 ; 79.4;

NOTES ON THE RUTHWELL CROSS. 387

cf. Lindelof 51.2.b), though like the ongeredon and gegeredon
of Lind. Matt. 27.31.

In OH. the later hi is four times represented by ct, and
even in Lind. we once have ct in docter (Mk. I 3.17), while
here we have fit in almehttig. However, the peculiar rime
must be taken into account.

The strong past participle ends in -en : bigoten, though Lind.
still has a lingering -Gen (twice) : ariscen, Mk. 4.5 ; awordcen,
Mk. 4.35 ; and Rit. has gecorcence, 22.14, and six participles
in -an.

Since d and t are sometimes employed in early documents,
and even in Runic, as well as Roman inscriptions, for J>, as in
-gidanc, CH. ; uuirthit, BDS. ; gibidced, gibiddad (Falstone
and Dewsbury inscriptions), it deserves remark that neither
occurs here,

It is true that there is confusion between the two adjective
endings, original -ig and original -ag, from an early period
(Angl. 13.13 ff. ; Bulb. 360; 366.c; 412; cf. 366, Anm. 3),
but it is noteworthy that where CH. has haleg, our inscription
has modig. Even in Rit. we have one hygdego, 109.17 (cf.
the verb lytlege, Lind. Jn. 3. 30), and in Rush.2 dysego (25.8),
monegu (25.21, 23), monegra (8.30; 24.12), ncenegum (17.9),
ncenegu (13.38).

Were the meaning different, the two instances of on might
need explanation. Of on and in, in is peculiarly Northern,
and was only gradually supplanted by on in many uses (£ede,
ed. Miller, I. xxxiii-xliv). Even in Lind. we have (Matt. I
14.12) in rode gefceotnade as the translation of in crucefixit, but
here, as frequently in the glosses, the Latin may well have
had excessive influence, for with this we must compare expres-
sions like ahcen on rode (Matt. 27.22) and gencegled on rode
(Matt. 27.26). Perhaps, then, the forms are sufficiently
accounted for by the meaning in these cases, though the fact
that the Rood has only one in, as against 35 on's, tempts one
to ascribe some influence to a more Southern original. It is
to be noted that in, with both the dat. and the ace., is about
two and one-half times as frequent in Lind. as on.

388 ALBEBT S. OOOK.

As the clearest indication of ancientness, or as others may
think, of an archaizing tendency, we may regard the final -ce,
here occurring thirteen times, and the final -«*, occurring twice
(heafunces, luxes) ; but even here we are confronted with forms
like those of the Ritual, where I have counted 45 OB'S and e*s
for regular e, including such as domoz (12.41, 42), icega
(21.32), huxB (5.15), coegtrce (4.13(*); 8.33; 27.53), farletnai
(9.5), etc., and the four instances occurring in a dozen
lines at the end of Lind. Nor is -cets so wholly infrequent ;
the Rii. has 15 instances, including fiscces (7.10), «oj>/estas
(10.41 ; 23.35), mednuda* (16.8), etc., and even Lind. an
occasional one, such as wereces (Mk. 5.14) ; heojnces (Mk. 4.
Lk. I 10.16). But if we admit that such a number of -of*
and -CBS'S indicates age, what shall we say to the /ore, sore,
wcdde of our inscription (Bulb. 360)? It is no sufficient
answer to say that in BDS., CH., and the Dewsbnry inscrip-
tion cefter ends in -er, as against the -&r (twice) of the Falstone
inscription. It is a better answer to say that fare occurs in
BDS. ; there, however, there is no form at direct variance
with the fore, as here we have dorstce quarreling with walde.
Then, too, it must be observed that besides sixteen prepositional
and three prefixal forces ID Lind., we have at least one prepo-
sitional fores (Lk. 4.38). Beside fare, which represents a
for of the Vercelli manuscript, the other two forms in -t of
the Inscription are paralleled in the Rood poem, and thus it
might seem that the Ruth well writer may well have been a
Northumbrian, adapting a poem in a more Southern dialect,
consciously archaizing in certain particulars, yet inadvertently
admitting forms belonging to his modeL

The loss of final n in the infinitive is one of the most dis-
tinctive marks of late North,, but so far as I know there is
only one instance of it in early North, and that is the cnysn
of the Leiden Riddle, a composition which is in a ninth century
continental hand, and which is somewhat illegible and cor-
rupt. Here we have two, giatiga, hadda (Bulb. 557, Anm.), as
against the hergan of CH., and the A-ote* of the Leiden Riddle.

NOTES ON THE BUTHWELL CROSS. 389

Fearran seems traditional in the retention of the final n.
Lind. has advanced teyond it (Bulb. 140 ; 272) in a single
instance, farra (Lk. 23.49), whose vowel is paralleled by Rit.
in the form farr for WS. fe&rr (122.13). In both these texts,
however, ea is regular, only varied in Lind. by two instances
of fearra (Mt. 26.58 ; 27.55). In the retention of n, the in-
scription is paralleled by Lind. in the weak noon wacan (Mk.
I 3.13; 6.47; Lk. 12.38, etc.); the adv. neaftan, Jn. 8.23,
and the adv. utan when followed by on or ymb (Matt. 8.18;
Mk. 3.34; 6.6; Jn. p. 188 4). Possibly fearran, with the
final w, may again indicate that the writer of the inscription
was making his adaptation from a Southern original.

Perhaps the strongest proof of lateness is to be found in the
two preterits cwomu and bvmarfedu (Bulb. 557, Anm. ; Siev.
364, Anm. 4), one strong and the other weak. There is DO
escaping this evidence. On the stone the n is never repre-
sented, as in manuscripts, by a bar over the preceding vowel,
and it is found no fewer than fourteen times in this inscription,
excluding two doubtful instances; moreover, in neither of
our crucial cases does the preceding vowel bring one to the
edge of the stone, where it might have been assumed that the
sculptor omitted it for lack of room, or that it had been
chipped off latter. So rare is this omission of n in the pret.
plur. of verbs, even in the latest period, that Sievers still, in
the third edition of his Grammar (364, Anm. 4) categorically
states that it does not occur in either Rutih.? Lind.y or Rit.
Here he is in error ; it not only appears in the weak verbs
dioppodo, Lind. Lk. 23.21, fcerdo, Mk. 16.8 ; getierdo, Mk. I
2.18, but even, singularly enough, in cuomo, Jn. 19.32. Side
by side with these forms lacking n, our inscription has three
others which archaistically retain it : alegdun, biheaidun, gi~
stoddun. The proportion of -t*Js to -wn's is, however, far in
excess of any which appears in the latest dated documents.

On the basis of this phonological examination we have
found that, while the general aspect of the Inscription has led

390 ALBERT S. COOK.

many persons to refer it to an early period, it lacks some of
the marks of antiquity ; every real mark of antiquity can
be paralleled from the latest documents ; some of the phe-
nomena point to a period subsequent to that of Lind. and Rit. ;
and none flatly contradicts such an assumption. If to this
we add that a comparison with the Dream of the Rood indi-
cates that the Ruthwell Inscription is later than that poem ;
that certain of the forms of the poem seem to have been inad-
vertently retained ; and that at least one word, dorstce, is, in
its radical vowel, not Northumbrian at all, while it is of the
dialect of the Rood, we shall not hesitate, I believe, to assume
that the Ruthwell inscription is at least as late as the tenth
century. If now we seek the opinion of an expert, Sophus
Miiller, on the ornamentation, which I already translated
from Bugge's Studien for Mod. Lang. Notes of March, 1890,
we shall find it to this effect : ' The Ruth well Cross must
be posterior to the year 800, and in fact to the Carlovingian
Renaissance, an account of its decorative features. The free
foliage and flower-work, and the dragons or monsters with
two forelegs, wings, and serpents' tails, induce him to believe
that it could scarcely have been sculptured much before 1000
A. D.' (cf. his Dyreornamentiken i Norden, p. 155, note).
Victor has at length proved that the Ccedmon me fawed of
Stephens7 fantasy is non-existent, and thus we are free to
accept a conclusion to which archaeology, linguistics, and liter-
ary scholarship alike impel.

ALBERT S. COOK.

XIII.— SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH.1

We may surely congratulate ourselves, not alone as scholars,
but also as citizens, that the Modern Language Association of
America has united in harmonious and effective co-operation
a large majority of the real leaders in important fields of
study. Our Association is a representative body in the fullest
sense of the word ; its members show a growing interest in
each other's work, and in the progress of science as a whole.
The total results seem almost too good to be true : who could
have prophesied to Professor Marshall Elliott, during the
years in which he was laboring for a truly national organiza-
tion, that the somewhat overworked and overburdened citizens
of this department of the Republic of Letters would so generally
be ready to pay their three dollars yearly ; that a goodly num-
ber would be found to bring their costly contributions to the
scientific treasury of the Society, and to gather from long dis-
tances for its yearly conference, at a heavy tax in time and
money — and all this at a time when anthracite coal is selling
at $7.35 a ton, not put in ! There is a high idealism back of
this, which promises much for American civilization. If
modern history teaches anything, it is the lesson of the great
effectiveness of the trust-idea ; the most sordid evils which
affect society and our own profession are those which come
from ruthless, cynical, destructive competition, that survival
of the brutish age when each individual stood for himself,
and against all comers. Every principle of economic admin-
istration calls for a centralization of directive responsibility
in the most competent hands. The entire manufactur-
ing industries of our country have been practically put
into the control of corporations, which have ended competition

1 An address delivered by Professor James Taft Hatfield, as President of
the Central Division of the Association, at Champaign, 111., on the 26th
of December, 1901.

391

392 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

among themselves : are the children of this world so much
wiser, then, in their generation, than the children of light?
Shall we be unable to use what the biscuit-makers, the
tanners of hides, the coal-barons, and the brokers in political
power employ with conspicuous success for the most sordid
purposes? Such a union is the only means of preventing
waste and incompetency, of restraining clumsy hands from a
fatal interference with higher values ; it is the best security
against that familiar tragedy of American life : — the planting,
with faith and courage, of a fair garden, the development of
it into beauty by patient labor, only that it shall lapse into
a wilderness by mere neglect. If American life be incapable
of something better than a direct pursuit of the immediate
ends of interested persons, we must become once for all pes-
simists as to the basal theory of a free and intelligent
Democracy — which God forbid ! Our salvation from the
vulgarity which has all but overwhelmed our political insti-
tutions, which makes itself distressingly broad in society, in
the church, and in much of the intellectual aBsthetic life of
our people, lies in a true Aristocracy, an aristocracy anointed
with the full drop of democratic oil, absolutely open without
prejudice to all who have proven themselves fit to become
leaders — and to none others under any plea ; an aristocracy con-
stantly rejuvenated by vigorous, daring young blood. The
Modern Language Association is a living proof of the entire
practicability of such a power in American life : we must not
forget that the whole problem is, first of all, a civic, rather
than an academic one. Whether there be really a " Monastic
Danger in Higher American Education " or not, we dare not
ignore the fact that education is a preparation for life. Some
of us count it a positive loss to America's cultural develop-
ment that during the last century our country broke so many
of the ties which had bound us organically to English civiliza-
tion and English educational ideals, — in favor of an attempt
to recast our system upon more theoretical grounds. As Mr.
Courthope recently pointed out, the invigorating and elevating

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 393

influence of Oxford and Cambridge upon the English nation
has been due in large measure to the fact that they have stood
in vital relations to the civic life of the British Empire : that
their education has been so largely the Aristotelian iro\LriKrj
TraiSeta, — an education which has inculcated high-minded
traditions that forever render impossible such base prostitu-
tion of sacred public trusts as makes the one indelible stain
upon contemporary American politics. That supremely typi-
cal American, James Russell Lowell, whom our national Asso-
ciation had the proud honor of claiming as a most loyal
President, was also the supreme example of an American
scholar, a man who was the flower of American culture, and
who learned at the very beginning of his career the same
great conclusion which Goethe came to after the unexampled
strivings of his strenuous life, that the aesthetic ideal is to be
postponed to the practical one ; that the welfare of society is
not to be gained by detached speculation, but by the loftiest
thought transmuted into labor and accomplishment. Equally
praiseworthy have been the valuable public services of such
academic Americans as Presidents Angell, Oilman, and Schur-
mau ; of Dean Worcester and Professor Phelps, not to dwell
upon the tireless efforts of Dr. Elgin Gould in his heroic
campaign for the social and political reform of the American
metropolis. The sway of the gods of the market-place is bad
and bitter enough, as every idealist knows, but yet there are
not wanting many tokens of hope and encouragement. How
reassuring was the recent clean victory of President Seth Low
over coarseness and greed, and how much it means for the
cause for which we are all working that there now stands at
the head of the nation a man who represents, in unsullied
purity, the very ideals to which we have devoted our lives : —
an aristocrat of the aristocrats, to whom meanness and vul-
garity are constitutionally alien and repulsive ! Think not
that I wander from the legitimate objects of our organization
in striking the civic note at this hour : our expressed aim is
" the scientific study and teaching of the modern languages
7

394 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

and literatures in the Central States/7 but the first condition
of scientific activity is to secure an environment in which that
activity can have its most perfect play : the one great, com-
mon foe of our whole profession is Mammon, stifling ruth-
lessly the poetic impulses in the hearts of generation after
generation of American youth. There is only one theme for
those who stand for the higher life of the spirit, and that is to
sound the note of unfailing courage and serene work in the
midst of the self-sufficiency and self-complacency of those
who look at all this higher life with skepticism. Our aim is
to work for Distinction in public, as well as scholastic affairs,
and to bring about conditions in which America's choicest
minds shall have some more direct and fruitful scope for
their activities than the reading of Phi Beta Kappa orations
and commencement addresses, — to wit, the direct service of our
beloved country in its every-day concerns and interests, from
which they are now so largely shut out by the assertive
political boss, — our American Ubermensch.

The practical man would hardly conceal his amusement at
the assumption of a company of mere philologists that they
were identified with the true progress of the community, and
were the custodians of its higher fortunes; he would see
some vanity in this belief, and yet we cherish it, not because
of any personal attainment of perfection, but because of our
attitude of homage toward an attainable ideal of perfection.
It is this feeling that emboldens us in appropriating the
encouragement of those recent words of President Roosevelt :

... a in this world the one thing supremely worth having
is the opportunity, coupled with the capacity, to do well and
worthily a piece of work the doing of which is of vital conse-
quence to the welfare of mankind."

It is therefore worth much to us, scattered, isolated, and
almost swallowed up in the great ocean of American com-
mercialism, that we should now and then come together and
refresh our faith in the value of our mission, that of carefully
and faithfully keeping alive the tender plant of pure human-

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 395

ism. It is fully profitable to meet, now and then, were it
only to encourage us as guardians of that fair and serene
domain, whose interests are all those most sacred ideals which
our better humanity loves and cherishes :

largior hie campos aether et lumine vestit
purpureo, solemque suum, sua eidera norunt.

If you are at all unsettled in the assurance that we scholars
are the simon-pure, chosen aristocracy of this country at the
present time, that our calling claims justly the place which
Burke allowed to feudal chivalry, "the unbought grace of
life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly senti-
ment and heroic enterprise," I can only assure you that the
Hon. Richard Olney, whose sound practical sense cannot be
gainsaid, says so, and that it must be so. The only pity is,
in practice, that our fellow-men do not seem to have generally
found it out! A rare gift, costly preparation, unremitting
devotion, — and for this something less than the pay of a book-
keeper or a football-coach, — and all that endless succession of
what the unhappy Burger called "die verdammten Finanz
Affaren." Still more trying is the complacent attitude of the
contented Philistine toward the scholar, as though the latter
were not more than a half-man, and by no means to be taken
seriously ; the utter non-appreciation of a large amount of
unpaid, highly special service, given as a charity to the
public — these things possess a certain ironical interest as
showing a confusion of material and moral values, especially
when we rememher that the latter are the only values at
all, — but no one who has the great honor of being called to
so high a service can concern himself much about material
grievances : after all these things do the Gentiles seek ; they
are wholly uninteresting in comparison with the business that
he must be about.

On the other hand, it is altogether profitable that in the
secret places of our own souls we should make inquiry
whether we are not somewhat responsible for the isolation of

396 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

our class from the respect and sympathy of the public;
whether there be not in college circles something of that
mediaeval presumption of sacrosanct privileges and exemptions
which should release us from the serious, homely duties which
are the birthright of all honest men ; whether there be not
some survival of Pharisaical superiority to the rank and file
of our brothers in the democracy. Is it possible that the
seductive charms of the older, riper, mellower civilizations,
which it has been our duty to know intimately, have made
us forget the admonition : " Sparta is thine allotted home ;
make her a home of order and beauty ! " Can it be that any
of us have left our hearts among the aliens, and have lost
interest in our own inheritance ? May there still be a note of
warning in Milton's complaint against the "Monsieurs of
Paris " in his day, who took England's " hopeful youth into
their slight and prodigal custodies " only to " send them over
back again transformed into mimicks, apes and kicshoes."
In American social life, is it not sometimes true that when
our masters go into the house of Rimmon to worship there,
we bow down ourselves in the house of Rimmon, also ? Our
group is one of the utmost importance to American life — so
long as we refrain from exalting it into a caste — but even
certain phases of its importance can be exaggerated : the man
who holds that his investigations of the back-gutturals in Old
Frisian ought to exempt him from his human duties to his
neighbors and to his country, lacks that saving sense of pro-
portion, which is, being interpreted, the sense of humor and
the sense of beauty. Let us not be too exalted over highly-
trained mental acuteness : " It is but for heaven to give a turn
to one of my nerves," wrote the divine Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe,
" and I should be an ideot." There is danger of laying too
little stress upon the more virile virtues, for the lack of which
" no amount of refinement and learning, of gentleness and
culture, can possibly atone." Perhaps even Mammon may
show some redeeming^qualities, when we have made him a
friend to ourselves. In our pursuit of scholastic idealism, let

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 397

us not be unwarned by the immovable, unkempt, impossible
Yogi of India, sitting in rapt contemplation under his banyan-
tree, nor untaught by the lessons of the civil service of China,
whose scholarly office-holders are weak, corrupt, and unpro-
gressive. Extreme specialization, the crowning glory of a
broad, liberal education, has made unjustifiable inroads into
the symmetry of humane culture, whereby we modern-language
teachers are not altogether guiltless. Speaking generally, ours
is a collegiate association : to us are committed, during four
most important years of development, those who are the pledges
of the highest welfare of the State. If more nobility is to
enter into American public life, if the sordid squalor of mate-
rialism is to yield to the benign supremacy of the Good, the
True, and the Beautiful, no moment must be wasted in strik-
ing those heroic strings. We stand (if anybody) for specialism
— but for specialism upon a broad basis of culture. Our
teaching of " Joynes-Meissner " and " The Flight of a Tartar
Tribe" must be shot through with a "philosophy" which
may fitly serve as "the guide of life." The deplorable
decline of Hellenic studies has given to us a larger influence
in the life and policy of American colleges. Some of us may
envy classical teachers the essentially more elevated values
with which it is their privilege to deal ; we may feel that
ours is, in its nature, a somewhat humbler task, but we can-
not evade the responsibility of shaping " that complete and
generous Education . . . which fits a man to perform justly,
skilfully and magnanimously all the offices both private and
public of peace and war." Overhearing some of the interested
discussions of the members of our craft, you shall be at times
struck by the fact that the note of universality is so largely
wanting ; our " custodies " are verily " slight and prodigal."
Our guild is looked upon as though it existed for its own sake,
as though its interests, of themselves, were an end of organiza-
tion and of combined effort. I should be the last person to
decry any legitimate zeal for the unlimited betterment of our
estate and its products, but he who seeks the detached welfare

398 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

of any minority in the American state misses the first princi-
ples which underlie the true glory of that commonwealth.

The Modern Language Association of America, like every
working organism, has relations in both directions, up and
down. " Es giebt ein Oben und ein Unten" here as elsewhere,
with subordination, on the one hand, to something higher,
with authority, on the other hand, over that which is below.
There is no such thing as absolute freedom and independence,
even for an academic union — such an organization, if any, has
surely a sufficiently adult apprehension to recognize the eternal
relativity of things, to be aware that a detached member is
consigned to a certain and speedy death. The organization of
the United States navy impresses one as being the nearest
reflection of the universal cosmos which has been achieved :
the common sailor is responsible to the gunner's mate, the
latter to the cadet, he to the officer of the deck, this one to
the executive officer, who reports to the captain, who receives
his orders from the admiral, who is subject to the authority
of the Secretary of the Navy, under the command of the Presi-
dent of the United States, who is himself responsible to the
common people, and thus the life of the organism keeps
coursing in a healthy circuit, always strong and instantly
efficient, ever renewed, nowhere congested, never stationary,
always in wholesome pulsation, and with a progressive career
open for talents.

I hold, then, that our first duty and highest function, even
as an organization of linguistic specialists, is in relation to the
total life of the commonwealth, is political, and that this deep
note should be the first sounded at every political gathering :
we must place enlightened, trained intellect at the direct service
of the State, as the only solvent of the problems of municipal
misgovernment, corporate greed, and the tyranny of manual
labor ; we must lead our pupils and our neighbors directly
into the field of practical, local politics — we must respond to
the call which has lately been sounded by Mr. Justice Brown
of the United States Supreme Court, who reminds us that

SCHOLAKSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 399

" there never has been a time in the history of the country
when men of independent thought — men who can neither be
awed by the mastery of wealth nor seduced by the blandish-
ments of popularity, were more urgently needed." How
long must we all submit to the enormous waste of the
resources of our rich and prosperous country, by allowing
them to be squandered by men who have no standard except
that keen thirst for elaborate luxury which is barbarizing
American taste and ethics? Come, brothers, let us get our
hands upon these resources, and expend them by right of that
fitness which comes — not with the possession of money — but
to men who have gained humane culture by long and special
training. Give the scholarly element a chance, and American
life would regain the color and joyousness and dignity of
which it is now too often defrauded — and our land would
blossom as the rose.

Having disposed of this important preliminary, it is now
hardly necessary to remind you that humanity can take
advantage of the treasures of knowledge only if they be kept
classified and available, and that the sum-total in every field
is now too large to be compassed by any individual mind.
There are close analogies between good academic co-operation
and good housekeeping : it is a poorly equipped home which
must send for an artisan every time a screw needs tightening,
and hardly better off is that household whose attic is an indis-
tinguishable medley of unassorted odds and ends. Good
housekeeping provides liberal stores against all usual emer-
gencies,— and keeps them in such order that they can be
found at once, when needed. I am reminded of one family
which kept a certain short piece of brass wire unused for
eight years, but it proved to be worth far more than its
weight in gold at one particular emergency, because it was
instantly available. So with the conservation of knowledge,
the "Restitution of Decayed Intelligence/' Society must
foster the acquisitions of many students, in order to be pre-
pared for all contingencies. A trustworthy dictionary must

400 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

contain a large majority of words which you shall never look
up, but an abridged dictionary is an abomination, for it is
sure to fail you in your worst extremity. Therefore we can-
not applaud the economics of that member of a western legisla-
ture who opposed a further appropriation to the library of the
State University, on the ground that few, if any, of the pro-
fessors had yet read through all the books which had already
been provided them. It is only the sum-total of knowledge
possessed by an academic body which will approach that com-
pleteness which scientific progress must demand. Such a
body is always in danger of self-conceit, of fossilization, of
excessive regard for the past, — and yet it cannot be dispensed
with. It alone is capable of taking account of the stock of
the whole science, recasting its values, and eliminating that
"ancient good" which time has made "uncouth." Such
work as that associated with the names of Karl Goedeke and
William Frederick Poole, and especially the splendid co-opera-
tive fruits of the labor of our own Committee of Twelve, under
the able direction of Professor Calvin Thomas, seem to be
among the most legitimate and sacred trusts committed to our
charge — and they should be repeated at such intervals as are
necessary to bring our science into the possession of the best
and latest results of fruitful investigation.

As average members of the profession of Modern Languages
it is our duty to put ourselves and our work into a vital rela-
tion to the greatest masters of our science, to get the benefit
of their immense central power and warmth. We should lay
siege to them, if necessary, until they consent to impart directly
to us the immediate advantages of their vital and glowing
activity. Such men are, perhaps, hard to find among the
present generation of teachers, but I mean precisely that
which William Dwight Whitney was to the American Orien-
tal Society, what Professor Gildersleeve has been to the Philo-
logical Society of Johns Hopkins University. The most
hopeful thing in the matter is, that men of this stamp can be
interested in such a cause, and are now unwilling to surrender

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 401

themselves for the benefit of those who are less favorably
endowed : but it must be on the basis of homage to the Mas-
ters— there is no room for the policy of "share and share
alike" in this thing. Let that pseudo-democratic principle
keep its place in ward-primaries, where it belongs. During
twenty-one years William Dwight Whitney, the prince of
modern philologians, that great, simple, humble, valiant man,
was absent but twice from the sessions of the American
Oriental Society, for twenty-seven years he served as its
corresponding secretary, for eighteen years as its librarian,
and for six years as its president. Half the contents of its
Journal came from his pen : to the first sixteen volumes of
the Proceedings of the American Philological Association he
contributed fourteen extensive papers. It is in regal men of
his type that the phrase noblesse oblige becomes concrete truth.
One of our first aims is to capture such men, wherever they
are to be found. Colossal talents are naturally (though not
always) drawn to the most powerful institutions ; nothing
would sooner pervert the ends of our society than a spirit of
local jealousy or self-interest which would prevent our recog-
nizing the supreme place of supreme endowments in the associa-
tion. It seems not unlikely that the most favored institution
might, in the course of things, become a center of overshadow-
ing influence: if this be done legitimately, and by natural
gravitation, so be it ; for my part I should prefer that our
whole Modern Language organization should cast itself
forthright upon the ample bosom of such a dominating
institution than that it should ever be controlled by a spirit
of mediocrity. Probably there are other ways of avoiding
this calamity, but let me warn you that the moment we cease
to select and honor the highest talent in our profession, that
very moment the scepter of supreme influence and control in
the field of modern language studies will pass from us to some
individual institution which has the wisdom to discrimate in
scholastic values.

Another power which is set above us is that of the trustees

402 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

of our several colleges, men whom the public has chosen to
bear the responsibility, and, ultimately, to direct the impor-
tant policy of these institutions. I once gave deep offence to
certain of my colleagues by a publication in which the pro-
fessors in a college were spoken of as "employees" of the
trustees : well, they pay us a stipulated sum for our services, —
in my own case a pretty high return for value received — and
we are never reluctant to accept their check at the beginning
of the month. Employee no longer means a servant whose
thoughts and actions are subject to arbitrary dictation. The
distinguished Ferdinand Hasslar was once brought from
Switzerland to Washington to assume charge of the United
States Coast Survey. A committee of Congress waited upon
him in his office to inspect his work. " You come to Aspect
my vork, eh?" he screamed, "Vat you know 'bout my
vork ? Vat you going to Aspect ? You knows netting at all
'bout my vork. How can you Aspect my vork, ven you
knows netting ? Get out of here ; you in my vay. Congress
be von big vool to send you to 'spect my vork. I 'ave no
time to vaste vith such as knows netting vat I am 'bout. Go
back to Congress and tell dem vat I say ! " — and Congress
had enough of broad American good-humor to laugh at these
remarks and to vote Hasslar increased resources. However,
we should see an end to all orderly administration if there
were two ultimate sources of authority ; the ideal is one of
cheerful association — the specialist being called in to aid the
responsible superior in the wisest use of the resources to be
expended, and being of great assistance in bearing that re-
sponsibility.

Reports have been published of a proposed National Uni-
versity to be established in Washington. While these reports
are too insufficient to afford a view of its proposed scope, it is
certain that, should it contemplate the furtherance of the
modern languages, our Council should exercise large influence
in determining the policy and advising in the appointments
which would give such an institution ranking authority in the

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 403

United States. As a national body, our association ought to
take precedence over any individual institution or group of
colleges in exercising influence upon any national enterprise,
and I recommend that our Council be instructed to communi-
cate with the Council of the parent body with a view to
offering our united official assistance and advice to the
trustees of the new institution in the matter of modern
language studies.

An important practical duty of our Council should be to
maintain the dignity of the profession in case of any arbi-
trary or tyrannical treatment of its members on the part of
power in any form. In this country men who stand for any
inflexible standard of truth or conduct are more liable than
elsewhere to be put under almost intolerable pressure to yield
for the gratification of powerful persons who are accustomed
to have their own way because it is their own way, or still
more often, for the same reason, to surrender to the bold
demands of King Demos. Every sentinel on the firing line
of scientific advance should know that he has at his back the
whole host of soldiers of the truth, who are ready to rush at
he first signal to his rescue, not withholding the full supportt
of lives, of fortunes, and of sacred honor. It should be the
security of such men to know that there is one incorruptible
source of honor and vindication, of practical relief and assist-
ance, and our Council has no more obvious function — none
which we should more liberally uphold — than that of making
a full investigation and report upon complaints which might
involve the dignity or honor of our humblest members.

Another field which merits our attention is that of the pub-
lishing houses, and their vital relations to the fountain-head
of American scholarship and American taste. Some of them
are altogether too rich to be counted quite respectable, and
invite a looking-into their methods. If by the use of licen-
tious and arbitrary methods they fail in a most sacred trust to
American society ; if they foist upon our youth the cheap
productions of cheap individuals ; if they refuse publication

404 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

to works of which our science stands in great need, simply
because such works cannot be marketed to ten thousand
secondary schools, — we, who are alone authorized to pronounce
ultimate and authoritative judgment upon these matters,
ought to be heard from, with no uncertain sound. There are
even very nasty rumors heard of certain octopus-methods of
absorbing educational values — of bribery, oppression, and
other such unspeakable villainies which the morals of the
market-place tolerate : — we representative scholars are meanly
recreant to the spirit which made America great and honored
among the nations of the earth, if we count our leisure or
our resources dear in organizing an effective, quick-hitting
opposition to such tyranny: "die zeit des sohweygens ist
vorgangen, vnd die zeit zureden ist kommen"

It had been my intention to discuss in some detail our aims
in reference to those members of the social and educational
organization which stand in a secondary relation to ourselves,
but it occurs to me that this is, after all, hardly necessary.
The secondary matters will usually take care of themselves :
if with undivided heart we seek first the Kingdom and Its
Righteousness, we may rest in the confident assurance that
All These Things shall be Added unto us. Granted that
we are unswervingly true to the Commonwealth and to the
highest traditions of our noble science, — then all sincere
workers in this field will turn naturally to usward,

As for the Water-Brooks the Hart
In Thirst doth Pant and Bray.

High ideals always filter downwards (more rapidly and
effectively in America than anywhere else); otherwise I
should be tempted to point out the need of quickening and
deepening the work of our preparatory schools, and raising
it above the plane of day-labor in which it is sometimes
treated. In thinking of this work, one cannot help pen-
sively contrasting, for instance, the gatherings of that group
of supporters of Herrig's "Archiv" at their Socratic ban-

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 405

quets in the Lokal across the Spree, or the band which main-
tains the " Zeitsehrift fur den deutschen Unterriuht." Would
that the gardens which our secondary teachers cultivate might
have their irrigating-channels watered by some flow from that
deep, abundant stream whose name is the Modern Language
Association of America — in other words, that we might secure
more of these teachers as eager readers and valuable contribu-
tors for our Notes and Publications. I should think that they,
themselves, would rather be in vital communion with our
truly catholic, apostolic institution, than with any more local,
sectarian conventicle. It is unfortunately symptomatic that
only one of the twenty-eight papers to be presented at this
meeting comes from a teacher in a secondary school — a fact
which argues some serious fault, not so much in the secondary
school teachers as in the efforts of our Association. What
influence are we exerting toward the appointment of the
very best-prepared and most gifted teachers? How often it
happens that it is just these who are unable even to exhibit
their ability, and who become discouraged and lost to the com-
monwealth ! Nothing ever wrings my heart more than such
letters as the following, which I received from a mother who
lives in an obscure community of Illinois :

"I want to write you concerning my daughter; she has as yet no posi-
tion ; . . . without any help she feels she will be obliged to take up
something else, and short-hand seems to be all that is left, the one thing I
dislike so much to have her do or make her profession. . . . When I
see her many German books, and know too that she loves them so, and
realize her inability to use them, I feel so sorry for her, and can easily un-
derstand why she is so disappointed, for I do perceive it more and more
every day. Her wish to teach German was the one thing she put many
long hours on, and looked forward to the time when she might perfect it as
a language, should she be able to make the means to do the same.

" My daughter does not know that I have written to you, for I am sure she
would not want to bother anyone with her misfortune, but knowing that she
regards you as a dear friend, I felt prompted to write you concerning the
matter."

I do not mean to say that the State of Illinois suffers vital
injury because some of its daughters follow stenography

406 JAMES TAFT HATPIELD.

instead of teaching German — quite the contrary — but knowing
as I do the unusual linguistic and pedagogic gifts of that indi-
vidual, when I think back upon her faultless devotion and
conscientiousness during a long, special training, I am as
certain as anyone can be of anything that she is unjustly
barred from what she has honestly earned, for which she has
paid far more than the fair value. It does not help to cry
" overproduction " and " learned proletariat ; " all this falls
to the ground when I see the cases of inferior pupils of my
own who have been appointed to remunerative and responsible
positions without apprenticeship, and without any consultation
of myself, who have tested them at every practical point during
a series of years. So far from there being an excess of
really qualified teachers, there is a crying demand for them ;
we all know how small a percentage is found of those students
upon whom Providence has set the unmistakable seal of this
high calling : " Many wear the robe, but few keep the Way."
We know that these things are controlled by Rings, — con-
scienceless, deaf, irresponsible, — throttling the inalienable right
to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness at its most vital
point -, and the most disheartening thing about it is, that our
very institutions of higher learning themselves, whose corner-
stone is truth and honor, are not guiltless of such abuse of
scholastic trusts for " Policy." Unless you subordinate the
interests of your own institution to the promotion of sound
scholarship, after the fullest, fairest, and most open canvass
for the best teacher for any particular place, you are a com-
panion to Croker, and a brother to Bill Tweed. I know of
one striking recent case in an influential college where a
notoriously inferior man was appointed, while even the mere
opportunity to present the case of a better man was refused.
There is a general lack of confidence in the ability and
authority of the professional Employment Bureaus — is it not
the first demand of justice that we should take this matter in
hand? What could possibly elevate the standing of our
profession throughout the Central States so much as an

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 407

impartial, inter-collegiate Employment Bureau, conducted by
our own best representatives, who should candidly seek the
survival of the fittest, in place of the present disorderly
scramble for existence ? I hope for the day when no high-
school teacher, — still less college professor, — shall be appointed
without the case being fairly passed upon by our Executive
Committee. You may think me somewhat innocent and
confident ; that I am absurdly untaught in the gentle science
of seeing through the secret designs of other people, and
circumventing them ; — that shall not embarrass the message :
" ma fonction est de dire la v&ritt, mais non pas de la faire
croire" — even though results may seem to be postponed until
the time of the Greek Kalends, or, let us say, until Mr.
Howells shall become a Romanticist. I have faith to believe
that enlightened people should be able to reason together to a
working agreement, and to stick to that agreement when
reached, and I hold that nothing is, in the long run, so
practicable as simplffe justice and the Golden Rule. Be these
details treated as they may, one counsel stands sure : if we
keep our highest standards as an Association absolutely pure,
never swaying them to policy or favor, we shall deserve, and
at length gain, all the power necessary for accomplishing
whatever reforms are needed.

On behalf of the Association I welcome all its members
and friends to this beautiful center of education and higher
citizenship, which so cordially gives us its choice hospitality,
and we all look for great benefit and inspiration from our
meeting. Some are necessarily absent, who are in full
sympathy with us, and engaged in the same work. From
the Governor of Illinois I have received a courteous word of
greeting, with regrets that he is prevented by other duties
from being with us at this hour ; Professor Smith of the
Louisiana State University, our former efficient president,
sends his " good wishes for the best of all meetings." " I
shall be in Franklin, Louisiana," he writes, " attending our
State Teachers' Association,- but in spirit I shall be with

408 JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

you and your goodly knights, the members of the Modern
Language Association."

May I be allowed one or two practical suggestions, prompted
by the memories of similar meetings ? The morning sessions
have been set at the not inconvenient hour of nine, and every
minute of time will be needed to attend to the business and
the contributions before the Association. It is not at all
strange that there is usually some difficulty in assembling the
members promptly : one of the best things in our meetings is
the opportunity to spend unbroken nights with our rarely-
seen colleagues, to indulge in long, heart-filling talks among
ourselves after our year of exile among the alien hosts of
Philisitia, and yet — so far as this involves impairing the
movement of the programme, there is room for self-denial in
being promptly on hand the next morning. It will be the
aim of the chair to call the sessions to order precisely at the
minute indicated upon the committee's schedule, in order
that no injustice may be done to those who have kindly
brought to us the fruits of their extended labors. The
reading of papers always offers room for the exercise of
reciprocal comity, — the case being less serious than in the
Oriental Society, for instance, where the same members must
listen to the discussion of both Indo-European and Semitic
papers, on the principle, " Eine Hand wascht die andere."
With the crowded programme before us, there is especial
reason for heeding the admonition of our country's greatest
scholar as President, of the American Philological Society:
" We shall need to consult brevity and point in papers and
discussions, repressing the national disposition to too much
talk (sometimes wrongly attributed to the over-pursuit,
instead of the under-pursuit of philology), and frowning
particularly on papers which undertake to grapple with
subjects for which a volume would be insufficient, and which
involve a host of debatable points. The character of the
audience we address must be borne in mind, and popular and
elementary explanation cut short."

SCHOLARSHIP AND THE COMMONWEALTH. 409

As a matter of courtesy, the chair trusts that no paper may
exceed some definite limit in length (except by special request
of the Association), and he would welcome a rule which
should set such a reasonable limit, recalling also the tribute
of Professor Lanman to the same great scholar, Whitney :
" How notable the brevity with which he presented his
papers ! No labored reading from a manuscript, but rather
a simple and facile account of results. An example, surely !
He who had the most to say used in proportion the least
time in saying it."

JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.

PUBLICATIONS

OF THE

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA,

19O2.
VOL. XVII, 4. NEW SERIES, VOL. X, 4.

XIV.— AIMER LE CHETIF.

In the epic family of Aymeri de Narbonne, by far the
strangest figure is that of Ai'mer le Che"tif. Without sharing
in the grotesqneness of Hernaut le Roux, Ai'mer has a
mysteriousness and the shadow of an unknown misfortune,
which draw powerfully the sympathetic imagination. Evi-
dently we are dealing with one of the greatest of ancient
heroes, yet the complete disappearance of the epics that sang
his exploits has buried in oblivion his peculiar claim to glory.
If he has subsisted at all, it has been as a fallen deity.
Indeed, the casual reader of the poems still extant in which
he is mentioned, might suppose him the least of all his
brethren, one of the humblest and most recent additions to
the epic roll. It is in fact likely, as we shall see, that the
meaning of his epithet le cMtif was already forgotten seven
hundred years ago.

The oldest text that mentions Aimer is the Pelerinage de
Charlemagne, which dates from the close of the eleventh
century or from somewhat earlier. It is very likely that
he was mentioned in the source whence was drawn the
Fragment de la Haye. The brevity of the Fragment would
explain the absence of his name, as of that of Guillaume.

411

412 RAYMOND WEEKS.

The presence of the youngest brother, Wibelin, and of the
adult son of Bernart, leads us to suppose that both Aimer
and Guillaume appeared in the original, which probably
antedated the Felerinage by from seventy-five to one hundred
years. Ai'mer is mentioned also in the following poems :
Aliscans, Enfances Vivien, Enfanees Guillaume, Siege de Bar-
bastrey les Narbonois, Prise de Cordres, Aymeri de Narbonne,
Mort Aymeri, Guibert d'Andrenas, Aye d' Avignon, Elie de
St. Giles, and Bueve de Comarcis. Our hero also appears in
the Willehalm of Wolfram von Eschenbach, in the Storie
Nerbonesi, and in the record of Aubri de Trois- Fontaines.

We learn the following facts from these poems. Aimer
was the sixth son of Aymeri de Narbonne ; he was driven
from home along with his brothers (le d&partement des enfants
Aymeri), and went to Paris with them. His father had
given him the task of conquering " Espagne la grant," and
he succeeds after a time in forming an army, composed
largely of adventurers, and sets out for Spain. He prob-
ably conquered for himself a realm in t( Spain/7 that is, in
Catalonia ; at any rate, all accounts represent him as warring
without cease against the Saracens. The poets state that he
would never sleep under a roof. He generally appears alone
with his men, few in number. He seems to love solitude,
and frequently appears to be poor and wretched. In at least
two epics, he appears all at once with his army, in time to
decide favorably a desperate struggle with the enemy. The
Mort Aymeri recounts that he was slain in Spain, at " Por-
paillart sur mer" (see lines 547-48; 591-93; 1384-87).

A few typical passages concerning this strange hero may
be of interest.

In the Nerbonois, he makes a vow never to take shelter
under a roof, nor to sleep in a bed :

Puis que g'istrai do crestien rogue"
Et j'enterrai en la paienete",
Chevron ne laste n'ert sor moi por ore",
Ne ne jerrai desoz fete leve",

AIMER LE CH£TIF.

413

Se Sarrazin ne m'ont enprisone" ;
Mes an montaignes o en bois o en pre"
Lez les rivieres ferai tandre mon tre".

And in other passages of the same poem :

Ci voi venir le gentil bacheler
Que Fan apele le che'tif Aymer.
Ainz ne doigna dedanz vile osteler.

Ja ne jeiist dedanz sale pave"e,

N'an bore n'an vile ne soz cortine ovre"e.

From Aymeri de Narbonne :

Si ne vost onques gesir, tant com fu vis,
En tor entie ne en palds votiz.

(2916-23.)

(5926-28.)

(6706-07.)

(4593-94.)

In the arrival of the armies for the relief of Orange in
Aliscans, we find our hero choosing a camp beyond that of
the others, and showing unwillingness to dine with his friends.
His brother goes to meet him, and

Dedens Orenge le va ot lui mener,
En Gloriete, son palais principel ;
Mais Aimers ne li vaut creanter.
Defors les autres fist sa gent osteler.

Et dist Guillames — " Un don vos voiel rover :
A moi prengie"s cest prumerain souper ! "
II li otroient, ne li vuelent ve"er,
Mais a grant force i mainent A'imer.

(4255-64. )*

Another thing which seems to distinguish Aimer is his
poverty. This appears from a number of passages. We read
of the arrival of Ai'mer and his men in the Nerbonois :

1 The third, fourth, and last lines of this passage would not be properly
understood, were it not for external evidence as to the habits of our hero.
The passage, it may be added, is due to the remanieurs, at least in so far
as Aimer's welcoming to Gloriette is concerned. His brother was besieged
in the city, and cannot have hastened to meet him.

414 RAYMOND WEEKS.

La ont veil maint chevalier arme".
De laides armes estoient adobe".
Jjor escu sont percie" et estroie",
Et lor hauberc n' estoient reole",
Enrooillie* sont de pluie et d'ore*.

(6573-77.)

Similarly, in lines 5918, 6820-25. Again in Aliscans:

Mais n'ont escu ne soit rous et croisis.
Leur hauberc sont de sueur tous noircis,
Leur elmes quas ; n'eurent pas brans forbis.

(4916-18.)

It may be that this poverty is an attempt of the poets to
explain the epithet chetif; or again it may be that the poverty
comes from the oldest legend concerning the hero, thus being
a genuine "historical" trait. He is the only one of the
sons of Aymeri de Narbonne who does not come to possess,
according to the poems, cities and lands.1 There are other
sources that ascribe to him such possessions in Spain, yet the
Covenant Vivien, a poem whose action has preeminently Spain
as its scene, does not mention a single time the name of our
hero.

In spite of the fact that, in the most ancient sources, Spain
seems to have been the theatre of the exploits of Ai'mer, there
was a persistent legend that ascribed to him a career at " St.
Marc de Venis." It is this legend which is given by Aubri
de Trois-Fontaines, and Wolfram follows it, representing him
as arriving from Venice, and as having defended that city
against the " patriarc von Agley." Wolfram even calls him
the Venetian.2

The only complete and lengthy account of our hero is
found in the Slorie Nerbonesi.3 He seems to have been a

1 The Willehalm, 241, depicts the extreme poverty of our hero.

2 Several MSS. give Aimer's battle cry as " Venice la gaste*e : " vid. Aliscans,
edition Jonckbloet, 5401, and the variant given by Kolin under line 5130.
There may be confusion here with the cry of Garin : see later argument.

3 Edited by Isola, Bologna, 1877-1887, two vols.

AlMER LE CHETIF. 415

favorite personage with the author, and is in reality the hero
of the first volume of this compilation as printed by Isola —
that is, of the first four books. The recital here given,
although evidently not a record of the earliest poems con-
cerning Ai'mer, presents none the less a stage of his legend
more ancient than that preserved in the extant French models,
and merits a statement in detail.

We are told that Aymeri, having received a mortal insult
at the hands of an enemy, before the eyes of Charlemagne
and his court, returns in wrath to Narbonne and decides to
test his six oldest sons, to see if they will ever be able to
avenge his quarrel. He examines their rooms, and flies into
a passion on finding in those of Bernard, the eldest, and of
Bovon only falcons and instruments of falconry and the
chase. In the rooms of Guillaume and Ai'mer he finds
nothing but weapons of warfare. He declares these two
alone to be his sons. He summons them all to joust with
him, in order to try their strength. Ai'mer, when his turn
arrives, says that he fears to tilt against his father, lest he
kill him. His father urges him to strike his hardest, but
he perceives that Ai'mer spares him slightly as they come
together, and for this he gives him his curse, saying : " O
disobedient son ! I curse you because you have not obeyed
my injunction, and I command that you be forever called
Aimer le chttif (il cattivo), and I order you, when you have
once been dubbed knight, never to sleep within walls, nor to
eat at a table, nor are you ever to hold a fief from any man
alive ! " Aymeri drives away his six sons, commanding them
to go to Paris, and to there avenge the insult inflicted upon
him. They set out, and are soon overtaken by a servant,
who has been sent by their mother with clothing and money.
Aimer gives him a beating, and declares that they will know
how to take care of themselves. In the adventures of the
journey and in those at Paris, it is Aimer who plays the
main r6le. He does not forget his father's injunction, and
eats from his shield, seated on the ground.

416 RAYMOND WEEKS.

At the end of a year, Charlemagne gave lauds to the
brothers of Ai'mer and regretted that the curse of Aymeri
prevented him from doing the same by him, for he had taken
him in great affection. He assigned him ten thousand men,
and bade him go to Spain and conquer himself a city and
realm. The king tells him that he can never be his subject,
because of the terms of his father's malediction. Aimer
gathers together an army made up of thieves, robbers and
murderers, and sets out for Spain.

In beginning the description of the adventures of our
hero, the author shows clearly that he has all his sympathy
and admiration. He says of him that he was called Aimer
le chetif by reason of his father's curse, but that he, the
author, would call him rather Ai'mer the good.1 Aimer
wages a successful war, and takes a number of cities, among
them Pampelune. He thus became a great prince, but he
always remained in the open fields, never ate at a table and
never drank wine.

It now happened that the Saracens, informed of the depar-
ture of the sous of Aymeri, arrived to lay siege to the city.
An old family servant is sent by Aymeri to ask for assistance
from his sons. This messenger finally reaches Spain in search
of Aimer, and finds him asleep, clad in armor, under an oak.
Aimer refuses aid, although the thought of his gentle mother
in danger makes him shed tears. He alleges the cruel treat-
ment of his father, by reason of which he has not slept
within walls nor in a bed for seven years, nor has he eaten
at table or drunk wine. A fter the departure of the messenger,
however, Aimer decides to march to the relief of Narbonne.
He arrives at a critical moment in the battle for the delivery
of the city. His approaching army presents an uncouth and
strange appearance, and those of the city take it at first for
a fresh body of Saracens. The arrival of Aimer of course
decides the battle in favor of the Christians. The scene of

1L. c., 112, 113.

AifMER LE CHETIF. 417

the reconciliation between father and son is one of great
beauty. Aymeri recalls his curse, and blesses Ai'mer.1

Ai'mer now betakes himself to Paris with his brothers,
where he receives the blessing of Charlemagne, and is
knighted by him.2 He is soon informed that Tibaut, the
powerful Saracen king, is planning to march against him in
Spain, in order to avenge the death of some of his relatives,
slain by Ai'mer. He therefore sets out in haste for Spain.
He is besieged by the enemy in Pampelune. Guillaume
comes to his rescue and the Saracens are defeated.

A number of years pass, during which Ai'mer is said never
to be without war. He has with him Vivien, the son of his
brother Garin. He grants him permission to make a foray
into " Portugal," urging him to return at once. Vivien meets
with success, and is tempted to remain. His adversaries soon
surround him, and besiege him in a city which he has seized.
He sends word of his predicament to his uncle, who endeavors
to reach him, but is driven back. Vivien manages to hold
out by taking refuge in a strong castle, and finally Ai'mer
returns to the charge with a new army. In this army is
another nephew, Bertran, who had been sent from Orange,
the new seat of Guillaume, in order to bring help for the
relief of that city, also besieged by the enemy. Bertran
has come to Spain to enlist the aid of Aimer. After a victory
resulting in the setting-free of Vivien, Aimer, Bertran, Vivien
and the others set out by forced marches for Orange. They
arrive at the same time as the succor from France. Aimer
is made com mander-in -chief. The struggle is indeed terrible.
Two of Aimer's brothers lose their lives, and he himself is
so wounded that he dies after the victory. He left two sons,
Gautier and Berengier.

1 In the remaining account of our hero's life, no mention is made of his
continuing his former mode of life. Cf. following note.

3 An inadvertence has evidently been committed, in that Aimer was told
to begin his strange way of life after having been knighted. As we have
seen, he begins it before. Cf., later, testimony of the Nerbonois on this
point.

418 RAYMOND WEEKS.

Such is the life of our hero according to the account written
by Andrea da Barberino, an account which, according to the
author, was translated by him from the French. There are
many things in this account which are supported by external
evidence of a character not to be contradicted, and I believe
that this recital represents a stage of the legend more ancient
than any other preserved, yet a stage far from the most
ancient that ever existed. There are of course events in
this recital which are manifestly due to the compiler.

The account as it has just been given differs from the
one found in the poems in the following important points :
The explanation given of Aimer's strange way of living ;
the relative importance of the r6le of Ai'mer in the journey
to Paris, and the events there; the holding of a fief by
Ai'mer; the manner of the relief brought by the hero to
Narbonne, and similarly later to Orange ; the scene of his
exploits; the relations between him and Vivien on the one
hand, and between Vivien and Guillaume on the other ; the
place of his death.

What was the origin of Aimer's strange custom of never
sleeping under a roof, of never eating at a table, etc.? The
Nerbonesi, as we have seen, ascribe this to his father's having
cursed him. The only other explanation with which I am
familiar is found in the Nerbonois, lines 2911-23. In this
passage, the young hero, who is about to start for Spain,
stands before Charlemagne and makes a vow: having once
entered the Saracen land, he will never shelter himself under
a roof, unless a prisoner and thus unable to help himself,
but will ever remain in the woods and meadows, and on
the banks of streams.

These two explanations probably go back to a common
source, different as they at first appear. It will be remembered
that, in the Nerbonesi, Aimer is instructed to act as he says
he will in the vow, after he has been dubbed knight. This
is really what happens in the poem, for the adoubement
follows immediately the vow. That is, Aimer is perhaps

AIMER LE CHETIF. 419

simply carrying out his father's instructions. The insertion
into the Italian account of the peculiar clause: quando tu
sarai fatto cavaliere, leaves no doubt that the sources whence
came this account were acquainted with the tradition of
Aimer's having made such a vow on being dubbed knight
by Charlemagne. The vow itself has certain marks of high
antiquity. If it were a new invention made to explain
the peculiar mode of life of the hero, it would not contain
mention of so many things unknown to the poems and
traditions now extant. For instance, in line 2920, we find
Ai'mer qualifying his vow : " provided the Saracens do not
have me in prison " (cf. lines 3010-3020). These passages
leave no doubt that anciently the hero suffered a captivity
and was rescued by the emperor. Then, too, the lines
2923-29 seem to contain a prophecy of events not recounted
by any poem extant. Such traits as these are earmarks of
truth, and the critic can not pass them by.

There is some evidence supporting the tradition of a
hostility between Aimer and his father. In the Ptnse de
Cordres there are two quarrels between father and son — 275—
308 and 406-441.1 The father shows here something like a
settled animosity towards Aimer. In the Nerbonois, 342-358,
another son, Bernart, expresses the very same sentiments as
Aimer in the second of the above passages, yet Aymeri only
laughs and says that he is proud of such a son. To the
extent, then, that Aymeri appears more severe against Aimer
than against his other sons, the first explanation of our hero's
ways of living is supported.

Another point that merits perhaps investigation is the
warning given Aimer in the Italian account never to hold
a fief from any one. Such a charge, for a man of Aimer's

1 The punctuation of this passage is faulty. The speech of Aymeri begin-
ning in line 417 is interrupted by the son in line 424. From this point to
line 429, the words are said by the son. Ph. Aug. Becker thinks this scene
imitated from one in Guibert d'Andrenas, see Zeit.f. Rom. Phil., xxn, p. 419,
note 3.

420 RAYMOND WEEKS.

rank, was equivalent to banishment, and this is really what
happens. He refuses, according to the Nerbonois, to accept
a fief in France, but declares that he will conquer one in
Spain. He does, however, offer to do homage for this fief
to Charlemagne, who accepts in advance.1

It would be hard to find any passage worthy of credence
which relates that Ai'mer held a fief anywhere. In fact, the
trend of the testimony is rather the other way. He seems
to have plunged into the heart of " Spain," and to have been
lost to sight. We read, for instance, in Guibert d'Andrenas,
that Guibert, told by his father to go and summon Ai'mer to
send aid, replies :

Ou le porrai trouver ?
Je ne sai tant venir ne aler
Que a nul homme em puisse oi'r parler
Qui m'en seiist nouveles aconter,
Si parfont est dedens Espaigne entrez.2

The impression of Aimer's remoteness is also felt in the well-
known passage of Aliscans, 2601-03, and in lines 6619, 6627,
of the Nerbonois.

To sum up, there is more likelihood of the vow being
primitive than the account of Andrea, although this latter
is based evidently on very ancient data in the epic life of
the hero. The quarrel with his father seems to be the knot
that attached him to the cycle of Orange, and bears witness
to his preexistent fame. The vow is the knot that attached
an independent hero in the south-land to the great northern
emperor. Jongleurs from the north probably found this
hero sung in the south as the most bitter enemy of the
Saracens in Spain. For patriotic and utilitarian reasons, it

1 There is a passage of doubtful authority in the Prise de Cordres, Appen-
dice, lines 294-97, ascribing to our hero a fief. Louis has taken Saragoce,
and confers it on Aimer. The poet adds a line bearing witness to Aimer's
reputation for poverty, or to his lack of landed possessions: Car onques
mods n'ot terre tencmt ne en baillie.

2 Cited by Densusianu, Prise de Cordres, p. xcii. Similarly in the Siege
de Barbastre, cited by Becker, Quellenwert der Slorie Nerbonesi, Halle, 1898,
p. 11, note 2.

AlMER LE CHETIF. 421

was desirable to attach him to the mighty Charlemagne.
He was perhaps represented as a Frank of the north, who,
by reason of some family complications, swore to devote
himself to the conquest of Spain. In the course of events,
the cycle of Orange was able to lay hand upon him without
shocking tradition, and the result was the stage of his legend
represented in the Nerbonesi.

In the Italian account of the journey of the brothers to
Paris and their adventures there, Ai'mer seems to play the
important role, whereas in the Nerbonois the person most in
evidence is Hernaut. The appearance of Hernaut is always
the signal for burlesque and buffoonery, and no one will
maintain that a preponderating r6le given to such a character
is a sign of high antiquity. If we had to choose between
Hernaut and Aimer on this count, we should certainly give
the greater authority of age to the latter. Again, the import-
ance of Aimer here is in perfect keeping with the role which
we know him to have played later, as seen by the poems
still extant : he is everywhere spoken of as one of the
most terrible antagonists of the Saracens; his arrival at an
opportune moment decides two of the most momentous
battles in the history of Narbonne and Orange. Indeed,
to the trained reader, the manner in which his arrival is
announced on these occasions is absolute evidence of his
preeminence. For instance, in the well-known endementiers
scene of Aliscans, which begins in line 4125, Guillaume
sees his brothers arrive to deliver Orange. He sees arrive
Hernaut and Bo von, and is full of joy ; but, says the poet,
he will be much more joyful soon, when Aimer le che"tif
shall have come. Finally, Guillaume sees Aimer, who arrives
last, and he exclaims :

Ves la venir le caitif Aimer,

L'omme del mont, por voir le puis center,

Ke Sarrasin puent plus redouter !

Centre celui me convient il aler

Et deseur tos servir et honorer,

Car ainc paien ne laissa reposer.

(4246-4251).

422

RAYMOND WEEKS.

The greatest hero arrives last. Similarly, in the Nerbonois,
Dame Hermangart and her husband behold the arrival of the
armies that are to relieve Narbonne. The last to arrive is
Aimer, and his presence encourages the besieged more than
that of the others. In the same way, his arrival at the camp
of the relieving forces is motivated to show his great import-
ance, lines 6572-6629. The conclusion that Ai'mer merits
the important position given him in the portions of the story
under discussion, seems imperative.

In regard to this very arrival of Ai'mer at the two sieges
in question, the Italian account offers valuable testimony to
explain the action of the French poems, an action which is
incomprehensible without this additional testimony. Let us
take up these sieges in order.

We are told in Aliscans, when the messenger arrives at
court for aid, that nearly all the brothers of Guillaume are
present,

Mais n'i ert pas Aimers li caitis.
En Espaigne est entre les Sarrasis,
U se combat et par nuit et par dis.

(2601-03).

No messenger is sent to him, yet, to our surprise, he comes at
the proper time to aid in relieving the city (see the passages
just cited above). The Italian story, however, makes all
plain, by telling of the trip of the messenger to Spain, where
he warned Aimer. The importance of this as a justification
of the recital of Andrea is very great.

In the same way, the arrival of Aimer before Narbonne in
the Nerbonois is unmotivated, and finds its explanation in the
messenger, sent as related in the Nerbonesi, to urge Aimer to
come to the relief of his parents.1

1 That a messenger really went to the brothers is indicated by a passage
in the Nerbonois, 406-12. Becker, Quellenweri, p. 13, note, complains that
the arbitrary sending of A'imer to Spain by the poet of the Nerbonois
(cf.p. 11), prevents the messenger from finding him at Paris with the other
brothers, hence his arrival at Narbonne appears unmotivated. In the
passage just cited, however, it is stated that the messenger is to seek the

AIMEK LE CHETTF. 423

Where was the scene of the exploits of Ai'mer? Some
of the French sources and the Nerbonesi answer, "In Spain";
while other French sources indicate Italy.

Some critics have not hesitated to affirm that Italy was the
original scene of the exploits of Aimer.1 What are the facts?
Aliscans seems to give a divided testimony. One passage has
already been cited from this epic (lines 2601-03), which says
in so many words that Ai'mer is in Spain. Again, at the close
of the poem, line 8379, it is stated that he returns to Spain.
For the other passages, the matter is not so simple. We read,
for instance,

Aimers li caitis :

Ciex prist la terre de Saint Marc de Venis
Sor les paiens d'Espaigne.

(4178-80.)
And again of him and his men :

Par maintes fois ont paiens asentis
Dedens Espaigne, a Saint Marc de Venis.

(4919-20.)

I think that all of the passages that ascribe to Aimer a
career in Italy repose on an error in the lines 4178-80, cited
above. These lines occur in a laisse in iy and it is my
opinion that originally Garin, who for some reason was
eliminated from the list of the brothers present, appeared in
this laisse, where his name naturally would appear because
of the assonance. Cf. the laisse in i beginning in line 5892 of
the Nerbonois, where Garin arrives from Italy to aid in the
relief of Narbonne. That all the children of Aymeri arrived

brothers one by one : Tot un et un par estrange pens. This is precisely what
happens in the Nerbonesi, not only for Ai'mer, but for the others as well :
see N.j i, pp. 161-171. Dame Hermangart (vol. u, Nerbonois, p. -J3, lines
16-17), breathes a blessing on the one who went to tell Ai'mer of the sore
straits of Narbonne.

1Vid. Densusianu, Prise de Cordres, p. xcii, note; Becker, Quellenwert,
p. 11. The first of these critics says : " Peut-elre arrivera-t-on un jour &
identifier ce fils d'Aymeri de Narbonne avec quelque personnage historique
qui s'e'tait distingue* centre les Sarrasins en Italic." Probably the earliest
critic to draw attention to the ascription to Ai'mer of Venice was Demaison,
Aymeri de Narbonne, p. ccxi, ss.

424 RAYMOND WEEKS.

before Orange, there can be little doubt, although the only
MSS. that mention Garin by name are m (Boulogne), and d
(Bib. Nat. 2494), certainly two of the best MSS. The first
mentions him in line 4635, the second in 7736. It follows
from the reading of line 1915 in m, and from the last laisse
of this MS., cited on p. 109 of the Varianten of Rolin,
Aliscans, that Garin was present. Cf. in m lines 558 and
6646. The question of the presence of Garin is certainly
one of the most puzzling. It will be agreed, however, that
if he was present, the laisse in i under discussion is where
his name would naturally appear. If it can be shown that
there was any reason why Garin's name should have been
suppressed in Aliscans, the probability that it formerly stood
in the laisse in question will be heightened. A full discussion
of the presence or absence of Garin would require a whole
article. I have recently touched on this question in another
place, and can here only summarize the reasons which lead
me to believe that Garin has been suppressed in the original
sources from which Aliscans was formed.1

The Covenant Vivien is composed from two separate poems,
one of which also contributed largely to the formation of the
first part of Aliscans. In one of these poems, Garin, whom
a new tradition ascribed to Vivien as father, was still alive ;
in the other, he was already dead. Hence the inconsistency
which appears in the words: Filz fu Garin (Cov. Viv., 123,
143-144), as compared with : Filz sui Garin (1833). The
action of the poem which we call Aliscans being supposed to
follow that of the Cov. Viv., nothing could be done except to
take the last time limit of the Covenant: that is, the death of
Garin was pre-supposed.2 It happened, however, that among

1 Origin of the Covenant Vivien, in The University of Missouri Studies, No. 2,
published by the University, 1902. See especially section 15, pp. 45, 46,
and cf. p. 8.

2 In line 827 of Aliscans, Guillaume says to the dying Vivien, explaining
that he can hear his confession, and give absolution, as the nearest relative
in the absence of a priest: "Je suis tes oncles, n'as ore plus prochain."
These words are to be taken literally : his father is dead.

AIMER LE CH£TIF. 425

the sources incorporated in the later action of the new poem,
Aliscans, was an ancient poem in which Garin, together with
his brothers, played a r6le. This r6le was suppressed as far
as Garin was concerned, save for the traces cited above, and
certain others too obscure to mention here. I conclude, there-
fore, that Garin formerly appeared in the original source from
which the passages 4178-80 and 4919-20 were drawn. If,
as has been said, he appeared in the muster of the sons of
Aymeri de Narbonne, his name was found in the laisse in i.
Inasmuch as tradition ascribed to him a career in Italy, with
his father-in-law, Boniface, the statements about his having
fought at St. Marc de Veuise would contain nothing surpris-
ing. The elimination of his name in this laisse, together
with the mistake, made easy for reasons of rhyme, of retaining
the words : Saint Marc de Venis, would explain satisfactorily
the ascription of these words to Aimer, whose name followed
in the laisse.

As for the other sources that treat of Ai'mer, what ones
ascribe to him Spain, what ones Italy ?

In line 216, ss. of the Nerbonois, Aymeri tells our hero
that he is to conquer Spain : cf. 538 ; 1048 ; 1176 ; 2852-53;
2877-78; 3000-08; 3319-20. Again, it is stated in the
passage beginning with line 5914, that Aimer arrives from
towards Spain. At the close of the poem, however, in line
7951, we read that Aimer returned to Venice la grant! This
sudden abandonment of all the past geography touching
Aimer can only be a late addition.1

According to the testimony of the Enfances Vivien? of the
Siege de Barbastre, of the Mort Aymeri, the Prise de Cordres,
Guibert d'Andrenas, the scene of Aimer's exploits was in
Spain ; according to Aymeri de Narbonne, the chronicle of

1 Perhaps enough passages have been cited from this poem to show that
A'imer cannot have had Italy as his stage of action. One more may be
added : in line 6625, Boniface is said to have seen our hero only once before

le present meeting.

2 See line 4613, MS. of Boulogne. The MS. in prose, whose authority is
it, indicates Venice : line 1670.

426 RAYMOND WEEKS.

Aubri de Trois-Fontaines, and the Wittehatm, Italy. The
weight of evidence favors overwhelmingly the testimony of
the Nerbonesi, especially when we consider that the evidence
of Aliscans in reality indicates Spain. It will be seen later
that testimony is to be found in the Covenant looking in the
same direction.

Another important point of difference between the account
of Andrea and that of the poems extant lies in the relations of
Vivien to Aimer and to Guillaume. We have already seen
in the Italian account the close connection between Vivien
and Aimer. It is to him that Vivien looks for aid in time
of trouble; he evidently occupies the position of favorite
uncle which Aliscans and the Covenant give to Guillaume.
In all the range of epics treating of Guillaume and Orange,
nothing is more firmly rooted, it would appear, in tradition,
and certainly nothing is more touching, than the affection
of the young Vivien for Guillaume and for Guibor, and
theirs for him. The Italian story reverses all this. Vivien
becomes the foster child of Ai'mer, and shows so little interest
in the affairs of Orange that his friends have difficulty in
persuading him to accompany them to deliver the city.1 It
would seem that here at least the authority of the French
monuments could not be questioned, and that Andrea must
certainly have invented his strange account.

A close study of this matter, however, has led me to feel
that the contrary is true ; that the tale of Andrea is correct,
and represents a stage of the legend of Vivien, Aimer, and
Guillaume considerably older than that preserved in the
French epics. Such a reversal of the pole of attraction is
indeed amazing, and any proper treatment of the subject
would demand a volume. All that I shall attempt here will
be to state my conclusions, referring the reader to a fuller
statement elsewhere.2

Aimer and Vivien were at one time independent heroes,
with the scene of their deeds in Spain. Later, Vivien became

1 Nerbonesi, I, p. 498. 2 See The Origin of the Cov. Viv., already cited.

AIMER LE CHETIF. 427

subordinated to Aimer, and was said to be his nephew, the
son of a sister, of course. In time, however, the rising sun
of a new hero subordinated the cycle of Ai'mer, who was
now said to be a brother of Guillaume. This subordination
undoubtedly entailed the loss of a portion of the epic matter
of the cycle of Aimer. The story of the Nerbonesi (which
we may for brevity designate as N) presents the stage of
affairs at this juncture : the scene of the activity of Aimer
and Vivien is still Spain, and Aimer is still the favorite
uncle. It now happened that the cycle of Guillaume, which
had developed to an astonishing degree of richness, broke, so
to speak, under its own weight. In time, new poems were
built out of the ruins of the old. Orange was made more
than ever the centre of the action, Aimer was largely elimi-
nated, and Vivien became attached in the manner we all
know to Guillaume and to Orange. The very scene of his
death in battle was, in the popular mind, transferred from
Spain to the neighborhood of Orange.

Traces of this vast change are still to be observed in the
Covenant and in Aliscans, both of them composite poems built
from the ruins of others. The first of these two poems, the
Covenant, which we may denominate C, was formed by the
fusion of two poems : the events of one of these, — the foray of
Vivien into " Portugal/' his being besieged, the unsuccessful
attempt of Aimer and some of his nephews to rescue him, the
second attempt, which proved successful, the marching of the
two heroes to deliver Orange — have already been related.
The second poem recounted the death of Vivien in Spain,
and the fearful defeat of his uncle Guillaume, Aimer having
perished at the delivery of Orange. The first of these two
poems was lost as a separate epic because another greater
poem, on which it depended, the Siege d' Orange, had lost its
identity in the destruction that had come over the cycle. The
action of the Siege was necessary to explain the setting of the
smaller poem whose hero Vivien was. The existence of this
smaller poem, however, is still certified to by traces left in
2

428 RAYMOND WEEKS.

those portions of the Si&ge which entered into a new epic
then coming into existence, the present Aliscans. In fact, in
this epic, in lines 2601—03, we are told, just as the recital of
N demands, that Ai'mer was not in France, but was in Spain,
warring day and night with the Saracens. N tells how,
because of this, the messenger went to Spain, found Ai'mer
and Vivien, and came with them to the delivery of Orange.
Fortunately, we have preserved also in another portion of the
Si&ge utilized in Aliscans, the arrival of Aimer, although no
explanation has been given of the manner of his being
informed of the straits of the city. See lines 4245-51.
Finally, the chance preservation of another line bears witness
to the presence also of the messenger, who, from the exigencies
of the new epic, is not supposed to be present.1

In C, an effort was made to root out Aimer absolutely, and
to substitute Guillaume for him. This has generally been
done successfully, yet in one passage the remanieurs have
betrayed themselves. Their method was to ascribe to Guill-
aume the deeds of Aimer as far as possible, and in other
passages to replace the name of Aimer by that of Aymeri.
This was easy to do in most cases. One reads such lines as
the following in C without great surprise, although the
importance given the grandfather Aymeri indicates rather the
period of decadence than that of virility :

Ferment maudit Aymeri et Guillelme,

(156)

Ne ja reproche n'en aura Aymeris,
Guibor la bele, Guillaumes li marchis,

(413-14)
Bien pert qu'il est del lignaige Aymeri,

(517)

Dolanz en iert Aymeris et Guillelmes,
Guiberz li rous, et tuit cil de sa geste,

(623-24)

Quant le saura Aymeris au vis fier,

Et dans Guillaumes et Guibor sa moillier,

(794-95).

1 Line 4931. Of. Romania, xxvni, pp. 127, 128.

A¥MER LE CHETIF. 429

The number of these passages is, however, so great, that one
begins to wonder at the absence of the name of Ai'mer.
Indeed, only one other uncle, Bernart, is absent from the
poem. This appears doubly suspicious when we reflect that
the scene of the poem is that same Spain which the most
ancient legend ascribes as especial scene of activity to Ai'mer.
But when we find the following passage, we hesitate no
longer to see in the persistent avoidance of the name of
Ai'mer something very like a conspiracy : in lines 1850-56,
Vivien says that if his uncle Guillaume will place him on
horseback, put the bridle in his hands, and guide him into
the thick of the Saracens, he will vanquish the best of them,

or, if not,

Ainz ne fui ni6s Aymeri ne Guillelme.

Since Aymeri is his grandfather and Guillaume his uncle, it
seems clear that the remanieurs have here been caught in the
act, for, with all the elasticity of the word nifa, it cannot fit
both the persons named.

Nor does the substitution of Aymeri for Aimer, in my
opinion, stop with C. It seems to extend to Aliscans^ which
is perfectly natural, since portions of this latter poem are
woven from the same woof as C. The whole presence in
Aliscans of Aymeri, which has with justice surprised the
critics, is due to this substitution of his name for that of
Aimer. This began in a series of passages which still give
trouble. These passages are found in the following lines of
Aliscans: 5968-72, 6249-51, 6645-47; cf. 5693-94. The
nature of the difficulty in these passages will be apparent
from a citation of the first three. In the first passage,
Guillaume is fighting with an enemy in battle :

Ja 11 tranchast la teste maintenant,
Mes au rescorre poignent .xx. m. Persant.
Et d'autre part Franyois li combatant,
Et Aymeris et toz ses .vi. enfanz,
Et si neveu, et si apartenant.

430 RAYMOND WEEKS.

In the second passage, a duel is going on during the battle i

Et d'autre part contreval li Archans,
Se recombat Guillaumes li vaillans,
Et Aymeris, et toz ses .vi. enfanz.

In the third passage, E-enoart is assailed by a number of

enemies :

Mes au rescorre vint Guillaume[s] poignant,
Et Aymeris, et tuit li .v. enfant,
Et si neveu et si autre parent.

The first of these passages reads fairly well, save for the
last line. We do not know of any nephews or cousins of
Aymeri in the battle. From the second and third passages
one would never suppose that Guillaume also is one of
Aymeri's children. Indeed, a person unacquainted with the
legend would suppose that he was anything else rather than
one of the enfanz. Yet, if the name Aymeri be here in
its place, the enfanz are Guillaume's brothers. The third
passage contains again the word neveu, and has fve instead
of six. The repeated mention of six sons besides Guillaume
would have a strange air, in view of the fact that the
majority of the MSS. do not mention Garin as present.
Then, too, the number five is puzzling.

I think that in all of these passages the original reading
was Aimer. The passages in question are from the battle
that followed the arrival before Orange of Aimer and his
band, who had just come from relieving Vivien besieged.
That is, these events originally followed immediately those
of the first of the two poems whose union constituted C,
and are from the very same current of epic narration. In
the expedition which resulted in the relief of Vivien, Ai'mer
was accompanied by six nephews, of whom, by the way,
Bertran was one. In the lost poem, they were probably
designated always as les six enfanz. On the liberation of
Vivien, there were seven of these cousins. They accom-
panied Ai'mer to Orange, and played a brilliant r6le in the-

AifMER LE CHETIF. 431

delivery of the city, especially Vivien and Bertran. The
same process of elimination of Ai'mer that we have witnessed
in C was extended to these events, nor could it well have
been otherwise, since it was all one narration : Aliscans, in
fact, as we see, begins without any preamble, and is really,
at least for its beginning, one and the same poem as C.
Inasmuch as there were present six brothers of Guillaume
in the battle that released Orange, the change from Aimer
to Aymeri, the father of the six brothers, was perhaps uncon-
scious ; but if intentional, nothing was easier to do, because
of the parallelism in numbers and the similarity in names.
In view of the elimination of Ai'mer from C and the
obliteration of the poem concerning the relief of Vivien,
the substitution was inevitable. The changing of Aymeri
into Aimer in the above passages, gives them a natural air.
Of course, the possessive ses should be changed to les. But
why are there only six cousins? The first passage follows
immediately the dangerous wounding of Vivien : see lines
5932-36, hence there are only six cousins left. As for the
third passage, where only five cousins are mentioned, it is to
be explained by supposing one of the six, probably Bertran,
to be in mortal danger. The others hasten to his aid.1

Finally, to take up the last important difference between
the account of N and that of the French poems, where did
Ai'mer die ? N says in the battle for the delivery of Orange ;
the Mori Aymeri} at Porpaillart.2 Assuredly, the poem is not
a very creditable witness, yet it may well be that, at one time
in the legend of our hero, he was said to have met death as
here indicated. Indeed, as between the two statements, that
of the Mort Aymeri has more likelihood of being primitive

1 The fact that in the lines immediately preceding it is Rene-art who is
in danger, cuts no figure whatever. It is admitted by all good critics that
Kenoart is a late addition to the geste, and had originally nothing to do
with Aliscans.

zAye d' Avignon states that our hero perished in battle, but does not say
where: see p. 45 of this poem, in the Anciens Po&es de la France.

432 RAYMOND WEEKS.

than that of N, for the reason that this latter has him die
before Orange, a city with which originally he can have had
nothing to do, whereas he may well have perished in a battle
at Porpaillart. The history of this city as it concerns the
legend of Guillaume is yet to be written, and offers some
most interesting developments.1

It has been seen that, in nearly all particulars, the account
of N concerning Ai'mer represents a stage of the legend
considerably more ancient than that of the Old French poems
preserved.

What sense was attached to the word chetif as applied to
Ai'mer in the old poems ? The word seems to be used always
in the sense of poor, unfortunate. Yet it is more than likely
that the original meaning of this epithet was captive. If
this be true, the explanations offered by N and by the
Nerbonois are both relatively modern. N, however, it will
be noted, seems to consider the term to mean unfortunate, not
poor in this world's goods, for it depicts him as the master
of many cities : we read of him : " erasi fatto magiore signore
della magiore parte di Spagna. E sempre la sua vita era
stare a campo, e mai non dormiva in terra murata, e non
sedeva a tavola, e non beveva vino, per la maladizione che
gli did Amerigo, suo padre." 2 Again : " Namieri si destd, e
rizzosi ritto da dormire il valente signore della grande parte
di Spagna." 3

There is some evidence preserved in the Nerbonois indicat-

1 Negative testimony would indicate that Ai'mer did not die at Porpaillart,
judging by Foucon. Tibaut in this poem admits having received great
injury from the Christians at " Barzelone et Porpaillart." He boasts that
the Christians paid dear, however, for Tortelouse, in losing Vivien there.
Had Ai'mer perished at Porpaillart in the legend utilized by Foucon, it
would be stated by him that, while he had lost heavily at Barzelone, the
Christians had paid dearly for Porpaillart and Tortelouse, Ai'mer having
perished at Porpaillart, Vivien at Tortelouse. See Foucon, p. 83, edition
Tarbe". Foucon, by the way, is vastly more worthy of credit than the Mori
Aymeri.

2 P. 138, vol. 1. For his wealth, see Nerbonois, 3243.

3 P. 119, vol.1.

AIMER LE CHETIF. 433

ing that Aimer had to suffer a captivity.1 In a passage
beginning in line 3009, Charlemagne, pleased with the young
Ai'mer, who is about to go away to conquer Spain, assures
him that he will never be in a country so far away, but what,
if the Saracens put him in prison, he, Charlemagne, will
come with his barons to deliver him. In lines 3020-21,
Ai'mer is said to be joyful because of this assurance. These
passages certainly indicate that there was once sung an expe-
dition for the rescue of Aimer. They may of course have
been inserted by some poet eager to have a nail on which to
hang a new poem, or they may be the last echo of an ancient
legend concerning the captivity of Aimer. The probability
of the latter being true is much heightened by a significant
line in the vow before the emperor. Aimer swears never to
be sheltered by a roof, etc., unless the Saracens have him in
prison: Se Sarrazin ne m'ont enprisone (2920). It is more
than likely, then, that the epithet chetif meant originally
captive, and that these passages preserve the last, faint trace
of a forgotten story. If this supposition be correct, Aimer
was in the earliest legends concerning him in langue d'oil the
friend of Charlemagne and his predecessor in the conquest
of Spain.2 Taken prisoner during some expedition, he enjoyed
the signal honor of being freed by the august emperor him-
self, under whom, and not under Louis, his epic history was
placed. The most ancient poems concerning him having
disappeared, his diminished fame was still great enough for
the cycle of Orange to lay hands upon him, but the epithet
by which he had been known was sooner or later misunder-
stood, and was taken to mean unfortunate, poor. A new
legend, based in part upon some trait of the original hero,
sprang up about his already venerable name. For a period
after he was thus drawn into the planetary system of Guil-

1 Cf. G. Paris, Manuel, 38 : "Aimer le chetif .... qui tire son surnom de
sa longue captivit^ chez les Sarrasins."

2 That Ai'mer was first sung in Provenpal, is here taken for granted. Cf.
G.Paris, Naimeri, in the Melanges Leonce Couture, pp. 349 ss., Toulouse, 1902.

434 RAYMOND WEEKS.

laume, the minor satellite of Vivien continued to revolve
around him (the stage of N), but was finally drawn to a
mightier centre of attraction, Guillaume (stage of the extant
French poems). In this way, by successive stages, the epic
glory of Aimer was diminished, until he became one of the
most obscure and remote of the six orbs that were set to
twinkle about the central sun of Guillaume. Chetif indeed !

KAYMOND WEEKS.

XV.— THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER.

When the critics of the middle of the eighteenth century
discuss the conditions of the German stage at that time, they
invariably complain of the great losses caused to it by the
untimely death of several young and promising authors.
Bra we, Cronegk, and J. E. Schlegel are mentioned in this
way ; and their names are still remembered, if their works
are forgotten. Together with these we repeatedly find a
name that nowadays seems almost to have dropped out of
the memory of the historians of literature. Yet the young
Nicolai' * was just as eager to praise Johann Christian Kriiger
as those other three men, and regretted that he, too, by a
premature death, had been prevented from fulfilling what his
early productions had promised. For a long time confused
with Gottsched's unlucky disciple, B. E. Kriiger,2 Johann
Christian Kriiger's personality and writings only now begin
to be understood.3

We have from Kriiger several Lustspiele, lyrical poems,
and a certain number of those "Vorspiele" without which
the public of those days would not have been satisfied. As
to them, the Bibliothek der sehonen Wissenschaflen states :
" The greatest merit of a Vorspiel is to be appropriate to the
circumstances for which it is intended, and for the playwright
to succeed in choosing a pleasing allegory that suits the con-
ditions of the time and locality ; when these conditions cease
to exist, the Vorspiel loses its interest." Those by Kriiger

1 Nicolai', Briefe ilber den itzigen Zusland der sehonen Wissenschaflen in
Deutschland, 1755, p. 120; also Bibliothek der sehonen Wissenschaflen (1764),
x, 241 ; Hannoverisches Magazin, Montag den 28. Martii, 1768 ; Jordens,
Lexicon deutscher Dichter und Prosaisten, Leipzig, 1808, v. 3 ; and of course
Loe wen's introduction to Kriiger's Poelische und theatralische Schriften,
Leipzig, 1763.

2 Cf. Danzel, Gottsched, p. 166.

3 Vogt und Koch, Deutsche Litteraturgeschichte,1 p. 130.

435

436 ALBERT HAAS.

are declared to be "still among the most tolerable of the
German stage." l

His lyrical poems — hymns, epigrams, and other poems —
hardly rank higher. Some of them were published in the
Sammlung vermischter Schriften, von den Verfassern der Brem-
ischen neuen Beytrdge, and several of his religious poems
found their way into the hymnals of the time.2

For all these reasons it is sufficient to examine Kriiger's
Lustspiele, in order to determine what place he occupies in
the history of German literature.

All eighteenth century critics are unanimous in affirming
that these comedies do not strictly belong to the same class
as those of Gottsched's school. Jordens says that Kriiger
oifended the Leipzig dictator by his translation of Marivaux's
comedies, and that in his own writings he tried to follow the
example set by Moliere. A brief review of Gottsched's
connections with the origin of the modern German comedy
will make the meaning of these statements clearer.

Gottsched, in his reform of the German stage, concen-
trated nearly all his energy upon the promotion of tragedy.
He had himself a great admiration for every kind of stately
and conventional dignity and had not the slightest sense
of humor. He therefore sympathized more or less with
Boileau's reluctance to admit Moliere in all of his writings
as the equal of Corneille.3

So it was left to Frau Gottsched to devote her wit and
common sense to the abandoned cause of the German comedy.

1 Further details about these Vorspiele in Hans Devrient, Johann Friedrich
Schonemann (Litzmann's TheatergeschichtlicheForschungen, xi), passim.

2 Those beginning with the words: "Entfernet euch, unsel'ge Spotter;"
" Wie machtig spricht in meiner Seele ; " and " Der Herr des Guten ist
mein Hirte " (G. L. Bitter, Allyemeines Biographisches Lexicon alter und neuer
geistlicher Liederdichter, Leipzig, 1804, p. 180). Heerwagen (Litleraturge-
schichte des evangdischen Kirchenliedes, Neustadt an der Aisch, 1792, i, 270)
says that " Wie machtig," Ac., is to be found in the Anspacher und Braun-
schweiger Gesangbuch.

*Art poetique, in, 11. 393-400.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGEE. 437

She was far more successful in her attempts than her husband
in his Atalanta or even Cato. She felt less limited in the
free exercise of her natural gifts than her husband by his
programme. And the models she imitated had not yet
arrived at that state of rigorous conventionality which charac-
terizes the classical French tragedy of the eighteenth century.1
The French comedy had followed the evolution of the century
also in its form, and thus had kept in closer touch with real
life. It had changed, developed, perhaps even progressed.
So Frau Gottsched's models are less to be sought among the
comedies of the si&cle de Louis Quatorze than among their
numerous French and foreign successors : Destouches, Addison,
Holberg, — if we omit less important authors, like Bougeant.
The Saxon comedy undoubtedly gained by these facts. But,
on the other hand, their good influence was seriously hampered
by this other fact, that nothing is more intimately connected
with the social institutions and manners of national life than
comedy.2 And for a long time the great drawback of all these
Saxon comedies was destined to be, that their authors studied
characters in books and not in real life. For there was an
enormous difference between the public of France and the
public of Germany. The French aristocracy with its over-
refined taste had given to the eighteenth century comedy a
morbid elegance and delicacy, which the Saxon writers tried
to imitate. But they all belonged to the middle classes, and
wrote for a public of the same standing. This German public
hardly can be said to have had at that moment any past at
all ; it could have only a future. And this future entirely
depended upon whether the German writers should succeed
in awakening the enormous amount of unconscious, untrained,
brute force that patiently waited for its moment to come.
Marivaux's subtle psychology certainly was not able to do this.

1Faguet, Histoire de la litieralure fran$aise, Paris, 1900, II, 209.

2Cf. the advice given to a young Frenchman: Edmond et Jules de
Goncourt, La Femme au 18™ siMe, Paris,3 1890, p. 390.

3 Weisse's uneasiness when in Paris : Minor, Chr. F. Weisse, Innsbruck,
1880, p. 35.

438 ALBERT HAAS.

There are some attempts to use the form of the French
comedy for a picture of life and manners different from those
that the Parisian public experienced every day. One is
astonished to see in Gottsched's Schaubuhne translations from
Holberg's comedies, where the middle class and even the
populace play such an important and merry part. Here
Harlequin reappears under the name of Peter l or Heinrich,
Colombine is called Catherine, and both look as healthy and
unrefined as possible. Drunken men stagger over the stage
and stammer grotesque nonsense, and even the cries of the
oyster women are heard, selling their shellfish before the
Kannegiesser' }s house. Equally astonishing is an attempt of
Frau Gottsched's to give absolute life-resemblance and to por-
tray entirely unconventional manners and modes of speech.
In her Pietisterey im Fischbeinrocke a Frau Ehrlichin, " eine
gemeine Burgersfrau," gives a scolding in genuine Plattdeutsch
to the Tartuffe that has seduced her daughter.2 This use of
the dialect is entirely new. Individualization of language
had, in the French comedy, no other purpose than to make
ridiculous the person using it. In this way Moli&re, Regnard,
Marivaux, and others used their conventional patois for their
Scapins, Harlequins or Colins. Frau Ehrlichin talks platt-
deutsch, because this is her natural language, not because she
has to be ridiculous; and her honest and straightforward
indignation is only too refreshing after the over-dignified
speeches of the Obrist, who is the raisonneur of the play.3

But these innovations were not only opposed to Gottsched's
programme of a purified comedy. Besides what he would
have called their coarseness and vulgarity, there was another
reason why these attempts to portray real life remained iso-
lated. Comedy in those days meant satire ; and it was rather
dangerous to show an independent judgment on the abuses

1 K. Prutz, Ludwig Holberg, Stuttgart and Augsburg, 1857, p. 294.

2 Schlenther, Frau Gottsched, Berlin, 1886, p. 147.

3 In some respects Heinrich Borkenstein's Bookesbeutel belongs to this
class of plays.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 439

of the time. It is known what an outcry arose when Gellert
published his really harmless Betschwester, and how even men
like Halier declared such attacks against religion as dangerous
and irreverent. J. E. Schlegel was persuaded by his father
to burn the manuscript of a comedy whose realism might
have brought serious troubles upon his family.1 The servility
of Frau Gottsched's Ungleiehe Heirat, or the innocent carica-
ture of the two rival schools in poetry in Weisse's Poeten nach
der Modej was the only kind of satire permitted to the well-
behaved citizen of those times. The influence of the com&die
larmoyante, with its moralizing psychology and its spirit of
patience and meekness, contributed to this attenuation of the
satire. And so we have in Gellert's comedies typical repre-
sentatives of private vice or misbehavior, that incarnate one
isolated psychological trait of character, which is naively
indicated by their names, carried before them like labels.
With him the subject of the Saxon comedy has become as
trifling as possible; the scope of its satire is as narrow as
one could imagine ; and the plots are nearly always void of
interest and completely uncomical. Certainly there is a wide
difference between these comedies and Moliere's portraits of
the Marquis2 or Le Sage's denunciation of the financier?

Those were the conditions prevailing, when Kriiger began
his career. For various reasons he had no obligation to sub-
mit to the esthetic and political rules of this form of comedy.
He was united by friendship with the Bremer Beytrager ;
and so he did not exactly belong to Gottsched's school. His
translation of Marivaux's comedies is reported to have excited
the wrath of the Leipzig Professor. But it was rather expe-
rience and life than Marivaux's example that directed Kriiger's
attention to the practical needs of the stage and to the descrip-
tion of German things and German institutions.

1 Wolff, J. E. Schlegel, Berlin, 1889, pp. 88 ff. The title of the play was
Die Pracht zu Landheim.

2 For instance in the Misanthrope.

3 In Turcaret.

440 ALBERT HAAS.

Johann Christian Kriiger was of a very poor family and
one problem which he, during his short and unhappy life,
never solved, was how to secure a living and to have time for
study and literary work. He was born in Berlin, in 1722.
In 1733 he entered the Gymnasium zum grauen Kloster? and
on the 15th of October, 1741, he was inscribed at the Uni-
versity of Frankfurt a. O., where he studied theology, the
only study he could afford to attempt. Jordens also speaks
of Halle, which is rather probable, since Kriiger in his come-
dies likes to mention this university. Extreme poverty forced
him to interrupt his studies and to apply in his native city
for a Bedienung. Owing to lack of influence and of self-
confidence, he failed in this, and had to live in the most
miserable fashion by writing Gelegenheitsgedichte. At this
juncture, in 1742, Schonemanu and his troupe of actors were
in Berlin. The young student sought a refuge by joining it.
Schonemann was only too glad to add to his company a man
of literary ability. After Kriiger thus "mounted the stage
instead of the pulpit," his life was intimately connected with
the wanderings of Schonemann's band, for which he wrote
his Vorspiele and probably also most of his later comedies.
Yet his situation was still far from comfortable. His desire
for education, and the need of earning money, in addition to
his small salary, took all the time which his obligations as a
comedian left him. Being of delicate health, he could not
stand this enormous strain of overwork ; he died of consump-
tion in Hamburg, the 23rd of August, 1750.2

Our descriptions of Kriiger's acting are all full of praise.
Jordens states that he " was a good actor. He took with
success such rdles as demand a vivid fire, a certain haughti-
ness, and a noble pride" on the part of the actor. He,
therefore, usually took the " part of kings, tyrants, and persons
of exalted standing in the higher comedy. Although he was

1 Devrient, I c., p. 67.

2About the date in Schmidt, Chronologic des deutschen Theaters, p. 148,
see Devrient, 1. c., p. 179. Jordens and Meusel both give the 23rd.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 441

too serious for ridiculous rdies in comedies, he did not entirely
fail in the part of the Avare, Tartuffe or Herzog Michel,
because the comic element here could be perceived in spite
of his gloomy mien or counterfeited bashfulness." Schmidt
(Chronologic, p. 104) says that the sound of his voice was
" hollow ; " and the Bibliothek der schonen Wissensehaflen (x,
241) adds that this did not prevent him from pleasing on
the stage, "because there was always found in him a thinking
actor." Kiittner, in his Charadere teutscher Dichter und
Prosaisten, Von Kaiser Karl dem G-rossen bis aufs Jahr 1780
(Berlin, 1781) calls him (p. 296) "an excellent actor."1

As to his personal character, we can easily conjecture that
his irritability and his gloomy haughtiness — traits of character
common among the authors of comedies — were hardly of
advantage to a man in his circumstances. He apparently
was not a person of smooth and pleasing manners, who took
life easily and made other people feel easy in his company.
He had no gift of making himself agreeable to others; his
sincerity and relentless self-criticism made him both bashful
and obstinate. In his earlier comedies we find a man of
rather low extraction, honest and sincere in even the smallest
details of life, opposing his corrupt environment with a
stubborn, uncompromising virtue, and utterly unhappy and
desperate on account of his absolute lack of humor ; and we
are permitted to divine that this Wahrmund and this Herr-
mann are portraits of Kriiger's own personality. They both,
like Kriiger, belong by their inferior position to what Wust-
mann has called 2 the " Gelehr ten- Proletariat of the 18th
century." And their hidden virtues of righteousness and
sincerity are in both cases appreciated by girls who see in
them their teacher as well as their spiritual adviser, in a way
closely resembling the relation which, as Lowen tells us,
existed between Kriiger and the Demoiselle Schonemann,
who later on became Lowen's own wife.

1 Yet Devrient calls him a " mittelmassiger Schauspieler."
2Wustmann, Au* Leipzig 8 Vergangenheit, Neue Folge, Leipzig, 1898,
pp. 236 ff. passim.

442 ALBERT HAAS.

There is even a touch of Rousseau's gloom and of Robe-
spierre's narrow righteousness in these two characters ; and it
will be shown soon that there is a strong revolutionary accent
in Kriiger's first comedies, and that they often reveal a frame
of mind which we are accustomed to meet some forty years
later, in the French revolution.

This side of Kriiger's character was probably accentuated
by the desperate conditions of his life. His poverty and his
profession separated him from all the other writers of the
day. They were either men of some means or at least persons
who, coming from a good professional family, were provided
with a regular situation in some office. They never felt, like
Kriiger, what it meant to be hungry. On the other hand,
they had to be careful and not to offend influential persons
who were always ready to suspect and to punish. Kriiger a&
an actor was practically something like an outcast. And if,
in the first place, he thus gained experience of life — for noth-
ing reveals more clearly certain sides of life than misery — he
was furthermore almost as free to express his opinions as at
that time was possible. His knowledge of stagecraft was
likewise less gained by books than was the case with other
writers, such as Gellert. Hence it is not astonishing if
Kriiger did not care for Gottsched's crusade against Hans-
wurst, if he rather tried to reconcile literary aims with the
comic element and the swift movement of the improvised
comedy, and if he used this form for social satires of natural-
istic technique and of daring aggressiveness.

This is especially true for his first two comedies, die
Geistliehen auf dem Lande and die Candidaten. They were
followed by two short farces, der Teufel ein Bdrenliduter and
Herzog Michel. Der blinde Ehemann is a moralizing fairy
comedy ; and of der gluckliche Bankerottierer we only have a
short fragment. All these plays are in prose, with the
exception of the two short farces.

Only the first two comedies may be considered as fair
samples of Kriiger's real ability and of his literary intentions.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 443

The rest of his work owes its origin rather to commercial
reasons, and shows, as Schmidt (Chronologic, p. 136) says
of Kriiger's translation of le Philosophe marie (by Destouches),
"signs of haste and hunger."

Die Geistlichen auf dem Lande. Ein Lustspiel in drey
Handlungen. Zu finden in der Franckfurter und Leipziger
Michaelis-Messe, 1743.

Lessing in the 83rd Stuck of the Hamburgische Dramaturgic
says that Kriiger wrote this play while still a pupil of the
Graues Kloster. The plot of the piece is the traditional one
of the French comedy. The stage directions1 indicate that
unity of time and of place are observed. The division into
but three acts shows that Kriiger does not pretend to offer a
comedy of the Gottsched type.

In the opening scene we discover the country pastor,
Muffel, coming from his garden and carrying lettuce and
fruits in an apron. From a discussion he has with Cathrine,
his Haushdlterin, we at once become acquainted with the
hopeless immorality of this coarse divine. He has seduced
her and promises her a dowry of a hundred Thaler, which is
to win her a husband. Peter, MuffePs Hausknecht, is her
preference, and so Muffel tries to induce him to marry the
girl. Visitors arrive, and, in order to receive them properly,
Muffel leaves his two servants. Peter, in a little while,
discovers the secret of the rather simple-minded Cathrine and
refuses to consent to his own dishonor. Muffel returns, and,
hearing the unexpected news of Peter's refusal, promises to
find for Cathrine some poor student of divinity, for whom
he will try to secure the vacant pastorate in a neighboring
village. Meanwhile the first of MuffePs guests, Pastor
Tempelstolz, enters. The plot of the comedy makes hardly

a"Der Schauplatz ist in Muffels Hause. Die Handlung ist an einem
Nachmittage vor der Kirchmesse."

444 ALBERT HAAS.

any progress during their following conversation which, in a
dry, business-like fashion, concerns itself with the financial
aspects of the clergyman's life, in the town and in the
country. The first act thus closes, after having introduced
to us these worthy representatives of the country clergy, and
after having given but one part of the "exposition," that
connected with MuffePs former life.

In the Zwote Handlung this exposition is completed, and
the plot proper begins. Fraulein Wilhelmine, the daughter
of Frau von Birkenhayn, is engaged in philosophical dis-
cussions with Herr Wahrrnund, her former tutor. Both offer
the most striking contrast to the ignorance and the coarseness
of the clergy, and repeatedly declare themselves "von den
geheimesten Vorurtheylen befreyet." We also are informed
of the fact that the Fraulein's mother sides with the clergy
and wishes to marry her daughter to Tempelstolz. The
difference of rank is, in her mind, outbalanced by the good
fortune of having a clergyman as son-in-law. But Fraulein
Wilhelmine has the haughty contempt of a true rationalist
for the pastor, and will never consent to this marriage. She
declares, though, that difference of rank means nothing to
her in the choice of a husband ; and, encouraged by this,
Wahrmund dares to propose to her. Both decide to ask
Herr von Roseneck, Frau von Birkenhayn's brother, for
assistance. He soon enters, together with his sister, who
scandalized by some of von Roseneck's remarks, presently
leaves the room. Wahrmund, in an allegorical story, tells
Herr von Roseneck what has happened, and receives a
promise of help. Frau von Birkenhayn returns to the room,
and when the lovers leave her alone with her brother, he tells
her of Wahrmund's love, but meets with a decided refusal,
because Frau von Birkenhayn never will give her daughter
to a philosopher. And thereupon she faints. This scene is
suddenly interrupted by Fraulein Wilhelmine, who enters
followed by Muffel and Tempelstolz. The latter tries to
propose to her. An exceedingly farcical scene ensues, when

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 445

both clergymen are asked by Herr von Roseneek to assist
him in taking care of the sick lady. Both, armed with
enormous pipes and smoking zealously, take out their Gebet-
bueh and try to restore the lady's health by singing, praying,
and smoking into her face. This treatment succeeds very
quickly. While Tempelstolz is still occupied with her, Muffel
turns to Franlein Wilhelmine, and, blaming Tempelstolz's
coarse manners, tries to win her love. After this the two
Pastoren state that they are thirsty from the singing ; they
both leave, and with them goes Herr von Roseneek. While
Frau von Birkenhayn now scolds her daughter for her lack
of obedience and of religion, Muffel reenters, and, on his
knees before the ladies, asks them to prefer him to Tempel-
stolz, who does not appreciate Fraulein Wilhelinine's high
rank. Frau von Birkenhayn promises that she will leave
her daughter free to choose between him and Tempelstolz,
when the latter enters. He at once sees what is going on,
and Frau von Birkenhayn now has to quiet the two clergy-
men's wrath by announcing to them that she will give her
daughter's hand to whoever succeeds in converting her from
the false doctrines of philosophy. Tempelstolz is forced to
try first his persuasive powers. Left alone with the Fraulein,
he blandly asks her to forswear philosophy, which he styles
an inspiration of the devil. She answers with a decided
" no," and, after explaining to him her ideas, leaves the room.
Tempelstolz consoles himself by thinking that Muffel cannot
have any better success. He still hopes to win her and " will
pray for her next Sunday in church."

The third act interrupts the development of the plot by
adding to the exposition a new element, which concerns
Tempelstolz's private character. Brigitte, a sixty-five year
old Conreetors- Wittwe, enters the door, which Peter opens.
She asks for Tempelstolz and we hear that he has swindled
the old woman out of all her money by promising marriage
to her. Herr von Roseneek, attracted by the noise, appears
and becomes acquainted with these facts about Tempelstolz's

446 ALBERT HAAS.

life. Peter, encouraged by Roseneck's remarks, tells all he
knows about Muffel. Wahrmund comes, and, after being
informed of the facts, wishes to communicate them immedi-
ately to Fran von Birkenhayn. But Roseneck hinders him,
saying that she never will believe them without proofs. So
Brigitte is held in readiness in some hidden part of the house,
whence she is to appear at the critical moment. Peter promises
to find a way to denounce Muffel in an indisputable fashion.
While thus the traps for the two clergymen are laid, Muffel
enters laden with books, which he intends to use for Fraulein
Wilhelmine's conversion. He is afraid Wahrmuud will touch
them and, by his profane influence, take from them their
mystic power. Fraulein Wilhelmine enters and, at MuffePs
request, all others withdraw. After a short but vain attempt
to oppose reasoning against her philosophy, he becomes inso-
lent, and tries to make love to her. When rebuked for this,
he finally resorts to the means of exorcising the evil spirit
from the Fraulein. In spite of her protests, he tells her that
he saw how this spirit left her in a cloud ; and he declares
her converted. He leaves the room in triumph in order to
announce to the others his victory. Roseneck immediately
enters in order to comfort the Fraulein by telling her of his
plot. Fran von Birkenhayn follows, and their dispute about
the pretended conversion is interrupted by the entrance of the
two quarrelling clergymen. Tempelstolz, furious about what
he thinks his defeat, charges Muffel with violation of the law
of the church by misquoting the formula of exorcism. Never-
theless Frau von Birkenhayn now proceeds to execute her
promise and to reward Muffel with her daughter's hand.
They are interrupted again by Cathrine who introduces Peterr
disguised as a begging student of theology. Muffel, in a
patronizing tone, promises the stranger a living and asks
him to marry Cathrine. This latter request attracts Frau von
Birkenhayn's attention, and a discussion of it follows, during
which Peter reveals MuffePs secret. Muffel runs out of the
room. Tempelstolz proudly now renews his claims, and feels-

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 447

confident of victory. Then Brigitte appears, and in a scene very
humiliating for Tempelstolz, he hears that she has secured a
verdict of the Consistorium, that orders him to marry her.
Frau von Birkenhayn is now sufficiently edified about the
two clerical pretenders. She is healed of her " superstition "
and converted to " philosophy ; " and so the comedy ends with
Fraulein Wilhelmine's and Wahrmund's engagement.

Nearly everything in this plot is taken from the tradi-
tional form of the French comedy, as it had originated in the
•commedia dell' arte. In all these comedies we find that a
father or a mother wishes to marry a daughter to a man of
the parent's choice; and this choice is usually directed by
reasons of money or by religious, social, or political partisan-
ship. The man thus selected is unvariably either a worthless
scoundrel or a grotesque clown, who amply deserves the
girl's disgust or contempt. On the other hand, the young
man whom the girl prefers is, if not a paragon of all virtues,
at least endowed with all those qualities that would make
him pleasant and brilliant in the eyes of every girl and of
every indulgent reader. The loving couple is usually assisted
by some relative of the girl's, her brother or her uncle, who
at the same time fulfills the functions of the raisonneur of the
play. By his assistance, but still more in consequence of an
intrigue planned by a servant-girl and executed by a man
servant, both of whom are devoted to the lovers, the worth-
less pretender is finally unmasked and, as a rule, mocked in
the most cruel fashion. A disguise, in most cases, of the
serving man, brings about very often this happy event. And
the play thus ends with the union of the lovers.

There is no need to detail how far all these stock characters
and stock motives occur in Kriiger's play. Yet it may be inter-
esting to trace its different parts back to distinct literary models.

Muffel's name is taken from Buchka's writings,1 while his
character directly descends from Moliere's Tartuffe. This is
especially noticeable in the scene where he behaves impu-

1 Goedeke, Grundriss,2 v. in, p. 356.

448 ALBERT HAAS.

dently towards Fraulein Wilhelmine, while trying to convert
her (see Tartu/e, III, 3).

But the real source of Kriiger's play is, as Erich Schmidt
indicates/ Frau Gottsched's Pietisterey im Fischbeinrocke.
Here we recognize Tempelstolz's character and his victim
Brigitte in Magister Scheinfromm and Frau Ehrlichin, while
MuffePs relations with Cathrine are identical to those be-
tween Scheinfromm and Frau Ehrlichin's daughter. To Frau
von Birkenhayn, Fraulein Wilhelmine, Herr von Roseneck,
and Wahrmund 2 further correspond Frau Glaubeleichtin, her
daughter Luischen, her brother the Obrist Wackermann, and
the lover Herr Liebmann. We find, however, that Kriiger
has limited the number of characters and of motives of Frau
Gottsched's comedy, thus showing a strong and genuine
instinct for the practical side of stagecraft. He has welded
two persons, Magister Scheinfromm and his cousin Herr von
Muckersdorf, into one, he has eliminated Herr Glaubeleicht,
the girPs father, and so has disposed of a superfluous character
and of the superfluous motive of dissention among the girPs
parents. He has equally eliminated the person of Luischen's
sister, Dorchen, and thus done away with the superfluous
motive of jealousy between sisters. The accidents of the
plot, therefore, happen among fewer people, and the plot
becomes less involved. By further dropping all the different
Betschwestern and all other persons connected with the pietists
in Frau Gottsched's play, Kriiger got rid of the very undra-
matic and tiresome scenes between Frau Glaubeleichtin and
these persons. The main advantage gained by these transfor-
mations is that naturally all interest is, without any diversion,
concentrated upon the clergymen's hypocrisy and upon the
scheme to unmask them.3 And Kriiger now was able to

lAllgemeine Deutsche Biographic, v. 17.

a It has already been stated that Wahrmund is Kriiger himself.

3 It is an interesting fact that Lessing in his early plays transformed his
models or sources in a similar way, when he thought them encumbered
with too many characters; so in the Schatz and the fragments Der gute
Mann and Der Leichtglaubige.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 449

furnish two representatives of the Tartuffe type, who by some
kind of amusing contest try, in their quarrels and jealousy,
to outdo each other in hypocrisy. By so doing he distributes
the motives connected with Scheinfromm between Muffel and
Tempelstolz. Scheinfrornm's shameful conduct towards Frau
Ehrlichin's daughter is allotted to Muffel, and Frau Ehr-
lichin's character and the way she introduces herself at the
critical moment is reserved for Tempelstolz^ case. Instead
of Frau Ehrlichin's daughter, who is never seen on the stage
in Frau Gottsched's play, Cathrine had to be MuffePs victim.1
This latter transformation shows a curious departure from
the traditional conception of the suivante. Instead of the
quick-witted and sharp-tongued Lisette, we have a simple-
minded country girl, whose ignorance has been shamefully
abused. If we want literary models for her we perhaps
might compare this Cathrine to some of Holberg's servant-
girls 2 who, without being in equally pathetic situations, yet
are just as different from the Lisette type. The man-servant,
Peter, is still less in accord with what one might call the
Gottsched conception of this type. Even his name, which
is the German equivalent for Pierrot,3 indicates his relation-

1 Frau Gottsched's play is a translation and adaptation of Bougeant's la
Femme Docteur ou la Theologie Janseniste tombee en Quenouille. (There is
also a defense of this comedy against its critics, which is likewise attri-
buted to Bougeant : Arlequin Janseniste ou critique de la femme docteur.
Comedie, a Cracovie chez Jean le Sincere. Imprimeur Perpetuel. MDCCXXXII.
8°. ) Bougeant's comedy is a combination of motives taken from Moli&re's
Tartuffe and lesFemmes savantes It is interesting to see that Kriiger elimi-
nated from Frau Gottsched's play mostly persons or motives which can be
traced back to les Femmes savantes, such as the jealousy between two uncon-
genial sisters, the discord between a reasonable husband and the mistaken
wife, and others. On the other hand the example of Trissotin and of
Vadius probably has influenced the characters of Muflel and Tempelstolz.

2 For instance Annecke in der politische Kannegiesser. The name Cathrine
occurs in Holberg's das Arabische Pulver ; but there is no resemblance what-
soever to Kriiger's character.

3 For this slightly disguised reintroduction of Hanswurst, see K. v.
Gorner, Der Hanswurst-Streit in Wien, Wien, 1884; and Creizenach, Zur
Entstehungsgeschichte des neueren deutschen Lustspiels, Halle, 1879, p. 27.

450 ALBERT HAAS.

ship with the good old Arlequino di Bergamo. He not only
fulfills the traditional rdle in the disguise plot but he also, by
his fear of ghosts and by similar lazzi, plays the Hanswurst's
part, just as Holberg's Heinrichs do.1 And not only Peter
and his jokes or grimaces, but the savory and perhaps low-
toned character of other comical passages distinctly suggests
Holberg's example. The opening scene, showing MufFel
with an apron and laden with vegetables and fruit; the
nursing of the fainting Frau von Birkenhayn ; the exorcism
scene : all this is so drastic and grotesque as to find no parallel
in French comedy of the eighteenth century outside the Theatre
de la Foire. Only the great Danish playwright in those days,
and, earlier than that, Moli£reand Regnard, attempted as much
(for instance in le Malade imaginaire or leLegataire universel).
But the chief merit of the comedy is that it tries to give a
naturalistic picture of real life and a criticism of tendencies
prevailing at the poet's time in his own country. And it
gives a special interest to his satire, that it is written from
the extreme standpoint of rationalism — that of the Philosoph.
The charges thus brought against the clergy are numerous
and grave. Kriiger says that the country clergy is ignorant,
coarse, and given to vice and brutish luxury. Their main
occupation is to smoke, to drink Doppelbier, to plough their
fields, and to cultivate their kitchen-garden. Their igno-
rance is only equalled by their arrogance and their impudent
hypocrisy. " Most parsons pretend to know secrets ; but in
fact their only secret is their ignorance." It is said that the
main duty of a pastor's wife is to know how to keep silent
and how to lie. The city clergy, while less coarse, is said to
be equally corrupt. And the result of these lamentable con-
ditions is summed up in the following words : "Arrogance,
hypocritical deceitfulness, and shameful ignorance are in them,
as teachers of the unruly populace, the more culpable, since
they create worse havoc than would be wrought by serious

1 Once, also, Peter ; see Prutz, Holberg, p. 294.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 451

crimes, which disappear with the death of the criminal."
These are sweeping statements, made in that uncompromis-
ing, haughty way which we already know to be Kriiger's.
But it seems as if, terrible as they are, they were not far
from truth in those times. For their confirmation one need
not go to the perhaps somewhat untrustworthy autobiogra-
phies of men like Bahrdt or Laukhard, although most of
their stories are probably true. Even the gentle, timid
Rabener tells instances of the incredible corruption, ignorance
and coarseness of the country clergy in the Germany of those
days.1 And so we need not be astonished if Uz is delighted
by Kriiger's first comedy and if Gleim says that in spite of
the *' grober Scherz " he likes? it ; for " indessen sind viele
Wahrheiten deutsch gesagt." 2

Kriiger's standpoint is that of the " Philosophen." His
Wahrmund, Wilhelmine and von Roseneck are not, like the
members of the pietistic group, " hiibsch unverniinftig."
They are not like Muffel and Tempelstolz, who " sind keine
Philosophen ; sie glauben hiibsch, was die Alten geglaubt
haben, sie laugnen die nothwendigsten Dinge zur Seligkeit
nicht, als da sind die Gespenster, die Hexen und den Teufel."
On the other hand, the philosophers know how to eliminate
the inventions of the clergy in the traditional religion, and
they know also how "ein hochstes Wesen verniinftig zu
verehren." As to their political ideas, it is clear that for
them difference of rank, as prevailing in those days of the
aneien regime, is based on prejudice, and that only the degree
of Aufklarung to which people have attained gives them their
value and real rank. Fraulein Wilhelmine declares that she
never would hesitate to recognize Wahrmund, her former
tutor, as her equal, since his personal qualities entitle him
to such a recognition.

These ideas have some resemblance to the principles of the

^abener, ed. Ortlepp, Stuttgart, 1839, v. in, pp. 29 ff.
* Brief wechsel zwischen Gleim und Uz, Hersg. von Schiiddekopt (Bibliothek
des litterarischen Vereins in Stuttgart, v. 218), Tubingen, 1899, p. 61.

452 ALBERT HAAS.

French revolution.1 And as soon as Kriiger had published
his comedy, it was confiscated even in Berlin. The authori-
ties had no sympathy with this violent outcry of " e"crasez
Pinfame ; " but, as Gleim says in the letter already quoted,
the play had an excellent but secret sale, and soon there was
a rumor (March 29, 1744) that three editions were already
exhausted. It is only natural that this play never appeared
on the stage. Yet its violent aggression gave origin to a
rather weak and confused answer by an unknown author :
Verbesserungen und Zusdtze des Lustspieles Die Geistlichen auf
dem Lande in Zweien Handlungen samt dessen Nachspiel. Zu
finden in der Franckfurter und Leipziger Michaelis Messe,
1744. The author of these Verbesserungen und Zusdtze tells
in the introduction that Kriiger had given him the manu-
script of the Geistlichen auf dem Lande, and that he, without
knowing the objectionable character of the play, had given it
to the printer. If he had read it before, the author adds,
he would not have refused to Kriiger the great service of
destroying " eine so scheussliche Bruth." He pretends that
Kriiger wrote the play out of disappointment and jealousy,
when he had seen that he never would succeed in his study
of divinity. The spirit of the whole thing can best be seen
by the following passage in the introduction : " Man sollte
vielmehr, ie ansehnlicher der Vorwurf eines Standes, ie nothiger
und niitzlicher er in der Gesellschaft der Menschen ist ; mit
desto grosserer Sorgfalt, die Fehltritte seiner einzelnen Glieder
bedecken. Es verbindet uns ia dazu die gesunde Vernunft,
vielmehr die Offenbarung, ia der Nutzen und Schaden, so
unsere Mitbiirger dahero nehmen konnen."

The main plot is a series of dialogues ; for it is impossible
to see how it could be called a play "in zweien Handlungen."
Incidentally everybody but the clergy is blamed. Yet the

1 Cf. Nicolai', Brlefe uber den itzlgen Zustand, etc., p. 24 (of the preface) :
"Es gebet dem Wort asthetisch fast ebenso wie dem Wort philosophise}},
vor zwanzig und rnehreren Jahren. Es war genung, einem (!) zum Kezzer
in der Theologie zu machen, wenn man sagte : Er denkt philosophisch."

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGEE. 453

author's wrath is concentrated upon the Freymaurer, of whom
it is said : " Fressen und Saufen wird wohl ihre einzige
Absichfc sein;" and upon the freethinkers or Philosophen. A
pitiful specimen of this kind, — Espritfort is his name, — is
introduced, and his nonsensical talk is constantly refuted.1

Later on, Christlob Mylius wrote an imitation of Kruger's
Geistlichen called die Arzte. Lessing speaks of it in his Vor-
rede zu den vermischten Schriften des Herrn Christlob Mylius.

II.

The technique of this first comedy shows a good deal of
natural ability. The way the author introduces his charac-
ters,— Muffel, for instance, — in a grotesque scene is perfectly
natural and very effective. His distribution of the exposition
throughout all the three acts has no doubt the same fortunate
result as, for example, Lessing's exposition in Minna von
Barnhelm, where the real nature of Major von Tellheirn's
embarrassments is only told in the sixth scene of the fourth act.

Yet there is one defect in this comedy ; namely, the pre-
tentious and doctrinaire tone in which the characters expose
the author's views on religion and society. It is to this side
of it that Jordens' criticism applies : " In seinem Dialog
herrscht noch allzuviel mussiges Geschwatz." Or, as the
critic of the Bibliothek der schonen Wissenschaften puts it :
" Die Personen sind zu geschwatzig und aussern sich mehr
in Wbrten als in Handlungen, die feinen Schattierungen
fehlen ihnen, sie deklamieren, wo sie reden sollen, und reden
sich immer so sehr aus, dass ihnen nichts zu sagen iibrig
bleibt."

xThe Verbesserungen und Zusatze are remarkable for their curious and
archaic style : Latin words have their Latin declension ; wann is always used
in the sense of " if; " trucken (= trockeri), p. 71 ; die Besessung der Wellweisheit,
p. 118; dich(\) zum Erode verhelfen, p. 86; die Fraulein (feminine), p. 92;
der Schnupftuch, p. 131; die hesslinhe(l) Beynnhmen (plural), p. 87, absturb,
p. 87 ; die Patronen (plural), p. 88.

454 ALBERT HAAS.

There is, however, a great improvement as to this in
Kriiger's second comedy : Die Candidaten, oder, die Mittel zu
einem Amte zu gelangen, ein Lustspiel in 5 Handlungen, den
5 Februar 1748 in Braunschweig zum erstenmal aufgefiihrt.

By adopting the five-act partition, Kriiger shows his aspi-
ration to high literary standing. Unity of time and place
are observed : " Der Schauplatz ist in des Grafen Pallaste."

The plot of the comedy turns upon the intrigues by which
different solicitors try to obtain a Ratsherrnstellej for which
" der Graf" has the right of appointment.

In the first act we make the acquaintance of one of the
candidates for the situation, Hermann, "des Grafen Sekre-
tarius." Although he is especially fit for the place, there are
several things that stand in his way. His " iibertriebene
Liebe zur Wahrheit," as Caroline, "der Grafinn Karnmer-
jungfer," calls it, hinders him from flattering the old, coquet-
tish " Grafinn/7 whose support he so loses. On the other
hand, the ignorant count needs his services as secretary too
much to grant him the advancement to the desired situation.
Another obstacle emerges. Arnold, "Hofmeister der Sohne
des Grafen," proposes to Caroline, who is engaged to Hermann.
He bluntly tells her that he would like to marry her in order
to concede to the count his rights as a husband, and adds that,
as a reward for this, he will receive a pastorate from the count.
Caroline's refusal shows him that her love for Hermann is
likely to prevent the count's and his own intentions. He,
therefore, advises the count not to place Hermann so as to
enable him to marry.

In the second act two new candidates appear; both are
equally unfit for the place, but are also equally well protected,
the one by the count, the other by the countess. The countess
promises her support to one Valer, whose flatteries and bold
manners please her coquettish old age. The count's candidate
is Chrysander, " ein Licentiat." He has never studied, and
has purchased his degree from a poor relative; he is rich
and ignorant ; and he only applies for the situation in order

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGEK. 455

to comply with his fianc&'s desire for an official title. He
presents the count with a filled purse and promises naively to
send this^anc^e to the palace. This, of course, wins him
the count's favor, who thus shows quite a different character
from the honest old man in Gellert's fable, Der Kandidat.

The third act reveals, however, the true character of Valer.
He is only disguised as a candidate. In reality he is the
" Fahndrich von Wirbelbach." His colonel received a public
insult from the countess when alluding to her rather advanced
age. In order to mortify her, the Fahndrich has to win her
grace under the disguise of a candidate, and finally to refuse
the situation, when offered to him. His varlet, Johann, who
plays the part of the lustige Person, is dispatched to inquire
about the chambermaid's personality. Von Wirbelbach thinks
he knows her, but is not able to place her. Johann therefore
tries to obtain information from Caroline herself, when the
count appears and forces him to hide under the table. He
so becomes witness of a scene in which the count, in vain,
tries to corrupt Caroline's virtue. Finally disturbed by
Johann, he has to desist from these attempts. Arnold's plan
to estrange the lovers by slander, fails after a short misunder-
standing.

In Act TV Chrysander consults Johann. He is tortured by
jealousy. Taking Johann's advice, he intends to hide with
him behind a screen, in order to hear the count's interview
with his fiancee. After this Valer appears again in hi&
successful courtship of the countess. She declines to intercede
in Hermann's favor, on account of his upright stubbornness
and his unpoliteness.

Johaun and Chrysander (Act V), concealed behind the screen,
witness the interview between the count and Christinchen,,
which shows to the astounded Licenciat a degree of corrup-
tion he never before dreamed of. The arrival of the countess,
however, puts an end to that scene, and the count tries to
hide the girl behind the same screen where Johaun and
Chrysander already are. The confusion caused by this defeats

456

ALBERT HAAS.

Chrysander as well as his protector. The countess triumph-
antly prepares for using in Valer's favor her just acquired
advantage over her husband, when the Fahndrich discloses
his intrigue. The countess, however, is saved from ridicule
by Caroline, who proves herself to be von Wirbelbach's
cousin. Reverses of fortune, for which her family was not
responsible, have forced her to enter the countess's service,
although she belongs to the nobility. She declares, in spite
of von Wirbelbach's advice, that she will keep fidelity to
Hermann, who finally gets the office.

Here again the plot as well as the characters are conven-
tional and, in several instances, can be traced back to literary
sources. Johann is Arlequin, and several comical situations
remind us of Holberg's plays. Johann hides under a table,
like the Kannegiesser or as Corfitz in the Woehenstube.
And the rdle played by the screen in the Woehenstube is not
without similarity to the one in our comedy.

Yet if we compare this comedy to the Geistlichen auf dem
Lande, we find that it contains some new elements. To the
primitive stock of the Italo-French comedy that of the comedie
larmoyante is added. Caroline very closely reminds us of
Orphise in Madame de Graffigny's Cenie. Orphise, although
a noble lady, has been obliged by poverty and misfortune to
enter Dorimond's service as Cenie's gouvernante. It greatly
contributes to her unhappiness that she has lost sight of her
husband and daughter, who, however, are discovered at the
end of the play. Cenie herself is Orphise's daughter. But
there is one important difference between Kriiger and what
we might call his model. Clerval, in Madame de Graffigny's
play, offers to marry Ce"nie, although he is still ignorant
whether or not she is of noble birth. But the kindness of
fate prevents a mesalliance. Ce"nie is Clerval's equal. Kriiger's
Hermann is a commoner without any secret affiliation with
the nobility ; and, just as in the Geistlichen auf dem Lande, a
mesalliance of the most shocking type takes place.

This shows that the social satire of the Candidaten is the

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 457

same as that of the first play. In his second comedy Kriiger
gives a picture of the social habits of the ancien regime with
its favoritism and its corruption. In two striking instances
he shows how the unworthy and the unfit are more apt than
the virtuous and able to obtain the favors of a corrupt aris-
tocracy. This aristocracy, while shamefully misusing its
privileges, is engaged in a vicious pursuit of pleasure, disre-
garding as well the public interest as the indisputable rights
of the individual. As to the ignorance of this class, the
count's choice of an instructor for his sons is sufficiently
characteristic. And he explicitly shows how low his literary
taste is, when he asks Arnold to read with his boys, not the
"Beytrage zum Verstande des Witzes" as he calls it, but
" einen guteu Roman von Menantes oder Celandern, woraus
sie lernen konnen, wie sie mit den Damen umgehen miissen."

The best known satire of the nobility and clergy under
the ancien regime is Beaumarchais's Mariage de Figaro; and
it is remarkable how closely our comedy resembles the French
play, although the latter was written some thirty years later.
Kriiger's "Graf" is the same brutal seducer as "le comte
d'Almaviva," his relations to the " Grafinn " bear the same
troubled character as d'Almaviva's ; except that Kriiger does
not spare the lady. Figaro and Suzanne depend upon the
comte d'Almaviva's good will as much as Hermann and
Caroline upon that of the Graf. The way in which the
countesses get advantage of their husbands is the same in
both plays. Even single scenes are closely similar. Johann
witnessing the count's misbehavior towards Caroline is remi-
niscent of Cherubin hidden behind his chair ; and the comte
d'Almaviva's discovery of the page, when he tries to hide
himself, and the series of misunderstandings in the scene near
the two pavilions bear many traits of similarity with the
scenes behind the screen.

Yet there is a difference between the brilliant wit and swift
movement of the French play and the stern and sweeping but
less elegant assertions of Kriiger's comedy. This divergency

458 ALBERT HAAS.

is significantly incarnated in the two respective characters of
Figaro and Hermann. Figaro is the French Scapin, whose
wit and inventiveness are never at a loss. Kriiger's Hermann
is the melancholy portrait of the poet himself. He has his
" sehr mittelmassige Gabe, sich beliebt zu machen " and seems
equally " ganz vom Gliick verlassen " (Jordens). He has the
" Heftigkeit, mit pathetischem Stolz und mit einem edelen
Trieb verbunden" which the Biblioikek der sehonen Wissen-
sehaften attributes to Kriiger's appearance as an actor. The
Candidaten was often played.1

III.

In 1742 Kriiger had joined Schonemann's troupe where he
was busy in his double capacity as actor and author chiefly
of Vorspiele. The rest of his literary activity was now
inspired by practical reasons : we see it expressly stated of
his translations of Marivaux's plays and of Destouches's le
Philosophe marie; and we are permitted to divine it in respect
to his original plays, if we consider the fact that after the
Candidaten Kriiger entirely abandons the satirical comedy of
manners and altogether falls short of what had been at least
the literary pretentious of the first part of his career.

Der Teufei ein Bdrenhduter 2 is called by Kriiger ein Lust-
spiel von einer Handlung. It consists of two separate plots,
which, although of opposite character, are welded into one
action. One plot is of a farcical nature and reminds us of
the gay frivolity of the fabliaux or early novetle, while the
other is apparently derived from the stock of the comedie
larmoyante. There are, besides, still other traces of " haste
and hunger," as for instance the inconsistency of one of the
main characters, Wilhelm Rabe, whose business morals are

1 Of. E. Hodermann, Geschichle des Gothaischen Hoftheaters, p. 173 (Litz-
rnann, Thealergeschichtliche Forschungen, v. ix) ; .and Hans Devrient, J. F.
Schonemann (Litzmann, Th. F., v. xi), p. 373.

2 " Zum ersten Mai den 27. May, 1748, in Breslau aufgefuhret."

THE COMEDIES OP J. C. KRUGEB. 459

sometimes rather irreconcilable with the humane kindness
and readiness to forgive, which this paragon of virtue soon
afterwards displays.

This Wilhelm Rabe is a prosperous farmer. But, in spite
of his success, he is unhappy on account of his wife's indiffer-
ence to him. Forced by her parents, Hannchen has married
Wilhelm and has abandoned her former true lover, Valentin.
Since the latter left the village in despair, enlisted as a soldier,
Wilhelm has never seen his wife contented, except when she
received news from her absent lover. Wilhelm is worried by
this fact ; yet he forgives her and shows the same sort of kind-
ness as does Nivelle de la ChausseV s Constance in le Prejugg d,
la mode.1 He thinks and acts along the lines expressed in the
last words of Madame de Graffigny's Cenie : " Si Pexcessive
bonte" est quelque fois trompee, elle n'est pas moins la pre-
miere des vertus." Fortunately, however, this patience wins
for him first his wife's respect and finally even her love.
Therefore, when Valentin returns, she refuses to permit her-
self to be led astray by his requests. She even readily
communicates to him her respect and admiration for Wilhelm
Rabe's magnanimous character. So far our Lustspiel may be
said to be a comedie larmoyante. But here the farce enters.
Wilhelrn's suspicions have been aroused by the Kuster Ruthe.
He, therefore, has listened in hiding to Hannchen's and
Valentin's conversation, and now interrupts them in order to
express his gratitude. The harmony thus established among
the three causes them to plan a punishment for Ruthe's slander.
It had been formerly understood by Ruthe and Wilhelm,
that Ruthe under the disguise of the devil, should appear
before Valentin and thus scare him out of Wilhelm's house.
Valentin, who now is informed of this plan, waits for Ruthe,
while the other two withdraw. Ruthe appears in his costume,
and Valentin whips him, ties his hands and feet, and then
leaves him lying helplessly on the ground. While Ruthe

Mme de Graffigny, Cenie; III, 2: "Obtenons tout par la tendresee
et rien par Tautorit^."
4

460 ALBERT HAAS.

now gives vent to his fears of the real devil, who might come
and punish his impudence, Ruthe's own wife Anna and his
Knecht Peter enter. A love-scene between these two follows,
and both agree that it is a source of particular gratification to
them thus to deceive Ruthe. The unhappy Kuster is not
only forced thus to witness his own shame, but soon Anna
and Peter, taking him for a block, sit down on him l in the
darkness. Their tender conversation is interrupted by Ruthe's
irate cries. The lovers leave, frightened ; and in their place
appear Wilhelm, Hannchen and Valentin, the last carrying
a lantern. Ruthe is forced to repeat a formula of apology,
which Valentin dictates to him. When the passage occurs,
which relates to his slander of Hannchen, she slaps him
in the face. He then is freed and the play closes with a
"Divertissement " in verse.2 Each person has one couplet, and
each couplet discusses whether the devil is a Bdrenhduter.
The last codplet is addressed to the audience, and contains
the traditional "plaudite, amici," saying how hard it is to
please after " Voltar, Detousch und Molier."

Thus der Teufel ein Bdrenhduter is nothing but an undis-
criminating mixture of the stock jokes of the Franco-Italian
comedy with the sentimental virtuousness of the comedie
larmoyante. The two elements are as contrary to each other
as possible ; but their union undoubtedly must have been a
successful speculation upon the literary taste of the theatre-
goer of those days.

IV.

Not greater is Kriiger's merit in the Herzog Michel, ein
Lustspiel von einer Handlung in Versen. This play was very
popular during the eighteenth century, and Goethe in Leipzig
still acted in it.3 But as Lessing says : " Vom Herzog Michel

1 Cf. Holberg, Jean de France, V, 2 (Prutz, p. 347).

2 These Divertissements correspond to the Vaudeville at the end of the
French comedies of the time, or to the verses with which Holberg closes
his plays.

sJ)ichtung und Wahrheit, Buch 2, Kap. 7 (W. A., v. 27, p. 116).

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGEB. 461

brauche ich wohl nichts zu sagen. Auf welchem Theater wird
er nicht gespielt, und wer hat ihn nicht gesehen oder gelesen ?
Kriiger hat indess das wenigste Verdienst darum ; denn er ist
ganz aus einer Erzahlung in den Bremischen Beitragen ge-
nommen. Die vielen guten satirischen Ziige, die er enthalt
gehoren jenem Dichter, sowie der ganze Verfolg der Fabel,
Kriigern gehort nichts als die dramatische Form." This is
the exact truth concerning the Herzog Michel. Kriiger has
taken J. E. SchlegePs tale, das ausgerechnete Gliick, and has
dramatized it by changing but a few lines. He only adds
Hannchen's father, a character which he uses for the exposition.1

Of the two remaining comedies, one, "Der gluckliche Banke-
rottierer " is a short fragment. All that can be said about it,
is, that it absolutely copies the traditional stock figures, plot,
motives, and intrigues of the commedia deWarte. In fact, it
looks like one of the Italian outlines in completed form.

Der blinde Ehemann combines all the successful elements
of the Italian fairy comedy with the never-failing moralizing
sentimentalism of the comedie larmoyante. Its plot is briefly
this: Astrobal, Laura's blind husband, is told by his neighbor
Crispin that he is a son of the deceased prince and that the
fairy Oglyvia, the prince's wife, has blinded him out of
jealousy. Thus the present prince is Astrobal's half-brother.
But the attention he devotes to Astrobal is apparently due

1 The last lines of the play, which are Kriiger's, remind one of a passage
in Marivaux' la Double inconstance. Michel says to Hannchen : "Du bist
mein Herzogthurn, mein Bier, mein Schweiuebraten." In Marivaux (Theatre
choisi de Marivaux, publi£ par F. de Marescot et D. Joaust, Paris, 1881, v. I,
p. 27) the passage is as follows: "Trivelin, Que vous auriez bu du bon vin,
que vous auriez mang£ de bons morceaux ! — Arlequin, J'en suis faclie* ; mais
il n'y a rien a faire. Le coeur de Silvia est un morceau encore plus friand
que tout cela." This change from the words of the conventional Arlequin
to those of Michel is characteristic both of Kriiger's realism and of his
somewhat crude style. The name of Hannchen's father, Andrews, is of
course taken from Richardson's Pamela.

462 ALBERT HAAS.

mainly to the latter's beautiful and virtuous wife, Laura, who-
opposes to all the persuasion and enticement of the prince
an uncompromising and loquacious virtue. Crispin's wife,
Florine, is rather different. To her usually drunken husband
she prefers the prince's valet Marottin, who is mute and
therefore, as she says, never squanders his time by gossiping.
When Laura has resisted the prince's last attempt upon
AstrobaFs happiness, an old oracle has been fulfilled, which
says that Oglyvia will regain her former beauty, whenv
" through her son's misfortune, Astrobal will have been made
the happiest husband." She not only appears in all her
glory, but by virtue of the same oracle his eye-sight is
restored to Astrobal. The comedy is full of comical scenes
and amusing tricks, mostly performed by Crispin, Marottin,
or Florine. They all belong to the stock of the Italian
comedy, and probably could be traced back to some old
Italian novella or French fabliau. The whole comedy is an
indiscriminate mixture of these jokes and a rather trivial
and verbose virtuousness, both of which elements the audi-
ences of those days always appreciated.

Lessing mentions Kriiger several times. In the Vorrede zu
den vermischten Schrifien des Herrn Christlob Mylius, he says
some strong things against Die Geistlichen auf dem Lande*
But he at once adds that Kriiger is a writer, "der aber
nach der Zeit bessere Anspriiche auf den Ruhm eines guten
komischen Dichters der Welt vorlegte." And in the Hambur-
gische Dramaturgic we read : uDoch hat wirklich unsere Biihne
an Kriigern viel verloren. Er hatte Talent zum niedrig
Komischen, wie seine Candidaten beweisen. Wo er aber
riihrend und edel sein will, ist er frostig und affectiert." 3
We have seen what that means, and where this affectation
and doctrinaire tone come from.

But there is no doubt that Kriiger's first two comedies are
among the best products of the German stage before Lessing.
They treat purely national problems with a good deal of

183rd Stick.

THE COMEDIES OF J. C. KRUGER. 463

resemblance to life; their humor and wit, if they are not
always refined, are at least always comical and convincing,
and somewhat on the same line as Holberg's. Their vivacity
and unconventionality are more impressive than, for instance,
the well-behaved timidity of SchlegePs Stumme Schonheit or
Weisse's Poeten nach der Mode, not to mention trifles like
Romanus's Crispin als Kammerdiener , Voter und Schwieger-
vater. Their tendency is narrow and doctrinaire, even a little
fanatical ; but that means at least that they defend an original
standpoint and are not of this concentrated harmlessness which
becomes so offensive in Gellert's or Weisse's comedies. Alto-
gether we are fairly well entitled to say that the German stage
really lost much in Kriiger ; and if we consider, as Jordens
does, " was Kriiger unter der schweren Last der Arbeit, die
ihn als Schauspieler driickte, unter der noch traurigeren
Beschwerde eines dahin welkenden Korpers, bei der staten
Veranderung des Aufenthalts, bei den miihseligen Uberset-
zungen, die er ubernehmen musste, um nur etwas iiber seinen
diirftigen Gehalt zu gewinnen, dennoch geleistet hat, so wird
man leicht schliessen konuen, was er unter gegenseitigen,
gliicklichern Umstauden, bei reiferen Jahren, gepriifterer Er-
fahrung noch vielleicht geleistet haben wiirde."

ALBERT HAAS.

XVI.— CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE HISTORY OF THE
LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE, WITH SPECIAL
REFERENCE TO THE SOURCES OF THE
FRENCH, GERMAN AND ANGLO-
SAXON METRICAL VERSIONS.

One of the earliest evidences of the existence of a legend of
Saint George is found in a pronunciamento of Pope Gelasius,
made in connection with the first Roman council of the year
494. In the presence of seventy bishops he endeavored to
separate the canonical and authentic books of the Church
from those which are to be looked upon as apocryphal.
After mentioning the books of the Bible, the decisions of the
councils, the church fathers, and the decrees of the Popes, he
cites the Lives of Saints and Martyrs, and adds that some
of these latter writings are justly viewed with suspicion,
both because the names of their authors are unknown, and
because their contents stamp them as being the compositions
of heretics or sectarians; he then cites as examples "cujus-
dam Quirici et Julittae, sicut Georgii aliorumque hujusmodi
passiones, quae ab hereticis perhibentur compositae." l

This version of the legend of Saint George, condemned
here by Gelasius, Baronius thought he recognized in a certain
codex Vallicellanus, and in his Martyrologium Romanum 2 he
gives some inklings of its contents. We are told that the
account referred to introduces the name of a magician by the
name of Athanasius, because of a confusion of the life of the
saint with that of George, Arian bishop of Alexandria, and
his struggle against his famous opponent, Athanasius the
Great. Then he proceeds to add a list of the incidents con-

1AA. SS. Aprilis, vol. in, p. 101.
2 Rome, 1630, p. 199.
464

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEOKGE. 465

tained in the account, which are unworthy of the life of the
saint, such as "suspectum contubernium viduae, ars dolosa
ejusdem ad perdendos gentilium magos, innumera tormento-
rum genera . . . . ut, praeter equuleos, ungulas ferreas, crates
ignitas, rotamque mucronibus undique praefixam, calceosque
armatos clavis .... etiam area ferrea, clavorum cuspidibus
intus ad feriendum aptata, praecipitium, contusiones malleis
ferreis iteratae, columna ingentis ponderis super eum posita,
ingentisque molis saxura super caput revolutum, ferreum
ignitum stratum, liquens plumbum supereffusum, quadra-
ginta igniti clavi quibus est confossus, aeneus bos candens,
mersio in puteum, ponderis ingentis saxo ad collum ligato
. . . .," all of which is said to have proved harmless to the
martyr. Finally he agrees with the judgment of Gelasius
and deems the account itself not worthy of publication.

The learned Father Papebroch, to whom we owe the
exhaustive treatment of the legend in the Acta Sanctorum,
Aprilis, vol. in, pp. 101-165, had before him a similar
account in a MS. which he called Codex Gallicanus. He also
pronounces the account unworthy of credence, and after copy-
ing the beginning of the text, he contents himself with
reproducing the strictures of Baronius.

This version, which is of the greatest importance for the
history of the legend, was completely lost after the dissolu-
tion of the order of the Jesuits in 1773, and the consequent
closure of their chapter at Antwerp. It was only after much
patient searching and many fruitless efforts that Wilhelm
Arndt in 1874 rediscovered the Codex Gallicanus in the
Bollandist library at Brussels, and published its version of
the Passion of Saint George in the Berichte uber die Verhand-
lungen der k. sdchs. Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig,
l&75,Phil.-JBi8t. Classe, pp. 43 ff.

It is this version of the legend which must form the basis
for a comparative study of its different forms as they appear
in the Middle Ages. Following established usage, we shall
call it the apocryphal Version.

466 JOHN E. MATZKE.

I. THE APOCRYPHAL VERSION.

The following texts of this version, which we shall in
general call O, are accessible.

1. The Latin text of the Codex Gallicanus, already referred
to and published by W. Arndt, in Ber. u. d. Verh. d. Jc. sacks.
Ges. d. Wiss. zu Leipzig, Phil.-Hist. Classe, 1874, pp. 43-70.
The MS. is now in the Bollandist library in Brussels, where
it bears the number 23. bibl. I Bollandiana. 23. Brux. 1
(1842). The portion of the MS. which contains the passion of
St. George belongs to the second half of the ix century,1 (G.)

Incipit. — In illo tempore adripuit diabolus regem Persarum
et regem super quattuor cardines saeculi, qui prior erat super
omnes reges terrae, et misit aedictum ut universi reges con-
venirent in unum. . . .

2. The Latin text of the Codex Sangallensis, published by
Zarncke in Ber. u. d. Verh. d. k. sacks. Ges. d. Wiss. zu Leipzig,
Phil.-Hist. Classe, 1875, pp. 265-277. The MS. is in the
library of Saint Gall, No. 550, and belongs to the ix
century.2 (Sg.)

Incipit. — In tempore illo erat rex paganorum nomine Dati-
anus, qui fuit persecutor Christian or um, et posuit tribunal
suuin et sedit super earn scripsitque literas et misit eas in
omnem regionem habentes in hunc modum. . . .

3. The Coptic versions, published by Dr. Budge, The
Martyrdom and Miracles of Saint George of Cappadocia.
The Coptic text edited with an English translation, London,
1885. (C.)

1 Two later derivatives of this version have come to my notice in the
Bibl. Nat. in Paris. The one marked F. L. 5593, f. 40 r-55 r of the xi
cent, is very poor, while the other, F. L. 5265, f. 126 v-149 r of the xiv
cent, is very well preserved. An abridgment of the same version is found
in Paris, Bibl. Maz. 399, f. 55 v-59 r, of the xn century.

2Another fragmentary account of the same version is contained in the
same library of Saint Gall, No. 435, f. 133, also of the ix cent. ; cp. Zarncke,
/. c., 1874, p. 42, and 1875, p. 256.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEOEGE. 467

4. The Syriac versions. The only published account of
this version is to be found in Dillmann's article : Ueber die
apokryphischen Mdrtyrergeschichten des Gyriacus mit Julitta
und des Georgius, in Sitzb. d. k. preuss. Akad. d. Wiss. zu
Berlin, Phil.-Hist. Klasse, 1887, pp. 339 ff. Through the very
great kindness of Dr. E. A. Wallis Budge of the British
Museum, who has been preparing an edition of this version,
1 am able to make use of a copy of his translation of the
text, which he allowed me to have prepared from his manu-
script. It gives me the greatest pleasure to acknowledge my
indebtedness to him and to thank him here for his kindness
and courtesy. (S.)

5. The Arabic version. Knowledge of the contents of
this version is possible only from the very brief account
given of it by Dillmann in the article just cited. (Ar.)

Before entering into a discussion of the various opinions
that have been held with reference to these versions, it will
be necessary to examine their contents. The Coptic, Syriac
and Arabic accounts, which are of the highest interest for the
historical and comparative study of the legend, have never
been seriously compared with G and Sg, and even Vetter,1
the last to examine its development, in his introduction to
Reinbot von Durne's M. H. G. poem on the passion of St.
George, leaves them entirely out of account.

In order to facilitate a minute analysis and comparison,
the account has been divided into paragraphs. These will be
found to differ from those made by Arndt, and adopted by
Zarncke and Vetter, because, during the course of this study,
it became evident that that division, made without reference
to the unity of the incidents of the story, was insufficient.
We shall make G the basis of the comparison and note all
the important points of variation in the other versions.

1. Datianus (Dadianus C, S, also Dacianus in Sg), king
of the Persians (ruler over the four quarters of the earth

1Der heilige Georg des Eeinbot von Durne, hrsg. von F. Velter, Halle, Nie-
meyer, 1896.

468

JOHN E. MATZKE.

C, with whom were four wicked kings S) calls a council of
his subordinate rulers. Seventy-two (seventy C, no number
mentioned in S) kings (governors C) come together, and
Datianus now commands that instruments of torture, pre-
viously prepared, be brought before the assembly. There is
great fear among the Christians. George of Cappadocia
appears (brought up in Paltene = Palestine ? Sg), a count (a
tribune, Sg, C, S) over many soldiers. (He comes to be
made a count Sg, C, S.) He gives his money to the poor
and confesses Christianity. The astonished emperor asks
after his name and descent, and George tells his name, Cappa-
docian origin (and that he had also lived in Palestine G,
served as a tribune in Palestine C). He is then commanded
to sacrifice to Apollo (and Neptune G, and Poseidon C, no
names of idols S), whereupon he blasphemes all pagan deities.
2. The tortures begin at once, (a) He is placed upon a
rack (a wooden horse C, S) and torn to pieces ; (b) (absent in
Sg) he is led without the city (absent in C) and torn into pieces
by four machines (four quaternions of soldiers C) and beaten ;
salt is sprinkled into his wounds, and they are rubbed with
coarse cloth; (c) iron boots filled with sharp nails are put
upon his feet ; (d) (absent in Sg) then he is led back to the
city (absent in C), thrown into a large chest filled with nails
and barbed hooks, a high platform is built and upon it George
is lacerated by sixty sharp stakes, then he is cast into a cauldron
of boiling water (absent in C) ; (e) his head is beaten in with a
heavy hammer (with iron nails C, with lead Sg) so that the
brains ooze out through the nose (through his mouth, white
as milk C). All these tortures are of no avail, and no barm
results from them to George. He is, therefore, led back to
prison (absent in C) and (/) (absent in Sg), a heavy column,
which eighteen men could not lift (eight men rolled it along
C) is placed upon his body, (g) In this condition he is left to
pass the night (absent in Sg). Suddenly God appears to him
and comforts him. George learns that he is to suffer seven
years (absent in C), that he shall be killed three times, and

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 469

that at his fourth death he shall enter paradise. (The whole
paragraph is omitted in S, with the exception of the first torture
mentioned under (a).)

3. (Absent in S.) The next day George is again led before
the emperor. A new confession of his faith follows, where-
upon he is stretched out and beaten, until a hundred wounds
appear upon his back and forty upon his belly (absent in C) ;
then he is led back to prison.

4. (Absent in S.) Datianus now sends out a letter, calling
for a magician, who would be strong enough to overcome
what he believes to be the magic art of George. Athanasius
appears, and upon the emperor's question, whether he will be
capable of conquering George, he calls for two oxen (one ox
Sg, C, Ar). When these (the one ox Sg, C, Ar) are brought
up, he whispers into the ear of one, which is immediately
split in twain. The emperor is delighted with joy, which
increases when Athanasius joins the two halves, and the ox
is made whole as before (calls for a yoke and the two halves
become two oxen Sg, Ar, calls for scales and the two halves
are found to have identical weight C). George is now led
into his presence, and when he sees Athanasius, he foretells
his speedy conversion. The magician then gives him succes-
sively two poisonous potions (only one potion Sg, Ar), which
he drinks without experiencing any harm, whereupon Atha-
nasius confesses the power of George's God, and is immediately
executed. George is led back to prison.

5. On the next day the tortures recommence. An immense
wheel is brought up, fitted out with sharp swords and nails.
George is led up praying, is thrown upon the wheel (he runs
up on the wheel S), cut into ten pieces and gives up the ghost.
The pieces of his body are thrown into a well (puteus G,
lacus Sg, a dry pit C, an empty pit S), and the opening is
sealed up with a stone. The emperor returns to his palace
and this has happened on a Sabbath day (absent in Sg, C, S).
While he sits at a meal with the seventy-two kings (sixty-nine
governors C, it was time for eating S) a storm comes up

470 JOHN E. MATZKE.

over the well (with earthquake G, C, S). God appears with
Michael (Gabriel S), whom He sends to collect the portions
of George's body (to whom He says : ' Bring up to Me My
servant George ' S). God touches them with His hand, and
George is brought to life again. He returns at once to
Datianus. The latter at first believes that he sees George's
ghost, others (Magnentius Sg, Magentios S) say it is some
one similar to George, but the martyr confesses his identity.
Anatholius (C, Anatholis Sg, Antoninus S, Athanasius G), an
officer, is converted with his soldiers, and at once all are led
without the city to execution (1,098 in number, and one
woman Sg; 3,009 in number, and one woman C).

6. (a) George is now laid upon an iron bed and molten
lead (and iron G) are poured into his mouth and over his
head (but have no more effect than would cold water G) ; (6)
(absent in Sg) then sixty nails are driven into his head, a
large stone is placed upon it, and molten lead is poured over
the stone (he is rolled down a hill with the stone, and his
bones are severed one from the other C) ; (c) he is suspended
by his feet, a heavy stone is tied to his neck, and a fire is
kindled underneath him, so that the rising smoke may torture
him ; (d) (in Sg the following torture takes the place of b) a
metal ox (a bronze bull C) is produced, fitted out with swords
and nails inside (absent in Sg, C) and George is placed into
it. The ox is then revolved by means of machinery in the hope
that George might be ground to powder (absent in Sg). In all
these torments the martyr remains unharmed (in fact he was
very handsome in appearance C). He is, therefore, led back
to prison and during the night God appears to him again and
comforts him. (He is told that he must die twice more
and shall then enter paradise C.)

S omits all the tortures of the foregoing paragraph and
substitutes in its place the following based upon 2-c, which
was omitted above. George had been led back to prison, and
Satan puts it into the king's heart to put iron boots on the
martyr's feet, and to drive pegs through them into his soles.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEOKGE. 471

In this condition he is made to walk. On account of the
pain he goes very slowly, and the king, taunting him, asks
him why he does not run ; George prays and Michael comes
and sprinkles dew from heaven on his feet, so that he feels no
more pain. After a renewed confession of his faith, he is
lashed with whips, until his body is lacerated.

7. On the following day (immediately after these tortures
S), when George is led again before the tribunal, Magnentius
(Magentios S), the king (one of the governors C), says, if
George can change fourteen thrones (G says twenty-two thrones,
but the number becomes presently fourteen ; Sg has no number
whatever ; C has seventy thrones, one for each of the governors),
which are there, into trees, and cause them to bear fruit or
not, according to the nature of their wood, he will believe
in George's God. The martyr answers that he will do the
miracle not for him, but for the others present. He kneels
down and prays, and the fourteen thrones (seventy thrones C)
are changed back into the trees from which they were made.
Magnentius (Dadianus S), however, attributes the miracle to
the power of Apollo (and Hercules G, Heracles C).

8. (Absent in S.) On the emperor's command, George is
then sawed in two (in seven parts Sg) and dies. The pieces
are thrown into a cauldron filled with lead and pitch and
animal fat and bitumen, and boiled to atoms (absent in Sg),
and the command is given to bury the cauldron with its
contents. An earthquake occurs and darkness covers the
sky. God and His angels appear, Michael (Zelathiel C) is
commanded to gather the portions of the martyr's body (absent
in Sg) and God resuscitates George, though he had been dead
five days (absent in Sg, C). After an exhortation to be brave,
and the renewed promise that at the fourth death he shall enter
paradise, God and the angels return to heaven. George begins
again to walk about the city (absent in Sg).

9. (Absent in S.) The martyr is led back to Datianus.
While he stands in his presence a woman (called Scolastica
Sg, Schollastike C) appears, falls at his feet, and relates that

472 JOHN E. MATZKE.

while her son had been hitching her oxen (her one ox C) to
the plough, one of them had fallen down dead. She im-
plores the aid of George, because of her poverty. George
tells her to take his ring (signaculum) (his staff C) and to
place it on the dead beast. When she does so, the ox is
brought back to life, and the woman (and all Sg) praise God.
(Sg has a peculiarly garbled account. Neither the ring nor the
staff is mentioned. George says to her " vade ad illam, [read
ilium] et astringe nares et die : In nomine Jesu Christi surge
in pedes tuos.")

10. Tranquillinus the king (the kings present Sg, Trakiali
the governor C, Tarklln£ the king S) now demands that
George, in order to show the power of his God, shall bring
to life those buried (the one buried Sg) in a certain tomb,
concerning whom nothing whatever is known. He answers
that he will pray for the miracle not for his sake, but for those
present (absent in Sg, C, S). Servants are sent to the tomb
(the king and many people with George go to the tomb Sg,
Dadianus and the two governors of Egypt go to the tomb C,
the king went and opened the tomb S) and the dust which it
contains is brought to George. He kneels down and prays
(reference to the seventy nobles that are with Dadianus S), an
earthquake shakes the ground (absent in Sg) (a storm arises S),
and 5 men, 9 women and 3 children (4 children Sg, 200
men and women S) come back to life. The emperor asks one
of these for his name. He answers Jovis (Jobius Sg, Boes
C, Yubala S). He had been dead 460 years (200 years Sg ;
more than 200 years C ; 200 years, more or less, S) and had
been buried before Christ was known. He had worshiped
Apollo (idols S), whose name he blushes to mention (absent in
S). In consequence he had been suffering torments in a place
filled with fire. Turning to George, he asks for baptism,
whereupon the martyr stamps with his foot upon the ground,
a spring bubbles forth, and when they have all been baptized,
they disappear.

11. The emperor now is convinced that George is a magi-
cian. He commands him to be led into the house of a widow,

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 473

the poorest in the city. When he has arrived there, he asks
the woman for some bread, and upon her answer that she has
none, he tells her that the cause of her poverty is her worship
of Apollo and Hercules (absent in Sg, S, Heracles C). The
woman, to whom the face of George appears like that of an
angel, goes away to beg some bread of her neighbors. George
sits down by the gable fork of the house (the wooden pillar
in the house C, S) which at once grows 15 cubits (12 cubits
Sg) in height and bears fruit. An angel from heaven (Michael,
the archangel C, S) brings bread to George and comforts him.
When the woman returns, she sees the table spread, and the
fruit-bearing tree. Kneeling down, she confesses Christ and
asks George to heal her son, who is 3 months old (9 years
Sg, C, no age given S) and blind, deaf, (dumb C), and lame.
George prays to God, and restores his sight, but refuses for
the present to heal his (speech C) hearing and lameness.

12. (Absent in S.) The emperor (with 70 kings S, 69
governors C) now sees the tree, and has George Jed again
before him. New tortures follow. He is beaten, a red-hot
iron helmet (red hot coals Sg) is put on his head (fire is built
under him and vessels filled with fire are put on his head,
until his body is consumed C), his body is torn with hooks,
torches are applied to his side (absent in Sg) (he is hung up
and iron pots full of fire are placed under him C) and he
gives up the ghost. His body is then carried to a high
mountain called Asinaris (Seres Sg, Siris C) to be eaten by
the birds. (The soldiers that carry his body cut it into 9
pieces and bury them Sg.) But hardly have the soldiers
entrusted with the execution of this command left the moun-
tain, when an earthquake occurs, God and his angels appear,
and George is resuscitated. He at once hurries after the
soldiers, and when they recognize him, they are converted.
George smites the earth with his foot, a spring bubbles forth
(a spring is found there Sg, C merely relates that they are
baptized), and they are baptized. Their names are Sili-
codies, Silentiarius and Massarius, and many others with
them (Klaudane, Lasiri, Lasiriane and Klekon C, no names

474 JOHN E. MATZKE.

in Sg). When they appear with George before the emperor,
they are at once executed.

13. Datianus now exhorts George to sacrifice (he does so
on the advice of Magentios S), and the martyr seems to
assent. The emperor is beside himself with joy. (The rest
of the paragraph is absent in S.) He wishes to kiss his head,
but George does not permit it ; he will first sacrifice, then the
emperor may kiss him. In consequence, George is invited
to pass the night in the palace, the guest of Alexandra
(Alexandria Sg), the empress. During the night the saint
improves the opportunity by instructing Alexandra in the
doctrines of Christianity, and the empress is converted. (She
asks George to keep the matter secret Sg, C.)

14. The next morning a herald is sent through the city to
announce to the people the great festival in the temple of
Apollo. At that moment the widow, whose son George had
partially healed, appears with her child (without her child,
and George sends her back to bid the child come to him Sg)
and chides the saint for forsaking his God. George tells her
to put the boy on the ground, and then he commands him,
who was still deaf and lame, to rise (in Sg the child appears
and falls at the feet of George, and he sends him into the
temple ; in S George calls the child, who stands up, runs to
him, and worships him) and go to the temple of Apollo, and
call the god to come to him. The boy does as he is bidden.
The idol comes out (of the statue Sg) and confesses that he
is not the true God ; then George stamps upon the ground,
which opens, and the idol is sent to the abyss. The saint
now goes into the temple and breaks the statues of Hercules
and others (Heracles and Zeus S) that were there. He is
bound by the priests (by the crowd Sg) and led back to the
emperor (the king Sg, S, the governor C) who then learns
the destruction of the idols. A ruse of George to inveigle the
emperor to visit the temple fails (absent in Sg, C) (George
promises again to sacrifice to the king's gods, if he will bring
them hither S) (George is sent back to prison Sg, S) and
Datianus returns to the palace.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 475

15. Venting his wrath before Alexandra, he learns to his
surprise that she too has become a Christian. She is led from
the palace, hung up by the hair, and her naked body (absent in
Sg, C, S) beaten with whips (dragged by Dadianus and the
69 governors by the hair, hung upon the wooden horse and
tortured C ; hung up by the hair and combed with combs S).
Then she is suspended by the breasts and torches are applied to
her sides (absent in Sg, C, S). Turning to George, she begs for
baptism, but he tells her that her blood (her tears S) shall take
its place (absent in Sg). (In S she is beaten with strips of
rawhide, until her body is lacerated.) Then the king pro-
nounces the death sentence and she is executed.

16. Now all the kings present (Magnentius C) suggest to
the emperor to pass sentence of death upon George (the death
sentence is written Sg, C, S). On leaving the palace, the
martyr prays to God, now that he has been tortured seven
years, and fire falls from heaven, which consumes Datianus
and the 72 kings (70 governors and 5,000 people C). (In
Sg and S this punishment is related briefly after the final
prayer and just before the martyr's final death.)

17. Arrived at the place of execution (where the queen
had been executed Sg, S), George pronounces a (long G, S)
prayer, in which he intercedes for those who should honor
his memory and offer prayer in his name. A voice is heard
from heaven as an answer. (Fire falls from heaven and
consumes the 72 (70 S) kings Sg, S.) Then George kneels
down and is decapitated. Water and milk flow from his body
(absent in Sg, S.) (An earthquake and storm frighten those
who witness the scene G, C.) (Many are converted to the
Christian faith Sg.)

18. ( Absent in Sg,) Passecras (Pasikrates C, S), the servant
of George, who was with him during his seven years of suffer-
ing, wrote these events in the order in which they occurred.

All four versions belong to the same family and derive
from the same common source, for all give the account in the
same general order and all agree, in the main, in the facts that
5

476 JOHN E. MATZKE.

are related. A study of their individual traits will aid us,
however, to determine somewhat more closely their particular
relation.

The differences between G and Sg consist in omissions and
individual variations, which are controlled through a com-
parison with C and S. We may note in the first place a
number of such omissions on the part of Sg. In § 2 the
tortures described under 6, d,/are absent; in § 6 the tortures
of b are omitted and those of d are briefly referred to between
a and c; the name of Passecras does not appear in § 18. In
other instances the author of Sg has introduced traits which
are not supported by C and S. So in § 4 Athanasius offers
one poisonous potion to George, where both G and C mention
two ; in § 8 George is sawed into 7 pieces, in G and C into 2 ;
in § 10 the kings present demand the miracle of the tomb, in G
the demand is made by Tranquillinus, in C by Trakiali; the
number raised to life includes 4 children in Sg, but only
3 in G and C; in § 13 the queen's name is Alexandria, but
Alexandra in G and S. This list might be increased, but it
would have no importance beyond that of emphasizing the
fact that the author of Sg has both abridged the account and
introduced some personal variations.

In another list of differences between G and Sg, comparison
with C and S, and also with Ar, and with the Anglo-Norman
poem of Simund de Freine1 reveals the fact that Sg has
preserved the original form, and that the author of G has
introduced the variation. The most interesting of these
instances is the account of the trick practised by Athanasius
in § 4. In Sg, C and Ar only one ox is called for by the
magician. In Sg he whispers (in Ar he spits) into the ear
of the animal, which is straightway split in twain, and when
a yoke is brought up, each half ox becomes a whole one, and
is hitched up, while in C the magician calls for scales, and it
is found that the two halves are of exactly the same weight.

lFor the detailed discussion of the contents of this poem, see part II
of the present study.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 477

In G he calls for two oxen, but only one of these is affected
by the trick, and the two halves are then again joined together
and the ox becomes whole as before. The incident is omitted
entirely in S, but the Arabic version seems to agree with Sg,
while Simund de Freine relates the story in accordance with
G, with this difference, that only one ox is demanded by the
magician, who is here called Anastasius. I am inclined to
believe that the original version of the trick is preserved in
Sg and Ar. The outcome of it, as told there, explains the
number of oxen in G, and the various differences in G, C
and Simund de Freine appear as natural variations, which
could readily suggest themselves to later authors.1

In the same incident Athanasius offers two poisonous
potions to George in G and only one in Sg. G here agrees
with C, Sg with Ar and Simund de Freine. From the fact
that the canonical Greek version 2 also mentions two potions,
it seems to follow that G and C are here nearer to the origi-
nal than Sg, but on the other hand, since the development
of such incidents proceeds from the simple to the complex, it
is more probable that here also Sg has preserved the original
form.

In the following instances, however, the variation is clearly
due to the author of G, viz. : § 5 the name of Athanasius in
the place of Anatholis Sg, Anatholius C ; § 9 the omission
of the name of Scolastica Sg, Schollastike C ; § 10 those raised
to life by George had been dead 460 years in G, but 200 years
in Sg, C, S and Simund de Freine; § 11 the age of the
crippled child of the widow is 3 months in G, but 9 years in
Sg, C, S, while no age is given in Simund de Freine ; § 12
the name of the mountain to which George is carried after
his third death is Asinaris in G, but Seres Sg and Siris C.

1 This conclusion is strengthened by the fact that the story seems to have
agreed with Sg and Ar also in the Greek version, of which some fragments
only are preserved in the palimpsest of the v cent., of whose importance
we shall speak presently.

2 See below, p. 483.

478 JOHN E. MATZKE.

It is evident that one version complements or corrects the
other, and that both therefore derive from a common source.
Their particular relation was defined by Zarncke, 1. c., p. 257,
as follows : " Yielmehr iiberzeugt man sich leicht .... dass
wir es mit zwei verschiedenen Uebersetzungen desselben
griechischen Originals oder zweier nur hier und da und nur
redactionell von einander abweichender griechischer Texte zu
thun haben, und zwar so, dass der Sangallensis im Ganzen
kiirzer gefasst ist, moge nun diese grossere Kiirze bereits
dem Original zuzuweisen sein, oder erst der lateinischen Bear-
beitung." This relation of the two versions is also accepted
by Vetter, 1. c., p. xix : " der Text des Gallicanus and der
des Sangallensis sind zwei von einander abweichende Ueber-
setzungen desselben griechischen Originals, oder sie repra-
sentieren die Uebersetzung zweier unter sich abweichender
griechischer Texte." There can be no question that the
second of these alternatives is the correct one, and that we
have in G and Sg translations of two different Greek versions,
both closely related to the original form of the legend.

These latter Greek versions have lately been proved to have
been closely related to the fragments of another Greek text,
preserved in a palimpsest of the v century, which had been
known for some forty years, since they were published by
Detlefsen in the Sitzb. d. Wiener AJcad., 1858, pp. 383 ff., but
which, curiously enough, seem to have escaped the notice of
scholars who have busied themselves with this question. The
proofs of this relation are brought by Vetter, 1. c., pp. xx-
xxiii. They consist in a comparison of these fragments with
the corresponding portions of G and Sg, and they leave no
room for doubt.1

The age of G and Sg can be determined approximately
from internal evidence. Zarncke pointed out, 1. c., p. 260,
that citations from scripture in both, do not agree with the
Vulgate text, but point back to an earlier prehieronymic

1 Vetter is also undoubtedly correct in inverting the order of the leaves
of the palimpsest numbered by Detlefsen 2 v and 3 r respectively.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 479

translation. Though both MSS. belong to the ix century, this
fact forces the conclusion that the translations were made
very much earlier.

The relation of C to G and Sg or their sources is a problem
much more difficult of solution. Dr. Budge, in his edition
of the Coptic text, p. xxvi, and elsewhere, accepts a strong
probability that C was translated from the Greek. If this
be true, then some of the points of resemblance between Sg
and C, just pointed out, would probably demand the accept-
ance of a common source for both, and this Greek text would
contain a version parallel to that of which G is a translation,
and to that of the fragments contained in Detlefsen's palimp-
sest. On the other hand, Amelineau1 has endeavored to
prove that the Coptic version is the original one and that
all the others derive from it. His reasons are based upon
the internal features of the account, whose general arrange-
ment agrees remarkably with that of other Coptic lives of
Saints ; and the scene and general point of view of the story,
according to him, are clearly Egyptian. I am not able to
form a personal judgment on the question, and prefer to
remain neutral. This much is certain, that C does not repre-
sent the oldest form of the legend, and that Am6lineau is
clearly wrong when he maintains, 1. c., p. 287, that G (he
does not know Sg) is a translation of C. The various agree-
ments and differences between G, Sg, and C admit only of
this one conclusion, that all three are closely related to a
common source.

Dr. Budge, L c., p. xxxi, gives some data upon which the
date of C may be established. It was known by Theodosius,
bishop of Jerusalem, about 450 A. D., and by Theodotus,
bishop of Ancyra, who lived in the early part of the same
century, and was used by them as the basis for their encomi-
ums published in the same volume as C. " If, however," Dr.
Budge goes on to say, " the encomiums attributed to Theodosius
and Theodotus are not genuine, though I see no reason why

lLes Ades des Martyrs de Veglise Copte, Paris, 1890, pp. 291 ff.

480 JOHN E. MATZKE.

they should not be, they were probably written about a century
later."

The Syriac text derives from the same source as G, Sg, and
C, though it is seriously abridged. The greater part of §§ 2
and 13, and §§ 3, 4, 6, 8, 9 are omitted, but the remainder of
the account follows closely and in the same order the model
of G, Sg, and C. The only important variation occurs in
§ 10. When George is asked to perform the miracle of the
tomb, 200 souls of men, women and children come back to
life. Their spokesman bears the name of Yubala, and he
relates that they had been dead 200 years, more or less. The
fact that this name occurs in a later Greek apocryphal
version as 'lo/S^X l and that it reappears as Johel and Joel in
the West European versions current in the Middle Ages,2
together with the large number of souls raised from life,
different from the small number given by G, Sg, and C,
renders the source of S of peculiar importance. Dr. Budge,
I. c., p. xxvii, ascribes the Syriac account to the VI century.

Of the Arabic version very little can be said. According
to Dr. Budge, it is "made from a comparatively modern
recension of the original work." From Dillmann's account
of its contents it seems to follow that the story, as told there,
does not differ seriously from that of the texts examined so
far. Only one important variation seems to occur, and that
is in the introduction of Diocletianus as persecutor of George
in conjunction with Maxentius and Dadianus, although the
latter remains his main enemy.

From the foregoing considerations the following filiation
of the different versions seems to follow :

1 Cp. below, p. 488. 2 Cp. below, p. 496.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 481

II. THE CANONICAL VERSION.

There is sufficient evidence to show that George had early
become one of the most popular saints of the church. On
the other hand, the edict of Pope Gelasius had stamped the
current account of his martyrdom as apocryphal and not
worthy of credence. The story of his passion was therefore
changed, so as to be no longer open to such criticism, and the
result was the so-called canonical version l of his martyrdom.
This form of the legend is characterized by the introduction
of the name of Diocletian, due to the desire to connect the
death of the saint with the tenth persecution of the Christians,
and by the reduction of the tortures suffered by the saint and
the wonders performed by him.

The earliest evidence of the existence of this form of the
legend is to be found in the encomium of Andreas,2 arch-
bishop of Creta (vii-Vin cent.), and in the Greek version,
accepted by the Bollandists, AA. SS. April, in, Ada Graeca,
pp. vii-xii (b), and published also in Latin translation,3 ibid.,
pp. 119-125 (1).

The legend appears here in the following form :

1. The emperor Diocletian, who has under his control the
governors of the whole East, decides upon a persecution of
the Christians. At that time George appears at his court.
He had been born in Cappadocia of Christian parents. The
father having died when he was still an infant, he had gone

1 Cp. Kirpicnikov, Saint George and Egorij Chrabry, Saint Petersburg, 1879.
Veselofskij, Studies in Russian Sacred Poetry, Puds, of the Russian Academy of
Science, xxi, No. 2. The former of these two volumes has, in spile of many
efforts, remained inaccessible to me. For a knowledge of the contents of
the second I am indebted to the kindness of Dr. George R. Noyes of the
University of California. A detailed account of the conclusions of both
studies can be found also by Heinzel in the Zs.f. deutsches Alterthum, neue
JFolge, xv, pp. 256-262.

2 Publ. AA. SS. April, vol. m, Ada Oraeca, pp. xx ff.

3 Ut extant apud Lipomanum et Surium, interprete Francisco Zino ex
MS. Graeco Veneto. Collata cum MSS. Vaticano et Florentine.

482 JOHN E. MATZKE.

with his mother to her native Palestine, where they had
many possessions. The young man rises rapidly in honors.
First Tpi(Sovvo<$, then KO/JLTJS, having lost his mother at the age
of 20, he now appears at the court of the emperor seeking
still greater honors. On the very first day of his presence, he
sees the cruelties perpetrated against the Christians. There-
upon he distributes his money to the poor, and on the third
day of the council he arises and confesses his faith in the
God of the Christians.

2. Diocletian is so astonished that he cannot speak, and he
nods to Magnentius, who was then consul, to answer George.
Finally the emperor endeavors to win him over by flattery.
He refers to his youth, his career, and his ambition, but the
martyr remains firm, and he is finally handed over to soldiers
and led away to prison. A spear, with which he is struck,
bends back as though of lead, and George praises God. In
the prison he is tied to the ground and a heavy stone is
placed upon his breast.

3. On the next day George is led back to the emperor.
He is placed upon a wheel, beneath which sharp knives are
fixed, and is torn to pieces. Diocletian thinks he must be
dead, taunts the God of George, and goes away to sacrifice
to Apollo. A cloud appears, thunder and a voice from
heaven are heard, while a man in a white garment is seen
ministering to the martyr. When he is loosed from the
wheel, he is found to be sound in body, praising God. The
events are related to Diocletian, and when he sees George, he
thinks it must be his ghost, (a) Two officers, Anatolius and
Protoleus, are converted and at once executed. (6) Many
others besides are converted, and among them the empress
Alexandra.

4. George is now placed into a lime-kiln, to be kept there
three days, but at the end of that period he is found unharmed.
This fact is witnessed by a great multitude, and the rumor of
it is carried to Diocletian, who commands the martyr to be
led before him, and accuses him of working his wonders by
magic.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 483

5. Iron boots are now brought up, heated and put on his
feet. In this condition he is driven back to prison.

6. On the following day he is again led before the emperor
and the assembled senate, and Diocletian accuses him of
magic. When he protests with indignation, he is struck on
the mouth and beaten with cowhides.

7. Magnentius now suggests calling the magician Atha-
nasius, and George is led back to prison. On the following
day the magician is present. He prepares two poisonous
potions, which the martyr drinks without experiencing any
harm, the second on command of the emperor. Athanasius
then suggests that George be asked to resuscitate a dead
body. Should he succeed, both Athanasius and Magnentius
promise to accept the Christian faith. The tomb where the
body rests is half a stadium distant from the council hall.
Evidently all go there, though the texts are silent on this
point. George kneels on the ground and prays, a loud voice
is heard, and the dead man rises. Diocletian and his friends
think the matter a fraud, but the dead man prays to God and
remains near George. Thereupon Athanasius falls on his
knees and confesses Christ, while the emperor accuses him of
being George's accomplice and of having deceived him with
a body that was not really dead. Both Athanasius and the
man that had been resuscitated are now executed and George
is led back to prison.

8. During the night many visit him and are healed of
various diseases. Among those who crowd to the prison,
there is a peasant by the name of Glycerius, whose ox had
fallen dead, while he was ploughing. George tells him to go
back and that he will find his ox alive. When he finds that
the saint's prediction has come true, he is beside himself with
joy, confesses Christianity, and is executed.

9. On the advice of Magnentius a council is now ordered
for the following day. During the night God appears to
George in a dream and tells him that victory shall come
to him on the next day. He obtains from the jailer the

484 JOHN E. MATZKE.

permission to have his servant admitted to the prison. He
gives him written directions that after his death he is to bury
his body near his former home, in Palestine.

10. On the next day a new council is held. George is led
before Diocletian, who again tries persuasion and argument,
and even goes so far as to offer him half of his kingdom.
The saint now declares himself ready to go to the temple,
and the emperor sends out a proclamation for all to come and
witness the sacrifice. George enters the temple, makes the
sign of the cross before the statue of Apollo, and the demon
dwelling within the idol confesses that the God of George is
the only true God. All the other idols fall to the ground and
are broken. A great tumult arises and the martyr is again
bound.

11. When Alexandra receives the news, she cannot hide
her faith any longer. George is led before the emperor,
reviling his gods, and Alexandra joins the group, falling
at the martyr's feet. Diocletian, beside himself, pronounces
sentence of death against them both, and they are led away.
Arriving at the place of execution, Alexandra sits down and
renders her spirit to God. (The account does not say that
she was executed.) George kneels down and is decapitated.

According to Kirpicnikov, as quoted by Vetter, I. c., p. Ivi,
this version formed the source of all the later East European
forms of the legend, of which he cites a number of Greek,
Russian, and Serbian texts, and among these the life attri-
buted to Metaphrastes 1 (Me) and the encomium of Gregorius
Cyprius.2

While there can be no doubt as to the accuracy of this
statement, it seems nevertheless to the point to mention a few
features in which Me differs from b-1. These are :

1 (§ 1). The mention of Maximian by the side of Dio-
cletian. Furthermore the reference to George's origin and

1 Publ. Migne, Patrol. Ours. 2, 4, and AA. SS. I. c. Ada Graeca, pp. xii ff.
8 Publ. AA. SS. I. c. Ada Graeca, pp. xxi ff.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 485

parents is reduced to a bare mention ; cf. rovra) Trarpls pev 77
KaTTTraSofcwv, Trarepe? Se TWV zTrifyavwv, rpo(f)b<; 77 Ha\atcrrlvij,
TO a-eftas eic 7rpo<y6va)v avrov evaefSeaTCLTOs rjv icai are^vo^,
rrjv pev rjKiiciav ved^wv. . . .

2 (§ 7). Athanasius is not introduced until after the mira-
cle of the tomb. The demand to raise a dead body to life is
made by Magnentius,1 and when George performs the miracle,
Diocletian thinks he did it through magic, and therefore he
calls in Athanasius, a famed magician, to undo the power of
the saint. However, Athanasius can gain no more advantage
over the martyr than did those called upon formerly to work
their magic upon Moses. There is no reference whatever to
a poisoned cup. Athanasius and many others are finally
converted and promptly executed.

3 (§ 9). There is no mention of the appearance of God to
George in prison, nor of the admission of the martyr's servant.

No great importance can be attached to these variations.
The third is evidently a mere omission, the second may be
an individual transposition of incidents, and the introduction
of Maximian also followed naturally after the martyrdom had
once been located in the persecution under Diocletian, though,
of course, it is entirely possible that we have here influence
of some later version, where Diocletian and Maximian were
both mentioned.

Another Greek version, which was rejected by the Bolland-
ists, shows more serious differences, and deserves closer study.
This is the version accepted by Surius and translated by
Lipomanus from a Greek MS. in Venice2 (L-S). The main
outline of this account does not differ from that given in b-1,
but it contains the following characteristic features.

1 (§ 1). There is no reference to George's parents. The
martyr is introduced as a tribune from Cappadocia. Seeing

xAs in L-S ; see below, p. 486.

2 Publ. Surius, Vitae Sanctorum ab Aloysio Lipomano olim conscriptae, Cologne,
1570, vol. n, pp. 251 ff.

486 JOHN E. MATZKE.

the persecution wrought upon the Christians, he appears
before the emperor and confesses his faith.1

2 (§ 7). Magnentius demands the miracle of the tomb, as
in Me, but there is no mention whatever of Athanasius.

3 (§ 9). The whole of § 9 is omitted as in Me. There is
no mention of the appearance of God to George in prison,
nor of the admission of his servant.

4. After § 11 follows the statement "ego vero sancti
Georgii servus, nomine Pasicrates, secutus dominum meum,
omnia haec in commentarios collegi."

The general similarity between L-S and b-1 is too close to
admit of the conclusion that we have to do with two inde-
pendent versions, and that L-S stands closer to the original
as Amelineau holds, 1. c., p. 271. Moreover it appears from
the evidence published by Vesel6fskij, 1. c., p. 45, that the
original of L-S (Venice, MS Graec. 1447, Olim 2030) bore in
certain portions the closest verbal similarity to the version
contained in the Vienna MS. Theolog. Graec. 123 and pub-
lished by him, ibid., p. 172 ss. This Greek text, of which
we shall presently speak more minutely, is a member of the
later Greek apocryphal form of the legend, and contains
therefore much that is absent from L-S. However, in the
passages relating the same incidents, notably in the rhetorical
introduction and in the initial paragraphs of the story proper,
the language of L-S reads like a translation of this Greek
text. Vesclofskij concludes therefore that L-S, though a
member of the canonical group, stands under the influence
of the apocryphal version, which point of view also explains
fully the introduction of the name of Pasicrates.

It will be noted also that outside of the addition of this
name, the irregularities characteristic of L-S are quite similar

1 After the rescue of George from the lime-kiln (here "jussit S. Georgium
in lacum conjici, ardentem ex materia ilia, quae dicitur asbestos, quaeque
non nisi post trea dies extingui solet ") Alexandra confesses her faith again,
which she had already done once after his rescue from the wheel. L-S
agrees here with the encomium of Andreas and also with Me, while b-1
omits the second confession of the empress.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 487

to those just noted for Me, so that the conclusion will proba-
bly be exact that the direct model of Me and the Greek
original of L-S were closely related.

III. LATER EASTERN APOCRYPHAL VERSIONS.

By the side of the canonical version the old apocryphal
form of the legend lived on apace, but its form was changed,
partly through influence of the canonical version, and partly
through the elaboration of individual data. Yesel6fskij, /. c.,
pp. 87 ff., cites the following Greek texts as examples of this
variation of the legend.

1. Vienna MS. Theol. Grace. 123, already spoken of, and
published in full, ibid., pp. 172 ff. (V).

2. Paris, Bibl. Nat. Graec. 1178 (Olim 148); extracts
published, ibid., pp. 198-199 and 38-41 (V1).

3. Paris, Bibl. Nat. Graec. 1534, extracts published, ibid.,
pp. 189-198 (V2).

The first of these MSS. contains the following account of
the legend :

1. Diocletianus is emperor, and Magnentius his friend, the
second in the land. These two consult together how to
suppress the worship of the Christians. Finally they send
letters signed by Diocletian to all the governors of the
empire, and command the persecution of all those who do not
worship Apollo, Hermes, Dionysos, Heracles, or Zeus. Dur-
ing a council, which follows, George appears like a bright
star in a dark night. He comes from Cappadocia, of noble
family, is at this time rpifSovvos, and now appears seeking
the office of KO/JL^. Seeing the cruelties practised against the
Christians, he decides to confess his faith. He gives his
money to the poor, and, dressed like an athlete, appears
before the emperor and the assembled council, and proclaims
himself a Christian. Magnentios then asks for his name, and
when George has answered, Diocletian decrees that he must
sacrifice to the idols.

488 JOHN E. MATZKE.

2. The tortures begin at once. George is suspended and
his body is scraped until his bowels fall upon the earth. A
spear with which he is struck bends like lead. Thereupon
he is led to prison, tied to the ground, and a heavy stone,
which four men could hardly lift, is placed upon his breast.

3. Then follows the torture upon the wheel. George is
cut into 10 pieces; these are thrown into a dry well, and
Diocletian goes to his meal. About the tenth hour a noise
is heard, and a voice from heaven. An angel appears and
resuscitates the martyr. He returns at once to the emperor
and Magnentius, both of whom he meets before the statue
of Apollo. Diocletian thinks he sees George's ghost, others
maintain that it is some one similar to him. Anatolius, one
of the officers, is converted with his soldiers, and at once led
without the city and executed.

4. Then follows a series of tortures similar to those de-
scribed in O § 6 : (a) He is stretched upon a copper couch, and
molten lead is poured over him. (6) He is hung up by his
feet, with a heavy stone tied to his neck, and a fire is kindled
under him, so that the smoke may torment him. (c) He is
placed in a metal ox fitted out with nails and barbed hooks,
which is then turned by machinery, in order that his flesh
may be torn. After these tortures he is led back to prison,
and during the night God appears to him, and tells him that
at his third death he shall be received into paradise.

5. George is then sawed into pieces, and dies. The por-
tions of his body are burned in resin and wax, and buried
with the cauldron in the ground. An earthquake occurs,
and God appears and resuscitates him. A renewed promise
follows that at the third death he shall enter paradise, and
George walks about the city teaching the people.

6. In the next place the incident of Scholastike and her
ox is related. George gives her his stick to place upon the
beast, and the animal comes to life again.

7. Diocletian now demands the miracle of the tomb. One
man arises, whose name is Jobel (lo/S^X) and who has been

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 48$

dead 400 years. When he prays to be baptized, George
strikes the ground with his foot, and a fountain springs forth.

8. New tortures follow. The martyr is beaten, a red-hot
helmet is put upon his head, and his body is torn with hooks,
until his bowels lie bare. When he is dead, his body is
carried by soldiers to a high mountain. An earthquake
shakes the ground, and God comes in a cloud and resuscitates
the martyr. The soldiers are converted and baptized ; they
confess their faith before the emperor and are executed.

9. In the next place the incident of Glykerios and his ox
is related, similar to b-1 § 8. George tells him to believe and
he will find his ox alive again. He is converted by the
miracle and at once executed.

10. Diocletian now makes use of flattery, and George
seemingly promises to sacrifice to the idols. Overcome with
joy, the emperor invites him to pass the night in the palace,
and George improves the opportunity by converting the
queen Alexandra.

11. On the next morning a proclamation is published
inviting all to come and witness the sacrifice of the martyr.
George approaches the statue of Apollo, the idol confesses his
vanity, and before the sign of the cross all the statues fall to
the ground and are broken.

12. Alexandra now confesses the Christian faith. The
emperor is mad with anger, and she is condemned to death.
On the way to the place of execution she renders her spirit
to God.

13. The martyr is also led to execution. He kneels down
and prays. In answer a voice is heard from heaven. Then
he is decapitated; an earthquake shakes the ground and a
storm beats the air. After his death Christians bury him
with his mother, Polychronia, in Diospolis.

Comparison with O on the one hand and the canonical
version on the other, makes it evident that the present
version occupies a position midway between the two. It
contains the threefold death of the martyr and many of the

490 JOHN E. MATZKE.

incidents of the original version. But the omissions are also
quite numerous. These are the tortures of O 2 and 3, the
figure of Athanasius (O 4), the miracle of the thrones (O 7),
George's stay in the house of the widow (Oil) and the part
played by the widow's son when the idols are destroyed (O
14), the torture of Alexandra (O 15). The name of Pasi-
crates is not found at the end, but that is an evident omission
of small import, as appears from p. 175, 1. 3, where the writer
refers to George as ' my lord/ l The name 'loftfa (§ 7) con-
nects the immediate source of this version with the source of
S ; cp. above, p. 480.

On the other hand there are also decided points of resem-
blance with the canonical version. The main similarity lies
in the presence of Diocletian and his friend and counsellor,
Magnentios. In fact §§1 and 2 agree with the corresponding
paragraphs of the canonical version, with this single differ-
ence that the early history of the saint is shortened as in
Me and L-S.

The complete materials, which would enable us to locate
this version definitely, are not accessible. But the text
furnishes one argument, which proves that, if Yesel6fskij's
theory of influence of this version upon the canonical version
is correct, the reverse is equally true. That is the repetition
of the miracle performed by George upon the dead ox. O
related the incident with reference to Scholastike, the canoni-
cal version introduced the name of Glykerios. The presence
of both names within the same account finds a reasonable
explanation only if a fusion of the two is admitted.

The second of the manuscripts cited by Vesel6fskij adds
to the beginning of the story as outlined a reference to the
marriage of the daughter of Diocletian and Alexandra to
Maximian, while the third (Paris, Bibl. Nat. Graec. 1534)
brings explicit particulars about the parents of the martyr.

His father was called Gerontios, a senator of Sebastopol,

1 6 Ka/j.irpbs TOV xpiffTov rifjuos fiapyapirrjs recfyryios, 6 e/ibs

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 491

of Cappadocian origin. His mother's name was Polychronia.
The father was a pagan, while the mother was a Christian,
and consequently brought up her son in the worship of the
true God. One day Gerontios invites his son to go with him
to offer up sacrifice to the idols of the land, and now George
confesses his Christian faith. Gerontios, much distressed,
urges him to forsake his false faith, but George remains firm,
and during the night God visits the father with a mortal
sickness. In answer to the saint's prayer the father is then
converted and confesses Christ before he dies. After the burial
George breaks the idols in the temple. Upon the acccusation
of Silvanus he is led before Ouardanios the governor, who
threatens him with tortures without being able to persuade
him to forsake his faith.

Then follows the story of George's passion as in the other
manuscripts and at the end is added the description of the
martyrdom of Polychronia before the eyes of her son, who
receives the martyr's crown immediately after her. Finally
in a closing paragraph is found the usual statement that the
facts were written down by Pasicrates, which the Vienna MS.
had omitted.

Vesel6fskij publishes furthermore, ibid., pp. 163ff., a Church
Slavic text giving essentially the same account as the Paris
Greek MS. 1534.

There can be no doubt that the variations of the last two
texts represent later additions. If the general theory of
mutual influence of the canonical version and that repre-
sented by V is correct, their relation can be represented as
follows :

492 JOHN E. MATZKE.

IV. LATER WESTERN VERSIONS.

The later West European versions1 of the legend fall
naturally into two families, which we shall call Y and Z
respectively. Both derive from the apocryphal version and
each must be studied separately.

FAMILY Y.

This group is composed of the accounts contained in the
following manuscripts :

a. Paris, Bibl. Ste. Genevieve, MS. 588,

£. St. Petersburg, MS. Franc. ThSologie F v 4 D.

7. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 23112.

S. Oxford, MS. Add. d. 106.

e. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5575.

?. Brussels, Bibl. Reg. Cod. 380-382.

77. The text publ. Bibl. Casinensis, n, Florilegium, pp. 7-11.

#. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5306.

K. Oxford, Canon. Misc. 244.

X. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 12606.

/JL. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5256.

A study of the contents of these texts reveals still further
grouping.

Group 1 is made up of versions a, /8, 7, 8.

a. Indpit. — Vraiment raconte la devine page que quant li
saint home se penoient et esforcoient d'acroistre et d'essaucier
la sainte loi Nostre Seigneur Jhesu Crist, si com vous avez oy,
uns rois estoit en Perse, qui Dathiens estoit apelez.

1 The material for this portion of my study was gathered as the result
of careful research in the Libraries of Paris, London and Oxford. I can
lay no claim to completeness. Indeed all those who have ever busied
themselves with a similar question will agree that completeness in hagio-
graphical investigations is impossible. I trust, however, that my material
is sufficiently large to give value to the facts which I shall try to establish.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEOKGE. 493

This version has come to my notice only in the one MS.
already cited, Bibl. Ste. GeneviSve 588 (£. 113 r-118 r) of the
xin century.

/#. The incipit of this version is identical with that of a
just cited. It was published from the MS. in Saint Peters-
burg,1 cited above by Yesel6sfskij, I. c., pp. 216ff. Other
copies of it are found in the following manuscripts :

1. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 17229, No. 24, xm cent.

2. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 412, No. 16, xm cent.

3. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 6447, No. 27, xin cent.

4. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 183, No. 65, xm cent.

5. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 185, No. 64, xm cent.

6. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 411, f. 81-85, xiv cent.

7. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 23117, fo. 170 v, xiv cent.

8. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 413, f. 130 v-135 v, xv cent.

The same version is found presumably also in

8. Brussels, Bibl. Roy. 10326, No. 16, xm cent.

9. London, Brit. Mus. Eoy. 20, D. vi, No. 16.

10. London, Brit. Mus. Add. 17257, No. 67, xm cent.

11. Cheltenham, Phillips MS. 3660, No. 31, xiv cent.

A rather free and somewhat abridged copy of the same
version is found in Paris, Bibl. Ste. Genevieve MS. 587,
f. 30 r-32 v of the xm-xiv cent. ; Incipit: En eel temps que
li saint home se penoient d'acroistre et d'esforeier la sainte loi
nostre seigneur uns rois estoit en Perse qui Dacien estoit apelez.

7. Incipit. — Au tans Datien Fempereour qui les crestiens
parsivoit et destruioit les eglises, iert conestables de chevaliers
li boneures Joires.

This version is found, as far as I know, only in the MS.
already cited, Paris, Bibl. Nat. 23112, f. 120r-123r of the
year 1200.

1 In Notices et Extraits, xxxvi, p. 677 ss., Paul Meyer publishes a descrip-
tion of a French legendary in Saint Petersburg (MS. Fr. 35) which contains
another copy of the same version, fo. 156-159. I have no means of decid-
ing whether this MS. is identical with Veselofskij's, numbered Fr. Theol.
F. v. 4 D.

494 JOHN E. MATZKE.

S. Incipit. — In illo tempore arripuit diabolus regeru Per-
sarum et regem super quatuor cedras seculi qui prior erat
super omnes reges terre, et misit ad omnes potestates qui sub-
reguo ejus erant, ut convenirent in civitatem que dicitur
Militena.

The version is contained in Oxford MS. Add. d. 106, fo.
78 r-81 v of the xn cent.

The following is an analysis of the account contained in
these manuscripts, the paragraph division being the same as
that adopted for the apocryphal version.

1 (= O 1). Datien (Dathien a, Datyen /3), king of the
Persians, instigated by the devil (absent in 7), summons his
provosts and bailifs to come together in Melitene (Militainne
fi, Militaine 7, Militena B). Threats are pronounced against
the Christians and instruments of torture are prepared. At
that moment George appears. He comes from Cappadocia,
with much money to buy the position of maistre conseillier
(absent in 7). When he sees the fury against the Christians,
he gives his money to the poor and confesses openly his faith
in Christ. Datien offers dignities and tries to induce him to
forsake his faith, but George remains firm, and when the
emperor deplores his youth and handsome appearance, the
saint admonishes him to think rather of himself and of his
own salvation. Then Datien threatens and swears by his gods
Gebeel, Apolin, and Arachel (Gabeel, Apolin, Arrachel /?,
Gabahel, Apolin, Heracel 7, Gebeel, Apollo, Arachel 8) that
he will make an example of him. George answers that he
will trust in his God.

2 (= O 2). The tortures begin at once. George is placed
in a pillory, his body is scraped ; he is led out of the city
and beaten, salt is sprinkled into his wounds and they are
rubbed with coarse cloth. At the end he is led back into
prison. (The paragraph is absent in /3, 7, 8.)

3 (= O 4). A magician is now sent for and Athanasins
appears. When George sees him, he foretells his approach-
ing conversion. Athanasins gives George successively two
poisonous potions to drink, which do him no harm. There-

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 495

-upon the magician confesses the power of George's God and
is forthwith executed. George is led back to prison. ( The
paragraph is absent in /3, 7, 8.)

4 (= O 5). On the next day (at once @, 7, S) follows the
torture of the wheel. George is cut into 10 pieces and these
are thrown into a well, which is closed with a stone. Datien
returns to his palace and sits down to his meal. An earth-
quake occurs, God appears with his angels, St. Michael is
sent to gather the portions of the martyr's body, and God
resuscitates him. He is then sent back to Datien, who, when
he sees him, believes it is his ghost, while others think it is
someone else who resembles him closely. Mananties (Mag-
nanties or Manecies ft, Maxentius 7, Magnentius S), one of
the officers, is converted with his household.

5 (= O 11). George is now led into the house of a poor
widow. She has no bread and her son is lame, deaf, and
mute. The saint restores his sight, hearing, and speech, but
refuses to heal the lameness for the present.1 A tree grows
in the house, 15 cubits over the roof, and a table is spread
for him by an angel from heaven. When Datien sees the
tree, he sends to inquire, and when George is finally led
before him, he asks by what magic he does these wonders.

6 (= O 7). Datien now demands the miracle of the throne.
There are 14 of them (MS. 558, Bibl. Ste. Gene vie" ve, gives
only 12), and when these, after a prayer by George, are
changed to trees, the emperor thinks again that all is done
by magic.

7 (= O 13-14). George now promises the emperor that
he will sacrifice to his idols Apolin, Gebeel, and Arrachel
(Apolin, Gebel, and Rachel in Bibl. Ste. Genevieve MS. 587,
Apolin, Gebel, and Herachel 7), so that Datien is beside him-
self with joy. When the martyr has arrived at the temple,
the widow appears with her lame son. George gives him the
power to walk and sends him into the temple to call out

1 In the MS. 587 of the Bibl. Ste. Genevieve the account is distorted so
that George is made to pray that the child may be given power to walk.

496 JOHN E. MATZKE.

the idol. Apolin appears, confesses his lack of reality, and is
sent into the abyss, which opens under the martyr's feet.
The other idols are broken.

8 (== O 8 ?). George is now led back to Datien and thrown
into a cauldron filled with sulphur and pitch. An angel from
heaven extinguishes the flames and promises him paradise.

9 (= O 13(?) and 15). Alixandre (Alixandrine 7, Alex-
andria 8) the queen now confesses her faith in the power of
God, and the emperor in his anger commands her to be
suspended by the hair and beaten. When she asks for
baptism, the saint raises his hand to heaven, and a cloud
comes down and furnishes him with the necessary water.
She is then led away to execution.

10 (= 10). Datien still promises George immunity from
further suffering, if he will perform the miracle of the tombs.
Servants are sent to gather the bones, but find only dust,
which they bring before George. In answer to his prayer
200 men and women are brought back to life. One of these
by the name of Joel (Johel 8) gives an account of their suffer-
ings and says they had been dead at least 200 years. He
begs for baptism for himself and his companions. George
makes the sign of the cross on the ground and water bubbles
forth. They are now baptized and vanish. Of the people
that witness the miracle 3,035 (3,030 8, 8,035 in Bibl. Ste.
Genevieve MS. 588) men and women are converted and bap-
tized and George offers up a prayer of gratitude, which
contains a reference to his 7 years of suffering.

11 (O = 17?). Datien is so overcome with anger that he
bursts his girdle and almost falls from his throne. After
another reference to the 7 years of suffering of the martyr he
now commands him to be led out of the city to be executed.
A large crowd follows. When he has arrived at the place
of execution, George offers up a lengthy prayer, a voice from
heaven is heard in answer, then he is decapitated and angels
from heaven receive his soul.

12 (== O 18). I, Eusebius, who was with the saint while
he did his miracles, wrote his life and passion in Militene

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 497

(Militaine /3 apud civitatem Militinensem S) in the ])rovince
of Cappadocia, while Datien was emperor. (The paragraph
is absent in 7.)

The close relation of this version to that contained in G,
Sg and C is evident, but it presents also some important
differences. There is, to be noted in the first place the varia-
tion in the order of incidents. Retaining the numbering of
O the paragraphs now appear in the order 1, 2, 4, 5, 11, 7,
13, 14, 8(?), 15, 10, 17, 18. We note further a number of
omissions and changes.

Omissions. — No reference is made to the presence of 72
kings in § 1. The tortures in § 2 are reduced by the omis-
sion of O 2-c, d, e, f, g, i. e., the iron boots, the chest filled
with nails and barbed hooks, the crushing of the head with a
heavy hammer, the heavy column which is placed on the
martyr's breast, the appearance of God in prison and the
prophecy of 7 years of suffering and a triple death. Further
omissions are the tortures of O 3, the trick of Athanasius
with the ox O 4, the tortures of O 6, the death in O 8, though
the nature of the torture is still recognizable, the incident
of Scholastike and her ox O 9, the figure of Tranquillinus
O 10, the tortures and third death O 12, the presence of the
martyr in the palace during the night and the conversion of
Alexandra O 13, the specific tortures of the queen O 15, and
finally the death of Datien and the 72 kings by fire from
heaven O 16.

Changes. — The changes are also quite important. In O
George dies three times and is received into paradise after his
decapitation, which constitutes his fourth death. Here only
three deaths are thought of, viz., 1) on the wheel, 2) in the
cauldron, 3) the final decapitation. Of these the first remains
as in the original account, while the second is mitigated in
that the intended torture is rendered inefficient through the
interference of an angel from heaven, and at the third death
George is received into paradise. The idols of Datien are
called Gebeel, Apolin, and Arachel with some unimportant
graphic variants in the different manuscripts; and the scene

498 JOHN E. MATZKE.

of the torture and martyrdom is localized in Militene.1
Magnentius, who in the original account suggests the miracle
of the thrones, now confesses Christianity after the single
resurrection of George (§ 4) in the place of Anatholius, O 5.
The number of people raised from death by the martyr is
200, the spokesman's name is Joel, and they had been dead
200 years. In G, Sg, and C it was 5 men, 9 women and 3
children, the spokesman was called Jovis (Jobius, Boes), and
they had been dead 460 or 200 years. The sign of the cross on
the ground causes water to bubble forth, with which they are
baptized, while in O George strikes the ground with his foot
with the same result. The queen Alixandre is here converted
through the evidence of God's power, while George is being
boiled in the cauldron, while in O 13 the martyr improves
the night which he passes in the palace by instructing the
queen. The description of the anger of Datien, the fact that
he bursts his girdle and almost falls from his throne, is not
found at all in O, and finally the name of Eusebius in all the
versions but 7 is substituted for that of Passecras or Pasikrates.
The relation of the different members of this group is not
without difficulties. The complete account is contained only
in a. In (3, 7, S the story is shortened by the omission of
§§ 2 and 3 : that is to say, after the appearance of George and
the confession of his faith, the tortures begin at once with his
death on the wheel, and this, be it said at once, is also the
arrangement of all the other versions of this family which
have come to my notice. This fact renders a therefore of
the highest importance, since we have preserved here in a
French translation a portion of the original account lost
everywhere else. The explanation which suggests itself is
that a is an independent translation of a Latin version con-
taining §§2 and 3, of which no copy is found among the
numerous manuscripts which I have examined. However,
this hypothesis will not solve the difficulties, for a and /?

1 For the importance of this name in this form of the legend cp. below,
p. 507.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 499

show the closest verbal agreement, being practically identical
throughout with the single omission under consideration, so
that the only accurate conclusion can be that /3 is derived
from a. Only one copy of a has come to my notice ; all the
other texts of this group which I have been able to examine
are copies of the source of /3, inasmuch as the paragraphs in
question are omitted.1

The version contained in 7 presents no particular difficulty.
It is evidently an independent translation of a Latin version
giving the same account as a, less the contents of §§ 2 and 3.

It has already been intimated that this version is an off-
spring of O. A glance at its contents and the minute
comparison which we have made furnishes sufficient proof.
This conclusion is further emphasized by the fact that the
only Latin manuscript of this group (8) has the same incipit
as G. As to contents 8 agrees with /9 and 7, and this agree-
ment is so close that but for the existence of a we should be
justified in looking upon 8 as the common source of /3 and 7.
As the matter stands, it is necessary to accept the parallelism
noted for a and /3 also for the Latin sources of the group :
that is to say, the cause for the omission of §§ 2 and 3 was
not scribal carelessness, but a, is a valuable link in the chain
of development of this version of the legend, presenting an
intermediate step between the original account and the form
in which it was later most widely known in Western Europe.2
Most probably further search among the legendaries will bring
to light a version S'7 the Latin source of a. The text con-
tained in 8 was not the direct source of 7, but must have been
so closely related to it that for the sake of convenience we
may consider 7 to be its French form.

1 For the complete text of a see p. 515. It seemed advisable to publish
the text in full, since the copy of 0 published by Vesel6fskij is rather
inaccessible.

2 The supposition that the paragraghs in question form an individual
addition in a is scarcely tenable. The similarity with O is too close to be
due to accident, and on the other hand the differences from O are exactly
similar to those in the other paragraphs of this version.

500 JOHN E. MATZKE.

The relation of this group to O may be determined with
some degree of accuracy. We have pointed out that the
beginning of B shows close verbal agreement with the corre-
sponding portion of G. A close connection must therefore
exist between the two. However, the verbal agreement is
after all limited, extending as it does only over the initial
sentence, and there is good evidence on the other hand that
the common source of this group was closely related to the
source of S. The proof of this assertion lies in the manner
in which the incidents connected with what I have called the
miracle of the tomb (§ 11) are related in the different versions
of this group. The number of souls raised to life and the
number of years gone by since their burial are identical with
those given in S, and the name Joel is evidently the same as
the Syriac Jubala (V 'lo/fy'X). On the other hand, S con-
tains none of the distinguishing features of this group pointed
out above, so that the relation of the two cannot have been
direct. The only alternative is the acceptance of a lost
version (x6), closely related to the source of S, if not trans-
lated from it, and standing also under the influence of G,
from which & and 8f are derived by means of a hypothetical
version Y, which served as the point of departure for all the
texts of this family.

Upon these considerations I believe the following filiation
of these versions may be accepted :

,/a

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 501

The remaining texts of family Y which have come to my
notice are all in Latin and can be formed into two further
groups.

Group 2 is made up of versions e, £, 77, $, K.

e. Incipit. — In illo tempore, cum tribunus militaret sub
Datiano imperatore qui fuit persecutor ecclesiarum vel chris-
tianorum, misit ad omnes potestates que sub regno ejus erant,
ut convenirent in civitatem que dicitur Militana (Paris, Bibl.
Nat. F. L. 5575, fo. 113-120, xn cent.).

There seems to be a x century copy of the same version in
Rouen, MS. 1379, f. 31 (Incipit — In diebus illis cum tribuni
militareut) and another of the xn century in Chartres, MS.
506, fo. 75-77 (Incipit — In illis diebus cum tribunus mili-
taret). Another version closely related is cited Anal. Boll.,
vm, p. 175, from the Bibl. Civit. Carnot, MS. 193, fo. 130-
133, also of the xn century.

?. Incipit. — Tempore illo Dacianus imperator, qui fuit per-
secutor christianorum et ecclesiarum Dei, cum tribunis et
militari manu misit ad omnes potestates quae in regione ejus
erant, ut convenirent in civitatem quae dicitur Militana
(Brussels, Bibl. Reg. 380-382, fo. 14r-16v, xv century,
publ. Anal. Boll., in, pp. 204-206). According to the Anal.
Boil., xi, p. 309, a version closely similar can be found in the
Bibl. Ambros. E. 84 Inf., f. 81-84, of the xn century.

7j, Incipit. — Romanorum imperatorum vicesimus quintus
regnavit Decius imperator, persecutor et inimicus christia-
norum. Erat quidem tribunus militum Georgius de civitate
Melena (publ. Bibl. Casin., n, Floril. 7-11).

$. Incipit. — In eodem tempore sub Decio imperatore cum
populus vel gens ydolorum culturas diligebat, Apollinis erra-
diens (sic) quod cum venisset beatus Georgius in civitate (sic)
qui (sic) dicitur Palestine (Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5306, fo.
90 v-92 r, xiv century).

K. Incipit. — Anno igitur ab incarnatione domini fere du-
centesimo nonagesimo primo, residente in urbe Roma Marcelino
pontifice et universali papa, dum predictus Cesar Dioclitia-

502 JOHN E. MATZKE.

nus in provincia Capadocie christiane fidei cultores examinare
cepisset, tantus pavor et ebitudo mentis cecidit super omnes
ut nemo auderet se palam christicolam confiteri; adeo ut
plurimi eligerent in montibus vitam cum bestiis ducere, quam
christianam fidem supplicia verendo negarent. In diebus illis
erat quidem tribunus nomine Georgius, de provincia Capa-
docia qui illic militare cepit temporibus Dioclitiani impiissimi
imperatoris, qui fuit persecutor christianorum. Persequebatur
autem ecclesiam del et diversis penis laniabat eos, qui in Christo
credebant. Eodem tempore, cum venisset Datianus preses in
civitatem que dicitur Militina .... (Oxford, Canon. Misc.
244, fo. 51 r-53 v, xiv century).

As to contents and order of incidents, the texts of this
group resemble closely /S, 7, S of the previous group, that is
to say, the tortures begin with George's death on the wheel.
To characterize them, it will be sufficient to note the features
peculiar to them. We begin with e, which contains the best
account. The emperor's name is Datianus and the scene is
laid in Militana. The names of the idols are Apollo, Zetes,
and Hercules. In the miracle of the tomb 19 men and
women come to life, who had been dead 200 years. The
name of their spokesman is Jobel. When Datian condemns
George to death, no mention is made of the fact that his anger
is so great that he bursts his girdle and falls from his throne,
but the account adds that a bit is placed into the martyr's
mouth, when he is driven to execution. Finally the name
of the servant, by whom the account pretends to be written,
is omitted.1 The legend as told in £ seems to be identical
with that found in e. The emperor's name is Dacianus and
the scene is laid in Militena. The idols are called Zebees,
Apollo, and Iracles. The edition (Anal. Boll., 1. c.) is not

1 Two additional points of difference are without importance. George is
said to have been cut into 19 pieces during the torture on the wheel. The
number is always written out in the text, decem on the line, and et novem
added above it, seemingly by the same hand. In the account of the miracle
of the thrones the senseless number 314 occurs, written out trecenti quatu-
ordecim.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 50&

complete ; the editors refer for the full text to TJ, but they
add that f contains also the miracles of the 14 thrones, absent
in the former.

The account of the martyrdom as found in 77 also agrees-
closely with that given in e, though it contains some marked
peculiarities. The emperor's name here is Decius and the
scene is laid in Melena. The order of incidents is the same
as in e, but the miracle of the thrones is omitted, and in the
miracle of the tomb neither the number of souls resuscitated
nor the name of their spokesman, nor the number of years-
that they had been dead is given. The reference to the
servant of George is also absent. In spite of these omissions
and differences, however, the account agrees so closely with e,
that there can be no doubt of their common origin.

The same is true of $. Here, too, the emperor's name ia
Decius, but the scene is laid in Diospolis in Palestine.1 The
name of the emperor occurs, however, only in the beginning,
and throughout the rest of the story Dacian appears as the
real enemy of the martyr. The idols to whom he is asked
to sacrifice are called Apollo, Asclepyades, and a third referred
to in the objective case once as Tharacly, and another time
seemingly as Tharadi. In the miracle of the tomb 14 women
come to life, but the name of the spokesman is given soon
afterwards as Johel, and he relates that they had been dead
300 years.

1 This localization of the passion at Diospolis may be a later addition.
The name is not found in the text proper (cp. the incipit, cited above) ; it
is supplied by a heading which reads: 'Passio sancti Georgii martyris
Christi, qui passus est Palestina in civitate Diospoli sub Decio imperatore-
ix Kal. Mai.' The language of this version is the worst imaginable, and
the copyist may have supplied the omission, which is evident in the open-
ing sentence. The reference to Diospolis, which in its last analysis derives
from the Greek versions, is not necessarily here due to Greek influence*
The name is found in the martyrologies of Usuardus (Migne, 123, p. 963),
Notker (Migne, 131, p. 1069) and Ado (Migne, 123, p. 251). Cp. also
Ame'lineau, L c., pp. 308-309. Moreover the church of St. George at
Lydda-Diospolis was well known in Europe during the xiv century.

504 JOHN E. MATZKE.

The account contained in K, in its main outline, also pre-
sents the same facts and incidents common to the other texts
of the group, though it omits the miracle of the tomb. Its
main interest lies in the introduction quoted in full above.
The martyrdom is dated in the year 291, during the pontifi-
cate of Pope Marcelinus, and during the reign of the emperor
Dioclitianus. Soon, however, the names of Datianus and
Militina are introduced, and then the story proceeds in the
usual fashion. There is no reason whatever for believing
that this date is a later addition. Though the manuscript is
comparatively recent, the whole text makes in every way the
impression of being much older.

All these texts, of which only K is of interest, because of
the introduction of the date 291 and the name of Marcelinus,
which occurs also in the version of Petrus Parthenopensis
and in the M. H. G. poem of Eeinbot von Durne (see part
II of the present study) derive clearly from a common source.
This source which we shall call Y1 differed from Y in the
absence of §§ 2 and 3, and in the number of souls called back
to life in the miracle of the tomb. The figures differ here in
the different texts and in some they are absent, but where
they are given, they agree more closely with G, Sg, and C
than did the versions of group 1 . As to the number of years
gone by since their death the agreement is with Sg, C, and S,
and the name Joel points back to a source closely related to
S. All these lines characterize Y1 as an independent abridg-
ment of O, due to the same impulse which produced Y.
Granting the priority of the form of the legend contained
in Ya, it is not all impossible that the shorter form of Y1
determined the omission of §§ 2 and 3 in versions /9, 7 and S.

Group 3 is made up of versions X and yu,.

X. Incipit. — Virtutum meritis insignis beatus Georgius in-
genuitatem carnis summis actibus adeo decoravit ut martirii
gloria non expers stigmata passionum Christi in suo corpore
perferret (Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 12606, fo. 19 v-20 r, xn
century.)

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 505

fjL. Indpit. — In illis diebus hie tribunus militavit sub
lempore Daciani imperatoris, qui fuit persecutor christiano-
rum vel ecclesiarum. Hie ergo misit precones ad omnes
potestates que in regno ejus erant, ut convenirent ad civitatem
Militanam.

It is found in Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5256, fo. 176 r-182 v,
xn century. Another copy exists in Paris, Bibl. Maz. 454,
of the xiv century, and, as it would seem, also in Bibl. Civit.
Carnot, 144, fo. 75 r-77 v of the x century. Cp. Anal. Boll.,
Vin, p. 127 (Indpit. — In illis diebus cum tribunus militaret
sub tempore Datiani, imperatoris).

Both versions are closely related to those previously exam-
ined. The emperor's name is Datianus (X) or Dacianus (yu,),
and the scene is laid in Militana (X) or Militena (/JL). The
names of the idols in //, (§ 1) are Mars and Apollo, in X the
pale condition of the ink of the manuscript renders it diffi-
cult to say what names are given, though elsewhere of course
the name is Apollo. Both texts omit the miraculous growth
of the tree in the widow's house (§ 5). The miracle of the
thrones (§ 6) is omitted in X, but /j, relates, that after the
prayer of the saint " dissoluti sunt oinnes troni et facti sunt
arbores fructiferi qui fuerunt antea sine fructu." The number
of souls raised from death in fj, is 235, and the spokesman is
called Zoel, but the number of years intervening since their
death is omitted. In X no names or numbers are mentioned
in connection with this miracle. Neither version finally con-
tains a reference to the servant of George as author of the
account.

The main importance of these versions lies in the incidents
related in § 7 (O 13-14). When George seems to be on the
point of sacrificing to Apollo, and the widow appears with
her lame child and chides him for his lack of trust in God,
he requests her to place the child upon the ground and heals
him as in the previous versions, but instead of sending him
into the temple to call out the idol, he goes himself, forces

506 JOHN E. MATZKE.

Apollo to confess that he is not the true God, and sends him
into the abyss, which opens under his feet.1

Inasmuch as this feature of the story is peculiar to these
two texts, as far as my observation goes, they must be treated
as a separate group. Yet their relation to the texts of group
2 (Y1) is very close. The opening sentences of JJL and e are
so similar, that at first glance the two texts seem to be identi-
cal, and this similarity of language persists throughout. We
shall see later, when studying the French metrical versions,
that at least two other texts closely similar to ytt must have
existed. We are therefore justified in positing as common
source for //, and X a version, closely similar to e, which we
shall call Y2, itself a derivative of Y1. If these conclusions
are correct, the following filiation for the texts of family Y is
established :

Before leaving this division of our subject, it is to the
point to find out, if possible, the causes for the formation
of this variation of the legend. We have noted above the
points of contact which the texts of this family have with
the Syriac version, and from these it seems to follow that
their immediate source must be sought in Palestine and the
East. Another clew which points in the same direction is

lWe shall find this variation reproduced in two of the later French
metrical versions. For the full text of /t cp. below, p. 525.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 507

the mention of Militena as the scene of the martyrdom.
This name is not new in the legend, for, although absent in
C, it is found in the encomium of Theodosius (Melitene, cp.
Budge, I. c,, p. 238), as well as in that of Theodotus (cp. ibid.,
p. 286), both of which are based on the Coptic text.1

It will be noted in the next place that the manuscripts of
family Y date from the xn century or later, i. e.y after the
crusades. Only two exceptions to this fact have come to my
notice. The first is a copy of Ye, contained in the library
of Rouen, MS. 1379, and attributed by the Catalogue general
des biblioth&ques de France to the x century. However, the
same manuscript contains also a text of a version of family Z
(cp. below, p. 511), of which x century copies are not infre-
quent, so that I suspect that the codex in question is made up
of portions written at various periods and later bound together.
Another x century text of this family is the copy of Yyu, noted
in the Anal. Boll., vin, p. 127, but in view of the overwhelm-
ing evidence to the contrary I am inclined to suspect here
also imperfect dating of the manuscript.

The great favor of the saint in the later Middle Ages is
one of the results of the crusades, and of the two Western
versions Y represents the new importation due to this contact
with the East, while Z shows the earlier tradition. Both the
encomiums just cited locate the martyrdom in Tyre, showing
that the legend flourished along the route traversed by the
Western armies on their march to Jerusalem, and it seems,
therefore, quite natural that the name Militena should appear
in the form of the legend brought back by the members of
the various expeditions.2

1 This distinction between C and the two encomiums must be borne in
mind in reading the summary of the Coptic legend given by Budge, /. c.,
pp. xvii-xxvi, which is a composite of these three texts.

2 For further particulars in regard to the introduction of Saint George
as an active figure in West-European tradition, cp. part n of the present
study.

508 JOHN E. MATZKE.

FAMILY Z.

IS This family is composed of the texts contained in the
following manuscripts :

a. Paris, Bibl. Nat. Nouv. Acq. F. L. 2288.

b. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 10870.

c. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5565.

d. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5639.

e. Legenda Aurea.

f. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 818.

g. Paris, Bibl. de PArs. 570.

These texts also fall into two groups.
Group 1 is composed of versions a and b.

a. Incipit. — Tantas itaque ac tales martirum passiones roseis
cruorum infulis consecratas, nullus omittit tante virtutis ago-
nem iaipensius enarrare.1

It is found in the following manuscripts :

Paris, Bibl. Nat. Nouv. Acq. F. L. 2288, fo. 151 r-154r
(Anno 1425).

London, Brit. Mus. Nero. E. 1, fo. 204r-205r (MS. written
towards the year 1000, according to the catalogue).

London, Brit. Mus. Tib. JD., m, fo. 45 v-47 r.

Rouen, MS. 1391, fo. 135-147 (xn cent.).

Bibl. Civit. Carnot 150, fo. 147 v-149 r (xn cent.). 1

Bibl. Civit. Carnot 192, fo. 65 v-69 r (xn cent.) J 2

Paris, Bibl. de PArs. 996, fo. 91 r-92 r (xv cent).

b. Incipit. — Cum primates militarium gentium pro diversis
negotiis ad Datianum romanorum imperatorem in Militene
civitate confluxissent, advenit etiam Georgius miles egregius
tribunus Cappadocie (Bibl. Nat. F. L. 10870, fo. HOr-110 v,
xii-xm cent.).3

1 For the full text of a see below, p. 530.

2 Cp. Anal. Boll, vm, pp. 139 and 171.

3 The version given by Vincent de Beauvais, Speculum Historiale, II, 13,
belongs to the same group.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 509

The following is an analysis of the account contained in
these manuscripts, the division of paragraphs being again
made to accord with that of the apocryphal version.

1 (= O 1). Datianus the emperor is instigated by the devil
to organize a persecution against the Christians. Seated on his
throne, he commands that the instruments of torture, previously
prepared, be brought forth, and a great sacrifice to the idols is
proclaimed (absent in b). At that moment George appears
from Cappadocia (b locates the scene more particularly in
Militena) provided with money which his compatriots had
supplied (absent in b), in order that he might buy the consul-
ship over his province. Seeing the sacrilege against the true
God, he gives his money to the poor, and taking off the chlamys
of earthly dignity and putting on the dress of a Christian
(absent in b) he steps before Datian and confesses his faith.
The emperor, angry and astonished, asks who he is and
whence he comes, and when he has obtained the answer, he
commands that George must sacrifice to Apollo.

2 (= O 2-a). The tortures begin at once, a) George is
placed upon the rack and torn to pieces ; then burning torches
are applied to his sides.1 b) He is led without the city and
beaten ; salt is sprinkled into his wounds, and they are rubbed
with coarse cloth. Then he is taken back to prison.

3 (= O 4). Datianus is now advised (the counsellor's name
is not given) to send for a magician who might overcome the
magic of George. Athanasius appears, and when the martyr
sees him, he foretells his approaching conversion. The magi-
cian gives him successively two potions, and when these do
not harm the saint, he falls at his feet and asks for baptism.
He is at once led without the city and executed, while George
is taken back to prison.

4 (= O 5). On the next day a huge wheel fitted out with
sharp swords is brought into the amphitheater. George is
led up singing a psalm, and when he is thrown upon it, the
wheel is broken and the martyr remains unhurt.

1 This last feature is not contained in G, Sg, and C.

510 JOHN E. MATZKE.

5 (= O 6-a or 8). George is now to be thrown into a
cauldron filled with boiling lead. After a prayer and the
sign of the cross he jumps into it and experiences no harm.

6 (= O 13 in part). Datian now tries flattery and begs
George to sacrifice to his idols. The martyr seems to assent,
whereupon the emperor is so delighted that he wishes to kiss
him for joy, but George does not permit him.

7 (= O 14 in part). On the appointed day the altars of
Apollo, Jupiter, and Hercules are adorned, a herald announces
the great festival, and a large multitude gathers. George
enters the temple, kneels down before the altars and prays
for the destruction of the idols. Fire falls from heaven and
destroys the temple, the priests and a part of the multitude,
while the earth opens and swallows up the idols. The news
is carried to Datian, who commands that George be led before
him. The saint then tries to persuade him that he has been
misinformed, and endeavors to entice him to the temple, but
fails in this attempt.

8 (= O 16, 17). Mounting on his throne, Datian now
dictates the sentence of death and George is led to execution.
After a long prayer, in which he intercedes for those who
might pray in his name, he is beheaded. Christians from
Cappadocia bury his body, and Datian and his ministers are
consumed by fire from heaven as they return from the place
of execution to the palace.

This brief analysis has made it evident that this version
also derives from the original apocryphal account, though
the omissions and alterations are most fundamental. All
that was supernatural in the original story has been most
carefully eliminated, and only the barest outline of the passion
of the saint remains. Among the omissions are the triple
death of George, the miracle of the tomb, the miracle of the
thrones, his incarceration in the house of the widow, the mani-
fold tortures, and with these has gone also the conversion of
Alexandra. Now all this is so entirely in accord with the
censure of Pope Gelasius, that we are ready to believe that

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 511

this version was prepared to supplant the older legend. We
shall see presently that it became the canonical version of
the West.

The two texts just examined agree closely, the only differ-
ence between them being the mention of Melitena in 6.
Both must, therefore, derive from a common source, which
we shall call Z.

Group 2 is composed of versions c, d, e, f, g.

e. Incipit. — Tempore quo Dioclitianus romani urbis guber-
nandum suscepit imperium, cum undique res publica multis
ac diversis quateretur in commodis. . . .

It is found in the following manuscripts :

1. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5565, fo. 82 v-93 r (xi cent.).

2. Kouen, MS. 1379, fo. 200-204 (x cent,).

3. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 9736, fo. 39 v-44 v (xn cent.).

4. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 12611, fo. 26 r-31 r (xn cent.).

5. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 14363, fo. 93 r-95 v (xn cent.).

6. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 16737 (xn cent.).

7. Paris, Bibl. Ste Genevi&ve 533, fo. 251 v-255 r (xn
cent.).

8. Chartres, MS. 501, fo. 65-69 (xn cent.).

9. Chartres, MS. 137, fo. 144 v-147 v (xn cent.).

10. Paris, Bibl. Ste Genevieve 132, fo. 1 and 3, incom-
plete (xn cent.).

11. Bibl. Civit. Carnot 190, fo. 74-77 (xn cent.).

12. Paris, Bibl. Mazarine 396, abridged (xin cent).

13. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5280, fo. 175 r-180 v (xin
cent.).

14. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5322, fo. 26 r-29 r (xm cent.).

15. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5371, fo. 230r-231 v, incom-
plete (xin cent.).

16. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5323, fo. 19 r-21 r (xm cent,).

17. Eouen, MS. 1410, fo. 161-169 (xm cent.).

18. Dijon, MS. 639, fo. 133-136 (xm cent.).

19. Avranches, MS. 167, fo. 121-126 (xm cent.).

20. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 11756, fo. 197 r-199 v (xiv
cent.).

512 JOHN E. MATZKE.

21. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 14365, fo. 149-155 (xv cent.).

22. Chartres, MS. 500, fo. 74-77 (xn-xv cent.).

23. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5292, fo. 273-276.

24. London, Brit. Mus. Harl. 2800, fo. 57 v-59 v.

25. Brussels, Bibl. Reg. 207-208, fo. 209r-211v, cited
Anal. Boll., in, p. 148.

26. Brussels, Bibl. Reg. 8690-8702, fo. 78 r-86 v, cited
Anal. Boll., vi, p. 206.

27. Bibl. Ambros. P. 113, Sup., fo. 58 r-65 v, cited Anal.
Boll,, xi, p. 360.

d. Incipit. — Tempore Diocletiani et Maximiani tanta per-
secutio Christianorum fuit, quod intra unum mensem xvii
milia Christianorum occisi sunt.

It is found in the following manuscripts :

1. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5639, fo. 37 v-38 v (xni cent.).

2. Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5277, fo. 126 r-128 r (xm cent.).

3. Auxerre, MS. 124 (xin cent.).

4. Paris, Bibl. de P Arsenal 937 (xin cent.).

5. Paris, Bibl. Mazarine 1731 (xiv cent.).

6. Besan9on, MS. 816 (xrv cent.).1

e. Incipit. — Tempore Diocletiani et Maximiani tanta per-
secutio Christianorum fuit ut infra unum mensem xvii milia
martiris coronarentur.

This is the version found in the Legenda Aurea of Jacob
de Voragine.

/. Incipit. — En eel tens que Diocletians ere emperor de
Roma et li diablos s'esforsaue d'affacier la lei crestiaua, en
eel tans aveint que veint de les parties de Capadoci uns
gentix horn, noblos et preus qui estoit apelez Georgios.

It is found in the following manuscripts :

Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 818, fo. 226 v-229 v (xm cent.).

Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 423, fo. 91 r-93 r (xm cent.).

1 This is the version contained in the Summa de Vitis Sanctorum, described
by Paul Meyer, Notices et Extraits, xxxvi, p. 3 ff., of which he there studies a
French translation contained in the following MSS. : Epinal 70, Lille 451,
London, Brit. Mus. Add. 15231, Paris, Bibl. Nat. F. Fr. 988 and 1782,
Bibl. de 1' Arsenal 3706.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEOKGE. 513

g. Intipit. — C'est la vie et lai passion monsignour Saint
Gorge commant il fut martyries .... Dyocliciens et Maxi-
miens en ycelz temps quis estoient emperours de Rome.
Dont il auint que Daciens li preuos faixoit querir touz lez
cristiens et les faixoit morir de diuerses mors.

It is found in Paris, Bibl. de FAre. 570, fo. 106 r-109 v,
of the xin century. The text is published in full by Paul
Meyer in the Bulletin de la Societe des Anciens Textes Frangais
for 1901, pp. 57-61. The same scholar has recently pointed
out (Rom., xxx, p. 305) another French version, closely
related to the present text in a manuscript in Brussels, Bibl.
Reg. 10295-304, fo. 63 v-68 v.

Of these versions the one contained in c is the most
important. As to contents it does not differ from versions
a and 6 of the previous group, but it contains before the
story of the martyrdom a lengthy historical introduction in
which the names of Diocletianus and Maximianus are intro-
duced. Here it is related how, during the reign of Diocletian,
the Roman empire was threatened on all sides by invasions
and internal upheavals, and how Diocletian then decided to
associate Herculius Maximianus with himself in the govern-
ment. Together the two bent their whole energy upon the
extermination of the Christian heresy. Diocletian led the
persecution in the East, and Maximian in the West. Then
follows the same account as that contained in the two versions
of group 1, and Datianus is represented as the archenemy of
the martyr.

This version c was the most widely spread Latin form
of the legend during the Middle Ages. The oldest manu-
script which I have seen, and which forms the basis of my
comparison,1 belongs to the XI century ; but from the pub-
lished catalogue of the library of Rouen it appears that there
exists in that collection a copy of the same text belonging to
the x century. My own records so far include 27 copies

1 Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5565 ; for the full text of the introduction cp. below,
p. 534.

514 JOHN E. MATZKE.

belonging to the x, xi, xn, xm, xiv and xv centuries, and
of these 14 are found in the different libraries of Paris, while
the others are scattered in Rouen, Dijon, Avranches, Chartres,
Brussels, and the British Museum. I have no doubt that
a more extended search would reveal copies in many other
libraries. It was evidently the version received as authentic
during the Middle Ages in Western Europe.

Its relation to version a of group 1 is not difficult to see.
The close verbal agreement between the two forces the con-
clusion that both derive from a common source. It is also
evident that a must be the older, since it agrees with O in
the absence of the names of Diocletian and Maximian. The
conclusion must, therefore, be that c is based upon the source
of ct, and that the historical introduction is a later addition to
it. This addition may have been made under the influence
of some Greek version, though there is nothing to prove this
supposition beyond the fact that the introduction of Diocletian
belongs to the canonical version. The further addition of
Maximian was a natural step, when once the martyrdom
had been located during the tenth persecution.

Version d is clearly an abridged account of c, in which the
historical introduction has been reduced to a single sentence,
stating that a fearful persecution raged against the Christians
during the reign of Diocletian and Maximian, so that in one
month 17,000 of them were slain.

Version e represents the text of the Legenda Aurea. In
spite of the similarity of the beginning to that of d, the body
of the text gives proof of being independent of it ; hence
both d and e must derive from a common source.

Versions /and g finally contain French translations of the
same version. According to Paul Meyer, Notices et Extraits,
xxxiv, p. 81, / is a translation of the form of the legend
contained in Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5292, which is one of the
many manuscripts of c. It would be preferable to cite
another copy, of which there is a great profusion, as has just
been shown, since the one contained in this manuscript has

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 515

several folios lacking. However, while there can be no
question of the close relation of /and c, I do not believe that
it was as close as Paul Meyer seems to infer. The long
historical introduction of c is reduced to such a minimum
that the name of Maximian does not even appear, so that, as
a matter of fact, /bears a much closer resemblance to d and e
than to c.

Version g is a translation of a text closely related to the
source of/, if not identical with it. The historical intro-
duction of c is reduced as in d, e and /, but the name of
Maximian has not disappeared as in/.

The conclusion must be that d, e, /, and g all derive from a
common source, which most probably was c, owing to the age
and great favor which this version enjoyed.

The relation of the various members of family Z may be
graphically represented as follows :

Ya. PARIS BlBLIOTHEQUE SAINTE GENEVIEVE, MS. 588.

F. 113 rb. Vraiment raconte la devine page que quant li saint home
se penoient et esforpoient d'acroistre et d'essaucier la sainte loi Nostre
Seigneur Jhesu Crist, si com vous avez 07, uns rois estoit en Perse, qui
Dathiens estoit apelez. A celui roi entra l li dyables el cors, qui riches
estoit et puissanz ; si manda et commanda que tuit si prevost venissent
a lui et li baillif qui estoient en son roiaume, et si leur manda qu'il
assamblassent a une cite", qui estoit apele*e Militene. Quant tuit furent
assamble" et venu, Dathiens li empereres, qui plains estoit de desverie,
commenfa oiant touz a dire : Se je truiz en ceste cite" crestien, qui nos
diex ne vueille aorer, ne (f. 113 va) a euls faire sacrefices, je li ferai les
iex crever et la teste escorchier et tous les membres couper. Quant il ot
ce dit et tout cil qui la estoient se taisoient, il commanda que tuit li
maistre fevre de la vile venissent a lui, et si feroient engins pour les
crestiens destruire et ocire. Quant il furent venu devant lui, si leur
commanda qu'il feissent agues espies et tenailles a denz traire, et rasoirs2

:MS. estoit. 2MS. rasoir.

516 JOHN E. MATZKE.

trenchanz a escorchier, et si commanda qu'il feissent une roe de fer ou il
eust fichie" es broches agues espies treuchanz et autres plusors engins que
je ne sai mie nommer. Et quant ce virent cil de la cite", que li rois
commandoit a faire ces merveilles et si granz, il n'i ot celui qui osast dire
qu'il fust crestiens.

En celui jor et en eel tens estoit uns hons de la contre"e de Capadoce,
qui avoit non Jorges [et estoit venus a grant compaignie de chevaliers,
dont il estoit sires, et avoit aporte" de son pays or et argent a grant plente*
que il vouloit donner a Datien por estre maistres conseilliers de Capadoce,
dont il estoit li plus haus hon].1 Lors se pensa qu'il iroit en la cite" de
Miletene on Dathiens li empereres estoit. Quant il vint la, si apercut que
toutes les genz, qui la estoient venues, blasmoient et despisoient Dieu et
aoroient les dyables par le commandement Datien, 1'empereor. Quant il
aperput ces choses si fu molt dolenz en son cuer, si dist a lui meisme
(f. 113 vb) : Que me profitera, se je trespasse de ce siecle atout grans
richesces, qui tost seront ale"es, et je suefre en 1'autre les paines pardura-
bles qui touz jors durront. Quant il ot ce dit, si prist For, qu'il avoit
avoec lui aporte", si le depart! tout aus povres por 1' amour de Nostre
Seigneur. Puis si vint a 1'empereor Datien et li dist : Eois Dathien, je
te di por verite" que je sui crestiens, et si aore Dieu qui fist le ciel et la
terre et toutes les choses qui enz sont. Mais tu acres le dyable et li
dyable avuglent les cuers des mescreanz por ce qu'il ne connoissent lor
creator, qui fist le ciel et la terre. Empereres, tu es trop deceus, qui
croiz en ces ydoles et en ces fausses images qui sont sourdes et mues, qui
bouches ont et si ne parolent mie, et ont eux et ne voient goute et oreilles
et n'oent rien, et ont narilles et ne flairent nule chose et ont mains et nule
chose n'atouchent et ont piez et si ne vont mie. II convient que 1'en les
gart par mut que 1'en ne les perde ; et les faites d'or et d' argent et de
pierres. Je pri Dieu, que tout cil qui les font et qui faire les font, et qui
en euls croient, soient autreteles com eles sont.

Quant li empereres Dathiens oy ce, si fu molt corrouciez et dist a Saint
Jorge : De quel desverie te vient tel hardiece, et qui es tu qui mesames
mes diex? Di moi qui tu es et de quel terre et comment tu as non.
Sains Jorges li respondi : Je sui crestiens et serf Jhesu Crist et si ai non
Jorge et sui de Capadoce, dont j'ai amene" grant compaignie de gent
avoec (f. 114 ra) moi et saches que je vueil volentiers perdre 1'onneur de
ce siecle por avoir la conpaignie dou ciel. Dathiens li dist : Jorges, tu
es fols ; sez tu autre chose dont tu soies corrouciez ? Vien avant, si sacrefie
a Apolin, qui bien te porra ta folie pardonner, et se tu veus avoir seignorie
ne dignete", je la te donrai et saches bien que j' acomplirai tous tes voloirs,
si que tu seras sires deseur moi en mon regne ; mais que tu laisses cele
mauvaise creance. Sains Jorges respondi : Je ne quier ne ne veil avoir ta
seignorie ne ta dignete', car ele est tost trespassed et ale*e, mes je te di pour

1 The passage in [] is absent in version ft.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 517

verit^, que je acre Dieu et croi, qui nous racheta de la mort pardurable,
et fait miex a croire que ton faus dieu Apolin, qui onques ne fist se mal
non. Quant Dathiens, li empereres 1'oy ainsi parler, si li dist : Jorges,
voir, je sui molt corrouciez de ta grant Haute", qui definera par griez
tormenz et por cruiex paines. Sains Jorges li dist : N'aies mie dolor de
moi, mais de toi meisme maine duel et de ton aage et de ce que tu as
perdue la lumiere. Ce est que tu ne connois Nostre Seignor Jhesu Crist,
qui tout le monde forma, et fist. Dathiens li empereres li dist : Que
paroles tu tant. Fai mes volentez et se tu nes veus faire et aemplir, je te
jure par toz mes diex, Gebeel et Apolin et Arrachel, que je te ferai tant
de dolor sentir que tuit cil qui sont en terre en porront faire essample et
avoir poor et si verrai se tes Diex te porra delivrer de mes mains. Sains
Jorges li respondi : Je croi tant en (f. 114 rb) mon Dieu, qui me fist et
forma, que il confondra toi et tes faus ymages. [Quant Dathiens oy ce, si
fist prendre Saint Jorge e metre en un pilori, et puis commanda traire li
les ongles de fer par les costez. Apres li commanda les costez aflamber
si aigrement, que toutes les entrailles li pareussent. Tout ce soufri bien
et en pais Sains Jorges. Et quant il ot molt longuement soufert, si le fist
Dathiens jus metre et commanda que 1'en le menast hors de la vile, batant
tant qu'il fust tous plaiez, et puis emplist on toutes ses plaies de sel et
puis bien tenter d'aspres haires. Touz ces tormenz li fist Dathiens soufrir,
mais il ne li valut riens, car li cors Saint Jorge n'en empira onques.

Quant Dathiens vit que en ceste maniere ne le porroit veintre, si le fist
metre en une parfonde chartre et manda par toutes les citez dou pays que,
s'il i avoit nul enchanteeur, que il venissent a lui et il lor donroit dou
sien molt largement. Lors i vint Athanasins, qui estoit uns des maistres
enchanterres de la terre et li dist : Empereres, por quoi m'as tu mande*?
Dathiens li dist: Porroies tu destruire les enchantemenz aus crestiens?
Athanasins dist : Viengne avant cil que tu dis qui enchanterres est, et se
je ne le puis veintre, je sui dignes de morir. Lors fist Dathiens Saint
Jorge venir avant, et li dist : J'ai cest enchanteeur mandd por toi. Ou il
veintra tes enchantemenz on tu les siens ; car li uns de vous (f. 114 va)
convient 1'autre destruire. Saius Jorges regarda Athanasim si li dist :
II m'est avis que tu prens petit et petit la grace Dieu. Et Athanasins prist
un henap et mist ens une maniere de boivre molt fort et apela le non au
dyable desus, puis le dona a Saint Jorge a bo:re et il le but ; tout onques
mal ne li fist. De ce fu Dathiens molt iriez et dist a Athanasim : Qu'est
ce? N'en feras tu plus? Et il dist: Je ne sai que faire plus que une
seule chose, et se cele ne li nuist, je me convertirai a Jhesu Crist. Lors
retorna a Saint Jorge et li donna une autre manere de boivre, si le but ;
mais onques ne li greva. Et quant Athanasins vit ce, si se laissa tantost
cheoir aus piez monseigneur Saint Jorge et li pria qu'il le feist baptizier.
Lors les fist Dathiens prendre ambedens et fist a Athanasin couper le
chief et Saint Jorge metre en prison. L'endemain fist Dathiens assambler
tous les pers et toutes les genz de sa cit6 et fist Saint Jorge venir devant

518 JOHN E. MATZKE.

lui. Dont coinmanda Dathiens, que 1'en li feist aporter une roe toute
plaine d'espees trenchanz de toutes pars et dist que 1'en laissast Saint
Jorge cheoir de haut sur ces espees tout nu, por lui faire destruire.
Quant Sains Jorges vit eel torment qui por lui estoit apareilliez, si regarda
vers le ciel et dist : Sire Diex, entent a moi et haste toi de moi aidier. ] l
Quant il vint devant la roe et il la vit si dist a lui meisme : Pourquoi
douterai je ces (f. 114 vb) tormenz qui fin prendront et ne durront mie
pardurablement ? Et lors commenpa a crier a haute voiz et a dire :
Dathien, fai la volente* dou dyable ton pere ; et puis si dist a lui meisme :
Je sai bien que Nostre Sires Diex fu crucefiez entre les larrons pour
pecheors delivrer de la mort pardurable. Je porquoi ne morroie por
Nostre Seigneur en ce siecle terrien por vivre pardurablement. Et lors
commanda Dathiens a Her le et a geter le seur la roe et qu'ele fust escrolle*
a tornoier. Ele trencha et parti le cors dou beneoit martir en x pieces.
Quant Dathiens, li empereres, le vit si dist : Jorges, ou est tes Diex ?
Viengne, si t'ayt et si te delivre. Lors commanda a prendre les x pieces
et a geter en un oscur puis desert et la bouche du puis deseure a seeler
d'une pierre. Quant ainsi fu fait, li empereres se departi de la, si ala
mengier, et tuit s' empartirent avoec 1'empereour, que nus n'i demora.
Et Nostre Sires Jhesu Criz, qui pius est et misericors et qui n'oublie mie
ses sers vint deseure le puis atout grant conpaignie d'angres et d' archangres.
Adont s'esmut la terre et crolla par Pavenement du2 sauveeur. Et lors
apela Saint Michiel, 1'arcangre et li dist qu'il descendist enz el puis et si
rassemblast les pieces et les menbres de Saint Jorge, son serf, et meist
devant lui. Et Sains Michiel, li angres, fist ainsi comme Nostre Sires
Jhesu Criz li avoit command^. Et quant les pieces et li menbre dou
saint (f. 115 ra) martir furent devant Nostre Seigneur, il mist sa main
deseure et si dist : Icele destre qui Adam le premier home fist et forma,
cele meisme te resuscite. Et tantost li beneoiz martirs se releva touz
sains et touz haitiez et dont li dist Nostre Sires :

Jorge, va t'en et si confont Datien. Et lors s'en remonta Nostre Sires
es ciex avoec sa haute conpaignie. Et Sains Jorges s'en vint en la cite* a
grant joie, si commenpa a haute voiz a crier et a dire : Dathien, on sont ti
cruiel torment et tes gries paines? Je sui Jorges, que tu feis partir en x
pieces, mais Nostre Sires Jhesu Criz vint a moi et si me resuscita par sa
grant misericorde. Quant Dathiens, li empereres, le vit, si en ot grant
poor et dist a ceus qui entour lui estoient, que ce n' estoit mie Jorges,
aincois ert li esperiz de lui. Li autres disoit que non estoit, ainyois ert
uns hons samblables a lui. Sains Jorges respondi et dist : Sachiez vraie-
ment que je sui Jorges, qui fui depeciez en x pieces et el puis getez.
Uns chevaliers qui la estoit, Mananties avoit non, et maistres estoit des
chevaliers. Quant il vit Saint Jorge, qui ainsi estoit revenuz par la
volente* de Nostre Seigneur, si crut en Dieu le pere tout puissant par le

1 The passage in [] is absent in version 0. 2MS. au.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 519

liaut miracle qu'il avoit apertement veu, si atorna apres ce petit de tens
toute sa maisnie a vraie creance. Dont commanda Datiens li empereres
que on preist Saint Jorge, si le meist on et enclosist en la maison d'une
veve dame qui (f. 115 rb) pres d'iluec manoit. Quant il i fu venuz si dist
a la fame : Bonne fame, donne moi un pou de pain. Ele respondi :
Biaus Sire, je n'en ai point, et bien sachiez que ceenz n'a pain. Sains
Jorges li dist : Quel dieu croiz tu et aores ? La fame li dist : Apolin.
Et Sains Jorges li dist : Por ce que tu aores Apolin n'as tu point de pain.
Et cele fame a cui il parloit, en cui maison il estoit menez, avoit un fill,
qui clop estoit et sours et muz, et ele dist au saint home : Se tu pues mon
fill garir ou faire ' tant qu'il soit gariz de ses granz enfermetez, je croirai
en ton Dieu.

Lors se retorna Sains Jorges vers 1' enfant et dist : El non Nostre
Seigneur Jhesu Crist puisses tu parler et veoir et oyr et entendre. Et la
fame prist a prier mon seigneur Saint Jorge et si li dist : Biaus Sire, je te
pri que tu le faces aler.2 Sains Jorges li respondi : Pour ce que il soit
mes tesmoins de la haute puissance Nostre Seigneur, qui en lui est
demostre"e, soit ta volent6 aemplie.3 Et lors entra Sains Jorges en la
maison et commenca ses oroisons a faire a Dame Dieu. Et tout maintenant
qu'il les ot fine'es, si crut uns* granz arbres enmi la maison et tant se
hasta et estendi qu'il trespassa toute la hautece de la maison xv coutes de
haut, et desouz eel arbre se reposoit mesires Sains Jorges, et li angre li
apareilloient et amenistroient ce dont il avoit mestier.

Quant Dathiens li empereres vit eel arbre, si se merveilla molt, que ce
pooit estre, tant c'on li anon9a et dist que cil arbres (f. 115va) estoit
nez et creuz en la maison ou Jorges estoit enclos. Quant li sergant i
vindrent qui envoie" i estoient, si trouverent une table que li angre
i avoient mise et apareillie'e. Quant il orent ce veu, si repairierent au
roi et si li distrent ce qu'il avoient veu. Lors commanda li rois que on
alast et delivrement si 1'amenast on devant lui. Et quant il i fu amenez
il li demanda et dist : Jorge, par quel mal engin destruiz tu tout ce
pueple ? Sains Jorges li respondi : Nostre Sires mes Diex, en cui je croi
et cui j'aore, fait par tout sa volente". Datiens li dist : Est tes Diex plus
granz que Apolins? Sainz Jorges li respondi: Nostre Sires, qui fist le
ciel et la terre et la mer et toutes les choses qui euz sont, est mes Diex ;
car il est Sires doutez et Sires de toute creature. Mais Apolins, cui tu
croiz et aores est sours et muz et avugles et comment puet5 il estre diex,
quant il est tiex, qui a lui n'a autrui ne puet aidier. Datiens li dist : Se
cil est vrais Diex que tu preeches et aores et tu veus que je croie en lui,
je ai xii sieges emperiaus en mon regne, ouvrez et entailliez de fust molt
noblement. Or prie ton Dieu, qu'il soient desfait et si deviengnent arbre
aussi comme 6 il estoient devant, et cil qui fruit portoient, soient chargie"

1 MS. fai. 2 aler omitted in MS. 3 MS. demostree.

4 uns omitted in MS. 5MS. pue. 6MS.-conme.

520 JOHN E. MATZKE.

de fruit et cil qui point n'en portoient, point n'en aient. Se tu pues ce
faire, dont verrons nous sa poeste", que tu nous anonces.

Sains Jorges li dist : Je sai bien que tantost comme j'aurai fi-
(f. 115 vb) ne'e m'oroison, que Nostre Sires me donra ce que je li requerrai
et pour ce ne croiras tu mie. Mais nequedent pour sa grant gloire
demoustrer et sa grant puissance 1'enproierai je et ferai mes oroisons.
Et lors s'agenoilla a terre et pria molt saintement Nostre Seigneur. Et
quant il ot s'oroison fin^e, la terre crolla et trembla et tuit cil sieges1
emperial se deschevillierent et desjoindrent et devindrent bel arbre et
gent et tuit chargie" de fruit et de fueille, si comme il avoient devant este".
Et touz li pueples qui la estoit et ce veoit glorefioit et gracioit Nostre
Seigneur 2 et si disoient : Molt est granz li Diex que Jorges aore. Mais
pour ce ne crut mie Dathiens, li empereres, car il disoit, que kanque il
faisoit, estoit par enchantement dou dyable. Et Sains Jorges li dist : Je
faz toutes ces choses que tu voiz el non dou pere et dou fill et dou saint
esperit, et non mie par mauvais art, si comme tu croiz. Et Dathiens li
dist : Jorge, je te pri et commant que tu viengnes avoec moi et sacrefies
si com je ferai, et lors porras aler seurement la ou tu voudras. Et Sains
Jorges li dist : A cui commandes tu que je face sacrefice ? Dathiens li
respondi : Je vueil que tu faces sacrefices a mes diex Apolin et G/ebeel et
Arrachel. Sains Jorges li dist : Or fai que tes crierres assemble toute la
gent de ceste cite* et je sacrefierai a tes diex. Et Dathiens, quant il oy
ce, si fu merveilles liez, car il cuidoit vraiement veintre le saint home.
Et lors la veve fame, qui devant est nomme'e qui Saint (f. 116 ra) Jorge 3
avoit herbergie", porta son fill devant le saint home, et si li dist : Saint
Jorge, mon fill, qui muz estoit, feis tu parler et avugles, tu le renluminas,
et sours, tu le feis oyr, comment puet ce estre que tu veus sacrefier as
mues ymages et as vaines ydoles ; et Nostre Sires meismes te resuscita de
mort a vie? Sains Jorges la regarda et si li dist : Met jus ton fill que tu
portes. Quant ele 1'ot mis jus, si dist sainz Jorges a 1' enfant: El non
Nostre Seigneur qui te fist parler et oyr et veoir, en son non relieve toi, et
si va au temple Apolin et si li di que Jorges, li sers Dieu, li mande que il
viengne a lui. Tantost se leva li enfes et commenca a aler grant aleure
et a loer Nostre Seigneur, tant qu'il vint el temple ou les ydoles estoient,
et lors prist a apeler Apolin, et si li dist : Jorges, li sers Dieu te mande et
si- t'apele, que tu viengnes a lui. Et li dyables, quant il 1'oy n'osa arrester,
ains s'en vint maintenant devant monseigneur Saint Jorge. Lors li dist
li sains hons : Apolins, tu es rois des Sarrazins. Apolins li respondi : Je
sui cil qui fait les homes errer et foloier, si qu'il ne croient en Dieu, et si
lor faz aorer les dyables. Sains Jorges li dist : Comment oses tu tant de
mal faire devant Dieu et devant ceuls qui le servent ? Apolins li respondi :
Je te jure par celui feu qui m'atent, ou je serai mis pardurablement que
se je peusse, je t'eusse amene* a ce que tu m'aorasses. Sains Jorges li

1 MS. cierge. 2 Omitted in MS. 3 Omitted in MS.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 521

dist : Or quier contrde ou tu voises, k'en ceste n'arresteras tu plus. Quant
il ot ce dit, li sains hons feri son pie* a terre et ele aouvri si que li abismes
aparut et la dedenz envoia il et plunja Apolin et toute sa force. Et
maintenant que li dyables fu en terre si reclost, et li sains hons entra en
la maison ou les ydoles estoient, et si les commen£a toutes a depecier et a
combrisier. Endeinentres qu'il faisoit ce,1 disoit il : Dyables, dyables,2
fuiez dedevant moi, car je sui sers Nostre Seigneur.

Quant li prestre dou temple virent que lor ymages estoient mal atorne'es
et depecie"es et defroissie'es,3 il pristrent saint Jorge, si le menerent devant
1'empereor si li dirent a haute voiz : Cis hons a toutes vos ymages de-
froissie'es et Apolin vostre grant dieu a il envoie* jusqu'en abisme. Quant
Datiens 1'entendi, si fu molt corrouciez et molt airez. Puis si dist au
saint home: Jorge, pourquoi m'as tu menti? Tu me disoies que tu
sacrefieroies a mes diex et si aoreroies. Sains Jorges li respondi : A cui
me commandes tu sacrefier et aorer? Dathiens li dist : A Apolin, nostre
grant dieu. Sains Jorges li dist : Et ou est Apolins, vostre granz diex ?
Ensaigniez le moi et si le me moustrez. Dathiens li dist : On m'a dit,
que tu 1'as trebuchie" et enclos en parfont abisme. Li sains hons li dist :
Et pourquoi me commandes tu a sacrefier a lui qui ne se deffendi mie ?
Quant ce oy li empereres, si fu molt corrouciez et molt maltalentis. Si
commanda, c'on li aportast un vaissel de terre tout plain de soufre et de
poiz ensemble* boulis et si commanda, c'on li depecast (f. 116 va) tous les
menbres et les meist on en eel vaissel boulir. Et maintenant que ce fu
apareillie", li angres Nostre Seigneur descend! enz el feu tout ardant et si
estainst toute la chaleur. Et Sains Jorges remest tous sains et tous saus,
si commenca a loer Nostre Seigneur. Et dont li dist li angres : N'aies
nule5 poour, car tu as ja veincu ton anemi et si aras la coronne que
Nostre Sires t'a apareillie'. Et tous li pueples qui veoit la merveille crut
en Nostre Seigneur Jhesu Crist et li rendirent graces, et si distrent : Li
Diex que Jorges aore est vrais Diex et Sires de toute creature.

Quant Alixandre la royne, qui fame estoit al empereor vit ce qui fait
estoit, et les granz miracles si crut en Nostre Seignor et si osta la coronne
de son chief et toute sa roial vesteure et si dist a Dathien : Kois, je te di
par verite" que je sui crestienne, et si croi fermement el dieu que Jorges
croit et aore. Quant Dathiens oy ce si fu plains de si grant forsenerie,
qu'il ne sot de lui nul conseil, si dist a la royne Alixandre : Jorges6 t'a
souzduite par ses enchanteries. Or me di, veus tu de male mort morir ?
La royne respondi : Je croi tant el Dieu que Jorges aore, que nus ne me
partira de la charite* qui est en lui. Quant Dathiens 1'oy, si prist a plorer
et grant duel a demener, et si dist : Alixandre, je sui molt dolens de ce
que tu veus deguerpir mon regne, et desconfortez pour ce que tu me
laisses et pour ce que tu desi-(f. 116 vb)res plus la mort que la coronne.

1 Omitted in MS. 2 MS. dyable. 8 MS. def roissies.

4 MS. emsemble. 5MS. nul. 6MS. Jorge.

522 JOHN E. MATZKE.

La royne respond! : Je desir a avoir la vie qui est pardurable, non mie
cele qui tost est trespasse'e et corrompue, et pour ce t'otroi mon cors a
tormenter, si com toi plaist a ta volente'. Dathiens li dist : Dame royne,
ne vueilles mie tel chose faire, ne deguerpir mon regne, ne moi descon-
forter. Alixandre li respondi : Mais je seroie guerpie et desconforte'e, se
je ne faisoie ce que j'ai propose* a faire. Je recevrai le pardurable regne.
Qui puet ore estre tant fols qui n'entende que 1'en puet connoistre les
celestiaus choses des terriennes et les pardurables des temporeus.

Adont fu Dathiens li empereres molt corrouciez, si commanda que on
la preist et pendist par les treches et batist de verges molt durement. Si
com 1'en faisoit le commandement le roi de la royne, ele regarda Saint
Jorge et li dist : Serjans Dieu, prie pour moi et si me donne baptesme,
que je puisse eschaper dou dyable. Lors tendi mesires Sains Jorges ses
mains vers le ciel et si dist: Biaus Sire, ayde t'ancele, qui por 1' amour
de toi a deguerpi ce siecle terrien, et si li donne le lavement dou saint
baptesme, si qu'ele soit regenere'e a la foi de sainte eglise. Tan tost
comme il ot ce dit, une nue toute chargie'e l de rouse"e descend! devers le
ciel et Sains Jorges reput de 1'aigue en ses mains, si en baptiza la royne
el non dou pere et dou fill et dou saint esperit, et quant il 1'ot baptizie*e,
si dist : Va t'en seurement es celestiaus regnes.

(F. 117ra) Quant Dathiens li rois vit ce, si commanda que 1'en la
menast dehors la cite* si li trenchast on la teste. Li sergant cui il fu
command^ en menerent la sainte royne au lieu on ele devoit recevoir le
martire et ele regarda mon seignor Saint Jorge et li dist : Sains hons de
Dieu, prie pour moi Nostre Seigneur, que je soie digne de recevoir
martire pour lui et que li dyables ne soit encontre moi par aucune chose
dont il me puist enpecchier. Sains Jorges li respondi : N'aiez nule poor,
mais soiez de ferme corage, car Nostre Sires est ensemble o vous ; ne onques
ne se parti ne ne deguerpi ses sers en nul perill. Et quant la dame
parvint au lieu, si la decola on. Et Dathiens repaira en sa sale, si s' assist
en son haut siege, si commanda que 1'en li amenast Saint Jorge. Et
quant il fu venuz devant lui il parla au saint home et si li dist : Or as tu
morte Alixandre la royne par tes enchantefies et encore ai je une chose a
demander toi et a enquerre, se tu le me veus faire. Et Sains Jorges li
dist : Et que est ce que tu me veus demander ? Di le moi, Nostre Sires
le t'otroiera a savoir. Dathiens li dist : Dehors ceste cite* si a molt de
fosses et de sepultures, ou molt de gent ont este enfoui, et dont li os sont
encore aparant, et nus de ceus de ceste cite* ne set qui il furent. Et pour
ce te pri je, que tu pries a ton Dieu, qu'il soient resuscite' et nous croirons
en lui. Dont respondi Sains Jorges : Alez si m'aportez les os de ces
sepultures. Lors s'en partirent li serjant et vindrent (f. 117 rb) as
sepultures, si les descouvrirent et ouvrirent, si trouverent les os qui tuit
estoient en poudre menue par ce qu'il avoient longuement en terre geu.

^s. chargie.

THE LEGEND OP SAINT GEOEGE. 523

Et lors pristrent cele poudre et concueillirent si 1'aporterent devant le
saint home. Quant Sains Jorges les vit, si mist ses genolz a terre, et pria
Nostre Seigneur et si dist : Biaus Sire Diex Jhesu Criz, qui tans miracles
as daignie" demoustrer par ton serf, or te pri je que tu ta doujor et ta
misericorde daignes demoustrer seur ceste poudre, si que ces genz ne
puissent dire a nous : Ou est vostre Diex? et qu'il puissent dire et con-
noistre que tu es seuls Diex tout puissanz, et qu'il n'est autres Diex que
tu. Et quant il ot son oroison fine"e, et il ot dit amen, la voiz dou ciel li
dist : Jorge, n'aies nule poor, car je sui avoec toi, et quanque tu me
demanderas je t'otroierai1 et donrai. Et tantost de cele poudre resusci-
terent et leverent cc que homes que fames. Et lors rendi graces a Nostre
Seigneur mesire Sains Jorges et dist : Biaus Sire, or connois je et sai bien
que tu ne t'esloingnes mie de ceuls qui t'apelent par vrai cuer et par
vraie pense"e. Lors prist un de ceuls qui estoit resuscitez, si li dist et
demanda comment il avoit non. Cil respondi : J'ai a non Joel. Sains
Jorges li dist : Combien a il de tens que vous fustes mort. Je vueil
que vous le me diiez. Joel li respondi : cc ans dou 2 mains, si n'en sui pas
en doutance. Sains Jorges li demanda : Quel dieu aoriez vous, (f. 117 va)
quant vous estiiez en vie ? Joel li respondi : Nous aorions et creyons
Apolin et ne savions noient de Dieu. Pour ce fumes nous mene" en
dolereuses paines, ou nous avons este" jusques a ore que nous resuscitames
par tes prieres. Or te prions nous, sains sers Nostre Seignour, par cui
oroison nous sommes resuscite", que tu nous baptizes si que nous ne
repairons es dolours ou nous avons este". Lors commanda mesires Sains
Jorges que 1'en li aportast de Paigue et nus ne s'en mut ne ne 1'en
aporta. Quant il vit ce si fist le signe de la sainte croiz en terre et
maintenant en sailli une bele fontaine, et de cele aigue baptiza il el non
Nostre Seigneur et dou pere et dou fill et dou saint esperit touz ceuls
qui la estoient resuscite", et quant il les ot baptiziez, si lor dist : Or en alez
devant moi en paradis.

Quant il ot ce dit si s' esvanoyrent devant touz ceuls qui la estoient, ne
puis a nului ne s'aparurent. Li pueples et tout cil qui la estoient, qui
ce virent, crurent tuit en Nostre Seigneur et si distrent a haute voiz :
Molt est granz Diex et puissanz li Diex aus crestiens ; et si ne doit on
aorer se lui non seulement, qui par les mains de Jorge son serf a fait
tantes merveilles. Dont commencierent a dire a Saint Jorge : Serjanz
Dieu, prie pour nous. Quant Sains Jorges oy ce, si mist ses genolz a terre
et rendi graces a Nostre (f. 117 vb) Seigneur et si commenya ses oroisons
a faire et a dire : Biaus Sire Diex, tu es beneoiz es siecles des siecles, car
tu venis en terre par ta grant humilite" et encore i vendras par ta grant
gloire. Biaus Sire, je te pri, que tu demoustres tes granz miracles en ces
homes, qui en toi croient. Car je sai bien que mes termes et mes tens
aproche et hui sont vii anz acompli que tu as maint signe, et maint miracle

IMS. otrierai. 2MS. .i.

524 JOHN E. MATZKE.

demoustre* au pueple por moi, qui sui tes sers. Et Biaus Sires Jhesu Criz,
filz Dieu, je te pri que tu daignes ton saint esperit envoier en ces homes
qui croient en toi et en ton saint non, si qu'il en soient reconforte", aussi
com tu 1'envoias sor tes sains apostres, qui conforte" en furent. Et quant
il ot ce dit, et il ot s'oroison fine'e, la voiz dou ciel li dist : Jorges, Nostre
Sires Jhesu Criz a ta voiz et t'oroison oye et entendue. Et lors baptiza
Sains Jorges el non dou pere et dou fill et dou saint esperit tout le
pueple qui la endroit estoit assamblez et a Nostre Seigneur convertiz. Et

de ceus qui la furent baptizie' i ot por conte - - mile et xxxy.

Quant Dathiens li rois vit ce, si ot tel duel et tele ire que sa ceinture
en rompi par mi et si genoil li tremblerent et ses cors meismes crolloit si
que por pou qu'il ne cheoit. Et lors commen9a a haute voiz a crier et a
dire : Las, cheitis, que ferai je ! Mes regnes est tous periz et destruiz.
Jorges m'a tout mon pueple tolu et robe" (f. 118 ra) et pree" et donne* a son
Dieu. Et se il vit plus il me honnira et destruira ; car hui a vii anz que
il ne fina de moi tormenter, et tous tans li croist sa vertuz et sa force. Et
tantost com il ot ce dit, li sergant qui de ce furent apareillie* prirent le
saint home, si 1'en menerent au lieu que je vous ai devant devise" et molt
de genz ensivirent le saint home, pour ce qu' il requistrent de luy beneypon.
Et quant il aprocha au lieu si dist a ceus qui le devoient martirier : Je
vous pri que vous soufrez un petitet tant que j'aie faite m'oroison a Nostre
Seigneur. Et lors tendi ses mains vers le ciel et si dist :

Biaus Sires Diex, vrais peres omnipotens, recevez mon esperit et si
demoustrez vos hautes miracles por moi apres ma mort aussi com vous
feistes tant com je vesqui. Biaus Sire Diex, je te pri par ta haute
doucour, que quiconques fera de moi memoire en terre au quatorzieme l
(sic) jor d'avrill, toutes enfermetez et toutes dolors soient oste"es de lui et
de toute sa maisnie'e. Ne tempeste ne famine ne anemis ne mortalitez ne
puist aprochier la contre"e ou memoire en sera faite. Biaus Sires Diex,
encor te pri je par ta grant misericorde, que tuit cil qui en mer seront en
perill on en voie2 on en desert,3 pour que il en ayde m'apelent et proient,
qui sui tes sers, que tu lor vueilles aidier et secorre et conseillier. Et
tantost comme il ot ce dit, vint la voiz dou ciel qui li dist : Beneoiz hons
et sains, vien (f. 118 rb) si entre el pardurable repos de ton seigneur, que
tu as servi et bien saches, que li ciel sont aouvert et t'oroison est oye de
Nostre Seignour, et quiconques apelera ton non et proiera a Jhesu Crist de
chose droituriere, ele li sera otroie"e. Lors abaissa le chief si fu decolez
et reput martire por Nostre Seigneur, pour la cui loi il avoit mainte paine
souferte. Et li saint angre vindrent tout apertement, si pristrent son
esperit et porterent es ciex devant Nostre Seigneur. Je, Eusebius, qui
ses sers estoie, fui avoec le saint martir, endementres qu'il faisoit les

1 Evidently the MS. had xxiiii, which was misread by the copyist.
s MS. en mer. 3 MS. desers.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 525

miracles que je vous ai centres, et si les vi a mes propres iex, et si escriz
sa vie et sa passion en la contre'e de Capadoce en la cite" de Militene, el
tens que Dathiens, li empereres regnoit ; et Nostre Sires Jhesu Criz nous
otroit estre parponniers des saintes prieres au saint home martir a cui
honors et gloire soit par tous les siecles des siecles, Amen.

YyLt. PARIS, BlBLIOTHEQUE NATIONALE, F. L.

MS. 5256.

Passio Sancti Georgii Martiris qui passus est Militane et Capo-
docie sub Daeiano Imperatore viiii Kal. Madias.

(F. 176 r) In illis diebus hie tribunus militavit sub tempore Daciani
imperatoris, qui fuit persecutor christianorum vel ecclesiarum. Hie ergo
misit precones ad omnes potestates, que in regno ejus erant, ut convenirent
ad civitatem Militanam. In congregatione autem eorum cepit Dacianus
dicere ad eos, iracundia repletus : Si invenero in aliqua provincia christia-
nos, oculos eorum eiciam, capita excoriabo, membra eorum igne cremabo.
Post hec jussit venire artifices qui facerent ferramenta ad christianos
torquendos : gladios acutissimos et forcipes ad dentes excutiendos, et
rasoria ad cutem capitis radendam vel sartagines ferreas. Et jussit fieri
rotam ferream, habentem serras1 vel gladios diversos (f. 177 v). Hec
autem omnia videntes populi, nullus audebat dicere : christianus sum.
In illis diebus erat quidam tribunus de provincia Capadocie, nomine
Georgius. Hie congregavit auri pondus immensum et profectus est ad
imperatorem Dacianum in civitatem Militanam ut probaret eum comitem.
Tune videns sanctus Georgius apud civitatem Militanam deum verum
contemni, ac culturam vanam idolorum venerari, vehementer cepit tribu-
lari et ait intra semet ipsum : Quid mihi in hoc seculo transeunti dignitatem
perituram prodest querere et in future penam consequi. Aurum autem et
omnia que habebat pauperibus erogavit et iterum venit ad imperatorem
Dacianum et dixit ei : In veritate ego christianus sum, et adoro dominum
vivum et verum qui fecit celum et terram, mare et omnia que in eis sunt.
Et non adoro ydola surda et muta, que os habent et non loquuntur, oculos
habent et non vident, aures habent et non audiunt. Similes illis fiant qui
faciunt ea et omnes qui confidunt in eis. Audiens autem imperator hec
Dacianus tristis factus est valde et dixit ei : Georgi, quid pateris ut
(f. 177 r) legem despicias.* Forsitan minus habes quam velis aut digni-
tatem queris. Dabo tibi omne quod vis, tantum desine ab hac vana
cultura, et secundus eris in regno meo. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Ego

IMS. ferreas.

2 MS. decipiaris Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5575, f. 113 v, ut a lege nostra
discedas.

526 JOHN E. MATZKE.

dignitatem tuain non quero, que corruptibilis et perdita est, sed patrem et
filium et spiritum sanctum in trinitate unum deum adoro in veritate.
Dacianus imperator dixit : Vere doles super pulchritudinem tuam, ne in-
tormentis multis penis deceptus pereas. Sanctus Georgius dixit : De me-
non doleas, sed de te dole et tuam etatem luge que perdita est. Dacianus
imperator dixit : Non multum loqueris. Fac voluntatem meam ; nam
juro tibi per deos magnos Martem et Apollinem, quia si non feceris, omni
tempore exemplo eris et videbo si venerit deus tuus ad liberandum te de
manibus meis. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Adjuva me domine, deus meus,
et omnes qui adorant idola confunde. Tune jussit eum Dacianus impera-
tor conprehendi et duci ad rotam illam et cum serris partivit eum in
decem (f. 177 v) partibus. Et ridens Dacianus dixit : Georgi, ubi est
deus tuus? Et statim terre motus factus est magnus, et venit dominus
cum milibus angelorum et suscitavit servum suum Georgium, et dixit ei :
Ipsa dextera que plasma vit Adam, primum hominem, ipsa te resuscitat.
Et surrexit et stetit incolumis. Tune beatus Georgius, veniens cum
gaudio magno, exclamavit voce magna, dicens : Daciane, Daciane, ubi
sunt poene tue ? Videns autem Dacianus imperator, timore comprehensus
est magno. Tune quidem magister militum, nomine Magnantius, videns
sanctum Georgium resurrexisse, credidit in domino deo cum omni exercitu
suo. Tune jussit Dacianus imperator conprehendi beatum Georgium et
ad vidue domum duci. Et dixit ad mulierem : Da mihi modicum panem.
Respondit mulier et dixit : Non habeo panem. Beatus Georgius dixit :
Quia Apollinem adoras, propterea non habes panem. Et hec vidua habe-
bat filium mutum et surdum et claudum. Et dixit ei mulier : Fac filium
meum sanum, et credo in dominum (f. 178 r) deum tuum. Tune beatus
Georgius conversus ad mulierem dixit : In nomine domini mei Jesu
Christi, aspice et vide et loquere et audi. Et statim loqui, audire et
videre cepit. Tune vidua ilia deprecata est dicens : Obsecro te, serve
Christi, fac eum ambulare. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Sic itaque modo
fiat, quia in testimonium michi necessarius est. Et post hec introivit in
domum beatus Georgius, ubi erat mensa repleta omnibus bonis et angelis
preparata. Tune jussit eum imperator ad se celerius duci et interrogavit
eum dicens : Georgi, quo maleficio perdis populum istum? Beatus Georgius
dixit : Dominus meus omnia quecumque voluit, fecit, et dignum sibi ad se
vocare dignatus est. Dacianus imperator dixit : Numquid major est deus
tuus Apolline ? Sanctus Georgius dixit : Deus meus fecit celum et terram ;
Apollo autem tuus mutus et surdus vel claudus. Quomodo potest deus
esse, vel dici ? Dacianus imperator dixit : Si vere deus est deus tuus,
quern predicas, ecce quatuordecim troni regni sunt. Ora ergo dominum
tuum ut dissolvantur et eficiantur arbores qui (f. 178 v) fuerunt antea sine
fructu nunc cum fructu. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Ego scio quia non
credis ; sed tamen propter gloriam domini mei oratione facta prestabit
michi dominus. Et posuit genua in terra (et terra) l tremuit et dissoluti

1 Omitted in MS.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 527

sunt omnes troni et facti sunt arbores fructiferi qui fuerunt antea sine
fructu. Et omnes populi qui aderant glorificabant deum dicentes : Magnus
est deus Georgii. Sed Dacianus imperator non credidit, sed ita dixit :
Ista omnia per maleficia sua ostendit. Sanctus Georgius dixit : In nomine
domini dei mei Jesu Christi facio et non maleficio. Et ridens Dacianus
imperator dixit : Eogo te, veni, sacrifica diis sicut et ego, et ambula quo
vis in regno meo. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Clament precones civitatis et
omnis populus conveniat et ego sacrificabo diis tuis. Dacianus imperator
.audiens hec repletus est gaudio magno, (et) l sperabat se vicisse eum.
Tune vidua ilia, que eum in hospicio suo habuerat, portans filium suum,
venit ad eum magna voce dicens : O beate Georgi, qui filium meum mutum
loqui fecisti et oculos similiter inluminasti, (f. 179 r) et te ipsum dominus
.resuscitavit et modo vadis ydolis sacrificare mutis et surdis ! Aspicieng
earn beatus Georgius dixit: Mulier, depone filium tuum quern bajulas.
Et ait ad puerum : In nomine domini mei Jesu Christi qui fecit te loqui
audire vel videre, in ipsius nomine surge et ambula. Et statim surrexit
puer sanus et ambulare cepit laudans et glorificans deum. Et introivit
in domum ydolorum et vocavit Apollinem beatus Georgius et dixit ei :
Tu es deus gentium. Apollo dixit : Ego sum qui facio omnes errare adeo
et ydola adorare. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Et quomodo ausus es tu deo
presente tanta mala exercere. Et istis dictis percussit pede terram beatus
Oeorgius et aperuit abyssum et dimersit eum cum virtute domini magna.
In ilia hora exiit a domo ydolorum et omnia idola comminuit. Audiens
autem hec Dacianus imperator iratus est valde et jussit afferri sartaginem
bullientem et jussit membra (f. 179 v) ejus dividere et mitti in sartagine.
Statim autem descendit angelus domini de celo et ignem ardentem ex-
tinxit. Beatus autem Georgius stabat inlesus, laudans et glorificans deum.
Et ait ei angelus : Noli timere ! Jam vicisti inimicum tuum et coronam a
domino paratam habes in celo. Et omnis populus videns mirabilia hec
dedit gloriam deo dicens : Magnus est deus quern Georgius colit ! Et
Alexandria regina videns mirabilia que facta fuerant, credidit in deo.
Hec jactavit coronam de capite suo vel vestem regalem et dixit ad Dacia-
num : In veritate ego Christiana sum et adoro dominum deum qui fecit
celum et terram, mare et omnia que in eis sunt. Dacianus dixit :
Alexandria et te Georgius per maleficia seduxit et vis malam mortem
suscipere. Alexandria dixit : Credo in deum quern Georgius colit, quod
nullus me poterit separare ab caritate dei que est in Christo Jesu, domino
nostro. Dacianus impe-(f. 180 r)rator dixit cum lacrimis vel dolore cordis :
Domina Alexandria, doleat tibi quare desolaris tantum regnum meum.
(Alexandria dixit) 2 : Desolabor ergo, si tuis aquievero persuasionibus ;
nam sicut cepi, perseverabo, ut regnum meum accipiam. Nam qui potesta-
tem habet, qui non cupiat pro terrenis celestia mercari et pro temporalibus
sempiterna? Tune Dacianus imperator iratus est valde et jussit earn

1 Omitted in MS. * Omitted in MS.

528 JOHN E. MATZKE.

crinibus suis pendere et virgis cedi. Ilia autem cum penderetur, respi-
ciens ad beatum Georgium dicebat : Sancte Dei, ora pro me et da michi
baptismum inmortalitatis, ut possim evadere diabolum. Tune beatus
Georgius expandens maims suas ad celum dixit : Domine, obaudi ancillam
tuam, quia pro amore tuo terrenum regnum reliquit, et dona ei baptismum
regenerationis. Statim descendit (nubes lucida) l repleta rore. Et susci-
piens beatus Georgius aquani in rnanibus suis, baptizavit earn in nomine
patris et filii et (f. 180 v) spiritus sancti. Et dixit ei : Ambula ad regna
celorum. Videns autem hec Dacianus imperator, jussit (earn) 2 eicere
extra civitatem et gladiis percuti. Ilia autem vadens cum spiculatoribus
ad locum ubi expectabat coronam martirii, respiciens ad beatum Georgium
dicebat : Sancte Dei, ora pro me ut digna inveniam martirium,3 ne forte
diabolus aliquid seminet adversum me. Dixit autem beatus Georgius :
Noli timere, constanter age ! Dominus tecum est, qui non discedit a
servis suis. Cum autem exisset foras civitatem, statim percussa est gladio.
Et Dacianus imperator, videns quod factum esset, ascendit super tronum
suum et jussit ad se celerius adduci beatum Georgium, cui et dixit : Ecce
Alexandriam reginam magicis tuis artibus seduxisti, tamen petitionem
habeo adhuc ad te petere. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Et quod est quod tu
a nobis petis. Dominus meus omnia, quecunque voluit, fecit. Dacianus
imperator dixit : Ecce foras civitatem sepulchrum et nostrum nemo novit
qui ibi positi sunt. Ora ergo dominum deum (f. 181 r) ut resurgant qui
ibi positi sunt et credo in domino tuo. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Ite,
aperite sepulcra eorum et colligite ossa eorum et afferte michi. Abierunt
et aperientes sepulcra eorum et ossa jam non invenerunt. Sed tamen
pulverem colligentes adtulerunt ad beatum Georgium. Videns autem
pulverem Sanctus Georgius, posuit genua sua in terrain et deprecabatur
dominum dicens : Domine Jesu Christe, fili dei vivi, qui tanta mirabilia
per me servum tuum ostendere dignatus es, exaudi orationem meam, ne
dicant gentes, ubi est deus eorum, sed cognoscant omnes, quia tu es deus
solus et non est alius preter te. Et cum complesset orationem dixit :
Amen. Et vox ei de celo facta est dicens : Georgi, noli timere, ego
tecum sum. Et quidcunque petieris in nomine meo dabitur tibi. Et
statim surrexerunt viri ac mulieres, anime ducente triginta quinque.
Beatus Georgius (f. 181 v) gratias egit deo dicens : Cognovi, Domine,
quia non elongas te a servis tuis. Et aprehendens unum ex his qui resur-
rexerant, dixit ei : Die michi, quid nomen est tibi. Ille autem dixit :
Zoel.4 Dixit autem beatus Georgius : Quern deum colebatis. Zoel dixit :
Apollinem. Deum autem nesciebamus propterea post mortem ducti sumus

1 Omitted in MS. ; supplied from Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5575, f. 117 v.

2 Omitted in MS.

3 Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5575, f. 118 r, ut digna inveniar in conspectu domini
nostri.

* Evidently a copyist's error for Joel.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 529

in penas et ibi fuimus usque dum resuscitavit nos deus pro tuis orationi-
bus. Kogamus te autem, serve Christi, pro cujus orationibus resurgere
meruimus, da nobis baptismum inmortalitatis, ut non iterum revertamur
in penas pristinas. Et statim petivit beatus Georgius aquam et nemo illi
dedit. Ipse autem signum crucis fecit in terram et fons ebullivit, et
baptizavit eos in nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti et dixit eis :
Antecedite me in paradise. Et postea non comparuerunt. Populus
autem qui aderat, credidit in domino et voce magna dicebat : Magnus est
deus christianorum et non est alius deus preter eum, quia per manus servi
sui Georgii multa mirabilia operare dignatus est. Audiens autem hec
Dacianus (f. 182 r) imperator tremefactus est ita ut zona, qua cingebatur,
rumperetur pro nimio timore. Genua autem ei tremebant, ita ut caderet
de trono suo et voce magna clamavit : Ve, michi misero, quoniam periit
regnum meum. Omnem autem populum meum convertit Georgius et
tradidit domino suo. Quod si adhuc vixerit, me ipsum igne cremabit.
Quia hoc die septem anni sunt, quod eum tormentis affligo. Illius autem
virtus adcrescit. Unde ergo jubeo mitti frenum in ore suo et duci foras
civitatem, ubi Alexandria regina interfecta est et in ipso eodem loco jube-
mus decollari. Et his dictis ministri cum fustibus rapuerunt beatum
Georgium et duxerunt ad locum predictum. Milia autem virorum ac
mulierum sequebantur post beatum Georgium, ut benedictionem ab eo
acciperent. Cum autem adpropinquarent ad locum, continuit se et bene-
dixit populum l qui post eum venerat. Et dixit carneficibus beatus
Georgius : Obsecro vos, paululum me sustinete, donee adorem dominum
meum. Expandens manus suas ad celum voce magna clamavit : Domine,
deus meus, accipe spiritum meum. Et rogo bonitatem tuam, Jesu Christe,
fili dei vivi, ut quicunque in terris commemorationem meam (f. 182 v)
viiii Kal. madias celebraverit vel coluerit, auferatur in domo ilia omnis
infirmitas, non hostis adpropinquaret, non famis, non mortalitas. Domine
deus, presta quicunque in aliquo periculo sive in mari sive in via 2 nomen
tuum per me servum tuum commemoraverit, misericordiam consequatur.
Et cum complesset orationem dixit : Amen. Et facta est vox de celo :
Veni jam benedicte, aperti sunt tibi celi. Quicunque autem meum
nomen per servum meum commemoraverit, exaudiam eum. Et inclinavit
cervicem suam beatus Georgius et decollatus est. Videntibus cunctis
animam ejus susceperunt angeli et portaverunt in celis.

Acta sunt autem hec in provincia Capadocie apud civitatem Militanam,
sub Daciano imperatore, regnante domino nostro Jesu Christo, cui est
honor et gloria, virtus et potestas in secula seculorum, Amen.

IMS. populo.

2 Beading of Bibl. Nat. F. L. 5575, f. 119 v, and Oxford Add. d. 106,
f. 81. The present MS. reads in munere.

530 JOHN E. MATZKE.

Za. PARIS, BIBLIOTHEQUE RATIONALE, Nouv. ACQ.
F. L. MS. 2288.

(F. 151 r) Tantas itaque ac tales martirum passiones roseis cruorum
inf ulis consecratas nullus omittit tante virtutis agonem impensius enarrare.
Datianus igitur imperator, dyabolica dominatione arreptus, ut omnem
provinciam sue imperio ditionis subderet, injusta potestate super reges et
presides principatum gerens, contigit eodem tempore imperil sui ut sacra
velocius perurgeret jussa, ut ad orationem deorum et immolationem
impiissimam universus populus omni cum festinatione advenisset. Et
sedens pro tribunali, stante universe populo qui ex diversis civitatibus
venerant, precepit Datianus ministris officiorum, quorum fuerat cure com-
missum, afferre di versa genera tormentorum que (f. 151 v) preparaverat
hiis qui se in domino Jesu Christo credere fatebantur. Et cum allata
fuissent, Datianus impius, ut leo fremens, exclamavit dicens : Omnis qui
non curvatis genibus venerabiles decs meos adoraverit prostratus, in hiis
penis faciam interire, ita ut linguam ejus abscidam, oculos, aures faciemque
membratim evellam. Simili modo per plateas preco circuiens clamabat
emissa fortiter voce, ut unusquisque in suis diversoriis deos deasque
erigerent immolando. Talibus igitur minis cuncti timore perterriti,
derelinquentes Christum, ydolis immolabant, et magis magisque dyabolus
in suis argumentis insistebat, quemadmodum innocua pectora suis laqueis
irretiret. Tune in medio apparuit sanctus Georgius, Capadocie regionis
genere ortus, civitatisque sue comitatum gerens, super numerum militie
multe, a suis videlicet civitatum primis summam pecuniam accipiens, quo
posset a Datiano imperatore premio et munere dignitatis infule consulatus
adipisci gradum, eo quod sue mitis verecundus docibilis rector habebatur.
Sanctus vero Georgius aspiciens ex omnium provinciarum populis multos
adesse, Christum dominum blasphemantes et demones adorantes, tune
omnem pecuniam quam secum attulerat egenis distribuit, et exuens se
clamide terreni imperil, baltheo se induit fideique lorica et crucis vexillo
protectus, jubareque sancti spiritus inundans, sic erupit in conspectu
Datiani imperatoris dicens : Omnes dii gentium dernonia, deus autem
noster celos fecit. Excecavit autem dyabolus oculos diffidentium, ut non
cognoscant factorem celorum, dominum Jesum Christum. Nam dii tui,
imperator, opera hominum sunt, aurea, argentea, lapidea, et lignea, que
jugi vigilantia et custodia reservantur, ne nocturne silentio subripiantur a
furibus. Hoc audito Datianus imperator vehementer exarsit, et intra
semet ipsum fremere cepit et dixit ad sanctum Georgium : Que infrenata
te ac furiosa excecavit temeritatis audacia, aut cujus officii munere fultus
ista temere prosecutus sis, ut non solum nobis injuriam audacter irroges,
verum etiam et venerabiles deos nostros, qui omni mundo subveniunt,
demones esse dicas ? Fatere tamen ex qua provincia vel de qua urbe hue
advenisti, aut quo nomine vociteris. Sanctus Georgius dixit : Christianus

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 531

et del servus ego sum. Georgius nuncupor, genere Capadocus, patrie mee
comitatum gerens. Et hoc melius diligo, temporalis hujus seculi digni-
tatis exui honore et immortalis del adherere imperio. Cui respondens
imperator Datianus dixit : Erras, Georgi ; accede pronus et immola in-
victissimo deo Apollini, qui poterit tue ignorantie subvenire, et sibi
veridicum exhibere cultorem. Cui beatus Georgius respondit : Quis
melius diligendus est, aut cui debemus exhibere culturam, domino
nostro Jesu Christo, redemptori omnium seculorum aut Apollini omnium
auctori demoniorum ? Quo audito Datianus imperator, ira repletus, jussit
sanctum Georgium in eculeo elevari, et extensum membratim ungulis
corpus ejus lacerari. Deinde precepit lateribus ejus lampades applicari,
ita ut interiora viscerum ejus apparerent. Cumque has penas martir pro
Christo sustinuisset, jussit eum deponi et extra civitatem eici et ad verbera
extendi et diversis plagis cruentari. Salem vero in vulnera plagarum
aspergi et ex cilicio plagas vulnerum ejus fricari. Et in his omnibus
penis que in sancto dei famulo Georgio exhibebantur, corpus ejus mane-
bat illesum. Tune Datianus imperator videns quod in hiis penis sanctum
Dei superare non valeret, jussit eum in ima carceris trudi, et inimico
consilio inito per diversas civitates misit edictum, ut si quis magus
inventus fuisset, omni cum festinatione ad ejus imperium pervenisset, quo
posset dono muneris magni honorari. Hoc audito quidam magus, nomine
Athanasius, adveniens ait imperatori : Pro qua causa vocasti me ? Cui
imperator respondit: Poteris solvere magicas (f. 152 v) Christianorum ?
Magus respondit : Veniat quern dicis Christianum esse, et si non potero
solvere magicas ejus, reus sum. Et statim factus est letus imperator, et
jussit ministris, ut beatus Georgius educeretur de carcere. Et cum oblatus
fuisset, dixit ei : Georgi, pro te hunc magum acquisivi. Solve magicas
ejus, aut certe ipse solvet tuas, aut certe perdet te, aut tu eum, si perdere
prevaleas. Sanctus vero Georgius respiciens juvenem, dixit ei : Video
etenim te paulatim comprehendere gratiam dei. Et sumens Athanasius
calicem, invocavit nomina demoniorum et dans sancto martiri bibere,
nichil ei nocuit. Tune magus imperatori ait : Unum superest quod
faciam ; quod si non nocuero eum, converter et ego ad crucifixum. Item-
que accepto calico invocavit nomina demoniorum fortiorum, existimans
esse pejorum, et dans ei bibere, nichil prevaluit. Hoc cum magus vidisset,
statim ad pedes martiris se prostravit, ut Christi baptismum percipere
mereretur. Quo facto jussit eum impiissimus Datianus extra urbem eici
et caput ejus abscidi. Sanctum vero Georgium, custodie mancipandum
tradidit. Sequenti igitur die, impiissimus Datianus jussit sibi in amphi-
teatro sessionem preparari, sanctum vero dei martirem carcere educi et
suis aspectibus sisti. Tune itaque jussit ministris ut rotam eneam affer-
rent, et gladios bisacutos in ea infigerent, atque martirem super earn
ponentes, ex alto demitterent. Hoc cum beatus Georgius vidisset, oravit
dicens : Dominus in adjutorium meum intende, domine ad adjuvandum
me festina. Et hec dicens positus est in rotam. Et dum devolveretur

532 JOHN E. MATZKE.

statim comminuta est et martir del illesus permansit. Hoc cum vidisset
Datianus dixit ei : Quoadusque tui ero patiens ; quoadusque maleficia tua
prevalebunt ? Per deum solem et per omnes deos venerabiles, quia diversis
cruciamentis te faciam interire. Cui beatus martir respondet : Mine tue
temporales sunt ; non terreor, si qua michi impendi volueris cruciamenta.
Corpus quidem meum habebis in potestatem, exerce in eo que velis, ani-
mam autem meam non habes in potestatem. Datianus vero repletus
furore dixit ministris (f. 153 r) : Afferte sartaginem eneam, et plumbo
earn replete ; et ebulliente ilia Georgium contumacem in earn proicite,
quo possit ejus stultitia superari. Cumque hec fuissent preparata, elevatis
oculis in celum oravit dicens : In nomine Domini mei Jesu Christi insilio
in te. Spero enim quia sicut me eripuit de tantis tormentis, ita me nunc
de hac sartagine bulliente illesum eripiet, cui est laus et gloria et virtus
in secula seculorum, Amen. Et facto signaculo crucis, in sartagine erat
repausans. Plumbi vero densitate flammivoma nutu divino refrigerans
dei famulus exultabat. Datianus itaque haustu dyaboli percussus, jussit
sanctum Georgium adducere. Cumque venisset, dixit : Georgi, nescio
quantum venerabiles dii nostri pro te laborant usque nunc, et tui patientes
sunt, ut et ea que per ignorantiam geris, mites veniam condonant, quo
duritiam cordis tui mulceant, et sibimet lucrifaciant cultorem. Hoc
itaque te ut filium meum genitivum exhortor, ut amota Christianorum
superstitione vanissima michi prebeas assensum, et accedens sacrifica
invictissimis diis et deo magno Apollini, quo poteris magnum honorem
consequi. Sanctus Georgius spiritu sancto repletus subridens ait : At si
contra phas mens cogatur supernis voluptatibus de tanta (sic) velle quod non
vult, tamen oportet nos immortali deo sacrificium immolare. Qua propter
ea que cupis incunctanter a me exhibebuntur. Et sperans quod ejus
assertio vera fuerit, resiliens festinus, sanctum Georgium apprehendit, et
cum caput ejus osculari vellet, non hoc admisit fieri, dicens : Non polluas
caput meum ; primum est ut diis exhibeamus culturam. Indicta vero die,
Datianus gaudio repletus, magna cum exultatione omnem certaminis
mesticiam abiciens, jubet ministros aram deorum ac templa parare, in
quibus Apollo, Jupiter et Hercules habebantur ut splendidius ipse ymagi-
nes deaurate fuissent, platee quoque vel menia totius civitatis laternis,
lampadibus et luminaribus semper lucerent, et lucifluo lumine Celsius
flammescerent. Sacerdotes autem precepit omnes adesse, parietes vero
ex argento dealbari (f. 153 v) triclinia, ingressus vero ac cameras ex
sericis velari.1 Preco etiam personabat per vicos totius civitatis ingentibus
clamoribus dicens : Si quis non ad delubra deorum omni cum festinatione
advenerit, se reum conscientia sua auctore diis sistit propter Georgium,
qui relicta Christianitatis cultura jam venerabiles deos nostros procul
dubio frequentat extollere. Universi ergo sexus et etates conveniebant.
Tune jussit Datianus imperator adesse sanctum Georgium ut diis thura

1 MS. per triclinia ingressus vero ex sericis velare cameris.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEORGE. 533

offerret, qui festinus ad locum pergebat. Et ut venit intra aras deorum,
aspiciens Apollinem figens genua, dominum Jesum Christum deprecabatur,
dicens : Domine, deus omnipotens, exaudi preces servi tui in hoc loco
deprecantis, ut sicut cera fluescit a facie ignis, ita et hec imagines miser-
rime redigantur in pulverem, ut hii qui in te credituri sunt, cognoscant
te, et credant unum solum verum deum, et quern misisti in seculum,
Jesum Christum. Et completa oratione, subito ignis de celo descendit, et
omne templum combussit una cum diis et sacerdotibus templi et aliquam
multitudinem paganorum. Et se aperiens terra absorti sunt ab ea, ita ut
etiam et ipse imagines omnino non comparerent. Hoc audito impiissimus
Datianus quod dii sui comminuti et in pulverem redact! fuissent, sanctum
Georgium ad se precepit venire. Et cum a ministris duceretur, psallebat
dicens : Sepius expugnaverunt me a juventute mea et non prevaluerunt
adversum me. Dominus vero justitie concidet cervices peccatorum. Et
cum in conspectu ejus sisteretur, ait Datianus : O Capadox, en carminum
illecebra et maleficiorum tuorum bachatus detestabile facinus et invisum a
temet ipso gaudes in diis fuisse commissum ? Cui beatus martir respondit :
Nequaquam imperator credas diis ista contigisse. Sed ut eos conspicias
illesos, precipe pariter usque illuc unum pergere, quo potuerim sub tui
presentia immolare. Cui Datianus respondit : Hoc solum modo niteris,
ut sicut dii in pulverem redact! sunt, sacerdoces absorti sunt, ita et me
ipsum terra absorbeat. Cui sanctus (f. 154 r) Georgius dixit : Et quibus
diis nos credere hortaberis, imperator ? Qui se non potuerunt liberare de
inf eris, te quomodo poterunt liberare ? Hoc dicto ministris eum tradidit
et sedens pro tribunali, talem adversus eum dictavit sententiam, dicens :
Georgium, omnium scelerum signiferum, actoremque criminum, qui decus
et lumen deorum nostrorum per magicos sophie incantationes in pul-
verem redegit, precipio eum facie prostratum per omnes vicos platearum
ut homicidam et reum trahi, et ita tandem gladio occidi. Cumque a
ministris duceretur, veniens ad locum supplicii, duabus horis spatium
indutiarum sibi petiit, sub quarum spatio fixis genibus dominum depreca-
batur, dicens : Gratias tibi ago, domine, deus celi et terre, qui michi
victoriam contra inimici rabidam severitatem dignatus es condonare,
precipe, queso, in hac hora supplicationis mee, imbrem benedictionis
super faciem terre, et pluviarum saturitatem venire et serva cunctos in te
credentes, ut non in eis habeat aditum lupus rapax, semper sancto gregi
tuo infestus. Et hoc dicens spiculatorem petiit ut eum gladio percuteret.
Et facto signaculo in nomine domini nostri Jhesu Christo ab spiculatore
percussus est. Tune venientes Capadocie regionis viri, qui in agone
certaminis ejus aderant, viri excellentissimi et primi christiani civitatis
corpus ejus nocturne silentio abstulerunt, ac diversis odoribus nectariis et
aromatibus sepultus in eadem civitate, in qua passionem martirii con-
summavit, reconditus est. Dominus vero omnipotens, aperiens cataractas
celi, omnem aridam terram pluviarum nimbis jugiter inebriavit. Datia-
num vero impiissimum imperatorem una cum suis ministris ad palatium

534 JOHN E. MATZKE.

properantem, subito turbinum ignei currus circumdederunt, et pariter
uno momento flammeo globo devorati sunt, et ultus est dominus in
persecutoribus ictu repentino. Martir vero Georgius ab angelis coronatus
est in celis, regnante domino nostro Jesu Christo cum patre et spiritu
sancto, cui est honor et gloria in secula seculorum, Amen.

Zc. PARIS, BIBLIOTHEQUE NATIONALE, F. L. MS. 5565.

Fol. 82 r. Incipit sancti Passio Georgii,
beatissimi martiris.

F. 82 v. Tempore quo Dioclitianus romani urbis gubernandum suscepit
imperium, cum undique res publica multis ac diversis quateretur incom-
modis, Carausio videlicet per id tempus in Britanniis sumpta purpura
rebellante, Achilleo quoque Egyptum invadente, Juliano in Italia impe-
rante, cum quinque gentium etiam Affricam vastarent, Narseus, quoque,
rex Persarum orienti bellum inferret, cum itaque ad tot romane rei publice
pericula sedanda se solum minus sufficere posse Diocletianus videret,
Herculum Maximianum sibi quondam commilitonem ex Cesare Augustum
creavit. Constantium autem et Galienum Maximianum in ejus loco
Cesares instituit. Diocletianus itaque obscure satis apud Dalmatiam loco
oriundus, nam Anolini senatoris libertinus erat, ut publica continent
gesta, moratus callide fuit, sagax propterea, et admodum subtilis ingenii
et qui severitatem suam aliena vi vellet explicare, sed ex diligentissima
sollertia atque sollertissima diligentia, in quibus non mediocriter claruit,
principatus monarchiam licet ignobilis, obtinuit. Porro Herculius qui et
Maximianus, quern sibi collegam pro tuenda republica ascivisse jam
diximus, pro palam ferus et incivilis ingenii asperitatem suam etiam
vultus horrore non celabat. Hi itaque duo velut quedam truculente
belue cum tuendum gubernandumque orbis romani suscepissent imperium
immanissima id severitate atque atrocissima acerbitate atterere studuerunt,
in eo vel maxime quod eos omni nisu atque omni studio exterminare
penitusque abolere satagerunt, quibus ob salutem rei publice patronis
presulibus atque tutoribus precipue erga divinam majestatem uti eis
congruebat id est Christianis. Quos tanta rabie persecuti sunt, ut in toto
terrarum urbe, quocunque crudelitatis eorum edicta profana pervenire
potuerunt, cedibus, proscriptionibus, suppliciis antea inauditis atque omni
mortis genere omnes omnino usquequaque dampnarentur. Qua tempore
omnis fere sacro martyrum cruore orbis infectus est : adeo quippe certatim
gloriosa in certamina ruebantur. Nee ullius turn major christianis erat
<;onsequende glorie aviditas, quam ut gloriosis mortibus palmam martyrum
ad quam (f. 83 v) cotidie preire quisque alterum festinabat, adipisci
meruissent. Nullis umquam bellis magis mundus exhaustus est, neque
gloriosiori umquam triumpho mundi principes reges videlicet cesares,

THE LEGEND OF SAINT GEOEGE. 535

dictatores, consules, imperatores, duces, vel si qua sunt alia deliramenta
secularium dignitatum, triumpharunt, quam eo tempore vicerunt Christi-
ani, quo per decem continues annos continuatos etiam stragibus vinci non
potuerunt.

Siquidem tarn acerbissima tanquam creberrima tune persecutio flagrabat,
ut intra unius spatium mensis ad decem et septem milia passes diligentis-
simi tradant historici. Itaque cum ad devastandos undique ut diximus
ecclesias Diocletianus in oriente, Maximianus vero in Occidente licet
dissimilibus moribus, consimili tamen sententia conspirassent ad ex-
equendum tarn crudele ministerium immo sacrilegum suis competentem
votis sacrilegum eundemque crudelissimum baud difficile reppererunt
ministrum, Dacianum videlicet, qui per id tempus tirannice sue crudeli-
tatis atque vesanie atrocis erga cunc-(fo. 84 r)tos et precipue Christianos
rumorem per totum sparserat orbem romanum. Cui cum diu exoptata
velut famelico et oblatranti cani seviendi in Christianos tandem offula
cecidisset, suisque impiissimis votis concessa aspiraret potestas, nullas
uspiam vel differende aliquantulum sevitie patiens moras, jussit voce
preconaria ut omnis undique populus ad sacrificandum, ut ipse asserebat
diis, re autem vera demonibus conflueret. . . .

(To be continued.)

JOHN E. MATZKE.

APPENDIX I.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE NINETEENTH ANNUAL

MEETING OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE

ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA, HELD

AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY,

CAMBRIDGE, DECEMBER

26, 27, 28, 1901.

THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION
OF AMERICA.

The nineteenth annual meeting of the MODERN LAN-
GUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA was held at Harvard
University, Cambridge, Mass., December 26, 27, 28, in
accordance with the following invitation :

HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Dec. 8, 1899.

The President and Fellows of Harvard College invite the Modern
Language Association of America to meet at Harvard University during
the Christmas recess of the year 1901.

THE PRESIDENT AND FELLOWS OF HARVARD COLLEGE,

BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, President.

All the sessions of the meeting were held in Sever Hall,
Boom 11. Professor E. S. Sheldon, President of the Asso-
ciation, presided at all.

FIRST SESSION, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26.

The Association met at 2.30 p. m. The session was opened
by an address of welcome from President Charles W. Eliot :

Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen:

I do not know how any body of learned men could possibly be more
welcome to Harvard University than the Modern Language Association.
We have been struggling here ever since 1816 to build up the study of
Modern Languages in this institution. 1816 was the date of the election
of Professor George Ticknor to the first Modern Language Chair; and
ever since we have been pressing towards the mark towards which you
press, — the development of high scholarship and practical instruction in
the Modern Languages. I congratulate you on the immense progress
which has been made in your department in all the American universities
9 iii

IV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

and colleges during the last thirty years. It is one of the most striking
phenomena in American education. The scale on which we began was a
modest one. Let me compare the German Department of 1826 in Harvard
University with the German Department here to-day : — In 1826 Charles
Follen, a German Doctor of Law, was the instructor in the German
Language in Harvard College ; and this was his title (I wrote it down lest
I should not give you the whole of it) — Instructor in the German Language,
in Ethics, and in Civil and Ecclesiastical History. The noteworthy thing
about this extended title is this, — there was no other instructor in History ;
so you can see that Dr. Follen's labors were probably divided tolerably
evenly between German, Ethics, and History. His salary was $500. The
present German Department in Harvard University numbers three pro-
fessors, eight instructors, two Austin Teaching Fellows, and one assistant ;
and the salary list this year is a little over $20,000. I mention these facts-
to show what the development has been here ; but it has been similar in
many other American institutions ; indeed, I think the progress has been
more rapid in some other American institutions than it has been at
Harvard ; for they started from nothing a shorter time ago.

Mrs. Eliot and I are to have the pleasure of receiving the Association
to-night at our house. We wanted to invite all the Harvard teachers who
belong to the Modern Language Division, a Division which, with us,
includes English, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Celtic, and Slavic.
Mrs. Eliot informed me that there were sixty-four notes to be written.
That represents, therefore, the strength of our Modern Language Divi-
sion to-day.

You are also to be congratulated on a certain cohesion and mutual
cooperation which is greater than I observe to exist in some other depart-
ments of learning represented in Harvard University. A striking illustra-
tion of this cooperation and consent was given last June in the Modern
Language papers of the Joint Examination Board of the Middle States
and Maryland. These papers were, in the first place, good in quality and
judicious in quantity; but, moreover, they represented a far greater
agreement as to standards and aims among the college and university
teachers in these subjects than could be procured in some of the other
departments. This I count a clear sign of strength gained for the Modern
Language department in American colleges.

One other point I shall mention as a subject of congratulation, namely,
that the study of the Modern Languages in the United States is beginning
to connect itself intimately with the life of the nation. If we look back
twenty years, we find the connection between the actual occupations of
Americans and the study of the Modern Languages to be but slight. More
and more we can see developing a real connection between Modern Language
study and the actual national interests and aspirations. Now I hold this
to be a most favorable circumstance for the development of Modern Language
study in the United States. I am inclined to believe that no great subject

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. V

in education has ever got firm hold on an intelligent and highly civilized
nation, unless it had some connection with the contemporary life of that
nation. Take Latin, for instance,-— a subject which has had for many
centuries the firmest hold on educated men, and on the life of the Euro-
pean peoples. Latin got that hold through being the common speech of
learned men and therefore an indispensable element in any prolonged
education— that of the cleric, for example. The clerical profession was
relatively vastly more important five hundred years ago than it is to-day
in the intellectual life of any nation; and Latin was an indispensable
thing for a clergyman of any sort. Latin got its impregnable place in
education while it was an indispensable element in the daily life of
important portions of each nation. As our country develops industrial
and commercial relations with the whole world, which it is sure to do
within the next twenty years, the study of Modern Languages in school
and college will more and more commend itself to the American people ;
and I cannot but congratulate you on this relatively new prospect for the
department of education to which you are devoted. I would not in saying
this seem to disregard the learned element or the literary element in the
Modern Languages : these are things which in every university we need
constantly to take thought for ; but your subject is going to have a stronger
hold in the next twenty years than it has had in the past, because in
addition to this eternal interest in literature and learning you are to be
supported by a vital connection with the industrial and commercial activi-
ties of the day.

The Secretary of the Association, Professor James "W.
Bright, submitted as his report the published Proceedings of
the last annual meeting and the complete volume of the
Publications of the Association for the year 1901. He also
reported that by a unanimous vote of the Executive Council
a contribution had been made to 'The Commemoration of
the Millenary of King Alfred the Great, 901-1901' at
Winchester, England, Sept. 18, 19, 20, 21, 1901. [See Pro-
ceedings for 1899, pp. xviii f.] The report was approved.

The Treasurer of the Association, Professor Herbert E.
Greene, submitted the following report :

KECEIPTS.

Balance on hand, December 26, 1900, $1,507 48

Annual Dues from Members, and receipts
from Subscribing Libraries : —

For the year 1893, . . . $ 3 00
" " " 1894, ... 3 00

VI MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

For the year 1895, .
« " " 1896, .
" " " 1898, .
" " " 1899, .
" " " 1900, .
" " " 1901, .
" " " 1902, .

$1,668 00
Reprints : —

Professor H. Collitz, .... 6 00

Professor Thomas K. Price, ... 15 75

Professor Morgan Callaway, . . 196 10

$ 217 85

Sale of Publications, 30 30

Advertisements, ...... 75 00

Interest on deposits, 45 69

$ 120 69

Total receipts for the year, $3,544 32

EXPENDITURES.

Publication of Vol. XVI, No. 1, and Reprints, $ 311 65

(t u « « « 2, " " 447 12

« u it « « 3^ « « 215 36

« « tt u u A ti » 281 42

$1,255 55

Job Printing, 44 02

Share of Expense of Program of Meeting

at Philadelphia (1900), ... 2267

Contribution to King Alfred Memorial, . 50 00

The Secretary, 200 00

Supplies for the Secretary : stationery, pos-
tage, mailing Publications, etc., . . 62 75
Supplies for the Treasurer : stationery, pos-
tage, etc., 33 52

Expenses of the Central Division, . . 46 00

Bank Discount, 4 24

Expenses of Committee on International

Correspondence. 11 55

$ 474 75

Total expenditures for the year, $1,730 30

Balance on hand, December 24, 1901, 1,814 02

$3,544 32
Balance on hand, December 24, 1901, . . $1,814

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. vil

The President of the Association, Professor E. S. Sheldon,
appointed the following committees :

(1) To audit the Treasurer's report: Professors E. S.

Babbitt and W. Stuart Symington.

(2) To recommend a place for the next annual meeting :

Professors H. E. Greene, F. H. Stoddard, F. B.
Gummere, G. E. Karsten, and A. Cohn.

(3) To nominate officers : Professors Calvin Thomas, Albert

S. Cook, O. F. Emerson, H. C. G. von Jagemann,
and L. R. Gregor.

The reading of papers was then begun.

1. " Notes on the Ruthwell Cross." By Professor Albert
S. Cook, of Yale University.

2. "Augier's L'Aventuritre of 1848 and I860." By
Professor A. Rambeau, of the Massachusetts Institute of
Technology.

I. Bibliography : —

Augier's avertissement of May 2nd, 1860, in Theatre Complet, edition
Calmann Levy, Paris, 1897, volume I, p. 163 ; Francisque Sarcey'sfeuilleton
of April 16th, 1869, in his Quarante Ans de Theatre, vol. V (1901), pp.
7-15; Mr. Doumic's eesay upon ^/mile Augier, in his Portraits tfecrivains
(1894 ?), pp. 66-67, and his article upon the comedy of manners in the
nineteenth century, in Petit de Julleville's Histoire de la Langue et de la
Litteraturefrancaise, vol. viii (1899), p. 117.

II. Mr. Doumic's opinion : —

1) U Aventuriere of 1848 is a pure comedie picaresque, based upon a single
conception of dramatic art and free from discrepancies or disparities, all
the characters of the play being consistent with themselves and in full
concordance with the surroundings or milieu in which they are placed.

2) L' Aventuriere of 1860, being founded upon two extremely different
conceptions of dramatic art, a strange compound of comedie picaresque and
drame bourgeois (or contemporary comedy of manners), lacking unity of
tone, color, and conception, and containing most shocking discrepancies or
disparities, is therefore inferior to the first version.

3) Augier was a slow worker, a slow, though very powerful thinker.
He was liable to spoil a dramatic work by remodeling or recasting it after

Vlll MODEKN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

a certain number of years (e. g., L' Aventuriere of 1848 and 1860). On the
other hand, he was able to improve a drama by taking up the same theme
again after many years of thinking, giving it a new dramatic shape, and
treating it in an entirely new comedy (cp. Un Homme de bien, 1845, and
Maitre Guerin, 1864).

The first of these statements, made by Mr. Doumic with all the resources
of a brilliant rhetoric, is wrong: he gives no facts, and there are none, I
think, that would prove or corroborate the truth of his assertions, and it
appears to be a creation of his fertile imagination. Consequently, the
conclusion which Mr. Doumic reaches in the second statement is unfounded
and gratuitous. Moreover, the conclusion contained in the third statement
is at least unwarrantable, so far as it refers to L' Aventuriere.

III. Comparative study of the two versions of J7 Aventuriere (A and B) : —

1) Place and local color ;

2) The dramatis personae, and their names ;

3) Plot, situation, dramatic action, and denouement ;

4) Characters and rdles.

IV. Re'sume' and Conclusion : —

1. The old version (-4) of L' Aventuriere is essentially the same play as
the new one (B), — that is, a combination of two or even three different
conceptions of dramatic art, a comedie picaresque and a modern drame
bourgeois, with an idyllic love episode.

2. The changes introduced into the text by the revision of 1860 concern
details, the language, and only one character.

1) The most important change of details is in the last part of the play,
which is much longer in the old version (Act IV, with the last four scenes
of Act III, and Act V having been replaced by one act in _B). Here the
dramatic action leading up to the denouement advances, in the original
drama, very slowly and, no doubt, according to the poet's opinion, too
slowly.

2) A great many verses have been altered, or suppressed and replaced
by another text, in the new version. As a rule, style and versification,
where the two texts differ, are better and more careful in B.

3) Mucarade's character, in A, is inconsistent; that of Monte-Prade, in
B, is consistent. This change has affected the general impression of the
play in some measure, — by no means in the denouement nor in regard to
the general tendency of the drama, — but very obviously at the beginning,
which is burlesque in A. This fact seems to have caused M. Doumic's error.

The combination of two or even three different conceptions of dramatic
art in the same play may be objectionable from a critic's point of view.
But his judgment is not confirmed by the opinion of the public and the
decisive vote of posterity. L' Aventurie're not only was a successful play
during the poet's lifetime, but its success seems to be durable and rather to
increase with the lapse of time; whereas Augier's purely realistic dramas,

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. ix

Including even Le Gendre de M. Poirier, Maitre Ouerin and Les Effrontes,
which were most admired by his contemporaries, and which modern critics
universally declare to be his masterpieces, have already lost part of their
lustre and a great deal of their interest— at least, for a French public. In
these dramas, the powerful realism and the extremely exact portraiture of
living characters,— the delight of Augier's contemporaries and their princi-
pal title to fame, — already prevents them from being quickly understood
at every point, and from being fully appreciated in every detail at the
present day. They have begun to grow old and to appear somewhat faded,
since the generation to which the poet himself belonged, and which he
portrayed so faithfully, has passed away. Indeed the bourgeois society, in
France, has changed considerably since Augier's time. Some of the social
questions raised in his realistic plays have been settled, or have dis-
appeared entirely. The public no longer recognizes as really existing all
the characters painted by Augier, and no longer regards as actual and true
a great deal of what was the exact picture of real life about the middle of
the last century.

However, the peculiar mixture of fancy and realism, with a moral and
social question rather generalized by the vague and foreign local color of
the play, combined with a good versification, half Classical, half Romantic,
which is not the least of its charms, and with a poetical language (which,
in a literary work, is likely to resist time longer than prose), seems to
insure the success of L' Aventurilre far into the future.

As to the relative value of the two texts of L' AvenluriZre, I think that
Augier himself (see his avertissement) and the administration of the The'atre-
Francais were right in giving the preference to the new version, and that
it is on the whole superior to the original drama. But I am well aware
that Sarcey's criticism has some strong points, which I have stated and
frankly admitted. In purely aesthetic matters, there is, it would seem, no
absolute standard ; and in settling such questions, a great deal (sometimes,
perhaps, all) depends on the critic's personal taste and his individual
standpoint.

In reality, my first and foremost aim was to correct, in this paper, a
serious error regarding a fact, an error which was started by Mr. Doumic
in an essay several years ago, and repeated by him, only two years ago,
in an important book of reference. I am afraid this error may become
eventually one of those common "literature legends," which, unless de-
stroyed in time, spread and creep into class-books, manuals, and encyclo-
paedias, and are thus handed down from generation to generation as
historical facts.

[This paper is to appear in full in the English Modern

Language Quarterly.'}
WJB0*

3. " Three Swabian Journalists of the American Revolu-
tion." By Dr. John A. Walz, of Harvard University.

X MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

4. "A Discrepancy in several of Schiller's Letters." By
Professor J. B. E. Jonas, of Brown University.

5. "Report of the Pedagogical Section." By Professor
W. E. Mead, of Wesleyan University, Secretary of the
Pedagogical Section.

THE UNDERGRADUATE STUDY OF ENGLISH COMPOSITION.

A year ago the Pedagogical Section of the Modern Language
Association investigated the question as to the feasibility of mak-
ing advanced work in rhetoric (using that term in the broadest
sense) a part of graduate university work counting toward a
degree. The report read at the December meeting of last year
was printed in the Proceedings. This year the investigation has
been carried a step lower down, and has endeavored to test
the opinions of competent judges on the question whether the
methods of teaching composition now so widely followed are
beyond the reach of criticism.

With this in view the committee selected, from a brief article
in the Century Magazine, a passage representing an attitude of
extreme hostility to the plan of compelling students to write
frequent themes which should be corrected and returned to the
writers.

The passage runs as follows :

A wide reader is usually a correct writer ; and he has reached the goal
in the most delightful manner, without feeling the penalty of Adam. . . .
We would not take the extreme position taken by some, that all practice
in theme-writing is time thrown away ; but after a costly experience of the
drudgery that composition work forces on teacher and pupil, we would say
emphatically that there is no educational method at present that involves
so enormous an outlay of time, energy, and money, with so correspondingly
small a result. ... In order to support this with evidence, let us take the
experience of a specialist who investigated the question by reading many
hundred sophomore compositions in two of our leading colleges, where the
natural capacity and previous training of the students were fairly equal.
In one college every freshman wrote themes steadily through the year,
with an accompaniment of sound instruction in rhetorical principles ; in
the other college every freshman studied Shakspere, with absolutely no training in
rhetoric and with no practice in composition. A comparison of the themes written

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xi

in their sophomore year by these students showed that technically the two were
fully on a par. That is weighty and most significant testimony. — The
Century Magazine (vol. Li, pp. 793, 794).

Comments were requested on the question raised by this quota-
tion. Details of similar experiments, if known, were called for.
And, finally, the question was raised as to the possibility of
conducting an experiment, or a series of experiments, which
should furnish conclusive proof of the value, or the futility, of
requiring freshmen to write themes steadily through the year.1

The reports that came back in response to these inquiries
varied in length from a line or less to elaborate discussions which
filled several pages. Taken as a whole, they may be regarded as
fairly representative of the present position of college and uni-
versity teachers of English throughout the country as to the
relative importance of reading and theme writing. Harvard
University, Yale, Columbia, Cornell, the Universities of Michi-
gan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Chicago, Leland Stanford Jr., Johns
Hopkins, Louisiana, and many other institutions have had a
voice in the discussion.

Our report naturally divides itself into three parts: (1) A
summary of opinions on the question raised by the quotation ;
(2) an account of experiments similar to that just outlined ; (3)
a discussion of methods for determining with some accuracy the
relative value of reading and practical work in composition.

So much depends in this investigation upon the experiments
that we are naturally most curious to learn whether this question
has been very generally tested. I therefore take up the second
division first. Unfortunately, most of those who answered the
questions in the circular of inquiry knew of no other such experi-
ments. Some teachers thought they had tested the matter by
noting that students in their classes in composition wrote better
at the end of a course than at the beginning, or by observing
that the winners of prizes for literary work in the various college
publications were almost without exception students who had
had systematic training in composition.

1 The circulars of inquiry were issued under the direction of Professor
F. N. Scott, of Michigan University, the president of the Pedagogical
Section.

Xll MODEKN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

One professor of rhetoric l holds that he has proved the falsity
of the position taken in the quotation, and he sends on a printed
collection of unedited college themes, which he offers to compare
with a collection of articles written by college undergraduates
who have not had drill in theme-writing. One instructor had
been led to the conclusion in his own classes that the most omni-
vorous readers are often careless writers, because they write as
they read, without much thought.

We have, however, a few accounts of positive experiments.
One of our pedagogical psychologists writes :

I am getting short themes written in class from high schools in different
parts of the country, with the intention of comparing the quality of the
work with the nature of the instruction given. In some cases there is
regular theme-writing, in others not. In some cases there is much required
reading of English classics, in others little.

The results of his work are not yet tabulated, but they ought
to be of considerable importance, if sufficient safeguards are
employed.

The next witness has experimented only upon himself, but he
has had " some convincing personal experience." He says :

I have published several books on the subject of rhetoric, and I con-
sidered myself fairly expert in the art of composition, besides trying to
cultivate a sense of style. I never had instruction, but obtained whatever
proficiency I had from reading and the teaching of composition. Last
summer I was printing a book on a literary subject, and the proof-sheets
passed through the hands of a friend who is also a teacher of rhetoric.
Scarcely a paragraph or sentence was left as originally written. I trembled
for the result of such anxious revision. But now the book has been said,
by several competent judges, to be written in a pleasing and unaffected
style ! I honestly believe that this practical instruction I obtained has
yielded certain and important results which my reading never has yielded
and never can yield. This case is not quite parallel to a student's case,
but, as being in the nature of expert testimony, should be worth something.

The three following are the only reported experiments similar

1 For a variety of reasons it has been thought desirable to suppress the
names of the writers of the individual reports and to allow the opinions
and facts to speak for themselves. Much care has been taken to secure
a really representative expression of opinion. Names will, however, be
furnished on application.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xiii

to the one mentioned in the quotation ; and these must be con-
fessed to be not altogether conclusive. Says one :

I have tried a similar experiment twice, for a period of three months.
I found that the study of Shakspere influenced the vocabulary of many
students the next quarter, but did not affect their prose style otherwise.

A Harvard instructor writes :

The only experiment of the kind I know of was in the comparison of a
certain number of papers written in a course in literature at Yale College
with a number of similar papers written in a similar course at Harvard.
Of three or four of our men here who examined the papers, all but one
agreed that the papers written at Harvard were better written, and showed
the result of the time given to English composition.

This is presumably the experiment described in our quotation.

Lastly, we have the following :

In one of our eastern colleges, about two years ago, the course in rhetoric
and theme-writing was transferred from the sophomore to the freshman
year. As a consequence, the sophomores had no course in rhetoric and
theme-writing during the first year of the new plan. Nevertheless their
writing showed in the junior year no important difference from that of the
succeeding junior class. Having myself read the essays of both classes, I
may affirm that a slight improvement in sentence-structure, and a little
more freedom from glaring faults of taste and method, were the only
noticeable distinctions. I fail to see that the later class commanded a
style a whit more resourceful or effective. In short, the result was nega-
tive, not positive. And I venture to say that this negative result— of
mechanical correctness, not real correctness — is all that is obtained in
teaching unread students in any college of the United States.

Some sympathy with the conclusions of the writer of the paper
in the Century is expressed in several of the reports ; but, taken
as a whole, the reports reveal a pretty general skepticism con-
cerning the conclusiveness of the experiment therein described.
One experiment, it is urged, is not enough to establish a conclu-
sion so far-reaching in its results.

Evidently, after this showing, anyone who is seeking an un-
claimed subject for investigation has a well-nigh virgin field to
work in. This leads us to a discussion of the possibility of
settling the question by experiment. A considerable number
of teachers hold that the matter lies outside the range of conclu-
sive experiment, owing to the difficulty of taking all the factors
into consideration, and one volunteers the opinion that pedagogy

XIV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

is running mad and needs an infusion of common-sense. Some
think experiments to be possible, but very undesirable for the
students.

We do not [says one] tie up a student's arm and then read him anatomy ;
we exercise the arm. We have no business to tie up his writing-hand for
a year and expect him to absorb technique of any sort through the skin.

One suggests a test course, half of a large class doing writing,
and the other half receiving instruction in literature, the experi-
ment to be continued for two years. To another, such an
experiment seems possible at a very large institution, but too
risky for a small one. Some think the case for composition
already made out, and the experiment therefore needless. " Ex-
periments to determine whether freshmen should profit by
practice in composition are futile, but experiments to ascertain
suitable methods of instruction should prove of the highest
value." " Results," however, " cannot be obtained by a con-
densed report of many opinions where all are at sea, but through
an investigation of the essential principles and conditions of
effective work."

Many of the suggestions go no further than to propose the
division of a class into sections. One section of freshmen could
be admitted immediate!}7- to a required course in English litera-
ture without a prerequisite course in composition. At the close
of the year these freshmen could be tested and the results com-
pared with the written work of the freshmen who had taken the
prescribed course in composition. But this plan, it is urged,
would interrupt the regular course of instruction and be unad-
visable, because the results would necessarily be uncertain and
unscientific.

A more elaborate scheme, but adopting essentially the same
method, is the following :

Take a freshman class of a hundred or more students. Let this class be
conducted for a few weeks as a class in English literature, and let the study
be of poetry rather than of prose, which might serve as a model. Call for
weekly short papers and for one or two essays in which emphasis is laid
upon thought, not upon form. Upon the information thus obtained, divide
the class as soon as possible (in two months at the outside, sooner if practi-
cable) into four sections, A, B, C, and D. Let sections A and B contain
the upper half of the class— better still, the upper third, or even the upper

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. XV

quarter — the grading to be based solely upon the work in this single subject
up to the time of the division of the class.

Let Section A study English literature (prose and poetry) during the
rest of the academic year ; let Section B study rhetoric. At the end of
the year it will probably be found that there is little difference between
the members of the two sections as regards skill in writing. Each section
will furnish some of the best writers in the class.

Let Sections C and D (the lower half, or, better still, the lower two-
thirds or three-quarters of the class) be treated in the same way. Let
Section C study English literature ; let Section D study rhetoric. At the
end of the year it will probably be found that there is a marked difference
between the members of the two sections as regards skill in writing. A
few members of Section C will write as well as those in Section D, perhaps,
even, as well as the average members of Section A or Section B : there
must inevitably be some mistakes in grading. The members of Section D
(rhetoric) will, however, write with more accuracy, with more freedom
from the faults that abound in the manuscript of nearly all students who
have not received special instruction in English composition. Especially
will this be true if the members of Section D have been required to do
some reading of good prose in connection with their study of rhetoric.
My own classes are required to make an analytic study of nineteenth-
century prose in connection with their study of rhetoric.

A suggestion that might be adopted without too great an
expenditure of time, and without interfering with the work of
students, is the following :

It is proposed that a collation be made of the data to be found in the
registrar's offices in our colleges and universities with reference to the influ-
ence of various lines of study upon the use of English. u I now have several
people at work," says the writer, " upon the data in the office of the registrar
in our own university, with the end in view to see if I can get any evi-
dence relating to the effect of classical and other fields of special study
upon the appreciation and writing of English. I am taking the records
for a number of years of students in the different courses and comparing
these with reference to their grades in English to see if the figures reveal
anything. Of course there are difficulties of a serious character surround-
ing the investigation, since students come with different kinds and qualities
of preparation, and those who elect science often do not have a chance to
show the influence of their scientific training upon their English before
they pass out of this study. But I still think something of value may be
gained, and I wish the work could be repeated in the various universities,
and taken up also in the high schools. I mean to examine the records in
our registrar's office of pupils graduating out of different courses in the
high schools and compare their standings in English. This may perhaps
give us more satisfactory results than the examination of the records of
the university students.

XVI MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

The most extensive outline of a proposed experiment is the
following. It comes from a well-known investigator in the
Teachers' College of Columbia University. He criticises the ex-
periment described in the quotation as "extraordinarily carelessly
devised and lazily administered," and goes on to say :

Even conclusive proof can be obtained as to the exact amount of the
value of composition work in improving the ability to write English, in
case there is such.

If, for instance, five or six or more colleges would split the freshman
class into two sections, dividing them at random (alphabetically), and
would give one section theme-writing and the other a reading course, data
could readily be obtained that would settle the question.

The data should be four or more themes written during the first two
weeks of the year by all the students, and a similar number written during
the last two weeks of the year.

To make the test valid requires (1) that the students be representative
of the general class "college students," and not peculiar in any respect ;
(2) that there be enough of them to reduce to a negligible quantity the
chance variation in quality of the work of individuals which occurs in
theme-writing as in anything else ; (3) that the instruction in theme-writ-
ing and in the reading course be of the same relative grade of efficiency
(e. g., if the instructors in the theme courses are such that out of a hundred
college instructors picked at random 27 per cent, would be superior to
them, then the instructors in the reading courses must also average at the
same percentile grade).

(1) Would be satisfied by picking students at random from colleges
picked at random.

(2) Would be satisfied, I am fairly sure, by four hundred individuals in
each of the two classes, " students with a year's theme work " and " students
without that, but with a year's reading course in its place." Probably two
hundred in each class would do to get a result accurate within 10 per cent."

(3) Would be satisfied by the random selection of pairs of instructors at
approximately the same rate of salary in the case of each pair.

It would be possible to answer the question even without splitting classes
into two sections, though less surely and less easily.

If eight or more colleges now giving regular theme courses would pro-
vide the data mentioned above, and eight or more colleges giving approxi-
mately the same quality of general work would do the same, but replace
their theme courses by reading courses during the year, the data would
serve.

The matter of gaining an exact measure of the results of the year's work
in the case of both sorts of training, and of comparing these measures, is a
very elementary problem in statistics. If ten fairly trustworthy critics of
English writing, e. g., assistants in rhetoric in colleges, and four experts,

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xvii

e. g., editors or college professors, would each read 300 themes, or if twenty
assistants and eight experts would each read 150 themes, and if the expenses
of correspondence were defrayed, anyone skilled in handling educational
statistics would probably be willing to work up a report on the data and
risk his reputation upon its accuracy.

There are means of getting precise measures of the improvement of the
ability to write good English ; measures that will not be invalidated by
personal bias, or be so vague as not to advance us beyond common-sense
opinion.

It is impossible for me to take the time to describe in more detail how
the test themes should be obtained, e. g., whether all should write on the
same subject in some cases or not ; whether a time limit should be set in
some cases or not ; whether more than four themes are needed or not. If
one knew just what opportunity could be granted by teachers of English
in the colleges for any such experiment, one could plan its details with
surety.

The only difficulty in the world is to get the data. If colleges would
turn over to me the data I mention and money to hire men to read the
themes, I could get the answer in a month. The exact statistical treatment
is perfectly possible.

We are now prepared to take up the discussion of the question
suggested by the quotation from the article in the Century
Magazine. The comments upon the quotation are not easily
summarized in a few words. But they generally emphasize the
fact that composition is an art rather than a science, and there-
fore can be mastered only by practice ; and this preferably under
competent instruction. They point out important aspects of
work in composition that may or may not co-exist along with
technical correctness, such as unity of conception, logical de-
velopment of a theme, proportion of parts. These and many
other matters that have to do with the work of the accomplished
prose-writer are, they urge, the very things that trouble us most,
even when we have read widely and carefully for years, and
have given anxious thought to the task of expressing ourselves
with clearness and precision.

I should, however, be very unfair to the contributors to this
discussion were I to attempt in a word or two to summarize their
arguments. I must therefore be content to indicate thus briefly
their general drift, and allow as many as possible to speak for
themselves.

As a matter of fairness I present first the views of those who

XVI 11 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

are in general agreement with the position of the writer of the
article in the Century. Says one :

I hesitate to express an opinion which is still unsettled in my own mind.
I am, however, somewhat strongly inclined to sympathize with the writer
from whom you quote. Of the two, I feel sure that reading is better
training than writing ; but I do not believe that either will help a student
to write well if he has to be driven to it. I think, therefore, that the first
aim of the teacher of English to underclassmen in college should be to
interest them in what they read. If he succeeds in this, they will perhaps
afterward be ready to profit by instruction in the principles of rhetoric ; if
he does not succeed in the first task, I think the second is in most cases
foredoomed. I have known of men who got little pleasure or profit from
their instruction in English literature, yet learned a good deal from their
later work in rhetoric ; but in my experience such cases have been decid-
edly exceptional.

Of the same general tenor is the following :

Wide reading is certainly, in my opinion, much more valuable than study
of the text-book and practice in theme-writing — in the proportion of ten to
one more valuable. For, by reading, the student attains a vocabulary, an
array of phrases and idioms, and a notion of the qualities of style. Not
one of these benefits, it strikes me, has ever been attained by the text-book
and the required essay. Teaching English composition to a student who is
unread is much like trying to make bricks without straw.

Says another :

The writer seems to me to have overstated his case. I should agree with
him, however, that in many of our colleges there is too much theme-writing.
For some years I have had a section of freshmen in English, and I feel
strongly that the daily themes which by the custom of the institution I
must require of them, are not only unproductive of good, but by their
monotony they depress the student, and render him less capable of genuine
pleasure in composition. I hope for a change, but I trust that it will not
be quite so radical as that suggested by this quotation. My own plan would
be to give two-thirds or three-fourths of the time to reading, and to require
a few themes. These would give the student a chance to try his hand,
and should be criticised with reference to matters in which reading is not
a sure help.

Apart from some very brief expressions of opinion, on the
whole favoring the extreme position taken in our quotation, this
is nearly all I have to offer on the one side. On the other hand,
the opponents of this position furnish an embarrassing mass of
material, of which I can present but a small part. Says one :

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xix

Looked at theoretically, the proposition that a pupil can learn to write
good English by reading Shakspere, with no practice in composition, is as
absurd as to maintain that one may become a good pianist by listening
systematically to good piano-playing ; or that one may become a good skater
or a good painter by watching the performances of those who excel in these
arts. I believe that the great fundemental error which lies at the bottom
of our prevalent unsuccess/ul teaching of English is that of considering
English composition as a science, and not as an art. If it is a science, then
the comparatively easy method of sound instruction in rhetorical principles
will be successful. But if it is an art, then, like every other art, it can be
mastered only by long and faithful practice.

Another says :

I do not think that there is any necessary connection between wide read-
ing and good writing. I have myself known mature men, scholars of
exceptionally wide reading in many languages, who wrote in a style not
absolutely incorrect indeed, but exceedingly dull and difficult. Wide read-
ing forms the style and enlarges the vocabulary of the born writer, the man
who, like Stevenson, reads with an instinctive feeling for style, in its broad
effects and its niceties of phrase. But such a reader turns naturally from
reading to writing, using what he has gained from the style of others,
unconsciously or (as in Stevenson's case again) by a deliberate reproduction.

Such cases manifestly give no support to the generalization in your
quotation. The Steveusons hardly enter into the problem of the instructor
in English. The fine appreciation of style in others is naturally and com-
monly associated with the power and probably with the desire to write, but
this conscious and discriminating appreciation of style is rare. Thousands
read widely who neither possess nor acquire it; reading for the matter and
oblivious of the manner. In such cases wide reading has but little or no
effect on style.

In general I should say, that the art of writing (so far as it can be learned
at all) must be learned by writing, as the art of painting must be learned in
the studio rather than by looking at pictures in a gallery. Practice in
either art should begin early. As to the experiment cited, it seems per-
missible to ask, if the results claimed were gained by a study of Shakspere,
why give up reading for writing in the sophomore year, or the junior year,
or the senior ? If the ability to write will come by reading, a very burden-
some occupation will be gone.

It is important to note that, in the judgment of a Harvard
instructor —

the opinion quoted from the Century is not borne out by the experience
of the department of English at Harvard. We find a marked difference
between the work of the freshman and sophomore classes in English com-
position, a difference which shows that the writing of the same man before

XX MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

the course in freshman composition and after it, is technically of very
different quality. With one exception all the members of the department
who teach English composition agree in this opinion.

Objection to the position taken by the writer of the article
in the Century is raised in the following report on the ground
of psychology :

There is a great difference between (1) interpreting visual forms to get
their meaning-equivalents, and (2) employing these forms to express one's
own thoughts. A simple illustration of this is found in the case of adults
who read Shakspere and who enjoy him, but who could not possibly
construct a half-dozen sentences on the Shaksperian plan, because their
relations with their author have not involved this factor of reproduction
of his phraseology and peculiar modes of expression. Then to proceed on
the plan of having pupils read widely without the necessity of writing will
not accomplish as much as the quotation claims for it. But if occasion be
made for the pupil to convey his thoughts in the happiest and most effec-
tive manner, the best preparation therefore is unquestionably to have him
brought into vital, sympathetic connection with models in which these
qualities are embodied. An individual will grow in the power of literary
expression mainly by the more or less close imitation of good models
presented in his literary environment ; just as in the formation of character
in general it is far more effective to put one in the presence of a concrete,
living personality exhibiting certain desirable qualities of conduct than to
give him a program of formal rules setting forth how he should behave
himself. One can imitate an act more easily than he can transform into
execution a verbal description of the act. So the life, the spirit, the
effectiveness at any rate of one's linguistic expression must come, it seems
to me, from his reading rather than from his formal study.

But still formal, technical things must often be learned in a formal,
technical way. A pupil may read ever so widely and still go on using
the split infinitive in his own writing. Again, some of the larger charac-
teristics of good expression will often be missed by even the widest reader
if his attention has not been especially directed to such matters. For
instance, I have in mind now a man who has pastured in all the richest
literary fields, but who frequently presents an anti-climax in his written
performances. The fact is that most readers are interested in the content
of what they are reading, and not in the forms of expression, and so they
never get hold of these latter so as to use them. Without doubt much
experience will give a certain kind of consciousness of things technical,
yet it is certain that in some cases, at any rate, this consciousness will not
be vivid enough to have a controlling influence upon the individual's
writing. It must be remembered that the processes involved in motor
execution are not immediately connected with the processes of interpreta-
tion of visual symbols, so when a man takes a pencil in his hand it does

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. xxi

not follow by any means that the experience gained through the eye will
determine the activities of the fingers.

This connection is to be established by a certain amount of attention
which will weld together the graphic and other language processes, and
the initiative in turning the attention upon the proper things must often
be taken by some one other than the learner himself.

Emphasizing the same general thought in a different fashion
is the following :

Though the average student may be a wide reader, he is certainly a
careless reader ; he will never acquire a good style by unconscious imita-
tion. In every college are to be found students who spell badly, who
punctuate indifferently, whose diction is meager and inaccurate, who have
little feeling for idiomatic phrasing or for sentence-structure, who will
write an entire essay in one or two paragraphs, or who will make a para-
graph of each sentence ; so blind have they been to the examples of correct
usage that have been before their eyes ever since they learned to read.

In the matter of form, of constructing an essay that shall have an
organic relation of parts, even very good students may be deplorably weak;
in fact, one may have a good command of language, yet fail entirely to
write about his subject. I quote an instructive passage from the Autobiog-
raphy of Philip Gilbert Hamertou : " I offered two or three papers to the
' Westminster/ which were declined, and then I wrote to the editor asking
him if he would be so good as to explain, for my own benefit and guidance,
what were the reasons for their rejection. His answer came, and was both
kind and judicious. 'An article,' he told me, 'ought to be an organic
whole, with a prearranged order and proportion amongst its parts. There
ought to be a beginning, a middle, and an end.' This was a very good and
much-needed lesson, for at that time I had no notion of a synthetic
ordonnance of parts."

This lesson, I submit, might have been given by a college teacher ; but a
teacher of that kind Hamerton never had ; and I admit that the lessons
that are given by an editor — when he is willing to give them — are more
deeply imprinted in the mind, and are more completely learned. Certainly
this lesson was an important one for the youth, who — whatever his merit as
a writer may be — eventually became a successful editor and the author of a
dozen or more of interesting books.

If the college cannot help the student in the matter of English Composi-
tion, why expect the preparatory school to succeed ? Or why stop there ?
Is it right to place so much drudgery upon the grammar and primary
schools? Where is the line to be drawn? At spelling? or punctuation ?
or at the ability to construct sentences that are grammatical ? Or shall we
leave everything that comes under the head of English Composition to be
learned by unconscious imitation, by absorption, and devote our energies to
the teaching of Shakespere ?

XX11 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

The question really resolves itself into this : Can instructors in English
Composition accomplish anything with their students ? I believe that even
the dullest students can be taught enough to justify the time and the
nervous energy that are expended by their instructors, that much can be
done toward the correction of faults, something even in the direction of
positive excellences.

1 freely admit that this work involves a considerable outlay of time,
energy, and money; but I doubt whether the result is correspondingly
any smaller than is the case with certain other subjects. In colleges in
which mathematics is required throughout the freshman year, can the
instructors felicitate themselves upon the attainments of the lower half of
the class, especially upon those of the lowest quarter of the class ? And
do not the members of this lowest quarter hold on to the little English that
they have learned, and get more profit from it, than the members of the
lowest quarter in mathematics get from their little learning ?

The spirit of the large number of individual reports is, I
think, substantially expressed in the foregoing extracts, though
the limitations of space compel the omission of much material
worthy of a place in this discussion.

So able and complete are the expressions of opinion already
presented that it is quite unnecessary for this committee to add
anything. The case for reading as a sufficient independent
means of teaching composition has evidently, in the judgment
of most college teachers, not yet been made out. The burden of
proof, therefore, still rests upon the advocates of reading as
against theme-writing. No one doubts the value of reading as an
aid to composition, and most of us will probably agree that the
constant endeaver to draw something out of nothing is as dismal
a failure as the attempt to get up steam in an empty boiler. On
the other hand, to rely wholly upon reading as a means of reach-
ing the rhetorical goal is, to quote the picturesque phrase of one
report, about as satisfactory as trying to walk on one leg instead
of two.

The report was discussed by Professors C. S. Baldwin and
F. N. Scott. Professor Baldwin spoke as follows :

My own comparison of two cases as nearly parallel to the one cited as
may be led to an inference directly opposite. But I should not call either
the one experience or the other an experiment. The principles involved
in this question have an importance so general that I beg the privilege of

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xxiii

the floor long enough to discuss the subject rather than the quotation, and
to use these notes, prepared in reply to the circular.

Since the quotation seems to imply a confusing distinction between
rhetoric and composition, let me say that I understand the topic for dis-
cussion to be the college study of prose composition and diction, both theory
(as in manuals, lectures, and analysis of good prose) and practice (as by the
writing of themes regularly for regular criticism). This study, by what-
ever name it be called, is not uniformly valuable in all its parts. For first,
diction (i. e., all that relates to words and phrases separately and to their
harmony) cannot to any great degree be directly inculcated. The develop-
ment of a man's vocabulary being largely the development of his experience,
a theme-reader's criticism of it is limited usually to correction and general
suggestion, i. e., is largely negative. This is the less unfortunate since the
best means towards range, precision, and force of phrase is reading. I
should have thought this a truism, if it had not been so solemnly affirmed
in the quotation. And I have to add only

(1) that "wide" reading is not so likely to be productive as deep
reading; and

(2) that just here courses in rhetoric and courses in literature, instead
of clashing, may complement each other.

Assuming, then, that in general (it would by no means always be true of
a given case) diction may be improved as well by reading as by writing,
•we have still unanswered the whole question of composition in the literal
sense ; i. e., of construction. But this is the proper domain of rhetoric.
Therefore the fallacy in the inference quoted on the circular is in arguing
mainly beside the point. The real question is in effect this: Can the
average student learn as well how to make his own writing lucid and
forcible in construction by reading the best poems, plays, and essays as by
practice and criticism directed toward his specific ends? Eemembering
that the student may do both, and in fact often does both concurrently,
observe that composition may be roughly divided into the logical sort, the
sort that proceeds from proposition to proposition, and the artistic sort, the
sort whose progress is not measured by propositions. The two sorts overlap,
especially in what we call essays, but the distinction is real. Now the
practice of the latter sort, the artistic or literary, is the affair of the few.
The study of it in masterpieces covers almost the whole range of college
courses in English literature, and I suppose we all agree to this as part of
any scheme of liberal education; but the practice, the composing, for
instance, of short stories is the affair of the few and these few precisely the
ones to whom teaching, whether of rhetoric or of literature, is least
important. That college courses in rhetoric are useful even to these is
sufficiently established by experience; but the point is that such courses
must be a small part numerically of college work in rhetoric.

We are brought, then, by exclusion to this important fact, important
enough, it seems to me, to be called cardinal ; the main business of rhetoric

XXIV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

with the undergraduate mass is to teach, — by precept, by analysis of masterpieces,
by example, — logical composition.

To this I should add a corollary : It is also clearly within the province
of rhetoric, as we now use the word, to teach artistic composition ; but since
this is the ground where courses called "rhetoric" and courses called
"literature" overlap, the time devoted to it by a given group of courses in
rhetoric should depend upon the number and character of the courses in
literature ; should depend, that is, on the particular college. In this regard
colleges vary, and will doubtless continue to vary widely, both in the exten-
sion given to the terms rhetoric, English, and literature, and in the actual
proportion of hours given, on the one hand mainly to reading, and on the
other hand mainly to writing. In short, the teaching of rhetoric may
profitably, spend on the artistic side so much time as seems wise in a given
college to complement the teaching of literature ; so much, furthermore, as
will give to any student the opportunity for consecutive criticism of any
artistic form he shows himself capable of pursuing ; but in every college
the teaching of rhetoric must devote its main time to the training of the
average student on the logical side.

Finally, let me explain what I wish to include in that term logical.
Argumentation, of course, debate and other kinds of speech-making. Per-
suasion must always remain for most men the main skill sought by rhetoric.
Its importance is not in the least diminished by such changes in outward
form as have ensued upon modern conditions. But the term logical is
meant to include also what the books call exposition, either as subsidiary
to persuasion or as independent and self-sufficing; in a word, to include
essays as well as speeches. Either may or may not be literary in diction ;
both are logical in construction. Logical progress, in the whole and in
every part, the lucid conduct of a theme to its conclusion, is attainable by
every student through courses in rhetoric; it is attainable, without far
greater labor, in no other way; and through courses in the history of
literature or through "wide" reading without practice it is not attainable
at all. " Reading " in the sense of logical analysis, the study of the whole
framework and of each part, is of course directly contributory; but this
kind of "reading" is confined practically to courses in rhetoric.

This logical group, this bringing of knowledge to bear, which is one
of the most fundamentally valuable results of a college education, is sub-
served more directly, I believe, than in any other single way, by the
teaching of rhetoric. Essentially different from all other courses in seek-
ing directly a skill, an ability, rhetoric may thus be made to serve in
particular each course on which it depends for material and in general the
great object of all the courses together. Here, it seems to me, is its main
claim to a place in any scheme of college education. Whatever was once
meant to be included in the idea of logic as the " organon," our "organon "
in college to-day is rhetoric.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. XXV

5. " Goethe's Idea of Polarity and its Sources." By Dr.
Ewald A. Boucke, of the University of Michigan.

6. " Cato and Elijah." By Professor C. H. Grandgent,
of Harvard University. [Read by title.] [See Publications,
xvn, 1, p. 71.]

EXTRA SESSION, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20.

The Association met at 8.15 p. m. to hear an address by
Professor E. S. Sheldon, President of the Association, on
"Practical Philology." [See Publications, xvn, 1, p. 91.]

After this session President and Mrs. Charles W. Eliot
received the members of the Association at their residence,
16 Quincy St.

SECOND SESSION, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 27.

The session began at 9.30 a. m.

7. "The Relation of Shakespeare to Montaigne." By
Miss Elizabeth R. Hooker, of Vassar College. [See Publi-
cations, xvii, 3, p. 312.]

8. "Classical Mythology as an Element in the Art of
Dante." By Dr. Charles G. Osgood, of Yale University.

9. "The Amelioration of our Spelling." By Professor
Calvin Thomas, of Columbia University. [See Publications,
xvii, 3, p. 297.]

This paper was discussed by Professors H. E. Greene, F.
N. Scott, O. F. Emerson, A. Cohn, E. H. Babbitt, L. R.
Gregor, E. S. Sheldon, J. W. Bright, W. E. Mead, Dr. K.
D. Jessen, and Col. T. W. Higginson.

Professor Emerson spoke as follows :

I am sure we all appreciate Professor Thomas's paper, and especially
the delightful manner in which he has forestalled the many prejudices

XXVI MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

against this subject. One point has been forcibly impressed upon me. It
must be remembered, in connection with the suggestion of orthographic
changes, that most people have little real conception of the spoken as dis-
tinct from the printed word. This includes not only adults, but our
children and even the majority of teachers in our common schools. It
results from learning English mainly by the eye, so that, owing to our
vicious spelling, our minds and the minds of our children are burdened
with an enormous number of ideographs almost as diverse and meaning-
less as those of the Chinese language. For example, call up the mental
picture of the word night, and it will be found to contain in all our minds
the quite useless gh and the so-called long i which inadequately represents
a diphthong. The ideograph knight contains all these useless or inade-
quate forms, and a k which has not belonged to the spoken word for three
centuries at least.

To counteract this lamentable difference between the spoken and printed
word we have two equally ineffective means. The first is the diacritical
marking of our dictionaries and other books, a scheme devised more than
a century ago, when the study of the spoken language was in a most ele-
mentary state. The present system of diacritical marks is needlessly
complicated because it attempts to follow the written word, with its
numberless representations of the same sound. It is ineffective, because
always interpreted, or misinterpreted, in accordance with the individual's
conception of the signs employed. Let me illustrate. A professor of
Latin told me a few years ago that his children were correcting his pro-
nunciation. They said. " Papa, you must not say frost (with the sound
of o in lord), but/ras< (with the sound of Italian a)." And this was the
teaching of the school. The teacher, finding the o of frost marked short
in the dictionaries, and interpreting short o as Italian a from her own
pronunciation, was forcing this sound into words to which it was utterly
foreign. The diacritical marks had been wholly ineffective, both in pre-
venting misconception and in suggesting a consideration of the facts of the
spoken language. The other means of counteracting the burdensome
learning of ideographs is what is called "phonics" in the schools, a nonde-
script kind of phonetics, if I may so dignify it, which is intelligently used
by neither teacher nor pupil.

While I agree, therefore, with all Professor Thomas has so well said, I
think we must also educate the teachers of our common schools to the
importance of taking greater account of the spoken word, before we can
hope to be relieved of the burden of our barbarous spelling.

Professor Sheldon said :

Unity in spelling does not prevent divergence in pronunciation. Suppose
that instead of teaching a uniform spelling, we try to teach the language
itself, that is good pronunciation, pronunciation that is in accord with good
usage, or at least, some good usage. Those who now pronounce fire and far

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901.

alike, or doll and died alike, in spite of the difference in spelling [examples
cited by Professor Babbitt], at least those of them who wish to pass as well
educated, would perhaps then feel a force exerted on them urging them to
conformity with some recognized good usage. Our present spelling hides
the real facts of divergence, and not being recognized they can the less
easily be fought against.

I welcome the coming of chaos in orthography if it is to be the prelude to
a better uniformity. Ultimately such better— much better— uniformity I
believe is sure to come, though it may not be achieved even in this century.

10. "The Influence of German Opera upon Grillparzer."
By Dr. Edward S. Meyer, of Western Reserve University.
[In the absence of the author, this paper was read by title.]

11. "The Work of the American Dialect Society." By
Professor O. F. Emerson, of Western Reserve University.

In presenting and emphasizing the work of the American Dialect
Society, no apology is made for its absolute importance. Its relative
importance to us as individuals may be variously estimated. But that a
study of the spoken language of any country is fundamental to a correct
and adequate knowledge of its linguistic basis ought not to be argued to-day.

The seriousness of our work is put first because one stumbling block to
our progress is the misunderstanding of our aims. The study of dialect
too often suggests the dilettante collector. This may be partly due to the
apparent lack of seriousness in some of our published word-lists. But in
reality there is ample justification for these. It is important to collect
even the apparently ephemeral, the so-called slang, and the evident col-
loquialisms, since these often contain words which have merely dropped
out of the literary language, or those which are equally valuable in
illustrating some principle of linguistic development.

It is not necessary to consider the objection to our endeavors, less
commonly urged at present, that there are no dialects in America. Not-
withstanding considerable uniformity in the spoken language, as compared
with older countries, a close examination shows many important changes
since English was first introduced into this country. There are also many
"speech -islands" in which the linguistic development has been but slightly
effected by external influences for one or two centuries. The development
of foreign languages on American soil is also well worth systematic study.

As to our own language, the work may be divided into two kinds, of
quite different sort. The first is an exact study of phonology and inflec-
tion, or all grammatical forms, after the most exact methods of Germany.
Of such studies we need some for each great dialectal division of the
country, as New England, the North Central region, the South Atlantic

XXV111 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

states, the South Central states, the Midland district parallel to Mason and
Dixon's line on both sides, and the extreme West.

Following English models also, the Dialect Society has always empha-
sized the collection of lexical material, that is, words and phrases of strictly
dialectal usage. This is a vast field, in which a much larger number of
active workers is necessary. Individual collections, though small, are also
important. Local Societies can be of immense service without extraordi-
narily taxing the time or energy of anyone. Readers of American books
are needed to gather from American literature of the last two hundred
years all words used dialectally. Finally we need much assistance in
localizing words already known to be dialectal in various parts of the
country, and now in printed collections, as in Bartlett's Americanisms. We
wish to know exactly where such words are used, approximately for each
state, after which we shall be ready to bring all these results together in a
great dialect dictionary for the whole country.

It is needless to say, yet important to reiterate, that the American Dialect
Society needs more vigorous financial support. The English Society has
been asking for an annual subscription of one guinea for thirty years. Our
own annual fee of one dollar is so small that it need not tax anybody. Yet
we have a comparatively small membership, and consequently an incon-
siderable sum with which to publish. With adequate support our activities
could be greatly increased and would surely meet with your approbation.

12. "Biblical Names in Early Modern English." By
Professor George H. McKnight, of Ohio State University.
[Read by title.]

13. "On Verner's Law." By Dr. Herbert Z. Kip, of
Vanderbilt University. [Read by title.]

14. " The Relations of Hamlet to Contemporary Revenge
Plays." By Dr. Ashley H. Thorndike, of Western Reserve
University. [Read by title.] [See Publications, xvn, 2,
p. 125.

THIRD SESSION, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 27.

The session began at 3 p. m.

15. "The Home of King Horn and of Sir Tristrem."
By Dr. W. H. Schofield, of Harvard University.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901.

16. "The Legends of Horn and of Bevis." By Mr. P.
C. Hoyt, of Harvard University. [See Publications, xvii,
2, p. 237.]

17. "Literary Adaptations in Gerhart Hauptmann's Ver-
sunkene Glocke" By Professor Henry Wood, of Johns
Hopkins University.

18. " Lessing's Attitude toward the Sources of his Dramas."
By Dr. Albert Haas, of Bryn Mawr College.

19. "The Origin of the Negro Dialect in the United
States." By Professor George Hempl, of the University of
Michigan. [Read by title, owing to the absence of the author.]

20. "Conflicting Standards in French Literature at the
Opening of the Twentieth Century." By Dr. A. Schinz, of
Bryn Mawr College. [See The Bookman, 1 902, Nov., p. 252.]

21. "A List of Hated Words," By Professor F. N.
Scott, of the University of Michigan.

22. "Literal Repetition in Anglo-Saxon Poetry." By
Dr. William W. Lawrence, of Harvard University. [Read
by title.]

23. " The Date and Composition of The Old Law (Middle-
ton, Rowley, Massinger)." By Professor Edgar Coit Morris.
[Read by title.] [See Publications, XTII, 1, p. 1.]

24. "The Life and Works of Heinrich der Teichner."
By Professor J. B. E. Jonas, of Brown University. [Read
by title.]

The Auditing Committee reported that the Treasurer's
accounts were found to be correct.

In the evening the members of the Association were enter-
tained at the Colonial Club. Mr. Bliss Perry, Editor of the

XXX MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Atlantic Monthly, gave a smoke talk on " The College Pro-
fessor and the Public."

FOURTH SESSION, SATURDAY, DECEMBER 28.

[The annual meeting of the American Dialect Society was
held at 9 a. m.]

The Association began its fourth and last session at 9.30 a. m.

25. " Chaucer and Milton." By Professor W. H. Hulme,
of Western Reserve University. [In the absence of the
author, this paper was read by Professor O. F. Emerson.]

The Nominating Committee reported the following nomi-
nations :

President : James W. Bright, Johns Hopkins University.
Secretary : C. H. Grandgent, Harvard University.
Treasurer : Gustav Gruener, Yale University.

Executive Council.

F. M. Warren, Yale University.
E. H. Mensel, Smith College.

J. D. Bruce, University of Tennessee.
W. H. Carruth, University of Kansas.
Francis B. Gummere, Haverford College.
Charles W. Kent, University of Virginia.
Chiles Clifton Ferrell, University of Mississippi.
Raymond Weeks, University of Missouri.

G. E. Karsten, University of Indiana.

Pedagogical Section.

President : F. N. Scott, University of Michigan.
Secretary : W. E. Mead, Wesleyan University.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. XXxi

Editorial Committee.

The Secretary of the Association, the Secretary of the
Central Division, and such other persons as they may desig-
nate to assist them.

Professor H. E. Greene urged the importance of the
Treasurer being near to the Secretary, and moved to amend
the report by substituting the name of Professor H. C. G.
von Jagemann, of Harvard University, for that of Professor
Gustav Gruener. The amendment was carried.

This substitution having been made, the candidates nomi-
nated were elected officers of the Association for 1902.

[The two Secretaries subsequently added to the Editorial
Committee Professors Calvin Thomas and J. M. Manly.]

[The Executive Council elected the following Vice-Presi-
dents, to serve as members of the Executive Committee :

F. B. Gummere, First Vice-President,

F. M. Warren, Second Vice-President,

G. E. Karsten, Third Vice-President.]

Professor Calvin Thomas, Chairman of the Nominating
Committee, offered the following resolutions, which were
approved by a rising vote of the Association :

Resolved, That this Association desires to record its appre-
ciation of the services rendered through it to the cause of
sound learning in America by its Secretary, Professor James
W. Bright. During the considerable term of years for which
he has held his office, the Association has steadily grown in
numbers and influence, while the variety and quality of its
publications have as steadily improved. No small part of
this result has been due to the untiring labors, the good
judgment, and the uniform courtesy of its Secretary. His
duties, always arduous and sometimes delicate, have been
discharged with a fidelity and conscientiousness worthy of all

XXX11 MODEEN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

praise ; and the Association desires to extend to him in this
manner, as it has already done by elevating him to the office
of President, its commendation and its thanks.

Resolved, That the thanks of the Association are justly due
and are hereby tendered to Professor H. E. Greene, for the
conscientious care with which, in the office of Treasurer, he
has guarded and promoted its financial interests.

The Committee on Place of Meeting recommended the
acceptance of the invitation of the President and Board of
Trustees of the Johns Hopkins University to meet one year
hence in Baltimore :

JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY, Baltimore, Md., Dec. 18, 1901.

The President and Trustees of the Johns Hopkins University hereby
invite the Modern Language Association of America to meet at the Johns
Hopkins University during the Christmas recess of the year 1902.

IRA EEMSEN, President of the Johns Hopkins University.
The recommendation was adopted.

On motion of Dr. Albert Haas, it was

Resolved , That the Modern Language Association of America
expresses and records its regret at the loss of its Honorary
Member, Professor Rudolf Haym, of the University of Halle,
Germany.

The Committee on International Correspondence submitted
the following report :

Your Committee, now constituting the American Bureau of International
Correspondence of professors, students and others, established at Swarthmore
College, Swarthmore, Pennsylvania, to supply American students with
correspondents in French, German, Italian, and Spanish, makes the follow-
ing report as to the result of this work for the year 1901.
1 The report of last year was published in the Modern Language Notes, and
has since been published in the Publications of the Modern Language
Association of America, in the New Series, vol. ix, No. 4, pp. ix-xi. This
publication has done and is doing much to bring the work of the American
Bureau to the attention of our teachers of Modern Languages and others,

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Xxxiii

and thus promote the increase of this correspondence throughout the
country. As a result thus far, aided by a free distribution of circulars and
deprints, and an extensive correspondence on the part of your Committee,
the following applications have been received, forwarded abroad, and sup-
plied (or are soon to be supplied) ; 321 for French correspondents; 257 for
German correspondents; 11 for Italian correspondents; and 6 for Spanish
correspondents. These applications have come from eleven Universities ;
seven Colleges; four High Schools, and thirty-one from private individuals.
It will thus be seen that 595 pairs of correspondents have been formed, and
1,190 individuals are engaged in the \?ork.

The French correspondents have been largely supplied by Prof. Gaston
Mouchet of Paris, some by the inventor of the system, Prof. Paul Mieille
of Tarbes, and some by a few other instructors ; the German correspondents
have been supplied by Dr. Martin Hartmann of Leipzig ; the Italian by
Mr. E. Moneta of Milan, and the Spanish by Mr. E. Garpan of Valencia.

The amount of fees received from students and others applying for corre-
spondents during the year has been $63.92. Out of this sum there has been
expended for stationery, postage, printing, circulars, deprints, type-writing,
and foreign fees, the sum of $57.84, leaving a balance due the Association
of $6.08. The last item, foreign fees, requires some explanation. This
refers to the charge made by the German Bureau for each correspondent
furnished. For the other languages no fees have been charged, and the
chairman of your Committee has endeavored to convince the German
Bureau that each Bureau should cover its expenses by charging students of
its own nation only, for the correspondents furnished them. That would
seem to be the most natural, simple, and reasonable method, and avoid all
foreign money transactions through a money-order office. But the German
Bureau adheres to its method of charging applicants from other nations.
I do not know the facts, but have supposed that they also receive fees from
their own people to whom they furnish correspondents. I would recom-
mend, however, that the present practice of the Germans be not disturbed,
now that their arrangement has been made, and is complied with by the
American Bureau.

It may be remembered that in last year's report, mention was made of
prizes offered by W. T. Stead, of the Review of Reviews, to those " most
deserving as regards continuance in regular careful correspondence, and as
regards character." Ten of these prizes were allotted to America, but the
notice was too brief for many to enter into competition. These prizes were
given in the United States, as follows :— to Miss L. Goodnight, University
of Kansas ; Miss Lina B. Dillistin, Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania ; and
Mr. Newkirk, Kutgers' College, New Brunswick, N. J.

Mr. Stead also published an Annual last Easter in the three leading lan-
guages, English, French, and German, entitled in English Comrades All,
which was devoted to the subject of the International Correspondence. It
was a very interesting work, and your Committee sent me a few specimens

XXXIV MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

of this journal for the examination of the Association. He proposes to
repeat it, with considerable improvements and enlargement this year, at a
price, including postage, of about 18 cents each, if a sufficient number of
subscribers can be secured. We should be glad if the teachers would sub-
scribe for about 1000 copies in this country. All desiring to do so will please
send their names, with the number they will take, to the chairman of your
Committee, Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania, and they will be promptly
reported in London.

The increased demand for correspondents has caused considerable delay
in all of the languages, though the French correspondents have been mostly
quite promptly supplied. It is also found that foreigners desiring corre-
spondents in English prefer those from England, probably because letters
can be more promptly exchanged than, at the greater distance, with
Americans, and also, to some extent, from a belief still too prevalent that
American is not really English, but a species of patois English, and thus a
hindrance rather than an aid in acquiring the language. It is part of the
mission of the International Correspondence to eradicate antique and
obsolete ideas of this character.

Kespectfully submitted on behalf of the Committee on International
Correspondence.

EDWARD H MAGILL, Chairman.

The report was approved and the Committee continued.

The Secretary, Professor James W. Bright, read a com-
munication from a member of the Association, suggesting
certain changes in the method of arranging the programme
of the meetings. The suggestions offered in the letter were
as follows :

(1) That we hereafter recognize two different kinds of contributions,
namely, (a) thirty-minute papers of general interest, such as are discuss-
able and will presumably provoke discussion; (b) ten-minute resumes of
papers which are not of general interest and are not expected to provoke
discussion, but about which questions may be asked.

(2) That the papers of class (a) be put, as far as possible, in the second
and third half-day session (when the members have all arrived and have
not yet begun to go away), and that never more than three of them be
listed for any one half-day.

(3) That it be the inflexible rule hereafter that a paper to be read by a
new member, or in general by any one not known to the maker of the
programme, shall be submitted by December 1 and examined by some
responsible member of the Association for the purpose of determining
whether it is fit to be read at a public session.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. XXXV

(4) For the purpose of determining in advance whether a paper belongs
to class (a) or to class (6), let the Secretary prepare a brief circular, setting
forth the evils from which we have suffered in the past and explaining
what it is hoped to accomplish by the new regulations. Let the circular
be sent immediately to any member proposing to present a paper, or to any
person from whom a paper is solicited. Let the circular ask the intending
reader whether, in his own opinion, his paper belongs to class (a), or to
class (6). If he thinks it belongs to class (a), let the circular ask him
to furnish a brief account, in not more than three hundred words, of his
general drift ; and then let this account be printed by the Secretary, if he
is himself satisfied with it, and sent out to members along with the pro-
gramme of the meeting. The object of this provision is to inform the
members in advance what they are to hear ; to give them an opportunity
for reflection, so that they may come to the meeting prepared to speak and
say something worth while.

(5) If it should ever happen that less than six papers of class (a) are
offered, the Secretary might announce one or two topics for discussion in
"committee of the whole." Such topics, that would interest everybody,
are not at all difficult to find. If more than six papers of the thirty -minute
class should be offered, the Secretary might select six, having some regard
to the variety of interests represented in the Association, and give the
rejected candidates the option of going into class (6) or holding over to
the next year in class (a).

(6) The above-mentioned circular might very well state that the Asso-
ciation is no less eager than it always has been to encourage accurate
scholarship and close investigation. The sole aim of the proposed changes
is to make our public sessions, which many travel hundreds of miles to
attend, really worth attending.

On motion of Dr. C. S. Baldwin, the proposals were
referred, with an expression of general approval of the
spirit of the communication, to the Executive Council.

[The Council adopted the following regulations, which were
printed on the cover of the third and fourth numbers of the
Publications for the current year : —

1. Members wishing to present papers at the meeting
are expected to prepare them for that particular purpose.
Extremely technical treatises may be read by title. Subjects
too large to be treated in an ordinary paper, and topics too
special to be of general interest, may be brought before the
meeting in the form of abstracts lasting from five to ten
11

XXXVI MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

minutes. The papers read in full should be so constructed as
not to occupy more than twenty (or, at most, thirty) minutes.

2. Every member offering a paper, whether it is to be read
in full or not, shall submit to the Secretary, by November 15,
with its title, a synopsis of its contents, consisting of some
fifty or sixty words. He shall state, at the same time, whether
he thinks his paper should be presented by the title only,
summarized in an abstract, or read in full. The synopses of
accepted papers are to be printed on the programme.

3. The Secretary shall select the programme from the
papers thus offered, trying to distribute the matter in such a
way as to make all the sessions attractive. In general not
more than an hour and a half shall be devoted to the presen-
tation of papers at any one session. There shall be sufficient
opportunity for discussion and for social intercourse.

4. The question of publication is to be decided for each
paper on its merits as a contribution to science, without
regard to the form in which it has been presented at the
meeting.]

On motion of Professor Calvin Thomas, it was
Resolved, That it is the sense of the Association that the
Cambridge meeting of 1901 has been extremely pleasant and
profitable. We feel under great obligation to the authorities
of Harvard, especially to President and Mrs. Eliot for their
delightful hospitality, and to the Local Committee for the
admirable arrangements they have made for our pleasure and
convenience. It is our desire that the Secretary convey to
Professor Bliss Perry an appropriate expression of our thanks
for his incomparable smoke talk on Friday evening. To all
and several of the Cambridge people who have entertained
us, we are very grateful.

The reading of papers was then resumed.

26. "The Comedias of Diego Ximenez de Enciso." By
Dr. Rudolph Schwill, of Yale University.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. XXXvii

27. " The Literary Influence of Sterne in France." By
Dr. Charles S. Baldwin, of Yale University. [See Publica-
tions, xvn, 2, p. 221.]

28. " Friedrich Hebbel and the Problem of ' Inner Form/ "
By Dr. John F. Coar, of Harvard University.

29. " The Dramatic Guilt in Schiller's Braut von Messina."
By Professor W. H. Carruth, of the University of Kansas.
[Read by title.] [See Publications, xvn, 1, p. 105.]

The Association adjourned at one o'clock.

XXXV111 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

OFFICERS OF THE ASSOCIATION FOR 1902.

President,
JAMES W. BRIGHT,

Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.
Secretary, Treasurer,

C. H. GRANDGENT, H. C. G. VON JAGEMANN,

Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.

EXECUTIVE COUNCIL.
F. M. WARKEN, E. H. MENSEL,

Yale University, New Haven, Conn. Smith College, Northampton, Mass.

J. D. BRUCE, W. H. CARRUTH,

University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn. University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

FRANCIS B. GUMMERE, CHARLES W. KENT,

Haverford College, Haverford, Pa. University of Virginia, Charlottesville^ Va..

CHILES CLIFTON FERRELL, RAYMOND WEEKS,

University of Mississippi, Miss. University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

G. E. KARSTEN,

University of Indiana, Bloomington, Ind.

CENTRAL DIVISION.

President, Secretary,

STARR W. CUTTING, RAYMOND WEEKS,

University of Chicago, Chicago, III University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

PEDAGOGICAL SECTION.

President, Secretary,

F. N. SCOTT, W. E. MEAD,

University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. Wesley an University, Middletown, Conn,

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.
F. B. GUMMERE, F. M. WARREN,

First Vice-President. Second Vice-President.

G. E. KARSTEN,

Third Vice-President.

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE.
C. H. GRANDGENT, RAYMOND WEEKS,

Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

CALVIN THOMAS, J. M. MANLY,

Columbia University, New York, N. T. Univertity of Chicago, Chicago, HL

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901.

MEMBERS OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE
ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA

INCLUDING MEMBERS OF THE CENTRAL DIVISION OF THE
ASSOCIATION.

Abernethy, Julian W., Principal, Berkeley Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y.

[185 Lincoln Place.]
Adams, Warren Austin, Assistant Professor of German, Dartmouth College,

Hanover, N. H.

Adler, Cyrus, Librarian, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D. C.
Alden, Raymond Macdonald, Assistant Professor of English Literature

and Rhetoric, Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.
Allen, Edward A., Professor of English, University of Missouri, Columbia,

Mo.

Allen, Philip S., Instructor in German, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.
Almstedt, Hermann Benjamin, Assistant Professor of Germanic Language

and Literature, University of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.
Armstrong, Edward C., Associate Professor of French, Johns Hopkins

University, Baltimore, Md.
Armstrong, Joseph L., Professor of English, Randolph-Macon College,

College Park, Va.
Arrowsmith, R., American Book Co., New York, N. Y. [Washington

Square.]
Augustin, Marie J., Professor of French, H. Sophie Newcomb Memorial

College, New Orleans, La. [1304 8th St.]

Averill, Elizabeth, Concord High School, Concord, N. H. [3 Hanover St.]
Aviragnet, Elyse*e, Professor of Romance Languages, Bucknell University,

Lewisburg, Pa.
Ayer, Charles Carlton, Professor of Romance Languages, University of

Colorado, Boulder, Col.

Babbitt, Eugene H., Professor of Modern Languages, University of the

South, Sewanee, Tenn.
Babbitt, Irving, Instructor in French, Harvard University, Cambridge,

Mass. [6 Kirkland Road.]
Baillot, E. P., Professor of French, Northwestern University, Evanston,

111.
Baker, George Pierce, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [195 Brattle St.]

x MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Baker, Harry Torsey, Assistant in English, Wesleyan University, Middle-
town, Conn. [60 N. College St.]

Baker, Thomas Stockham, Professor of German, Jacob Tome Institute,
Port Deposit, Md.

Baldwin, Charles Sears, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric, Yale University,
New Haven, Conn.

Baldwin, Edward Chauncey, Assistant Professor of English Literature,
University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [704 West Oregon St.]

Bargy, Henry, Tutor in the Romance Languages and Literatures, Columbia
University, New York, N. Y. [Fort Washington Park.]

Bartlett, Mrs. D. L., Baltimore, Md. [16 W. Monument St.]

Bartlett, George Alonzo, Associate Professor of German, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass.

Bassett, Ralph Emerson, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Uni-
versity of Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Batchelder, John D., Assistant Professor of Romanics, Ohio State Univer-
sity, Columbus, O. [Hotel Vendome.]

Beatley, James A., Master (German and French), English High School,
Boston, Mass. [11 Wabon St., Roxbury, Mass.]

Becker, Ernest Julius, Instructor in English and German, Baltimore City
College, Baltimore, Md.

Belden, Henry Marvin, Assistant Professor of English, University of
Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Bell, Alexander Melville, Washington, D. C. [1525 35th St.]

Bernkopf, Anna Elise, Instructor in French and German, Rogers Hall
School, Lowell, Mass.

Bernkopf, Margarete, Instructor in the German Language and Literature,
Smith College, Northampton, Mass. [77 Round Hill.]

Be'thune, Baron de, Louvain, Belgium. [57 rue de la Station.]

Bevier, Louis, Jr., Professor of the Greek Language and Literature,
Rutgers College, New Brunswick, N. J.

Bierwirth, Heinrich Conrad, Instructor in German, Harvard University,
Cambridge, Mass. [15 Avon St.]

Blackburn, Francis Adelbert, Associate Professor of the English Language,
University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Blackwell, Robert Emory, Professor of English and French, Randolph-
Macon College, Ashland, Va.

Blain, Hugh Mercer, Professor of Modern Languages, Valley Seminary,
Waynesboro, Va.

Blau, Max F., Professor of the German Language and Literature, Adelphi
College, Brooklyn, N. Y. [57 Clifton Place.]

Bloombergh, A. A., Professor of German, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa.

Boisen, Anton T., Instructor in Romance Languages, Indiana University,
Bloomington, Ind.

Boll, Helene H., Instructor in German, Hillhouse High School, New
Haven, Conn. [37 Howe St.]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xli

Bonnotte, Ferdinand A., Professor of Modern Languages, Western Mary-
land College, Westminster, Md.
Borgerhoff, J. L., Fellow in Komance Languages, University of Chicago,

Chicago, 111.
Both-Hendriksen, Louise, Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y. [166 Macon

St.]
Bothne, Gisle C. J., Professor of Scandinavian, Norwegian Luther College,

Decorah, la.
Boucke, Ewald A., Instructor in German, University of Michigan, Ann

Arbor, Mich. [808 S. State St.]
Bourland, Benjamin Parsons, Associate Professor of Komance Languages,

Western Keserve University, Cleveland, O.
Bowen, Benjamin Lester, Professor of Komanoe Languages, Ohio State

University, Columbus, O.
Bowen. Edwin W., Professor of Latin, Eandolph-Macon College, Ashland

Va.

Bowen, James Vance, Professor of English, French and German, Weather-
ford College, Weatherford, Tex.
Bradshaw, S. E., Head of the Department of English, Du Pont Manual

Training School, Louisville, Ky.
Brandon, Edgar Ewing, Professor of the French Language and Literature,

Miami University, Oxford, O.
Brandt, Hermann Carl Georg, Professor of the German Language and

Literature, Hamilton College, Clinton, N. Y.
Bre'de', Charlew F., Philadelphia, Pa. [3931 Baltimore Ave.]
Bright, James Wilson, Professor of English Philology, Johns Hopkins

University, Baltimore, Md.
Bristol, Edward N., Henry Holt & Co., New York, N. Y. [29 West

23d St.]

Bronk, Isabelle, Assistant Professor of the French Language and Litera-
ture, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pa.
Bronson, Thomas Bertrand, Professor of Modern Languages, Lawrenceville

School, Lawrenceville, N. J.
Bronson, Walter C., Professor of English Literature, Brown University,

Providence, R. I.
Brooks, Neil C., Assistant Professor of German, University of Illinois,

Urbana, 111.
Brown, Arthur C. L., Instructor in English, University of Wisconsin,

Madison, Wis. [221 Langdon St.]
Brown, Calvin S., Acting Professor of Modern Languages, University of

Mississippi, University, Miss.

Brown, Carleton F., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.
Brown, Edward Miles, Professor of the English Language and Literature,

University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O. [The Auburn Hotel.]
Brown, G. D., University of Vermont, Burlington, Vt.

X MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Brownell, George Griffin, Professor of Romance Languages, University of

Alabama, University, Ala.
Bruce, James Douglas, Professor of the English Language and Literature,

University of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.

Brumbaugh, M. G., Commissioner of Education, San Juan, Porto Rico.
Brun, Alphonse, Instructor in French, Harvard University, Cambridge,

Mass. [39 Ellery St.]
Brush, Murray Peabody, Instructor in Romance Languages. Johns Hopking

University, Baltimore, Md.
Brusie, Charles Frederick, Principal, Mt. Pleasant Academy, Ossining,

N. Y.
Bryan, Henry Francis, Lieutenant, U. S. Navy, South Bethlehem, Pa.

[Wyandotte Hotel.]
Buck, Gertrude, Associate Professor of English, Vassar College, Pough-

keepsie, N. Y.
Buehler, Huber Gray, Master in English, Hotchkiss School, Lakeville,

Conn.
Burnett, Arthur W., Henry Holt & Co., New York, N. Y. [29 West

23d St.]

Bush, Stephen H., Instructor in French, University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.
Butler, Frank Roscoe, Salem, Mass. [164 Lafayette St.]
Butler, Pierce, Instructor in English, University of Texas, Austin, Tex.

[1104 Guadalupe St.]

Cabeen, Charles William, Professor of Romance Languages, Syracuse Uni-
versity, Syracuse, N. Y.

Callaway, Morgan, Jr., Professor of English, University of Texas, Austin,
Tex.

Cameron, Arnold Guyot, Professor of French, Princeton University, Prince-
ton, N. J.

Campbell, Killis, Instructor in English, University of Texas, Austin, Tex.
[3 12 W.I Oth St.]

Campbell, T. P., Virginia Polytechnic Institute, Blacksburg, Va.

Campello, Count Solone di, Boston, Mass. [468 Boylston St.]

Canfield, Arthur Graves, Professor of Romance Languages, University of
Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [909 E. University Ave.]

Carnahan, David Hobart, Assistant Professor of Romanic Languages, Uni-
versity of Illinois, Champaign, 111.

Carpenter, Frederic Ives, Instructor in English, University of Chicago,
Chicago, 111. [5533 Woodlawn Ave.]

Carpenter, George Rice, Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition,
Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Carpenter, William Henry, Professor of Germanic Philology, Columbia
University, New York, N. Y.

Carr, Joseph William, Associate Professor of English and Modern Lan-
guages, University of Arkansas, Fayetteville, Ark.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901.

Carrington, Herbert D., Instructor in German, University of Michigan,

Ann Arbor, Mich. [1216 S. University Ave.]
Carruth, W. H., Professor of the German Language and Literature,

University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.
Carson, Lucy Hamilton, Professor of English, Montana State Normal

School, Dillon, Mont.

Carson, Luella Clay, Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature, Uni-
versity of Oregon, Eugene, Ore.
Carteaux, Gustave A., Professor of the French Language, Polytechnic

Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Chamberlin, Willis Arden, Assistant Professor of Modern Languages,

Denison University, Granville, O.
Chandler, Frank Wadleigh, Assistant Professor of Literature and History,

Polytechnic Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y. [22 Orange St.]
Chapman, Henry Leland, Professor of English Literature, Bowdoin College,

Brunswick, Me.
Chase, Frank H., Professor of English, Central University of Kentucky,

Danville, Ky.
Chase, George C., President and Professor of Psychology, Bates College,

Lewiston, Me.
Cheek, Samuel Kobertson, Professor of Latin, Central University of

Kentucky, Danville, Ky.

Child,. Clarence Griffin, Assistant Professor of English, University of Penn-
sylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [4237 Sansom St.]
Chiles, James A., Fayette, Mo.

Chollet, Charles, Professor of Romance Languages, West Virginia Uni-
versity, Morgantown, W. Va.
Churchill, George Bosworth, Associate Professor of English and Public

Speaking, Amherst College, Amherst, Mass.
Clark, Thomas Arkle, Professor of Rhetoric, University of Illinois, Urbana,

111.

Clary, S. Willard, D. C. Heath & Co., Boston, Mass. [110 Boylston St.]
Cloran, Timothy, Adjunct Professor of Romanic Languages, Vanderbilt

University, Nashville, Tenn. [1006 Lamar St.]
Coar, John F., Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cambridge,

Mass. [48 Hawthorn St.]
Cohn, Adolphe, Professor of the Romance Languages and Literatures,

Columbia University, New York, N. Y.
Colin, The"rese F., Head of the French Department, Miss Baldwin's

Preparatory School, Bryn Mawr, Pa.
Collins, George Stuart, Professor of the German Language and Literature,

Polytechnic Institute, Brooklyn, N. Y.
Collitz, Hermann, Professor of Comparative Philology and German, Bryn

Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.
Colville, William T., Carbondale, Pa.

xliv MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Colvin, Mrs. Mary Noyes, Principal and Teacher of Romance Languages,

Delafield-Colvin School, Boston, Mass. [25 Chestnut St.]
Comfort, William Wistar, Instructor in Romance Languages, Haverford

College, Haverford, Pa.
Compton, Alfred D., Tutor in English, College of the City of New York,

New York, N. Y. [40 W. 126th St.]
Conant, Grace Patten, Associate Professor of English, Woman's College of

Baltimore, Baltimore, Md. [125 E. North Ave.]
Conklin, Clara, Associate Professor of Romance Languages, University of

Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.
Constant, Stanislas Colomban, Assistant Professor of French, College of the

City of New York, New York, N. Y.
Cook, Albert S., Professor of the English Language and Literature, Yale

University, New Haven, Conn. [219 Bishop St.]
Cooper, William Alpha, Assistant Professor of German, Leland Stanford

Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.
Corwin, Robert Nelson, Professor of German, Sheffield Scientific School,

Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [333 Crown St.]
Crane, Thomas Frederick, Professor of the Romance Languages and Litera-
tures, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.
Crawshaw, William Henry, Professor of English Literature, Colgate

University, Hamilton, N. Y.
Critchlow, Frank Linley, Instructor in Romance Languages, Princeton

University, Princeton, N. J. [156 Nassau St.]
Croll, Morris W., Assistant Editor of the New Worcester Dictionary,

Philadelphia, Pa. [3733 Walnut St.]

Crow, Charles Langley, Adjunct Professor of Modern Languages, Washing-
ton and Lee University, Lexington, Va.

Crow, Martha Foote, Assistant Professor of English Literature, North-
western University, Evanston, 111. [Willard Hall.]
Crowell, Asa Clinton, Associate Professor of Germanic Languages and

Literatures, Brown University, Providence, R. I.
Crowne, J. Vincent, Tutor in Latin, College of the City of New York,

New York, N. Y.
Cunliffe, John William, Lecturer in English, McGill University, Montreal,

Canada.
Curdy, Albert Eugene, Instructor in French, Yale University, New Haven,

Conn.
Curme, George Oliver, Professor of Germanic Philology, Northwestern

University, Evanston, 111. [2237 Sherman Ave.]
Currell, W. S., Professor of English, Washington and Lee University,

Lexington, Va.
Cutting, Starr Willard, Professor of German Literature, University of

Chicago, Chicago, 111. [5336 Ellis Ave.]

Damon, Lindsay Todd, Associate Professor of English, Brown University,
Providence, R. I.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. xlv

Darnall, Henry Johnston, Adjunct Professor of Modern Languages, Uni-
versity of Tennessee, Knoxville, Tenn.
Davidson, Charles, English Inspector, University of the State of New

York, Albany, N. Y. [1 Sprague Place.]
Davies, William Walter, Professor of the German Language, Ohio Wes-

leyan University, Delaware, O.
Davis, Edwin Bell, Associate Professor of Modern Languages, Bulgers

College, New Brunswick, N. J.
Deering, Robert Waller, Professor of German, Western Reserve University,

Cleveland, O. [76 Bellflower Ave.]
De Haan, Fonger De, Associate Professor of Spanish, Bryn Mawr College,

Bryn Mawr, Pa.
Deiler, J. Hanno, Professor of German, Tulane University of Louisiana,

New Orleans, La. [2229 Bienville Ave.]
Deister, John Louis, Professor of French and German, Christian Brothers

College, St. Louis, Mo.
De Lagneau, Lea Rachel, Instructor in Romance Languages, Lewis Institute,

Chicago, 111.
Denney, Joseph Villiers, Professor of Rhetoric and English Language,

Ohio State University, Columbus, O.
Diekhoff, Tobias J. C., Assistant Professor of German, University of

Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [940 Greenwood Ave.]
Dike, Francis Harold, Instructor in Modern Languages, Massachusetts

Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass.
Dippold, George Theodore, Professor of Modern Languages, Massachusetts

Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass.
Dodge, Daniel Kilham, Professor of the English Language and Literature,

University of Illinois, Champaign, 111.
Dodge, Robert Elkin Neil, Instructor in English, University of Wisconsin,

Madison, Wis. [609 Lake St.]
Douay, Gaston, Assistant Professor of French, Washington University,

St. Louis, Mo.

Dow, Louis H., Professor of French, Dartmouth College, Hanover, N. H.
Downer, Charles A., Assistant Professor of the French Language and

Literature, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.
Drake, Benjamin M., Instructor in Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn.
Dunlap, Charles Graham, Professor of English Literature, University of

Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Eastman, Clarence Willis, Assistant Professor of German, State University

of Iowa, Iowa City, la.
Easton, Morton William, Professor of English and Comparative Philology,

University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.
Eaton, Mrs. Abbie Fiske, Instructor in German, University of Wisconsin,

Madison, Wis.

xlvi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Eddy, Robert J., Beloit, Wis.

Edgar, Pelham, Professor of the French Language and Literature, Victoria

College, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada.
Effinger, Jr., John Robert, Assistant Professor of French, University of

Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich.
Eggers, Ernst August, Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures,

Ohio State University, Columbus, O. [190 W. Eleventh Ave.]
Elliott, A. Marshall, Professor of Eomance Languages, Johns Hopkins

University, Baltimore, Md. [935 N. Calvert St.]
Emerson, Oliver Farrar, Professor of Rhetoric and English Philology,

Western Reserve University, Cleveland, O. [50 Wilbur St.J
Epes, John D., Professor of English, State Normal School, Warrensburg,

Mo.

Fabregou, Casimir, Professor of the French Language and Literature,
College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.

Fairchild, J. R., American Book Co., New York, N. Y. [Washington
Square.]

Farley, Frank Edgar, Professor of English, Syracuse University, Syracuse,
N. Y. [727 S. Crouse Ave.]

Farnsworth, William Oliver, Instructor in French, Yale University, New
Haven, Conn.

Farrand, Wilson, Head Master, Newark Academy, Newark, N. J.

Farrar, Thomas J., Professor of English, Agnes Scott Institute, Decatur,
Ga.

Faust, Albert Bernhardt, Associate Professor of German, Wesleyan Uni-
versity, Middletown, Conn.

Fay, Charles Ernest, Professor of Modern Languages, Tufts College, Tufts
College, Mass.

Ferrell, Chiles Clifton, Professor of Modern Languages, University of
Mississippi, University, Miss.

Ferren, H. M., Allegheny, Pa.

Few, William Preston, Professor of English, Trinity College, Durham,
N. C.

Fife, Robert H., Jr., Instructor in German, Western Reserve University,
Cleveland, O. [91 Mayfield St.]

Files, George Taylor, Professor of German, Bowdoin College, Brunswick,
Me.

Fitz-Gerald, John Driscoll, Second, Assistant in the Romance Languages and
Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [57 Liberty
St., Newark, N. J.]

Fitz-Hugh, Thomas, Professor of Latin, University of Virginia, Char-
lottesville, Va.

Fletcher, Jefferson Butler, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. xlvii

Fletcher, Robert Huntington, Assistant Professor of English, Washington

University, St. Louis, Mo.
Flom, George T., Assistant Professor of Scandinavian]; Languages [and

Literatures, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.
Florer, Warren Washburn, Instructor in German, University of Michigan,

Ann Arbor, Mich. [1108 Prospect St.]

Ford, J. D. M., Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass. [4 Buckingham Place.]
Ford, Joseph S., Instructor in French and German, Phillips Exeter

Academy, Exeter, N. H.
Fortier, Alce"e, Professor of Romance Languages, Tulane University of

Louisiana, New Orleans, La.

Fossler, Lawrence, Professor of Germanic Languages, University of Ne-
braska, Lincoln, Neb.
Foster, Irving Lysander, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages,

Pennsylvania State College, State College, Pa.
Foulet, Lucien, Associate in French Literature, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn

Mawr, Pa.
Francke, Kuno, Professor of German Literature, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [2 Berkeley Place.]
Fraser, M. Emma N., Professor of Romance Languages, Elmira College,

Elmira, N. Y.
Froelicher, Hans, Professor of the German Language and Literature,

Woman's College of Baltimore, Baltimore, Md.
Fruit, John Phelps, Professor of the English Language and Literature,

William Jewell College, Liberty, Mo.

Fuller, Harold DeW., Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass.
Fuller, Paul, New York, N. Y. [P. O. Box 2559.]
Fulton, Edward, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric, University of Illinois,

Urbana, 111. [512 W. High St.]
Furst, Clyde, Secretary of Teachers' College, Columbia University, New

York, N. Y.

Galloo, Eugenie, Professor of Romance Languages and Literatures, Uni-
versity of Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.
Gardiner, John Hays, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [18 Grays Hall.]
Garnett, James M., Baltimore, Md. [1316 Bolton St.]
Garrett, Alfred Cope, Philadelphia, Pa. [Logan Station.]
Gaw, Mrs. Ralph H., Topeka, Kas. [1321 Fillmore St.]
Gayley, Charles Mills, Professor of the English Language and Literature,

University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2403 Piedmont Ave.]
Geddes, James, Jr., Professor of Romance Languages, Boston University,

Boston, Mass.

Gerber, Adolph, Professor of German and French, Earlham College,
Richmond, Ind.

xlviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Gerig, John L., Instructor in Linguistic Science and Sanskrit and in
Romance Languages, University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb. [700
N. 16th St.]

Gerould, Gordon Hall, Associate in English, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn
Mawr, Pa.

Gillett, William Kendall, Professor of French and Spanish, New York
University, New York, N. Y.

Glen, Irving M., Professor of the English Language and Early English
Literature, University of Oregon, Eugene, Ore. [254 E. 9th St.]

Goebel, Julius, Professor of Germanic Philology and Literature, Leland
Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Gal.

Gorrell, Joseph Hendren, Professor of Modern Languages, Wake Forest
College, Wake Forest, N. C.

Grandgent, Charles Hall, Professor of Romance Languages, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass. [107 Walker St.]

Graves, Isabel, Instructor in English, High School, East Orange, N. J.
[48 Burnett St.]

Greene, Herbert Eveleth, Collegiate Professor of English, Johns Hopkins
University, Baltimore, Md. [1019 St. Paul St.]

Gregor, Leigh R., Lecturer on Modern Languages, McGill University,
Montreal, Canada. [139 Baile St.]

Griffin, James O., Professor of German, Leland Stanford Jr. University,
Palo Alto, Cal.

Griffin, Nathaniel Edward, Professor of English, Wells College, Aurora,
N. Y.

Grimm, Karl Josef, Professor of Modern Languages, Ursinus College,
Collegeville, Pa.

Grossman, Edward A., New York, N. Y. [1 W. 81st St.]

Gruener, Gustav, Professor of German, Yale University, New Haven,
Conn. [276 Lawrance Hall.]

Grumbine, Harvey Carson, Professor of the English Language and Litera-
ture, University of Wooster, Wooster, O.

Gudeman, A., Acting Assistant Professor of Latin, Cornell University,
Ithaca, N. Y.

Guite"ras, Calixto, Professor of Spanish, Girard College and Drexel Insti-
tute, Philadelphia, Pa.

Gummere, Francis B., Professor of English, Haverford College, Haver-
ford, Pa.

Gutknecht, L6uise L., Teacher of German, South Chicago High School,
Chicago, 111. [6340 Normal Ave.]

Gwinn, Mary Mackall, Professor of English, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn
Mawr, Pa.

Haas, Albert, Associate in German Literature, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn
Mawr, Pa.

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. xlix

Hale, Edward E., Jr., Professor of Rhetoric and Logic, Union College,
Schenectady, N. Y.

Hall, John Lesslie, Professor of the English Language and Literature and
of General History, College of William and Mary, Williamsburg, Va.

Ham, Roscoe James, Instructor in Modern Languages, Bowdoin College,
Brunswick, Me.

Hammond, Eleanor Prescott, Decent in the English Language and Litera-
ture, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Haney, John Louis, Instructor in English and History, Central High
School, Philadelphia, Pa.

Hanscom, Elizabeth Deering, Instructor in English Literature, Smith
College, Northampton, Mass. [17 Henshaw Ave.]

Hardy, Ashley Kingsley, Instructor in German, Dartmouth College,
Hanover, N. H.

Hargrove, Henry Lee, Professor of the English Language and Literature,
Florida State College, Tallahassee, Fla.

Harper, George McLean, Professor of English, Princeton University,
Princeton, N. J.

Harris, Charles, Professor of German, Western Reserve University, Cleve-
land, O.

Harris, Launcelot M., College of Charleston, Charleston, S. C.

Harris, Martha Anstice, Dean and Professor of English, Elmira College,
Elmira, N. Y.

Harrison, James Albert, Professor of Teutonic Languages, University of
Virginia, Charlottesville, Va.

Harrison, Thomas Perrin, Professor of English, Davidson College, David-
son, N. C.

Hart, Charles Edward, Professor of Ethics, Evidences of Christianity, and
Literary Study of the English Bible, Rutgers College, New Bruns-
wick, N. J. [33 Livingston Ave.]

Hart, James Morgan, Professor of Rhetoric and English Philology, Cornell
University, Ithaca, N. Y.

Hatfield, James Taft, Professor of the German Language and Literature,
Northwestern University, Evanston, 111.

Haupt, Paul, Professor of Semitic Languages, Johns Hopkins University,
Baltimore, Md.

Hausknecht, Emil, Direktor, Realschule, Kiel, Germany.

Heling, Marie, Miss Mackie's School, Newburgh, N. Y.

Heller, Otto, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Washing-
ton University, St. Louis, Mo.

Hem pi, George, Professor of English Philology and General Linguistics,
University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1027 E. University
Ave.]

Henneman, John Bell, Professor of English, University of the South,
Sewanee, Tenn.

1 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Herford, C. H., Professor in Owens College, Manchester, England.

Hervey, Wm. Addison, Instructor in the Germanic Languages and Litera-
tures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Hewett, Waterman T., Professor of the German Language and Literature,
Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.

Higgins, Alice, Head Teacher of French, Girls' High School, Brooklyn,
N. Y. [401 Macon St.]

Hilton, Henry H., Ginn & Co., Chicago, 111. [378 Wabash Ave.]

Hinsdale, Ellen C., Professor of the German Language and Literature,
Mount Holyoke College, South Hadley, Mass.

Hobigand, Jules Adolphe, Ballon and Hobigand Preparatory School,
Boston, Mass. [1022 Boylston St.]

Hochdorfer, Karl Friedrich Richard, Professor of Modern Languages,
Wittenberg College, Springfield, O. [62 E. Ward St.]

Hodell, Charles Wesley, Professor of English, Woman's College of Balti-
more, Baltimore, Md.

Hohlfeld, A. R., Professor of German, University of Wisconsin, Madison,
Wis. [145 W. Gilman St.]

Hooker, Elizabeth Eobbins, Teacher of English, New Hampshire State
Normal School, Plymouth, N. H.

Horning, L. E., Professor in Victoria College, University of Toronto,
Toronto, Canada.

Hospes, Mrs. Cecilia Lizzette, Teacher of German and Science, Webster
Groves High School, St. Louis, Mo. [3001 Lafayette Ave.]

Howard, Albert A., Professor of Latin, Harvard University, Cambridge,
Mass. [12 Walker St.]

Howard, William Guild, Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [20 Holworthy Hall.]

Howe, Malvina A., Teacher of English Literature, Miss Porter's School,
Farmington, Conn.

Howe, Thomas Carr, Professor of German, Butler College, University of
Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Ind. [48 S. Central Ave.]

Howe, Will David, Professor of the English Language and Literature,
Butler College, University of Indianapolis, Indianapolis, Ind. [377
S. Central Ave.]

Hoyt, Prentiss C., Instructor in English, Harvard University, Cambridge,
Mass.

Hubbard, Rev. Chas. Francis, Buffalo, N. Y. [922 Niagara St.]

Hubbard, Frank G., Professor of the English Language, University of
Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

Hudnall, Richard Henry, Professor of English, History, and Spanish,
Virginia Agricultural and Mechanical College, Blacksburg, Va.

Hulme, William Henry, Professor of English, Western Reserve University,
Cleveland, O. [48 Mayfield St.]

Hunt, Theodore Whitefield, Professor of the English Language and Litera-
ture, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. 11

Hurlbut, Byron Satterlee, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard Univer-
sity, Cambridge, Mass. [7 Hollis Hall.]

Hyde, James H., Vice-President of the Equitable Life Assurance Society,
New York, N. Y. [120 Broadway.]

Ilgen, Ernest, Assistant Professor of German, College of the City of New

York, New York, N. Y.
Ingraham, Andrew, New Bedford, Mass.

Jack, Albert E., Professor of the English Language and Literature, Lake
Forest College, Lake Forest, 111.

von Jagemann, H. C. G., Professor of Germanic Philology, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass. [113 Walker St.]

James, Arthur W., Professor of the German Language and Literature,
Miami University, Oxford, O.

Jayne, Violet D., University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [1017 W. Oregon St.]

Jenkins, T. Atkinson, Associate Professor of French Philology, University
of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Jessen, Karl D., Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cambridge,
Mass. [51 Oxford St.]

Jodocius, Albert, Delancey School, Philadelphia, Pa, [1420 Pine St.]

Johnson, Henry, Professor of Modern Languages, Bowdoin College, Bruns-
wick, Me.

Johnston, Oliver M., Instructor in Romance Languages, Leland Stanford
Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.

Jonas, J. B. E., Professor of German, Brown University, Providence, E. I.

Jones, Everett Starr, Instructor in Modern Languages, Jacob Tome Insti-
tute, Port Deposit, Md.

Jordan, Daniel, Tutor in the Romance Languages and Literatures, Columbia
University, New York, N. Y.

Jordan, Mary Augusta, Professor of English, Smith College, Northampton,
Mass. [Hatfield House.]

Josselyn, Freeman M., Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Boston
University, Boston, Mass.

Joynes, Edward S., Professor of Modern Languages, South Carolina College,
Columbia, S. C.

Kagan, Josiah M., Instructor in German, Roxbury High School, Roxbury,

Mass. [19 Trowbridge St., Cambridge, Mass.]
Karsten, Gustaf E., Professor of Germanic Philology, Indiana University,

Bloomington, Ind.
Xeidel, George Charles, Associate in Romance Languages, Johns Hopkins

University, Baltimore, Md.
Kent, Charles W., Professor of English Literature, University of Virginia,

Charlottesville, Va.

Hi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Keppler, Erriil A. C., Assistant in the Germanic Languages and Litera-
tures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.
Kern, Paul Oskar, Assistant Professor of Germanic Philology, University

of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Kinard, James Pinckney, Professor of the English Language and Litera-
ture, Winthrop College, Kock Hill, S. C.
King, Kobert Augustus, Professor of French and German, Wabash College,

Crawfordsville, Ind.
Kip, Herbert Z., Adjunct Professor of German, Vanderbilt University,

Nashville, Tenn. [120 Farrell Ave.]
Kirchner, Eolida C., Teacher of German, High School, St. Louis, Mo.

[1211 N. Grand Ave.]
Kittredge, George Lyman, Professor of English, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [8 Hilliard St.]

Klaeber, Frederick, Professor of English Philology, University of Minne-
sota, Minneapolis, Minn,
von Klenze, Camillo, Associate Professor of German Literature, University

of Chicago, Chicago, 111.
Knoepfler, J. B., Professor of German, Iowa State Normal School, Cedar

Falls, la.
Knowles, Francis, Silver, Burdett & Co., New York, N. Y. [29-33 E.

19th St.]
Krapp, George Philip, Instructor in English, Columbia University, New

York, N. Y.
Kroeh, Charles F., Professor of Languages, Stevens Institute of Technology,

Hoboken, N. J.
Krowl, Harry C., Instructor in English, College of the City of New York,

New York, N. Y.

Krug, Joseph, Professor of the German Language and Literature, Central

High School and Normal School, Cleveland, O. [51 Fourth Ave.]

Kuersteiner, Albert Frederick, Professor of Romance Languages, Indiana

University, Bloomington, Ind.
Kuhns, Oscar, Professor of Romance Languages, Wesleyan University,

Middletown, Conn.
Kullmer, Charles Julius, Instructor in German, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [7 Weld Hall.]

Kurrelmeyer, William, Instructor in German, Johns Hopkins University,
Baltimore, Md.

Lambert, Marcus Bachman, Teacher of German, Boys' High School,

Brooklyn, N. Y. [252 Madison St.]
La Mesle"e, Alphonse Marin, Instructor in French, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [18 Felton Hall.]
Lang, Henry E., Professor of Romance Philology, Yale University, New

Haven, Conn. [58 Trumbull St.]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. liii

Lange, Alexis Frederick, Associate Professor of English and Scandinavian
Philology, University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2829 Haste St.]

Langley, Ernest F., Instructor in French and Italian, Dartmouth College,
Hanover, N. H.

Lawrence, William W., Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [43 Ware Hall.]

Learned, Marion Dexter, Professor of the Germanic Languages and Litera-
tures, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

Le Compte, Irville Charles, Instructor in English, Ursinus College, College-
ville, Pa.

Le Due, Alma, Assistant Professor of French and Spanish, University of
Kansas, Lawrence, Kas.

Leonard, Arthur Newton, Professor of German, Bates College, Lewiston,
Me.

Leonard, Jonathan, English High School, Somerville, Mass.

Lessing, Otto Eduard, Instructor in German, Smith College, Northampton,
Mass. [69 Paradise Road.]

Lewis, Charlton M., Professor of English Literature, Yale University, New
Haven, Conn. [158 Whitney Ave.]

Lewis, Edwin Herbert, Professor of English, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 111.

Lewis, Edwin Seelye, Professor of Eomance Languages, Princeton Uni-
versity, Princeton, N. J.

Lewis, Mary Elizabeth, Professor of English, Oahu College, Honolulu,
T. H.

Lincoln, George, Assistant Professor of French, University of Kansas,
Lawrence, Kas.

Lipscomb, Dabney, Professor of the English Language and Literature and
Belles-lettres, University of Mississippi, University, Miss.

Lodeman, A., Professor of German and French, Michigan State Normal
College, Ypsilanti, Mich.

Logeman, Henry, Professor of English Philology, University of Ghent,
Ghent, Belgium. [153 Bagattenstraat.]

Loiseaux, Louis Auguste, Instructor in the Komance Languages and Litera-
tures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Longden, Henry B., De Pauw University, Greencastle, Ind.

Lovewell, Bertha E., Instructor in English, Hartford Public High School,
Hartford, Conn. [43 Farmington Ave.]

Lutz, Frederick, Professor of Modern Languages and Acting Professor of
Latin, Albion College, Albion, Mich.

Lyman, Albert Benedict, M. D., Baltimore, Md. [504 Sharp St.]

McBryde, John McLaren, Jr., Professor of the English Language and

Literature, Hollins Institute, Hollins, Va.
MacClintock, William D., Professor of English, University of Chicago,

Chicago, 111. [5629 Lexington Ave.]

Kv MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

McClumpha, Charles Flint, Professor of the English Language and Litera^
ture, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn.

MacDuffie, John, MacDuffie School for Girls, Springfield, Mass. [182
Central St.]

Mcllwaine, Henry Read, Professor of English and History, Hampden-
Sidney College, Hampden-Sidney, Va.

Macine, John, University of North Dakota, University, N. D.

McKenzie, Kenneth, Instructor in Komance Languages, Yale University,
New Haven, Conn.

McKibben, George F., Professor of Romance Languages, Denison Uni-
versity, Granville, O.

McKnight, George Harley, Assistant Professor of Rhetoric and the English
Language, Ohio State University, Columbus, O.

MacLean, George Edwin, President, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.

McLouth, Lawrence A., Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures,
New York University, University Heights, New York, N. Y.

MacMechan, Archibald, Professor of the English Language and Literature,
Dalhousie College, Halifax, N. S.

Magee, Charles Moore, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.
[Conshohocken, Pa.]

Magill, Edward Hicks, Professor Emeritus and Lecturer on French Litera-
ture, Swarthmore College, Swarthmore, Pa.

Manly, John Matthews, Professor and Head of the Department of English^
University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Manning, E. W., Delaware College, Newark, N. J.

March, Francis Andrew, Professor of the English Language and of Com-
parative Philology, Lafayette College, Easton, Pa.

March, Francis A., Jr., Lafayette College, Easton, Pa.

Marcou, Philippe Belknap, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages,
Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [42 Garden St.]

Marden, Charles Carroll, Associate Professor of Spanish, Johns Hopkins
University, Baltimore, Md.

Marsh, Arthur Richmond, President of the Planter's Compress Co., Cam-
bridge, Mass. [103 Avon Hill St.]

Marvin, Arthur, Principal, Schenectady High School, Schenectady, N. Y.
[6 Nott Terrace.]

Mather, Frank Jewett, Jr., New York Evening Post, New York, N. Y.

Matthews, Brander, Professor of Dramatic Literature, Columbia University,
New York, N. Y. [681 West End Ave.]

Matzke, John E., Professor of Romanic Languages, Leland Stanford Jr.
University, Palo Alto, Cal.

Maynadier, Gustavus H., Instructor in English, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [49 Hawthorn St.]

Mead, William Edward, Professor of the English Language, Wesley an
University, Middletown, Conn.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Iv

Menger, Louis Emil, Professor of Romance Philology, Bryn Mawr College,

Bryn Mawr, Pa.
Mensel, Ernst Heinrich, Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures,

Smith College, Northampton, Mass.

Me*ras, B., Stern's School of Languages, New York, N. Y. [27 E. 44th St.]
Merrill, Katherine, Abilene, Kansas.
Mesloh, Charles Walter, Associate Professor of Germanic Languages and

Literatures, Ohio State University, Columbus, O. [1627 N. High St.]
Meyer, Edward Stockton, Associate Professor of German, Western Reserve

University, Cleveland, O.
Meyer, George Henry, Assistant Professor of the German Language and

Literature, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111. [912 California Ave.]
Milhau, Marie-Louise, Lecturer in Modern Languages, Royal Victoria

College, McGill University, Montreal, Canada.
Miller, Daniel Thomas, Professor of Languages, Brigham Young College,

Logan, Utah.
Moore, Alfred Austin, Instructor in Romance Languages, Cornell University,

Ithaca, N. Y.
Moore, Hamilton Byron, Assistant Professor of English, Indiana University,

Bloomington, Ind.

Moore, Robert Webber, Professor of French and German, Colgate Uni-
versity, Hamilton, N. Y.
Morris, Edgar Coit, Professor of English, Syracuse University, Syracuse,

N. Y. [309 University Place.]
Morris, John, Professor of the English Language and Teutonic Philology,

University of Georgia, Athens, Ga.
Morton, Asa Henry, Professor of Romance Languages, Williams College,

Williamstown, Mass.
Mott, Lewis F., Professor of the English Language and Literature, College

of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.
Muenter, Erich, Teacher of German, South Side Academy, Chicago, 111.

[5620 Ingleside Ave.]
Mulfinger, George A., Teacher of German, South Division High School,

Chicago, HI. [112 Seeley Ave.]

Nash, Bennett H., Boston, Mass. [252 Beacon St.]

Neilson, William Allan, Instructor in English, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [4 Quincy Hall.]

Nelson, Clara Albertine, Professor of French, Ohio Wesleyan University,
Delaware, O.

Newcomer, Alphonso Gerald, Associate Professor of English, Leland Stan-
ford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.

.Newcomer, Charles Berry, Professor of Greek and Instructor in French,
Drury College, Springfield, Mo. [1221 Washington Ave.]

^Newton, Walter Russell, Instructor in German, Phillips Academy, Andover,
Mass.

v MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Nichols, Edwin Bryant, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Uni-
versity of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, O. [2218 Ohio Ave.]

Nitze, William Albert, Tutor in the Romance Languages and Literatures,
Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Noble, Charles, Professor of the English Language and Rhetoric, Iowa
College, Grinnell, la. [1110 West St.]

von Noe", Adolf Carl, Assistant in German, Leland Stanford Jr. University,
Palo Alto, Cal.

Nollen, John S., Professor of Modern Languages, Iowa College, Grin-
nell, la.

Northup, Clark S., Instructor in English, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.
[402 Eddy St.]

Ogden, Philip, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Oliver, Thomas Edward, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Western
Reserve University, Cleveland, O. [10 Adelbert Hall.]

Olmsted, Everett Ward, Assistant Professor of Romance Languages, Cornell
University, Ithaca, N. Y. [730 University Ave.]

Olson, Julius E., Professor in University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

Opdycke, Leonard Eckstein, New York, N. Y. [41 W. 21st St.]

Osgood, Jr., Charles Grosvenor, Instructor in English, Yale University,
New Haven, Conn. [2 University Place.]

Osthaus, Carl, Associate Professor of German, Indiana University, Bloom -
ington, Ind.

Ott, John Henry, Professor of the English Language and Literature,
College of the Northwestern University, Watertown, Wis.

Owen, Edward T., Professor of the French Language and Literature, Uni-
versity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis.

Padelford, Frederick Morgan, Professor of the English Language and
Literature, University of Washington, Seattle, Wash. [University
Station.]

Page, Curtis Hidden, Lecturer in the Romance Languages and Literatures,
Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Palmer, Arthur Hubbell, Professor of the German Language and Litera-
ture, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [251 Lawrence St.]

Pancoast, Henry Spademan, Lecturer on English Literature, Germantown,
Pa. [267 E. Johnson St.]

Paton, Lucy Allen, Librarian, Radcliffe College, Cambridge, Mass. [16
Riedesel Avenue.]

Pearce, J. W., Senior Teacher of English, Boys' High School, New Orleans,
La. [1429 Nashville Ave.]

Pearson, Calvin Wasson, Harwood Professor of the German Language and
Literature, Beloit College, Beloit, Wis.

Peck, Mary Gray, Instructor in English, University of Minnesota, Minne-
apolis, Minn. [2008 Second Ave., South.]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Ivii

Pellissier, Adeline, Instructor in French, Smith College, Northampton,

Mass. [32 Crescent St.]
Penn, Henry C., Assistant Professor of English, University of Missouri,

Columbia, Mo.
Penniman, Josiah Harmar, Assistant Professor of English Literature,

University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.
Perrin, Ernest Noel, Instructor in English, College of the City of New

York, New York, N. Y.
Perrin, Marshall Livingston, Professor of Germanic Languages, Boston

University, Boston, Mass.

Petersen, Kate O., Brooklyn, N. Y. [91 Eighth Ave.]
Phelps, William Lyon, Professor of English Literature, Yale University,

New Haven, Conn. [Yale Station.]
de Pierpont, Arthur, Professor of French, Kensselaer Polytechnic Institute,

Troy, N. Y.
Pietsch, Karl, Associate Professor of Romance Philology, University of

Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Plimpton, George A., Ginn & Co., New York, N. Y. [70 Fifth Ave.]
Poll, Max, Professor of Germanic Languages, University of Cincinnati,

Cincinnati, O. [230 McCormick Place, Mt, Auburn, Cincinnati.]
Potter, Albert K., Associate Professor of the English Language, Brown

University, Providence, R. I. [220 Waterman St.]
Potter, Murray A., Instructor in Romance Languages, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [191 Commonwealth Ave., Boston, Mass.]
Prettyman, Cornelius William, Professor of German, Dickinson College,

Carlisle, Pa.
Price, Thomas R., Professor of the English Language and Literature,

Columbia University, New York, N. Y.
Primer, Sylvester, Professor of Teutonic Languages, University of Texas,

Austin, Tex.

Prince, John Dyneley, Professor of Semitic Languages, Columbia Uni-
versity, New York, N. Y. [15 Lexington Ave.]
Pugh, Annie L., Wells College, Aurora, N. Y.

Putnam, Edward Kirby, Instructor in English, Leland Stanford Jr. Uni-
versity, Palo Alto, Cal.
Putzker, Albin, Professor of German Literature, University of California,

Berkeley, Cal.

Quinn, Arthur Hobson, Instructor in English, University of Pennsylvania,
Philadelphia, Pa. [College Hall.]

Rambeau, A., Professor of Modern Languages, Massachusetts Institute of

Technology, Boston, Mass. [57 Walnut Park, Roxbury, Mass.]
Ramsey, M. M., Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.
Ransmeier, John C., Professor of German, Trinity College, Durham, N. C.

Iviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Read, William Alexander, Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, La.
Reed, Edward Bliss, Instructor in English, Yale University, New Haven,

Conn. [351 White Hall.]
Reeves, Charles Francis, Professor of German, University of Washington,

Seattle, Wash. [University Station.]
Reeves, William Peters, Professor of the English Language and Literature,

Kenyon College, Gambier, O.
Reinecke, Charlotte, Instructor in German. Vassar College, Poughkeepsie,

N.Y.
Remy, Arthur Frank Joseph, Tutor in the Germanic Languages and

Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.
Rennert, Hugo Albert, Professor of Romanic Languages and Literatures,

University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [4232 Chestnut St.]
Rhoades, Lewis A., Professor of German, University of Illinois, Urbana, 111.
Rice, Howard M., Principal and Teacher of French, German and History,

University School, Providence, R. I.
Richardson, Henry B., Professor of the German Language and Literature,

Amherst College, Amherst, Mass.

Riemer, Guido Carl Leo, Professor of Modern Languages, Bucknell Uni-
versity, Lewisburg, Pa.

Ringer, S., Professor, Lehigh University, South Bethlehem, Pa.
Robertson, Luanna, Instructor in German, Secondary School of Education,

University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [Kelly Hall, University of

Chicago.]
Robinson, Fred Norris, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard University,

Cambridge, Mass. [Longfellow Park.]
Root, Robert Kilburn, Tutor in English, Yale University, New Haven,

Conn.

Rosenbach, Abraham S. W., Philadelphia, Pa. [1409 N. 18th St.]
Roy, Rev. James, Niagara Falls, N. Y. [Station A.]
Rumsey, Olive, Instructor in English, Smith College, Northampton, Mass.

[123 Elm St.]
Runtz-Rees, Caroline, Principal, Rosemary Hall, Greenwich, Conn.

Sampson, Martin Wright, Professor of English, Indiana University, Bloom-
ington, Ind. [403 S. College Ave.]

Saunders, Mrs. Mary J. T., Professor of Modern Languages, Randolph-
Macon Woman's College, Lynchburg, Va.

Saunderson, George W., Principal of the Saunderson School of Expression
and Seattle School of Oratory, Seattle, Wash. [533 Maiden Ave.]

Scharff, Paul Adrian, Instructor in French and German, Columbia Institute,
New York, N. Y. [Madison, N. J.]

Scharff, Violette Eugenie, Professor of the French Language and Litera-
ture, Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y. [63 Cambridge Place.]

Schelling, Felix E., Professor of English Literature, University of
Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [4211 Sansom St.]

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. Hx

Schilling, Hugo Karl, Professor of the German Language and Literature,
University of California, Berkeley, Cal. [2331 Le Conte Ave.]

Schinz, Albert, Associate in French, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa.

Schmidt, Friedrich Georg Gottlob, Professor of Modern Languages, Uni-
versity of Oregon, Eugene, Ore.

Schmidt, Gertrud Charlotte, Teacher of Modern Languages, Woodward
Institute for Girls, Quincy, Mass.

Schmidt-Wartenberg, Hans, Assistant Professor of Germanic Philology,
University of Chicago, Chicago, 111.

Schneider, John Philip, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md.

Schofield, William Henry, Assistant Professor of English, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass. [23 Claverly Hall.]

Schrakamp, Josepha, New York, N. Y. [67 W. 38th St.]

Schutze, Martin, Associate Instructor in German, University of Chicago,
Chicago, 111.

Schwill, Eudolph, Instructor in French and Spanish, Yale University, New
Haven, Conn.

Scott, Charles Payson Gurley, Kadnor, Penn. [620 Bourse, Philadelphia.]

Scott, Fred Newton, Professor of Rhetoric, University of Michigan, Ann
Arbor, Mich. [1351 Washtenaw Ave.]

Scott, Mary Augusta, Professor of English, Smith College, Northampton,
Mass.

Scripture, Edward Wheeler, Director of the Psychological Laboratory,
Yale University, New Haven, Conn.

Sechrist, Frank Kleinfelter, Professor of the English Language and Litera-
ture, State Normal School, Stevens Point, Wis.

Segall, Jacob Bernard, Instructor in French, College of the City of New
York, New York, N. Y. [29 W. 117th St.]

Semple, Lewis B., Teacher of English, Commercial High School, Brooklyn,
N. Y. [175 Halsey St.]

Severy, Ernest E., Modern Language Master, Bowen School, Nashville,
Tenn.

Seward, Ora Philander, Mattawan, Mich.

Sharp, Eobert, Professor of English, Tulane University of Louisiana, New
Orleans, La.

Shaw, James Eustace, Instructor in Komance Languages, Johns Hopkins
University, Baltimore, Md.

Sheldon, Edward Stevens, Professor of Romance Philology, Harvard Uni-
versity, Cambridge, Mass. [11 Francis Ave.]

Shepard, William Pierce, Professor of Romance Languages, Hamilton
College, Clinton, N. Y.

Sherman, Lucius A., Professor of the English Language and Literature,
University of Nebraska, Lincoln, Neb.

Sherzer, Jane B., Ypsilanti, Mich. [9 Summit St.]

Shipley, George, M. D., Baltimore, Md. [University Club.]

Ix MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Shumway, Daniel Bussier, Assistant Professor of Germanic Languages and
Literatures, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

Sicard, Ernest, Chicago, 111. [540 Eddy St.]

Simonds, William Edward, Professor of the English Literature and In-
structor in German, Knox College, Galesburg, 111.

Simonton, James S., Professor Emeritus of the French Language and
Literature, Washington and Jefferson College, Washington, Pa.

Simpson, Marcus, Instructor in German, Northwestern University, Evanston,
111. [1714 Chicago Ave.]

Skinner, Macy Millmore, Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [7 Holyoke House.]

Skinner, Prescott O., Instructor in Eomance Languages, Dartmouth College,
Hanover, N. H.

Sloane, Thomas O' Conor, Consulting Engineer and Chemist, New York,
N.Y. [49 Wall St.]

Smith, C. Alphonso, Professor of the English Language, University of
North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Smith, Herbert A., Brooklyn, N. Y. [117 Montague St.]

Smith, Homer, Acting Professor of English Literature, Amherst College,
Amherst, Mass.

Smith, Hugh Allison, Assistant Professor of Modern Languages, Colorado
College, Colorado Springs, Col.

Smith, Kirby Flower, Associate Professor of Latin, Johns Hopkins Uni-
versity, Baltimore, Md.

Snoddy, James S., Leland Stanford Jr. University, Palo Alto, Cal.

Snow, W. B., Master (French), English High School, Boston, Mass.

Snyder, Henry Nelson, President and Professor of English Literature,
Wofford College, Spartanburg, S. C.

Spanhoofd, Arnold Werner, Director of German Instruction in the High
Schools, Washington, D. C. [1636 16th St., N. W.]

Spanhoofd, Edward, Master of Modern Languages, St. Paul's School,
Concord, N. H.

Spenser, Armand, Instructor in Modern Languages, Lehigh University,
South Bethlehem, Pa. [316 Packer Ave.]

Speranza, Carlo Leonardo, Adjunct Professor of the Romance Languages
and Literatures, Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [153 E.
72nd St.]

Spieker, Edward Henry, Associate Professor of Greek and Latin, Johns
Hopkins University, Baltimore, Md. [915 Edmondson Ave.]

Squires, Vernon P., University of North Dakota, University, N. D.

Stearns, Clara M., Instructor in German, Lake Erie College, Painesville, O.

van Steenderen, Frederic C. L., Professor of the French Language and
Literature, State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la. [309 Church St.]

Stempel, Guido Hermann, Assistant Professor of English, Indiana Uni-
versity, Bloomington, Ind. [400 E. 2nd St.]

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. Ixi

Sterling, Susan Adelaide, Assistant Professor of German, University of

Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [811 State St.]

Stoddard, Francis Hovey, Professor of the English Language and Litera-
ture, New York University, University Heights, New York, N. Y.

[22 West 68th St.]
Strauss, Louis A., Instructor in English, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor,

Mich. [900 Lincoln Ave. j
Swiggett, Glen Levin, Acting Professor of German, University of Missouri,

Columbia, Mo.
Sykes, Frederick Henry, Staff Lecturer in English Literature, American

Society for the Extension of University Teaching, Philadelphia, Pa.

[Ill S. 15th St.]
Symington, W. Stuart, Jr., Professor of Eomance Languages, Amherst

College, Amherst, Mass.
Syms, L. C., Instructor in French, De Witt Clinton High School, New

York, N. Y.

Taylor, Lucien E., Cambridge, Mass. [16 Oxford St.]

Taylor, Robert Longley, Assistant Professor of French, Dartmouth College,
Hanover, N. H.

Thayer, Harvey W., Columbia University, New York, N. Y.

Thieme, Hugo Paul, Instructor in French, University of Michigan, Ann
Arbor, Mich. [1209 E. University Ave.]

Thomas, Calvin, Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures, Co-
lumbia University, New York, N. Y.

Thomas, May, Chicago, 111. [309 56th St., Hyde Park Station.]

Thorndike, Ashley H., Professor of English, Northwestern University,
Evanston, 111.

Thurber, Charles H., Ginn & Co., Boston, Mass. [29 Beacon St.]

Thurber, Edward Allen, Instructor in English, Yale University, New
Haven, Conn.

Tibbals, Kate Watkins, Fellow in English, University of Pennsylvania,
Philadelphia, Pa. [4108 Spruce St.]

Todd, Henry Alfred, Professor of Romance Philology, Columbia Univer-
sity, New York, N. Y.

Tolman, Albert Harris, Assistant Professor of English Literature, Uni-
versity of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [5750 Woodlawn Ave.]

Tombo, Jr., Rudolf, Tutor in the Germanic Languages and Literatures,
Columbia University, New York, N. Y. [619 W. 138th St.]

Toy, Walter Dallam, Professor of Germanic Languages and Literatures,
University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, N. C.

Trent, William Peterfield, Professor of English Literature, Columbia Uni-
versity, New York, N. Y. [279 W. 71st St.]

Triggs, Oscar Lovell, Instructor in English, University of Chicago, Chicago,
111.

Ixii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Truscott, Frederick W., Professor of Germanic Languages, West Virginia
University, Morgantown, W. Va.

Tufts, James Arthur, Professor of English, Phillips Academy, Exeter,
N. H.

Tupper, Frederick, Jr., Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature, Uni-
versity of Vermont, Burlington, Vt.

Tupper, James Waddell, Assistant in English, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [18 Myrick St., Allston, Mass.]

Turk, Milton Haight, Professor of Khetoric and the English Language and
Literature, Hobart College, Geneva, N. Y. [678 Main St.]

Tweedie, William Morley, Professor of the English Language and Litera-
ture, Mount Allison College, Sackville, N. B.

Vance, Hiram Albert, Professor of English, University of Nashville, Nash-
ville, Tenn. [19 Maple St.]

Viles, George B., Instructor in German, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y.
[120 Oak Ave.]

Vogel, Frank, Associate Professor of Modern Languages, Massachusetts
Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass. [95 Kobinwood Ave., Jamaica
Plain, Mass.]

Vos, Bert John, Associate Professor of German, Johns Hopkins University,
Baltimore, Md.

Voss, Ernst Karl Johann Heinrich, Professor of German Philology, Uni-
versity of Wisconsin, Madison, Wis. [23 E. Johnson St.]

Wager, C. H. A., Oberlin College, Oberlin, O.

Wahl, George Moritz, Professor of the German Language and Literature,
Williams College, Williamstown, Mass.

Wallace, Malcolm William, Professor of Rhetoric and English Literature,
Beloit College, Beloit, Wis. [617 Harrison Ave.]

Walz, John Albrecht, Instructor in German, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [1657 Cambridge St.]

Warren, Frederick Morris, Professor of Modern Languages, Yale University,
New Haven, Conn.

Wauchope, George Armstrong, Professor of English, South Carolina Col-
lege, Columbia, S. C. [1005 Bull St.]

Weaver, Gerrit E. H., West Philadelphia, Pa. [916 Farragut Terrace.]

Weber, William Lander, Professor of the English Language and Literature,
Emory College, Oxford, Ga.

Weeks, Raymond, Professor of Romance Languages, University of Missouri,
Columbia, Mo.

Wenckebach, Carla, Professor of the German Language and Literature,
Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass.

Wendell, Barrett, Professor of English, Harvard University, Cambridge,
Mass. [18 Grays Hall.]

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Ixiii

Werner, Adolph, Professor of the German Language and Literature, College
of the City of New York, New York, N. Y. [339 W. 29th St.]

Wernicke, P., State College, Lexington, Ky.

Wesselhoeft, Edward Carl, Instructor in German, University of Pennsyl-
vania, Philadelphia, Pa.

West, Henry Skinner, Principal and Professor of English, Western High
School, Baltimore, Md.

West, Henry T., Professor of Modern Languages, Kenyon College, Gam-
bier, O.

Weygandt, Cornelius, Instructor in English, University of Pennsylvania,
Philadelphia, Pa.

Wharey, James Blanton, Professor of English, Southwestern Presbyterian
University, Clarksville, Tenn.

Whitaker, L., Northeast Manual Training School, Philadelphia, Pa.

White, Alain C., New York, N. Y. [560 Fifth Ave.]

White, Caroline Louisa, Professor of the English Language and Literature,
French-American College, Springfield, Mass.

White, Horatio Stevens, Professor of German, Harvard University, Cam-
bridge, Mass. [29 Reservoir St.]

Whiteford, Robert N., Head Instructor in English Literature, High School,
Peoria, 111.

Whitelock, George, Counsellor at Law, Baltimore, Md. [701 Guardian
Trust Building.]

Whiteside, Donald G., Tutor in English, College of the City of New York,
New York, N. Y. [251 W. 133rd St.]

Whitney, Marian P., Teacher of Modern Languages, Hillhouse High
School, New Haven, Conn. [227 Church St.]

Wiener, Leo, Assistant Professor of Slavic Languages, Harvard University,
Cambridge, Mass. [8 Avon St.]

Wightman, John Roaf, Professor of Romance Languages, Oberlin College,
Oberlin, O.

Wilkens, Frederick H., Adjunct Professor of Modern Languages, Union
University, Schenectady, N. Y. [13 Gillespie St.]

Wilkin, Mrs. Matilda J. C., Assistant Professor of German, University of
Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minn. [618 Fifteenth Ave., S. E.]

Williams, Charles Allyn, Fellow in the Germanic Languages, Cornell Uni-
versity, Ithaca, N. Y.

Williams, Grace Sara, Instructor in Romance Languages, University of
Missouri, Columbia, Mo.

Wilson, Charles Bundy, Professor of the German Language and Literature,
State University of Iowa, Iowa City, la.

Wilson, R. H., Professor in the University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va.

Winchester, Caleb Thomas, Professor of English Literature, Wesleyan
University, Middletown, Conn.

Winkler, Max, Professor of German, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor,
Mich.

Ixiv MODEKN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Wood, Francis Asbury, Professor of the German Language and Literature,

Cornell College, Mt. Vernon, la.
Wood, Henry, Professor of German, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,

Md.
Woods, Charles F., Acting Professor of German and Instructor in French,

Pennsylvania College, Gettysburg, Pa.

Woodward, B. D., Adjunct Professor of Romance Languages and Litera-
tures, Barnard College, New York, N. Y. [University Club.]
Wright, Arthur S., Professor of Modern Languages, Case School of Applied

Science, Cleveland, Ohio.
Wright, Charles Baker, Professor of English Literature and Ehetoric,

Middlebury College, Middlebury, Vt.
Wright, Charles Henry Conrad, Assistant Professor of French, Harvard

University, Cambridge, Mass. [7 Buckingham St.]
Wylie, Laura Johnson, Professor of English, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie,

N. Y.

Young, Alice, Assistant Professor of English, State University of Iowa,

Iowa City, la. [Ill N. Clinton St.]
Young, Mary V., Professor of Romance Languages, Mt. Holyoke College,

South Hadley, Mass.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Ixv

LIBRARIES

SUBSCRIBING FOR THE PUBLICATIONS OF THE
ASSOCIATION.

Albany, N. Y. : New York State Library.

Amherst, Mass. : Amherst College Library.

Aurora, N. Y. : Wells College Library.

Baltimore, Md. : Enoch Pratt Free Library.

Baltimore, Md. : Johns Hopkins University Library.

Baltimore, Md. : Library of the Peabody Institute.

Baltimore, Md. : Woman's College Library.

Berkeley, Cal. : Library of the University of California.

Bloomington, Ind. : Indiana University Library.

Boston, Mass. : Public Library of the City of Boston.

Bryn Mawr, Pa. : Bryn Mawr College Library.

Buffalo, N. Y. : The Buffalo Library.

Burlington, Vt. : Library of the University of Vermont.

Cambridge, Mass. : Harvard University Library.

Cambridge, Mass. : Radcliffe College Library.

Charlottesville, Va. : Library of the University of Virginia.

Chicago, 111. : The Newberry Library.

Chicago, 111. : The General Library of the University of Chicago.

Cincinnati, Ohio : Library of the University of Cincinnati.

Cleveland, Ohio : Adelbert College Library.

Collegeville, Pa. : Ursinus College Library.

Columbia, Mo. : Library of the University of Missouri.

Concord, N. H. : New Hampshire State Library.

Decorah, Iowa: Luther College Library.

Detroit, Mich. : The Public Library.

Evanston, 111. : Northwestern University Library.

Giessen, Germany : Die Grossherzogliche Universitats-Bibliothek.

Hartford, Conn.: Watkinson Library.

Iowa City, Iowa : Library of State University of Iowa.

Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Library.

Knoxville, Tenn. : University of Tennessee Library.

Ixvi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Lincoln, Neb. : State University of Nebraska Library.

Madison, Wis. : University of Wisconsin Library.

Middlebury, Vt. : Middlebury College Library.

Middletown, Conn. : Wesleyan University Library.

Minneapolis, Minn. : University of Minnesota Library.

Munich, Germany : Konigl. Hof- und Staats-Bibliothek.

Nashville, Tenn. : Vanderbilt University Library.

New Haven, Conn. : Yale University Library.

New Orleans, La. : Library of the H. Sophie Newcomb Memorial College.

[1220 Washington Ave.]
New York, N. Y. : The New York Public Library (Astor, Lenox, and Tilden

Foundations). [40 Lafayette Place.]
New York, N. Y. : Columbia University Library.
Oberlin, Ohio : Oberlin College Library.
Paris, France : Bibliotheque de 1' University a la Sorbonne.
Peoria, 111. : Peoria Public Library.
Philadelphia, Pa. : University of Pennsylvania Library.
Pittsburgh, Pa. : Carnegie Library.
Poughkeepsie, N. Y. : Vassar College Library.
Princeton, N. J. : Library of Princeton University.
Providence, R. I. : Providence Public Library. [32 Snow St.]
Rochester, N. Y. : Library of the University of Rochester. [Prince St.]
Rock Hill, S. C. : Winthrop Normal and Industrial College Library.
Seattle, Wash. : University of Washington Library.
Springfield, Ohio : Wittenberg College Library,
Urbana, 111. : Library of the University of Illinois.
Washington, D. C.: Library of Supreme Council of 33d Degree. [43$

Third Street, N. W.]

Wellesley, Mass. : Wellesley College Reading Room Library.
West Point, N. Y. : Library of the U. S. Military Academy.
Williamstown, Mass. : Williams College Library.
Worcester. Mass. : Free Public Library.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901.

HONORARY iMEMBERS.

GRAZIADIO I. ASCOLI, Milan, Italy.
K. VON BAHDEB, University of Leipsic.
ALOIS L. BRANDL, University of Berlin.
HENRY BRADLEY, Oxford, England.
W. BRAUNE, University of Heidelberg.
SOPHUS BUQGE, University of Christiania.
KONRAD BURDACH, University of Berlin.
WENDELIN FORSTER, University of Bonn.
F. J. FURNIVALL, London, England.
GUSTAV GROBER, University of Strassburg.
B. P. HASDEU, University of Bucharest.
KICHARD HEINZEL, University of Vienna.
FR. KLUGE, University of Freiburg.
PAUL MEYER, College de France,
W. MEYER-LUBKE, University of Vienna.
MARCELINO MENENDEZ Y PELAYO, Madrid.
JAMES A. H. MURRAY, Oxford, England.
ADOLF MUSSAPIA, University of Vienna.
ARTHUR NAPIER, University of Oxford.
FRITZ NEUMANN, University of Heidelberg.
ADOLF NOREEN, University of Upsala.
GASTON PARIS, College de France.
H. PAUL, University of Munich.
F. YORK POWELL, University of Oxford.
Pio B-AJNA, Florence, Italy.
J. SCHIPPER, University of Vienna.
H. SCHUCHART, University of Giaz.
ERICH SCHMIDT, University of Berlin.
EDUARD SIEVERS, University of Leipsic.
W. W. SKEAT, University of Cambridge.
JOHANN STORM, University of Christiania.
H. SUCHIER, University of Halle.
HENRY SWEET, Oxford, England.
ADOLF TOBLER, University of Berlin.
RICH. PAUL WULKER, University of Leipsic.
13

Ixviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

ROLL OF MEMBERS DECEASED.

J. T. AKERS, Central College, Richmond, Ky.

T. WHITING BANCROFT, Brown University, Providence, E. I. [1890.]

D. L. BARTLETT, Baltimore, Md. [1899.]

W. M. BASKERVILL, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. [1899.]

DANIEL G. BRINTON, Media, Pa. [1899.]

HENRY COHN, Northwestern University, Evanston, 111. [1900.]

WILLIAM COOK, Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. [1888.]

SUSAN R. CUTLER, Chicago, 111. [1899.]

A. N. VAN DAELL, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass.

[1899.]

EDWARD GRAHAM DAVES, Baltimore, Md. [1894.]
W. DEUTSCH, St. Louis, Mo. [1898.]

FRANCIS R. FAVA, Columbian University, Washington, D. C. [1896.]
L. HABEL, Norwich University, Northfield, Vermont. [1886.]
RUDOLF HAYM, University of Halle. [1901.]

GEORGE A. HENCH, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1899.]
RUDOLPH HILDEBRAND, Leipsic, Germany. [1894.]
JULIAN HUGUENIN, University of Louisiana, Baton Rouge, La. [1901.]
J. KARGE, Princeton College, Princeton, N. J. [1892.]
F. L. KENDALL, Williams College, Williamstown, Mass. [1893.]
EUGENE KOLBING, Breslau, Germany. [1899.]
J. LEVY, Lexington, Mass.
JULES LOISEAU, New York, N. Y.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, Cambridge, Mass. [1891.]
J. LUQUIENS, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [1899.]
THOMAS McCABE, Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, Pa. [1891.]
J. G. R. MCELROY, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [1891.]
EDWARD T. MCLAUGHLIN, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. [1893.]
SAMUEL P. MOLENAER, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa.

[1900.]

JAMES O. MURRAY, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. [1901.]
C. K. NELSON, Brookville, Md. [1890.]
W. M. NEVIN, Lancaster, Pa. [1892.]

PROCEEDINGS FOE 1901.

CONRAD H. NORDBY, College of the City of New York, New York, N. Y.

[1900.]

C. P. OTIS, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Boston, Mass. [1888.]
W. H. PERKINSON, University of Virginia, Charlottes ville, Va. [1898.]
SAMUEL PORTER, Gallaudet College, Kendall Green, Washington, D. C.

[1901.]

RENE DE POYEN-BELLISLE, University of Chicago, Chicago, 111. [1900.]
CHARLES H. Koss, Agricultural and Mechanical College, Auburn, Ala.

[1900.]

O. SEIDENSTICKER, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pa. [1894.]
M. SCHELE DE VERB, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Va. [1898.]
MAX SOHRAUER, New York, N. Y.
F. R. STENGEL, Columbia University, New York, N. Y.
H. TALLICHET, Austin, Texas. [1894.]

E. L. WALTER, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, Mich. [1898.]
KARL WEINHOLD, University of Berlin. [1901.]

Miss HELENE WENCKEBACH, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. [1888.]
MARGARET M. WICKHAM, Adelphi College, Brooklyn, N. Y. [1898.]
R. H. WILLIS, Chatham, Va. [1900.]

CASIMIR ZDANOWICZ, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. [1889.]
JULIUS ZUPITZA, Berlin, Germany. [1895.]

MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

CONSTITUTION OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE
ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA.

The name of this Society shall be The Modern Language
Association of America.

II.

Any person approved by the Executive Council may become
a member by the payment of three dollars, and may continue a
member by the payment of the same amount each year.

ill.

The object of this Association shall be the advancement of
the study of the Modern Languages and their Literatures.

IV.

The officers of this Association shall be a President, a Secre-
tary, a Treasurer, and nine members, who shall together consti-
tute the Executive Council, and these shall be elected annually
by the Association.

The Executive Council shall have charge of the general
interests of the Association, such as the election of members^
calling of meetings, selection of papers to be read, and the
determination of what papers shall be published.

VI.

This Constitution may be amended by a two-thirds vote at
any annual meeting, provided the proposed amendment has
received the approval of the Executive Council.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901.

Amendment adopted by the Baltimore Convention,
December 30, 1886.

1. The Executive Council shall annually elect from its own
body three members who, with the President and the Secretary,
shall constitute the Executive Committee of the Association.

2. The three members thus elected shall be the Yice-
Presidents of the Association.

3. To this Executive Committee shall be submitted, through
the Secretary, at least one month in advance of the meeting, all
papers designed for the Association. The said Committee, or
a majority thereof, shall have power to accept or reject such
papers, and also of the papers thus accepted to designate
such as shall be read in full, and such as shall be read in
brief, or by topics, for subsequent publication ; and to pre-
scribe a programme of proceedings, fixing the time to be
allowed for each paper and for its discussion.

APPENDIX II.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE SEVENTH ANNUAL MEET-
ING OF THE CENTRAL DIVISION OF THE
MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF
AMERICA, HELD AT CHAMPAIGN,
ILLINOIS, DECEMBER 26,

27 AND 28, 1901.

THE CENTRAL DIVISION OF THE
MODERN LANGUAGE ASSO-
CIATION OF AMERICA.

The seventh annual meeting of the CENTRAL DIVISION
OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA
was held at the University of Illinois, at Champaign, Decem-
ber 26, 27, and 28, 1901.

FIRST SESSION, DECEMBER 26.

The members of the Association assembled in the Library,
at 8 o'clock. In the absence of the President of the Univer-
sity, the address of welcome was spoken by Professor Thomas
A. Clark, Dean. The address of welcome was followed by
that of the President of the Central Division, Professor
James Taft Hatfield, of Northwestern University. The
theme of this address was the relation of scholarship to the
commonwealth. The remarks of the President were clear,
incisive, sparkling, and proved an excellent introduction to
one of the most interesting meetings of the Division. [See
Publications, xvn, 3, p. 391.]

At the conclusion of the meeting, there was held an informal
reception at the Elks.

SECOND SESSION, DECEMBER 27, at 9 A. M.

The meeting was convened at 9 o'clock, in the Physics
Lecture Room, with the President in the chair.

Ixxv

Ixxvi MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

SECRETARY'S REPORT.

The Secretary, Professor Raymond Weeks, of the Univer-
sity of Missouri, then read his annual report. He discussed
the matter of the preparation of the programme, and stated
that some way must soon be devised for restricting the number
of papers read, and of diminishing their length. Greater
guaranty should be given the Secretary of the genuine interest
and value of papers submitted. Keen competition for a place
on the programme might, or might not be a healthful sign.
One desirable thing, in the opinion of the Secretary, was an
increase in the number of those members who attended the
meetings without reading papers, simply for the pleasure of
hearing the papers and the discussion, and of enjoying annually
a few days in the company of their colleagues.

Some statistics were given showing the increase and loss for
the year among the members of the Association.

One of the most important matters to be decided by the
Division was the time of holding the annual meetings. It
was shown that the movement known as " Convocation
"Week" was spreading rapidly, and the members present
were urged to be prepared to vote on the proposed change.

Invitations to hold the next meeting at the following
universities were then laid before the Association : Chicago,
Johns Hopkins, Michigan.

The following report of the Treasurer was read, and on
motion was referred to the Auditing Committee. The Presi-
dent named Professors Blackburn and Dodge as members
of this committee.

Report of the Secretary of the Central Division of the Modern Language
Association of America for the year 1901 : —

RECEIPTS.
Received from the Secretary of the M. L. A., . $40 00

$40 00

PEOCEEDINGS FOB 1901. Ixxvii

EXPENSES.

Express, $ 25

Telegram, 75

Programmes, 20 65

Clerk hire 3 00

Stationery, . 7 02

Stamps, 7 CO

$38 67

Balance on hand, 1 33

Kespectfully submitted,

KAYMOND WEEKS,

Treasurer.

The President appointed the following committees :

Committee on Nominations for Officers : Professors Cut-
ting, McClumpha, Rhoades, Baillot, Heller.

Committee on Place of Next Meeting : Professors Pearson,
Pietsch, Voss, Kern, Galloo.

After some discussion as to Convocation week, the reading
of papers was begun.

1. "Goethe's Faust, lines 418-29." By Professor A. R.
Hohlfeld, of the University of Wisconsin.

Professor Hohlfeld reviewed the opinions of the critics
with regard to these lines, and showed why criticism of them
was justified.

The author's argument was from beginning to end a model
of clear exposition.

The paper was discussed by President Hatfield, and would
doubtless have received a longer and more adequate discussion,
had it not been that the members seemed to fear that the time
was hardly sufficient to read all the papers announced for the
session.

2. "Notes on English Elegiac Poetry, with a Biblio-
graphy." By Professor Albert E. Jack, of Lake Forest
University.

The author gave, as the title indicates, a careful study of

Ixxviii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

the different forms of elegiac verse in English, and suggested
some causes for the comparative account of elegiac verse in
English. One of his most valuable suggestions was of a
possible influence on the metre of In Memoriam of Petrarch's
sonnets.

This paper was discussed by Professors Dodge, Blackburn,
McClumpha, and Nollen.

3. " The English Sixteenth Morality Play, Mary Magda-
len." By Professor F. I. Carpenter, University of Chicago.
In the absence of Professor Carpenter, this paper was passed
over. [Printed among the " Decennial Publications " of the
University of Chicago.]

4. " Notes on Wieland's Translation of Shakespere." By
Dr. Marcus Simpson, of Northwestern University.

The author showed the importance of an examination of
the work of Wieland to one who wished to obtain an idea
of the manner in which Shakespere first penetrated into
Germany. Wieland's translation was in many ways mere
task-work, performed without the encouragement of friends.
The translator did not seem to feel the greatness of his model.
He left out whole scenes at times. His translation shows a
lack of comprehension, and an inability to find the proper
words in German for the English poet's ideas.

This paper was discussed by Professors von Klenze and
James.

5. " In what Order Should the Works of Martin Luther
be read?" By Dr. W. W. Florer, of the University of
Michigan.

Dr. Florer deplored the admitted fact that the works of
Luther do not receive the attention in our curricula that their
linguistic importance entitles them to. He believed that
admirable use might be made of these works, and advocated
beginning with the translation of the Bible, 1545. The
student would make rapid progress here, in reading a book

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901.

with which he was already familiar, and could then proceed
profitably to Luther's other works.

This paper was discussed by Professors Hatfield and
Hohlfeld.

6. " Goethe's Predecessors in Italy." By Professor C. von
Klenze, of the University of Chicago.

The author desired to find out whether the opinions and
views of Italy expressed by Goethe in his Italienische Reise
were the mere reflex of other opinions current at that time,
or whether Goethe shows in his observations a real originality.
The author passed in review in a clear and striking manner
the current books of travel in Italy, published before Goethe's
visit. These books show an interest in antiquity, but no
appreciation for the art of the Renaissance. Goethe seems
to have done little more than to follow his predecessors.

THIRD SESSION, DECEMBER 27, at 2.30 P. M.

7. u Intercollegiate Agreement in English Courses." By
Professor Daniel K. Dodge, of the University of Illinois.

Professor Dodge's paper was pedagogical. He said that
the migration of advanced students in English was hindered
by the lack of agreement as to equivalents. What has been
done in the English for admission to our greater universities
could perhaps be done on a higher scale. It might be possi-
ble, with a fair if not an absolute amount of justice, to arrange
some system of equivalents in the undergraduate work in
English in American colleges, so that a student who had done
this work well in one school, might feel sure of being admitted
to the graduate work in another school to which he desired to
go for graduate study.

8. " An Old Spanish Version of the Disticha Catonis." By
Professor K. Pietsch, of Chicago University.

Professor Pietsch is engaged in preparing a reconstruction
of this badly corrupted text, and his paper was in the nature

1XXX MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

of advanced sheets from his work. The paper gave evidence
of the most careful and exhaustive study of the subject. [To
appear among the " Decennial Publications " of the University
of Chicago.]

9. " A Comparison of the Ideals in Three Representative
Versions of the Tristan and Isolde Story. " By Dr. May
Thomas, of the University of Chicago.

The author discussed the version of Chretien de Troyes, and
the fifteenth century prose version, together with that adopted
by Wagner. The paper was one of immediate interest,
because of the revival in Tristan studies, as indicated in the
version of Be>oul, now under press by the Societ6 des anciens
textes frangais, edited by M. Muret, and the attempted restora-
tion of M. Joseph Bedier : Tristan et Yseut.

This paper was discussed by Professors von Klenze, Weeks,
and Schiitze.

10. "The Technique of Adam Bede." By Professor Violet
D. Jayne, of the University of Illinois.

In this paper the author made an application of the methods
now in vogue for criticism of texts, showing graphically the
elements in composition that characterize Adam Bede as distin-
guished from George Eliot's other novels of the same epoch.

11. " The Latin Sources of the JExpurgatoire of Marie de
France." By Professor T. Atkinson Jenkins, of the Univer-
sity of Chicago.

Professor Jenkins presented advanced sheets of a new
edition of his former work. His study offers a genuine
interest as enabling us to approach nearer to the source
actually utilized by Marie. [To appear among the " Decen-
nial Publications " of the University of Chicago.]

12. "The Short Story and its Classification." By Professor
C. F. McClumpha, of the University of Minnesota.

Professor McClumpha began by showing through recent

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Ixxxi

experiment what proportion of six numbers of popular
November magazines was devoted to the short story. Noth-
ing can show better the growth of a style or movement in
literature than a series of such experiments, carefully made.
The author stated that the short story must be carefully
distinguished from the novelette, and that no classification
which fitted the novel would do for the short story. He then
proceeded to build up a system of classification, based upon a
careful study of the short story, not only in English* but in
other languages, especially in French.

Eemarks on this paper were made by Professors Pietsch
and Nollen.

13. "Das and Was in Relative Clauses Dependent on Sub-
stantivized Adjectives in Modern German." By Professor
Starr W. Cutting, of the University of Chicago.

The appearance of this study in print will alone enable
one to obtain an idea of the amount of labor involved in
the gathering of the statistics presented, and of the author's
arguments. The results arrived at were surprising to many.

Remarks were offered by Professors Voss, Hohlfeld, and
Heller.

[Printed among the "Decennial Publications" of the
University of Chicago.]

At eight o'clock, Friday evening, the 27th, President and
Mrs. Draper received the members of the Association at the
President's house.

FOURTH SESSION, DECEMBER 28, at 9 A. M.

14. " The Influence of Wilhelm Miiller upon Heine's Lyric
Poetry." By Professor John S. Nollen, of Iowa College.

This interesting study was based upon a metrical com-
parison between the pertinent works of the two poets. The
author found that Heine's asserted indebtedness to Miiller

Ixxxii MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

was real. See, for this paper, the Modern Language Notes,
vol. xvii, ISTos. 4 and 5, pp. 206 and 261.

This paper was discussed by Professor Hatfield.

15. "An Unpublished Diary of Wilhelm Miiller." By Dr.
Philip S. Allen, of the University of Chicago.

Through the kindness of the widow of Max Miiller, the
author and Professor Hatfield have received and are to pub-
lish at the University of Chicago Press an unpublished diary
of the father of Max Miiller. In addition to the diary, there
are several letters and some sonnets.

This paper was discussed by Professors Hatfield, Blackburn,
and Stempel.

[Published in book-form at the University of Chicago
Press.]

16. "The I. E. Root, ado-." By Professor F. A. Wood,
of Cornell College.

In the absence of the author, a brief presentation of the
paper was made by Professor Blackburn.

17. " Literary Criticism in France." By Professor E. P.
Bail lot, of Northwestern University.

Professor Baillot, while not deprecating the value of genu-
ine criticism, expressed the fear that in France, at the present
time, there is a tendency to trust the opinion of the critics,
instead of reading the originals. The result of this would
be to create a literary despotism, and to prevent real literary
originality.

The discussion was animated on this paper. Among others,
the following discussed some feature of the subject : Professors
Blackburn, Jenkins, Hatfield, Galloo, Thieme, and Jack.

18. "Remarks on the German Version of the Speculum
humanae Salvationist By Professor H. Schmidt- Wartenberg,
of the University of Chicago.

Professor Schmidt- Wartenburg being absent through sick-
ness, his paper was not read.

PROCEEDINGS FOR 1901. Ixxxiii

19. "The Sources of Cyrano's Trip to the Moon." By
Professor John R. Effinger, of the University of Michigan.

The author showed that, while Cyrano was slightly influ-
enced by a book entitled The Man in the Moone, or a Discourse
of a Voyage Thither, said to have been written by Francis
Godwin, and published in 1636, he really owes but little to
this book.

20. "A Record of Shakespearian Representations at Chicago
for the past five Years." By Professor W. E. Simonds, of
Knox College.

The period covered in this record is from 1895 to 1900.
The record shows nineteen different plays, with a total of two
hundred and eighty-two performances.

It was clear from the discussion on this paper that the
members thought the preservation of such records a desirable
thing. The following gentlemen took part in the discussion :
McClumpha, James, Effinger, Stempel, Dodge.

21. " The Symbolistic Drama since Hauptmann." By Dr.
Martin Schiitze, of the University of Chicago.

This paper was read by title.

FIFTH SESSION, at 2.30 P. M.

The Committee on Nomination of Officers reported as
follows : For President, Professor Francis A. Blackburn, of
the University of Chicago; for Secretary and Treasurer,
Professor Raymond Weeks, of the University of Missouri ;
for First Vice-President, Professor Violet D. Jayne, of the
University of Illinois ; for Second Vice-President, Professor
John R. Effinger, of the University of Michigan ; for Third
Vice-President, Professor Lawrence Fossler, of the Uni-
versity of Nebraska ; for Members of the Council : Professors
C. Alphonso Smith, University of Louisiana; W. E. Simonds,
Knox College ; A, R. Hohlfeld, University of Wisconsin ;
14

Ixxxiv MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

Clarence W. Eastman, University of Iowa ; C. von Klenze,
University of Chicago.

The Committee on Place of Meeting reported in favor
of Chicago, at the same time expressing the thanks of the
Association for the kind invitation from Johns Hopkins and
from the University of Michigan. The time was fixed as
the 1, 2, and 3 of January, 1903; provided, however, that
the Executive Committee be empowered to change the above
dates for good and sufficient reasons.

Professor Blackburn declining absolutely to accept the
presidency because of bad health, it was moved and carried
that the choice of a president be left to the members of the
Council, to be arranged by correspondence. The result of
this correspondence was the election of Professor Starr W.
Cutting, of the University of Chicago.

It was moved by Professor Dodge, that at the next meet-
ing we try the experiment of " contemporaneous departmental
meetings." Motion was carried.

The motion was made and carried to send a telegram of
greeting to the Association in session at Cambridge.

The motion was made and carried to send a greeting to the
former Secretary, Professor H. Schmidt-Wartenberg, who
was lying sick at his home.

The reading of papers was then resumed.

22. " The Authenticity of Goethe's Sesenheim Songs." By
Professor Julius Goebel, of Stanford University.

In the absence of the author, the paper was read by Dr.
Allen.

23. " The Plautine Influence on English Drama during
the last Decade of the Sixteenth Century." By Professor
Malcolm W. Wallace, of Beloit College.

The author's study was the last chapter of a work on the
same subject, which is being published by Scott, Foresman &

PROCEEDINGS FOB 1901. IxXXV

Co. The chapter treated the followiDg plays : Mother Bombie,
The Comedy of Errors, The Silver Age, Timon of Athens.

The paper was discussed by Professors Blackburn and
Hatfield. [This paper is to appear at the press of Scott,
Foresman & Co.]

24. " The Sources of Ferdinand Kiirenberger's Novel, Der
Amerikamude." By Mr. George A. Mul finger, of the Chicago
South Division High School.

In this paper, the theory that Kiirenberger embodied in his
novel the experiences in America of Lenau was combated.
A skilful argument, based on literary evidence, and supported
by personal reminiscence, left no doubt of the author's being
right. This study is to appear in the Americana Germanica.

25. " Taine." By Dr. H. P. Thieme, of the University of
Michigan.

Dr. Thieme developed in this paper some theories with
regard to the psychological elements of Taine's work. The
study was really psycho-physiological.

26. " The Development of the Middle High German Ablaut
in Modern German.'7 By Dr. Paul O. Kern, of the Univer-
sity of Chicago.

Of this purely philological study only the part relating to
the development of the M. H. G. preterite into its present
form was presented.

27. " Goethe's Schafer's Klagelied." By Professor A. R.
Hohlfeld, of the University of Wisconsin. [Read by title.]
[To appear in the next volume of the Goethe-Jahrbuch.]

28. " Aimer le Chetif." By Professor Raymond Weeks, of
the University of Missouri. [Read by title.] [See the
Publications, Vol. xvu, 4, p. 411.]

At the conclusion of the reading of the papers, the following

1XXXV1 MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION.

motion was presented by Professor Charles Bundy Wilson,
and was unanimously carried :

Resolved, That the Central Division of the Modern Lan-
guage Association of America extend to the Local Committee,
to the University of Illinois, and to President and Mrs.
Draper, thanks for their very cordial hospitality.

The meeting was then declared adjourned.

344 f

MAY 2 519*

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